The Taming of the Bachelor (14 page)

It wasn’t right. Wasn’t fair. Not that life was always fair. But still. It was deeply upsetting to see Tyler lying spent on the family room sofa with his face all bruised and swollen.

But at least Tyler was quiet and calm, and Addison had finished her homework. Paige had time to think about dinner.

As well as time to think of Dillon.

She shouldn’t think about Dillon.

Paige pulled beef from the refrigerator, set it on the cutting board and went in to check on Tyler once more.

But he was fine. He’d found his laptop and was turning it on.

She returned to the kitchen and somehow she was thinking of Dillon.

She gave her head a swift shake. Thank goodness he was leaving town tomorrow. She’d feel better once he was gone. She wouldn’t have to deal with any more phone calls from her concerned best friends, wondering if she was okay, and if there was anything she wanted to talk about...

Yes, she’d told both McKenna and Taylor, and no. She was fantastic and there was nothing new or interesting to share.

Thank goodness both had dropped the topic but she couldn’t help rolling her eyes at their concern. Would they have been as worried if it hadn’t been a Sheenan?

Probably. But knowing it was a Sheenan couldn’t have helped.

I
t wasn’t hard to find Sam Melk’s office on Main Street. Sam had gone to work for his father’s residential real estate company a couple years ago with a vision for the future: buy available and struggling Paradise Valley ranches, subdivide them into mini-ranches, and sell these ranchettes to affluent city folks who fantasized about owning a piece of rugged Montana.

Melk Realty wasn’t the first to chop up pastures and farms in Paradise Valley, and wouldn’t be the last, but it still rankled old ranching families that some of the best grazing land was going to folks who didn’t care about cattle, horses, or Montana’s history.

Dillon had made a point of avoiding the controversy surrounding the development of Paradise Valley. When he left Montana for college, he knew he was pretty much gone for good. He’d come back only to tide things over, but in working the ranch these past three years, he’d developed a bond with the ranch that he hadn’t felt before.

Fortunately, Trey was back and committed to Sheenan Ranch, so the family spread was protected. Hopefully, it was protected. He’d hate to see the ranch go the way so many others had gone.

Parking his truck on Main Street, he pocketed his keys, walking north a block, passing Java Café, where Lucy was clearing a window table and spotting him, smiled and waved.

He smiled back, and crossed the street before the light, knocking snow, salt and ice from his boots before pushing open the door to Melk Realty.

It might be thirty degrees outside with a good gusty wind, but the real estate office’s reception was toasty warm, glowing with rich woods, bronze art pieces, and sleek, subtle lighting. Dillon was all too aware that the expensive designer touch was not for the locals house hunting, but for tourists who’d wandered in, smitten with the idea of owning a bit of Marietta’s historic charm or one of the ranches lining Paradise Valley.

The front desk was empty when he opened the door but seconds later a beautiful blonde emerged from a back office, eyes lighting as she spotted Dillon.

“Hey, stranger,” Charity Wright said, grinning. “What brings you in? Not thinking of selling the ranch, are you?”

Charity was the middle Wright sister and a couple years younger than Dillon. He knew Jenny best—she was just a year older than he—she had married champion bullrider, Colton Thorpe, last year.

“
No
,” he answered emphatically, popping open the thick snaps on his heavy sheepskin coat. “How long have you been working here? I thought you worked for Stan Joplin?”

“I did. But he sold his business. He’s heading back to Missoula.”

“Really? Why?”

She gave him a pointed look.

And then Dillon got it.

Stanley had been engaged to McKenna Douglas and had a big Christmas wedding planned, but then Trey returned to town the day before the wedding, and showed up at St. James, interrupting the service, and more or less kidnapping McKenna and their five-year-old son, TJ, from the church, leaving Stanley to deal with the shocked guests, and his broken dreams, on his own.

If you didn’t know Trey, you’d say it wasn’t one of his finer moments. But if you did know him, you’d know he had no choice. McKenna was his soulmate. He had to fight for her. He’d had no choice.

“I feel bad for Stan,” he said.

Charity sighed and shuffled papers. “He knew she didn’t love him. He knew she still loved Trey. He told me that several times.

“But he went for it anyway. That takes guts.”

“Hmph. Maybe.” She folded her hands on the stack of papers. “So, what brings you in? Which of the Melks did you want to see?

“Sam.”

“Sam Jr. or Sam Sr.?”

“The one Jenny and I went to school with.”

“Jr.”

Dillon hesitated. “Does Sam Jr. happen to have a son?”

“Two. Sam III and Cole.”

“How old are they?”

“Sam’s 10...I think he’s in 5
^th
grade, and Cole’s just a baby, preschool, I think.”

“Great. Thanks. And yes, I’d like to see Sam Jr.”

P
aige was in the middle of making dinner when the doorbell rang. She turned down the heat beneath the bubbling stroganoff, and headed for the front door, glancing out the living room window on the way, spotting Dillon’s truck parked at the curb.

Her pulse did that funny little flutter whenever she saw him, and she groaned, exasperated by her reaction. And yet she honestly couldn’t help it. She didn’t want to feel this crazy rush of adrenalin every time he was around. It just happened.

Once in the entry hall, she could see his shadowy shape through the beveled glass panes of her front door, and she sucked in a quick, nervous breath. He was so tall out there on her porch, his black head tipped, hiding his square jaw. But even with his head down, he was rugged. Masculine. Appealing.

She hated that she still found him appealing. Hated that she’d been expecting his return for much of the evening, and it’d been a battle of nerves and anxiety. And that breathless race of excitement.

That breathless fluttery thing was the problem. It would be so much easier dealing with him if she simply didn’t care. She could shift him into the friend zone if her body didn’t come to life every time she was around him. Instead, Dillon Sheenan made her body hum and her skin tingle, sensitive.

Get a grip, Paige
, she told herself sternly, reaching for the knob and opening the door.

The front porch on her Victorian wasn’t small but he made it feel tiny, dwarfing the space with his height—he was so very tall—and big frame. It wasn’t just his coat that made him look broad through the shoulders. He was built underneath the coat...and shirt...thick shoulders and chest, flat abs, dense muscle.

“Any success?” she asked, tucking her hands behind her back, hoping to hide the fact that she was trembling. Silly to be so jittery. She was eight years his senior, supposedly a mature woman. She needed to act mature, not like a kid.

He drew a pair of glasses from his coat pocket and held them up so she could see how the bridge had been neatly wrapped with a thin strip of duct tape. “They were broken. I’m sorry. But I did superglue it first. Hopefully it will get Tyler through until you can order new frames.”

“Where were they?”

“In the snow. Sam III led me straight to them.”

“And they were already broken?”

“Yeah.”

“Not good.”

“Has Tyler told you anything?”

“No.” Paige took the glasses from him and glanced down at the pair. Dillon had done a good job putting the frames together. “But these are definitely wearable. Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

“I’m serious,” she said quietly, grateful.

“So am I.”

Her head jerked up and she met his gaze, and his long black lashes fringing eyes that looked like dark amber in the hall light.

“Truce?” he said.

Her brow creased. “We were never fighting.”

“Come on, babe. You’ve been furious with me.”

“Not furious—” she broke off, held her breath as her eyes burned and prickled. She didn’t know if it was the endearment, babe, or the fact that he didn’t understand. He didn’t know what it felt like to go from so excited to so shut down. It had been such a wild rollercoaster of emotion. Either way, it was behind her. Behind them. It didn’t really matter. “Tell me about Sam. You talked to him. Did you find anything out at your end?”

“Not much,” Dillon admitted. “Which is why I’d like to talk to Tyler. Can I?”

She looked up, searched his eyes, trying to see what he was thinking. “I don’t know if he’ll tell you anything. He’s proud.”

“No surprise there.” His deep voice dropped even lower and the corner of his mouth lifted. “He is your son.”

There was something so knowing and intimate in his voice that she exhaled hard, heat rushing through her.

She didn’t want to like Dillon this much...didn’t want to be attracted. He was too young, too handsome, too rugged, too sexy, too everything.

“We’re about to have dinner,” she said, stalling, uncomfortable about the idea of him talking to Tyler, uncertain what Dillon would say.

“No problem. I won’t stay long.”

Still she hesitated, chewing on her lip. “I’m not sure.”

“Why not?”

“I’m worried about him.”

“I am, too. He took quite a licking back there this afternoon.”

“I know. And what concerns me most, is that he could have avoided it.” She swallowed hard and looked up at Dillon, her gaze meeting his. “Tyler’s smart. Really smart, but he’s got...pride...and I’m concerned he didn’t back down from the fight.”

“You would want him to back down?”

She ignored his tone. “Of course. I don’t want to see him hurt.”

“Neither do I, but you can’t encourage him to run from a fight. He’ll just end up being someone’s punching bag—”

“He already was!”

“So teach him to defend himself, and hold his ground, and it will help him in the long run. Tyler might be small, but he’s obviously tough, and that’s a good thing. Not something you want to squash.”

“But if he can’t win a fight...?”

“Then he’ll at least go home with his pride.”

“I hate this,” she whispered. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I’m not sure, either, but I’d like to talk to him.”

D
illon could see the indecision in Paige’s eyes. She didn’t hide her emotions well. He made her nervous, and he knew why. It was the same reason he’d gone home Saturday night instead of heading upstairs to her bedroom. She was dangerous. She wreaked havoc on his control. What he felt between them Saturday night was unusual. He didn’t have that intense connection with others. There had been an energy between them, an awareness, that made the air crackle and hum.

Even now the air crackled and hummed.

It was her. She had this effect on him. She made him want things—want to do things—he couldn’t feel and do with her.

Saturday night as he drove back home to the ranch, he’d had a good twenty-five minutes to regret not going into the house with her. He told himself if he’d just done it—had her, taken her—this need would be gone. The desire would be met and the itch satisfied.