Texas Pride (2 page)

The sensation eased, then disappeared. The Texas heat was definitely getting to him, Dylan thought as he drew in a deep breath and stepped to the armoire. “Interesting wardrobe.”

Jessica moved beside him. “They were my great-great-grandmother's. My mother kept them and everything else here in storage. I still have more furniture, plus several large trunks in my brother's attic that I haven't had time to bring here and go through.”

A smile curved Jessica's lips as she reached out and touched one black silk evening gown. Dylan felt a jolt of electricity move up and down his arm as she stroked the lace sleeve of the dress with her long slender fingers.

Jessica Stone was certainly a surprise. And he didn't like surprises. He realized that if he was going to be working with this woman, he was going to have to keep his distance.

The hardwood floor creaked beneath his boots as he stepped away from her and glanced around the room. “Is this the only room you've restored?”

She shook her head. “The bedroom next door, also, and the connecting bathroom has modern conveniences, plus there's electricity in the kitchen for the refrigerator. But the only thing I get credit for is the paint. My brothers fought my moving out here every step of the way, but once they knew I couldn't be swayed, they reluctantly gave in and took over. At least I have indoor plumbing and electricity now.”

Dylan moved to the window and stared down at the empty street. The buildings themselves, though worn and faded with the years, appeared structurally sound. “Exactly what kind of camp are you intending to build here?”

“Maybe youth center is a better description,” Jessica said as she closed the armoire doors. “A place for kids to get away from the problems of modern-day life.”

Frowning, he turned to look at her. “You mean you want to turn this place into a playground for juvenile delinquents?”

Jessica realized that not everyone could understand what she was trying to do here, but she still couldn't help the irritation that shot through her at this man's ignorance. She could explain to him how Makeshift had turned her own life around, but she doubted he would understand. It was also none of his business.

“Teenagers need all the help they can get these days. I want to give them a place they can come to if things get rough. Let them know that someone cares. If you have a problem with that concept, I suggest you apply for another job.”

He shrugged. “You can build a bridge here if it makes you happy. One job is like any other to me. It would just seem more practical to sell this land and build something closer to town.”

“This is Stone Creek, Mr. Grant. I wouldn't consider selling even one acre of what my father has left me, practical or not. Once the review board approves my construction progress in early January, I'll have my license, and Makeshift will be a legitimate state-approved youth center.”

“And if they don't approve the progress?” he asked.

“They have to approve it,” she said firmly. Her chest tightened at the very thought that they might not. As if sensing her tension, Hannibal slipped his head under Jessica's hand.

Dylan folded his arms and leaned against the windowsill. “So when do we start?”

We?
Jessica bit back the first answer that came to mind and went with the second, more polite one. “I'm interviewing for the position tomorrow in town. One o'clock at the Bronco Diner in Cactus Flat.” She moved to a nightstand and opened the top drawer. “Fill out this application and we'll talk then.”

His gaze held hers, and even though he took the form from her, he never once glanced at it. “Shall I get there early to avoid the rush?”

“I'm sure that won't be necessary,” she said dryly, annoyed that he was making fun of her. “Just take a number and be seated.”

He held out his hand. “Until tomorrow, then, Miss Stone.”

Jessica hesitated, then placed her fingers in his palm. The texture of his skin was rough, and she felt a shiver run up her arm. His scent was masculine, the warmth of his touch disarming.

Quickly she pulled her hand away. “Tomorrow, Mr. Grant.”

He pushed away from the windowsill, then bent and rubbed Hannibal's head. The animal seemed to smile at him. “See ya later, pal.”

Jessica struggled to compose herself as Dylan crossed the room. When he turned abruptly at the doorway, her breath caught.

“I think your brothers are right, Jessica,” he said. “You shouldn't be out here alone.”

He turned and left then, whistling a Bob Seger tune. She moved to the window and watched as he walked to his motorcycle and pulled on his helmet. When he glanced up at her, she didn't even pretend not to be looking. He grinned, then got on his bike and left.

Jessica exhaled sharply. Her knees felt shaky as she sat on the edge of her bed. Hannibal laid his head on her lap.

“Some watchdog you are,” she murmured, absently stroking the animal's soft fur. “If you could talk, you probably would've invited him to dinner.”

Hannibal looked up at her and wagged his tail.

“I'm not hiring him,” she said firmly, taking the dog's head in her hands and staring into his eyes. “I don't need any distractions right now, and that man is trouble with a capital
T
.”

Hannibal whined, then barked softly.

“No.” She shook her head. “I need to concentrate on Makeshift right now. Everyone in my youth group is counting on me. There are too many kids out there who desperately need a place like this. I haven't time for romantic notions, especially concerning arrogant men who obviously don't understand the importance of what I'm doing here. Mr. Dylan Grant is going to have to find another job somewhere else.”

Jessica stood, nearly tripping over Hannibal as he circled her knees. She scooted him away, wondering what in the world had gotten into the dog. He'd never acted like this before.

She moved to the window, looking down at the street, and felt the steady beating of her heart. Come to think of it,
she'd
never acted this way before, either.

All the more reason not to hire the man, she told herself, then turned her attention back to the box of books she'd been unpacking. She lifted one heavy volume on the Old West and smiled. As of one o'clock tomorrow, Mr. Dylan Grant would be like the book in her hand—history.

* * *

“Oh, Lucas, isn't Mr. Grant wonderful?” Meggie asked as she watched the motorcycle disappear. “He's absolutely perfect for Jessica.”

Lucas stood in front of the hotel beside Meggie, his arms firmly folded. “I knew a man named Grant once. From Cheyenne. Town hung him for horse stealing.”

“The president of the United States also happens to be named Grant. Or at least he
was
president.” Meggie put her hands on her hips and faced Lucas. “Anyway, you're just being overprotective.”

Lucas frowned. “I am not.”

“Oh, really? Then what was that little business in the hotel room when Mr. Grant got a little too close to Jessica? I suppose it was a coincidence he suddenly couldn't breathe? If Hannibal hadn't stopped you, you might have hurt the poor man.”

“I didn't like what he was thinking.”

Meggie lifted one brow. “And since when can you read minds? That ability is for Hannibal only. And if Hannibal likes Dylan Grant, which he does, then that's good enough for me.”

With a flip of her head, Meggie turned and moved across the street to the saloon. Lucas watched her go, admiring the slender figure that had once been warm and firm under his touch. He smiled, remembering the soft moans she'd made when he'd kissed her the first time, and the shy touch of her hands on his body one afternoon in a small secluded cave not far from town.

His smile faded, and he stared out at the Texas plain. Something was happening. Lucas had felt it the instant Dylan walked into Jessica's room. It was something powerful, something important. He was filled with an overwhelming feeling of anticipation, a mixture of excitement and dread.

Lucas cursed his inability to understand what was taking place. Despite what people thought, ghosts had limitations and restrictions. He knew that something was going to happen, but he had no idea what it was. He also had no idea if it would be good, or if it would be bad.

He only knew that the minute Dylan Grant had come into town, none of them—Jessica, Dylan, Meggie and himself—would ever be the same.

D
ylan sat in the corner booth of the Bronco Diner, his legs stretched out comfortably under the table, and sipped a cup of hot coffee a pretty little brunette waitress kept filled. He'd polished off a hamburger and french fries a few minutes ago, then settled back with his coffee to enjoy the entertainment, which was watching Jessica in another booth across the aisle interview an interesting assortment of potential foremen.

She'd dressed very businesslike today, Dylan noted. Her navy blue suit was tailored, the skirt resting conservatively at her knees. She'd buttoned her white blouse to the neck and tightly pulled her dark hair to the back of her head, held there by a gold barrette. It was an obvious but futile attempt to downplay her femininity and discourage male interest.

Didn't she realize that by dressing so severely she actually encouraged a man's fantasy? Dylan had seen the way the men had looked at her: like they wanted to strip that suit off, pull her hair loose, then drag her slim body underneath their own. The woman was too naive for her own good, Dylan thought, his irritation building as each man took the seat across from Jessica.

Her sixth and current applicant, a long-nosed, thin-haired redhead, had never actually worked in construction, he explained, but had helped his brother-in-law build a carport once. When the man proceeded to describe the building of the structure in excruciating detail, Jessica quickly thanked him for coming and told him she'd call as soon as she made her decision.

Dylan had given Jessica his application over an hour ago, but she had yet to call him. Every time she finished an interview, she'd smile at him, then call someone else. Since there was only one more applicant left, a heavyset man with whiskers, she couldn't put off the inevitable much longer.

And since he had all the time in the world, Dylan ordered a piece of apple pie and settled back to wait.

The interview ended quickly after the heavyset man referred to Jessica as “girlie.”

When she finally turned to Dylan, he raised his brows and gave her a blank look. She frowned at him, then picked up one application and crossed over to him. She looked tired, he thought. And frustrated.

“Mr. Grant,” she said, staring at the form in her hand, “I've gone over your application.”

He gestured for her to sit across from him. “Is there a problem?”

She hesitated, then tugged off her jacket and sat.

“I'd say so. You have a structural-engineering degree from Indiana University, and you've worked on everything from high-rise construction to the building of bridges in the jungles of South America.”

“Does that disqualify me?”

“No, it overqualifies you.” She stretched her neck with a weary sigh, then undid the top button of her blouse. “Mr. Grant, did you read my ad in the paper this morning?”

He forced himself not to look as her fingers fiddled with the button. “My name is Dylan, and yes, I did read your ad.”

“Then you know how much I can afford to pay?”

He nodded.

“And you still want the job?”

She unclipped the barrette from her hair. Dylan watched as she shook her head and pulled her fingers through the thick strands. He felt hotter than the weather warranted, and his pulse began to pound.

He had to remind himself she'd asked him a question, then searched his brain to remember what it was. “Yes. I do want the job.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “I don't get it. You can have your pick of jobs and make ten times the salary anywhere else. Why in the world would you come here and work for the proverbial peanuts?”

“Would you like some more coffee, Dylan?”

Jessica glanced up at the waitress, Susan Davis, and frowned again.
Dylan?
Wasn't it strange, she thought irritably, that she'd been sitting in this restaurant for over an hour and she'd had her cup refilled only once? She was sure Dylan's cup had never dropped more than a quarter inch. So what if he filled out a T-shirt and jeans well? So what if that long dark hair and rough slow-talking voice made a woman's knees turn to water? She was a customer here, too, and the waitress's selective efficiency was quickly grating on Jessica's nerves. And so was the smile Dylan was so warmly displaying.

“Thanks, Susan.” Dylan pushed his cup closer. “And bring the lady here a hamburger and fries, please. I think she worked up an appetite interviewing all those men.”

Susan?
It certainly hadn't taken him long to get chummy, Jessica thought. “Never mind. I'm not staying that long.”

“I'll have seconds, then,” Dylan said with a shrug. “Extra cheese.”

Susan bounced off, happy to oblige.

Exasperated, Jessica leaned back against the vinyl cushions and kicked off her heels. She closed her eyes and breathed her contentment.

Dylan glanced under the table, then raised one brow. “Is taking off our clothes part of the interview?”

She frowned at him. “My shoes are too tight.”

He grinned back. “Your skirt is tight, also,” he said with a note of hope in his voice.

“My skirt stays on,” she said coolly. “And I'm not interviewing you anymore.”

“Does that mean I'm hired?”

She shook her head.

“So who are you going to hire?” he asked. “The fat guy who ‘accidentally' bumped your knee six times and dropped his pencil under the table four times?”

Jessica felt a fresh wave of anger just thinking about that lecher. She'd had to refrain from kicking him the last time he'd dropped the damn pencil. “Of course not. But since you were paying such close attention, you must have noticed that Mr. Thompson, my second applicant, was highly qualified. He was a carpenter for a housing developer in San Antonio and an electrician for a small construction company in Austin.”

“Oh, yes.” Dylan took a swig of coffee. “Mr. Thompson. The guy whose hands were shaking.”

“He was a little nervous, that's all.”

“I'm sure that's why he left here and went straight to that bar across the street.”

Jessica sighed with resignation and tucked her legs beneath her chair. “A pretty sorry lot.”

“And at the salary you're offering, you won't get better,” Dylan said pointedly.

“Except for you.”

He grinned at her. “Of course.”

And just who
was
he? she wondered. Other than the fact he was thirty-four and born in Maine, his application had been sketchy regarding his personal life. There'd been no mention of a wife—or wives, as the case might be—or children.

Damn that smile of his. She hated the way it made her control slip. He sipped his coffee, watching her with dark intense eyes that never seemed to miss a thing. She shifted slightly under his perusal.

“Which brings me back to my question,” she said with a calm she didn't feel. “With your qualifications, why would you accept what I'm offering?”

Susan set the hamburger and fries in front of Dylan, fussed over him for a minute, then when Jessica scowled at her, reluctantly moved to take another order at the counter.

Dylan slid the plate closer to Jessica. The smell of the fries was sheer heaven.
Just one,
she told herself, reaching for the plate.

“The first reason is that it's temporary work, nothing long-term,” he said. “I don't like to be tied down.”

No big surprise there, Jessica thought. A man who traveled on a motorcycle with little more than a duffel bag was hardly the type to build picket fences. “And your second reason?” she asked.

“This youth center you want to build,” Dylan said, “are you doing it for money?”

“Of course not,” she answered impatiently.

“And the land, Stone Creek, you could sell it and make a few bucks?”

Even the thought of selling one acre of Stone Creek sent a wave of indignation through Jessica. “I told you I would never sell.”

“So everything doesn't have to be about money, does it?” Dylan asked. “There are other reasons that motivate people, aren't there?”

Dylan saw the suspicion in Jessica's blue eyes. Not that he blamed her. He'd certainly be suspicious if he were in her place. He hadn't even listed all his past experience, but since he wasn't sure of the competition, he'd given her enough to assure him the job. He just had to convince her he was the right man.

The problem was he wasn't so sure anymore that he
was
the right man. He hadn't been prepared for his reaction to Jessica. Even as he watched her now, with her hair loose and the top of her blouse undone, he felt a wave of overwhelming lust for her. That was all it was, of course. Lust. But it was certainly stronger than anything he'd experienced before. And it certainly would complicate matters. As she nibbled delicately on a french fry, he couldn't stop the sweat breaking out on his skin.

He'd have to control his more basic instincts, that was all. Jessica was off-limits. Way off-limits.

“Okay, Mr. Grant,” she said, finally breaking the long silence.

“Dylan.”

She nodded. “Okay, Dylan. So maybe there are other reasons that motivate people. Tell me what yours are. I think you owe me at least that much.”

He thought about that for a moment. “Let's just say I've never done anything like this before.”

“Another notch in the experience belt, huh?”

“Something like that.”

Jessica couldn't stop the corners of her mouth from curving upward. It was hard to believe, incredible even, that a man with Dylan's qualifications would work for the pay she offered. “Christmas is just a few weeks away. Are you going to need time off to be with your family?”

He shook his head. “There's no notch in my belt for family, Miss Stone. Christmas is just another day to me.”

She couldn't imagine anyone feeling that way about Christmas. It was her favorite holiday. The most special day of the year, as far as she was concerned. She was torn between being happy he didn't need time off and feeling sorry for him. Dylan, however, did not appear to be a man that wanted sympathy from anyone.

“All right, then.” She met his steady gaze. “You're hired.”

“There is one more thing.”

“What's that?”

“I need a room.”

She nearly choked. “What!”

“Your salary isn't enough to live on. I need a place to stay.”

What was the saying? If something was too good to be true, then it probably wasn't? “I can't afford that. It would cost a fortune to rent you a room here in town.”

“I don't want to stay here. I want to stay out at Makeshift, to cut down on travel time and the expense of gas. Plus, if there's any problems, I'll be right there.”

It didn't matter that everything he said made sense. It wasn't possible. “You can't be serious. I can't stay out there with you, alone.”

“Why not?”

Her cheeks flushed bright red. “Because...well, because I can't.”

“I won't attack you, Jessica, if that's what you're afraid of. All I'm interested in here is a job.”

She was glad to hear that, but nevertheless, her ego still winced at the outright rejection. “I'm most certainly not afraid. It's just that, well, I like my privacy and...” She straightened the silverware on the table and fiddled with the napkin.

“And your brothers will kill you?”

She shook her head. “No. They'll kill you most likely.”

“Let me worry about your brothers. I'm sure they're reasonable men.”

“Reasonable?” Jessica gave a dry laugh. “Dylan, that word doesn't exist when describing the Stone men.” She spread her hands wide and sighed. “But it certainly will be interesting to watch you try.”

“So I'm hired?”

She couldn't believe she was doing this. She was insane. Although, she'd be equally insane
not
to do everything necessary to employ this man. She smiled at him and held out her hand. “You're hired.”

Dylan smiled back and took her hand. The connection was like grabbing a live wire. They stared at each other, each of them stunned at the awareness that radiated between them.

Dylan quickly let go, relieved that the waitress had chosen exactly that moment to refill his coffee cup and chatter about how much she liked motorcycles. He nodded politely, though he barely heard more than a few words, and wondered what the hell he'd gotten himself into.

* * *

“You did
what?
”

Jessica stood in the mesquite-clogged street in front of Makeshift Saloon and silently tolerated Jared's yelling. Arms folded, Jake stood beside his brother, his face set in hard lines beneath his black Stetson.

“I told you,” she explained patiently, combing her hair back from her face when a warm breeze caught the loose ends, “yesterday I hired a man named Dylan Grant to be my foreman, and part of his salary is a room here. I expect him any minute now, and I want you both to behave yourselves.”

“How could you do something so idiotic?” Jared continued. “You don't even know this guy. How do you know he's not a serial killer?”

“Because I know.” Jessica put her hands on her hips and looked at her brothers. They both had the same black hair and Stone-blue eyes as she did. Anyone else having a confrontation with two six-foot-four-inch angry men might be intimidated, but Jessica had learned at a very young age to stand her ground. “And Hannibal liked him, too.” She scratched the dog behind his ears.

Jake rolled his eyes, and Jared threw his hands up.

“Oh, I feel much better now,” Jared said, taking a step toward the dog. When Hannibal growled, Jared frowned and moved back.

Jessica smiled. “See. I told you he's a good judge of character. I'm still trying to figure out what Annie sees in you, sweet-tempered man that you are. By the way, how are the wedding plans going? It's only two weeks away.”