Sliding Home (12 page)

She nodded. “Brad Plaid's
one of my favorites.” Rhaden swallowed his laugh. She meant Brad Paisley. He'd
take great pleasure introducing her to his music.

Six

Uneasiness had plagued
Kason Rhodes's drive home. He sensed something was
off,
the same way he had the day Dayne changed the locks
on his trailer.

He'd been delayed by heavy
traffic for more than an hour and now he drove faster than normal down the dirt
access road. Gravel fired like shrapnel from beneath his tires. He soon slowed
his Hummer, within view of his mobile home. Then he stared until his eyes hurt.

What he saw had to be a
mirage.

Yet when he blinked, the
image held.

Sweet
mother, my trailer has laid an aluminum egg.

His nostrils flared and his
jaw worked.

His breath stuck in his
throat.

The tomboy had trespassed a
second time.

His arrival drew Dayne from
behind the small metal camper parked behind his double-wide. Cimarron was at
her side. She looked different. She was not the same woman who'd claimed
squatter's rights to his trailer. She'd dropped her defenses.

She came toward him,
wearing a Moody Blues T-shirt, white shorts, and a big smile. She looked
animated, carefree, and eager to share her news.

News, Kason was certain, he
didn't want to hear.

“You'll never believe what
happened today.” Her excitement touched him. “I went to the warehouse for boxes
to move my stuff. Frank, the owner, said if I moved beyond a bike ride away,
he'd lose a good worker. He came up with a solution so I could stay.”

Kason knew he'd hate the
solution. Hate it a whole hell of a lot.

“Frank and his wife enjoyed
camping before they had children,” she rushed to tell him. “Now their kids
prefer amusement parks to the woods. The camper has sat in storage for years.
Frank hauled it out today. It's free rent until I can make other arrangements.”

She looked at the camper,
happy and proud. “It's a vintage silver Airstream.”

“It's a tin can.” Twenty
feet by ten at best.

“It's my home.”

Kason ran one hand down his
face. “You parked it here?” There were three trailer parks in Richmond. Any one
could accommodate her camper.

She bounced on her toes,
swept her hands wide. “Look at all this vacant land. We don't know who owns the
acreage. You've trespassed, same as me. Until the owner tosses us off, what he
doesn't know won't hurt him.”

Kason wasn't trespassing.
He legitimately owned the land. Yet he didn't want to share that fact with
Dayne. However annoying she might be, a part of him liked being treated like a
regular guy.

Appearing down on his luck
had its advantages. She believed him a penniless drifter. There weren't any
assumptions or pretense between them. She saw him as a man, not a sports star.

“The Airstream's small, but
self-contained,” she told him. “I've hooked up to your electrical box, and will
pay my fair share of the bill. All I have left to do is to set up the exterior
shower stall.”

That didn't sound good. “No
indoor facility?”

“It's me and the great
outdoors.”

Not his idea of comfort.

“I've moved as much food as
possible,” she went on to say. “I don't have much shelf space.”

“Do you want me to buy
what's leftover?” No doubt she could use the cash.

“Or you could just store it
for me.” She looked hopeful.

Storing meant she would be
stopping by his trailer at any hour of the day or night for a can of peaches or
a pound of hamburger. She'd remain a constant part of his life, even if she
didn't live with him.

Though he'd allow her to
camp on his land, he needed to establish boundaries. He'd hold her at arm's
length.

“Rules, Dayne.” He laid
them out. “It's no longer open season on my mobile home. You need to knock
before you barge in.”

She lifted her chin. “That
goes the same for you.”

He had no intention of
visiting her.

“Maybe we should establish
property lines,” she said. “I could build a fence.”

Property
lines? It
was his land.

He looked at Cimarron. The
Dobie hugged Dayne's side. “Don't forget that Cim's my dog. When I'm home, he's
with me.”

She chewed her bottom lip,
contemplative. “I might get myself a dog. I've never lived where I could have a
pet. My camper's too small for a Great Dane or Saint Bernard, but a small dog
would be nice.”

A miniature breed, fluffy
and yappy. Kason could already hear the dog's high-pitched, irritating bark.
Damn,
 
he'd have to invest in earplugs.

Silence brought their
conversation to an end. Overhead a light breeze blew clouds over the sun. The
air cooled, and it grew so still, a man could hear himself think. Peace
descended on the clearing.

Dayne turned in a slow
circle, her arms spread wide, as if she embraced the land. The return of the
sun streaked her hair more blonde than brown. Her sharp cheekbones slanted to
shadowed hollows. Her lips were full and parted.

She inhaled, exhaled,
sighed. “I'll be a good neighbor, Kason, quiet as nature.”

He'd hold her to that
promise.

They retreated to the calm
of their own homes.

Cimarron trailed Kason with
backward glances and dragging paws. The big dog already missed Dayne.

Thirty minutes later,
Kason's peace was shattered by an electric screw gun and the bang of a hammer.
He pushed off the couch, crossed to the kitchen window and cranked it wide. He
looked out and found Dayne on a short aluminum ladder. Arms raised, she was attempting
to install a circular bar off the side of her camper. The bar was centered over
the water nozzle, which provided support for the gray plastic shower enclosure.

Tomboy wasn't doing a great
job. The bar dipped at two different angles and the ladder wobbled with every
shift of her weight. She hadn't locked the hinges. She was an accident waiting
to happen.

“Damn,” he muttered,
knowing he was about to cross property lines. He needed to lend a hand before
she broke bones.

Cimarron whipped through
the door ahead of him.

The dog took off for Dayne
as if shot from a cannon. Cim beat him to the tomboy.

Two screws stuck out the
corner of her mouth. “I've got it this time,” she mumbled.

He'd stick around and be
sure she
got it.
She'd changed into a Pink
Floyd T-shirt and faded jeans. A low-slung tool belt wrapped her hips. She'd
climbed the ladder with bare feet. Pale peach painted her toenails.

A tiny, lucky silver
horseshoe studded her navel. Kason lifted his gaze, caught the soft undersides
of her breasts. She was braless again.

His dick saluted her twins.

He shuffled his feet,
discreetly shifting his package without a full hand adjustment.

“It's level now.” She
secured one end of the circular bar and drove in a screw, then leaned back and
checked her handiwork. A frown appeared. The rod slanted right.

Kason noticed the dozen
holes from her previous attempts. The camper looked riddled with bullets. He
blew out a breath, extended his hand. “Give me the screw gun.”

She hesitated. “That's
neighborly, but I promised not to bother you.”

“One time, and one time
only.”

The ladder wobbled as she
climbed down. Kason clasped his hand behind her knee to steady her descent. She
was a small woman. His fingers and thumb nearly met over her kneecap.

The space between them
seemed to disappear. The scent of peaches wafted from her body, sun-warmed and
sexy. With her next step down, his hand rode her thigh. One more rung and he
cupped her ass. Neither one moved for what could have been a single minute or a
full five.

Her shiver raised her voice
an octave. “Let me down.”

He released her, stepped
back. Her peaches stayed with him. His hand felt empty. Her bottom had fit his
palm. Round, tight, perfect.

“Where'd you get the tool
belt?” he asked. Tomboy looked sexy in the thick brown belt with its dozen
pouches.

“Frank left it,” she told
him as she tightened the leather. Even at the last buckle hole, it hung off her
hips. The handle of a hammer lay against her thigh. Needlenose pliers pressed
below her navel.

“There's a television
antenna in the storage compartment below the Airstream,” she added. “It sits on
top of the camper. Frank said it gets decent reception. I'll tackle that
project tomorrow.”

He closed his eyes, worked
his jaw, counted to ten. “Do you even have a television?”

“No, but I want to set up
the antenna so when I buy one, it's ready to go.” Lady had her own logic.

“Don't climb until I get
home,” he requested. “I'll help you.” Neighborly was fast becoming a daily
routine.

She bit down on her lower
lip. “I appreciate your looking out for me.”

“It's no big deal.” He
didn't want her reading too much into his offer. “I'll hook up the antenna in a
tenth of the time it would take you to do it.” And he wouldn't get electrocuted
in the process. Nor would he slide off the top.

Screw gun in hand, he soon
set the shower rod and attached the stall. The enclosure hung a ways off the
ground. Dayne stepped inside, turned in a circle. She wasn't fully concealed.
Once stripped and showering, she'd bare significant thigh. If she bent
over—Kason closed his mind to the imagined flash of her sweet ass.

“How big is the hot water
tank?” he asked.

“Good for a two-minute
shower. After that, I'll be one big goose bump.” She glanced at her watch. “I'm
making fried-egg sandwiches shortly. Join me? Dinner in exchange for setting up
my shower stall. Cim's invited too.”

Tomboy's appreciation
showed in food.

Hearing his name, Cimarron
barked his acceptance before Kason could agree. The dog wagged his stubby tail
and looked at Dayne adoringly. Dinner with the tomboy appealed to the Dobie.

Kason wasn't sure it would
be wise to spend more time in her company. Neighborly shouldn't extend beyond a
wave as he drove down the road. She wasn't permanent. Yet she touched his life
in ways that made him increasingly uneasy.

“Quick sandwich works.” He
could eat and run.

“One hour—bring your
appetite.”

Dayne and her sexy tool
belt sauntered off.

***

Fifty-six minutes later,
Kason knocked on Dayne Sheridan's door. Her stomach gave an unexpected squeeze.
She didn't analyze her reaction, just knew his appearance gave her butterflies.
The Airstream was small and intimate.

He was a big man.

He'd soon be a guest in her
new home.

She cracked the door, caught
him in profile. Dusk played on his face, sharpening his features. His shaved
head was shaped by shadows. His jaw jutted, whiskers dark.

He'd changed his T-shirt,
switched white for black. His hands were jammed in the pockets on his jeans. He
was a hard man. Uncommunicative and complicated. And set in his ways.

Strangely, she liked him.
She even trusted him. He'd bounced her from his trailer, yet allowed her to
park the vintage Airstream behind his double-wide. She'd half expected him to
hook her camper to his Hummer and haul it down the road. Instead, he'd gone
neighborly and let her stay.

Each day, fresh air and
sunshine cleared her head. She grew as a person. Strength became her ally. Mick
Jakes had broken her heart and bruised her ego. Dumping her on air before a
million listeners had been cruel.

Mick had screwed his way to
the top. He'd chosen syndication over their marriage.