Dylan (6 page)

Her eyes were emerald bright with desire, and still the little filly sneered up at him and said, “Watch me, cupcake.” She turned and stalked to her truck, got in, slammed the door, and gunned the engine. Dirt and gravel ground beneath her tires and shot out as she tore off down the road toward town.

Wiping the grit from his chin, he shook his head. It was going to be a long and bloody battle, but he'd win and she'd thank him for it.

Dylan's hand gripped the steering wheel as he drove into town. He wanted to gas it and catch up to Ronnie, but changed his mind. Why be predictable? The enemy would never suspect that he was going to lie in wait for her, until the time was right, and then he would take no prisoners and offer no quarter.

He was grinning as he pulled up in front of the address Emily had given him: Ronnie's store. He had a feeling the woman hadn't put two and two together and figured out he was her new carpenter. He couldn't wait to see her reaction. Although he'd come a different way, it was just around the corner from the Lucky Star. Putting his truck in park, he got a good look at why Emily said the woman needed him. The place was a wreck. What was left of the front window had been boarded up with plywood… interior plywood.

“Waste of good lumber, won't stand up to the elements.” When he got closer, he noticed the heads of the nails. “Hell, whoever nailed this up had no idea what they were doing.” He shook his head at the choice of the roofing nails used to nail the veneer plywood over the window opening. “No wonder Emily said her friend needed my help.”

Still smarting from his run-in with the hardheaded woman from back East, Dylan had to dig deep to lose the irritation. He'd never be charming like his younger brother Jesse, but at least he could find some patience for the owner of the ruined store before he went in and bit Ronnie's head off.

He knocked, but no one answered. “Figures.” He tried the door and found it unlocked, so he went inside. “Anybody home?”

No answer.

“Great,” he grumbled, “my luck someone'll call the local law and have me arrested for breaking and entering.”

Looking around at the inside of the store, he whistled. “Somebody must have had it in for the shop owner.” He could see where the display racks and shelves had been and the piles where someone had been painstakingly sorting through the wreckage. The froth of fractured lace caught his eye; he bent to pick it up. The silky material attached to the lace was in shreds. “Who'd the owner piss off enough to have them shoot up the store?”

“Damned if I know, cupcake.”

His entire body went on red alert. Dylan clenched his jaw and dug bone deep to keep from grabbing the woman paused halfway down the stairs glaring daggers at him. He was torn between the need to take her by the shoulders and shake her until she stopped trying to irritate the crap out of him and hauling her close and kissing her until she shut that smart mouth of hers.

His sigh was long and low. It wasn't his normal MO to want to get his hands on a woman—with the intention of teaching her a lesson and not just for a little mattress dancing. One look at her angry expression and he realized it wouldn't do any good to remind her that his name was Dylan—and not buddy or cupcake. She was obviously set on digging her spurs into him to get his attention. It was working. He'd give her that much.

The dark-haired temptress who had haunted his dreams and distracted him while he was working alongside his brothers sauntered down the steps and walked over to stand toe to toe with him. “Why you? Why couldn't it have been Tyler's other brother?”

“Out here, people are usually bit more sociable, ma'am.” Dylan refused to let her get any further under his skin. “We usually start off a conversation with ‘how're you doing' or ‘what's the good word today.' Besides,” he said crossing his arms and staring down at her, “my brother Jesse's talents don't extend to a hammer and nail.”

Her mouth opened and then closed. The light laughter surprised the both of them. He hadn't thought the sound of a woman laughing could be so sexy. He'd been wrong. The silky sound of her laughter sent a set of chills chasing up his spine. Dylan fought the need to shiver.

“We do back home too—well not quite the same expressions you used, but the meaning's the same.”

Dylan swallowed a snort of laughter and noticed her eyes twinkled. She urged, “Admit it, DD.”

“DD? What kind of insult does that stand for?” He almost didn't ask for fear that it would have to do with his manly pride, and the little woman had flung enough insults at him already.

Slashes of deep rose accentuated the luscious olive-toned skin that begged to be caressed. He noticed textures and colors, wanting to delve deep for another taste of her. His fingertips itched to trace the curve of her jaw and test the plumpness of her bottom lip. She dropped her hand and shifted from one foot to the other. Was he making her nervous? DD must be an East Coast insult.

“Come on,” he urged, “tell me.”

She shook her head.

“Lord, woman,” he ground out. “You'd drive a saint crazy.”

She narrowed her gaze and stared at him. “I don't think you'd qualify as one.”

This time, he couldn't contain the rumble of laughter bubbling up from inside of him. “Probably not.”

She crossed her arms beneath her breasts. Did she do that to distract him or to just plain torture him? His palms started to sweat. He brushed them against his thighs.

He noticed Ronnie was skittish and kept looking over her shoulder behind her. A thought shot through him. “Are you expecting someone to come back and finish the job?”

The split second of fear in her eyes had his need to protect her screaming to the surface. She shook her head and a second emotion, so close to the one he'd been living with lately, flashed in her gaze before it was gone. “I just need some time alone.”

He'd bet his last dollar that something—make that someone—had hurt this little lady enough to scar her. Dylan didn't want to get involved, swore he wouldn't let his heart lead him down the primrose path again, but damned if he didn't reach out and brush the tears gathering at the corner of her eyes, determined to fix whatever or whoever had hurt her.

“Emily said you needed more than my carpentry skills. I'm wondering if she meant my services as a bodyguard.”

Ronnie's face flushed and he wondered if she were thinking what he'd been thinking—he'd really love to get close enough to do more than guard her body. To diffuse some of the tension in the air, he looked around the downstairs store and pushed the brim of his Stetson back. “Emily's a sweet thing and the light of my brother's life.” He let his gaze slide back to meet hers. “But now that she and Tyler have decided to pair up and get married, she's wanting to find women for Jesse and me.” He paused and looked down at her. “Why do you females do that? We can find our own women.”

Ronnie rubbed at her temples as if her head ached. “I'm just feeling a little out of place out here,” she said looking around at the piles of organized destruction. “Believe me, Dylan, I only want to fix my store and reopen before I go bankrupt.”

Her words were so close to what he and his brothers were feeling about their ranch that he blinked and nearly asked her to repeat what she just said. Dylan fought the urge to reach out and massage the tender skin at the edge of her cheekbones. The woman had distracted him from the start; now that she'd reawakened feelings he'd thought buried too deeply to resurface, Dylan figured he'd be a walking, talking lunatic before he could convince the little lady that he was interested in more than just a one-night stand. “Hell or high water,” he mumbled.

“Is that another of your down-home Texas sayings?”

He didn't know what to say that wouldn't have her snapping off a sharp comeback. Females could be a real pain in the ass—or in other body parts left alone and aching for too long.

***

Ronnie couldn't believe her luck. Why couldn't it have been the youngest Garahan brother that was the out-of-work carpenter Emily had been talking about? She'd be able to focus on what needed to be done instead of replaying that scorching kiss they'd shared. Emily knew that Ronnie had been attracted to and distracted by the brother who'd been headlining at the Lucky Star the other night. Couldn't her friend have warned her so she'd be prepared to handle the six-foot-plus, dark-haired, dark-eyed man currently starring in her dreams? “I'll kill her later.”

“Who?”

“Nobody,” she lied, as she gathered her courage, braced herself, and looked into soulful brown eyes reminding her of warm, gooey chocolate, melted and swirled into her favorite raspberry fudge. She licked her lips wondering if he'd taste just as delectable. Could she give in to the need overwhelming her, beckoning her to follow down the wrong road for the second time in her life? No! She would not give in to the need to touch, no matter how beautifully sculpted his lips were and how badly she wanted to test their firmness with her own.
Ignore
the
breadth
of
his
shoulders
and
the
strength
in
his
hands… history will not repeat itself.

Before she could think what to say that wouldn't make her come across as a candidate for the psych ward, he said, “Look, if you've changed your mind and you're not looking for help—”

“I didn't say that,” she interrupted, “it's just that so much has happened in the last few days, and I'm having trouble getting my bearings.”

His gaze met hers and he nodded. “I can appreciate that.” His dark eyes dropped to her hands and she felt the flush creep up her neck into her cheeks. “So what are you fixin' for dinner tonight?”

She had trouble switching gears and pulling her thoughts up out of the gutter, imagining what he'd been thinking staring at her hands.
Cooking!
Go figure, she'd been working up a really interesting scenario where he was putty in her hands as she started stroking his amazing pecs before working down to his abs and then—

“Ronnie, darlin'?”

She jumped. Damn! He'd done it again—distracting her when she should be paying attention. “What?”

He rubbed his chin and looked like he was fighting not to smile. Had he guessed the direction of her thoughts? “I've worked up a hunger working today and I know my brothers will be starving, so if you wouldn't mind telling me, I can give them a call and let them know what you'll be cooking for dinner tomorrow.”

Ronnie couldn't help it; she laughed again. She hadn't in a long time, but somehow this cowboy had drawn it out of her. “I promise you'll like it. Why don't we keep it a surprise until we get to your house?”

“Ranch.”

“OK, until we get to your ranch house.”

He shook his head. “Out here, we call it the ranch—or the Circle G.”

“Why?”

He looked down at her and she shivered under the intensity of his gaze. Lord, she wanted the opportunity to get to know this man better. If they connected on a cerebral level like they obviously would on a physical level, she could be… in really big trouble. She took a mental step back and stared into his eyes, waiting for him to speak.

Nonni always said that you could tell if someone was lying, or what they were thinking, by looking into their eyes.
Eyes
don't lie.
Dylan's were a warm, deep brown. He didn't look away or flinch under her scrutiny. She liked that about him; she'd have to tell Nonni about him soon.

Trusting in her grandmother's oft-quoted advice, she held out her hand and said, “How 'bout if we shake on it.”

Dylan paused as if considering. “You're not gonna fix some kind of weird healthy food—the kind that doesn't include meat, are you?”

The pained look on his face had her chuckling. “Well, I don't think my Nonni's lasagna crepes are weird.”

“What's a crepe?”

“In this case, a very thin pancake—”

Dylan crossed his arms and stared at her as if he couldn't decide if she was joking with him or not. “Heck out here we put syrup on our flapjacks.”

She shook her head at him. “Crepes are French, and very thin and light, and when you stuff them with cheese and sweet sausage, roll them up and pour my Nonni's red sauce on top, you'll think you died and went to heaven.”

He was looking at her as if her elevator didn't go to the top floor. Wouldn't be the first time someone who didn't appreciate good cooking or understand her love for food thought she was nuts.

“Trust me.”

He nodded and stuck out his hand. “All right, darlin'. Let's shake on it.”

She took his hand and felt the jolt all the way to her shoulder. Trying to ignore the pinpricks of awareness sparking in places that hadn't been interested in a long, long time, she smiled up at him.

He frowned, and added, “I don't eat any of that tofu crap.”

“Bean curd is good for you.”

“Hell, I'll eat baked beans or green beans, just don't grind 'em up and make 'em into that white pasty stuff.”

She struggled not to laugh, sensing that he was dead serious. “Deal.”

His frown eased and his eyes twinkled. “Now, darlin', about that lacy stuff… just what did you sell in here?”

“Lingerie. Something for all tastes.” She looked over her shoulder and sighed. “I had a collection of heirloom fragrances and reproduction perfume bottles and a display of essential oils so customers could design their own fragrance massage oil.”

He swallowed and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down. “You don't say.”

Longing sprinted through her and settled low in her belly. She wanted him to let loose and go with the emotions she saw swirling in the depths of his velvet dark eyes. “Back home, the massage oil was a close second in sales to the lingerie.”

The man opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He flushed an adorable shade of pink, right before he tucked his hands in his back pockets and rocked on his boot heels. Pushing his Stetson to the back of his head, he scratched his forehead and settled his hat back in place. “I thought you sold underwear.”