Dylan

by C. H. Admirand

  Irritation shot past angry and straight into mad as a hornet. The deep green beckoned to him, luring him into where he’d crash against the rocks. He’d pegged her as a siren the first time he laid eyes on her. He knew she’d either dig her nails into him until she was ready to set him free, or take bites out of him until she’d chewed him up and spit him back out.

  Even knowing what she’d likely do to him, he was still ready and willing to let her. What kind of fool did that make him?

  Don’t know, how many kinds are there?

  His grandmother always claimed his grandfather had a twisted sense of humor; sayings from his youth had him remembering why.

  “Are you finished up for the night? It’s late.”

  He reached into his pocket for his watch. He pushed in the button and the cover popped up. “It’s only eleven fifteen.”

  “I’m tired, and I’m sure the neighbors would appreciate the quiet.”

  “Darlin’, your neighbors are shop owners who all live on the other side of town, not upstairs like you do.”

  Her cheeks turned a delightful shade of dusty rose that he’d come to recognize as her body’s reaction to his teasing when she didn’t quite know what to say. Instead of the snappy comeback he expected, she turned around and walked upstairs.

  “Well, hell.” What female didn’t have to have the last word?

  The one you want.

  Shaking his head, he watched her walk away, noticing the stiff set of her shoulders. There didn’t seem to be anything that he said that didn’t set her off. Maybe it was time to start gentling his little filly.

  He collected his tools and stowed them in their proper place, that way he’d always have them. Looking around, he found the push broom he’d used the day before and swept up after himself. He carried his toolbox outside, set it in the truck bed, and on his way back inside, he heard the sweet sound of her voice calling his name. A slow burn ignited inside of him. He acknowledged the desire and dug deep to control the lust threatening to burn him alive.

  “Are you coming?” she called from the open doorway.

  He grinned. “Darlin’, I’m just getting warmed up. I’m not even excited yet.”

  He’d used that line before but never meant it. With Veronica DelVecchio, everything was different.

  Watch yourself, Son, there’s quicksand ahead.

  Chapter 9

  She had to turn her back on him, or else he’d see the desire sprinting through her system, setting off sparks of need so intense, she was sure it would light up the velvet dark sky. What was she going to do about Dylan?

  He was a man with a capital M, wasn’t afraid of hard work or getting his hands dirty. Her grandmother would have approved of him, as she never had Ronnie’s first husband. Not that it mattered now.

  “Wait up!”

  She heard him bounding up the stairs behind her, but she didn’t wait for him. She’d been working on an apology and it wouldn’t be right if there wasn’t the element of surprise. Setting out a plate with a slice of just-baked pecan pie and mug of coffee, she was ready when he walked through the door into her tiny kitchen.

  He looked at her with a hunger so strong, it tugged at her core. Before she could open her mouth to speak, he seemed to draw within himself and take a step back. “Darlin’, you must be a mind reader.”

  Unsure of whether he referred to the coffee or the pie, she waited.

  “It was pure torture catching the smell of that pie baking as it wafted down the stairs and wondering if you’d offer me a bite.” He paused and grinned. “Of pie.”

  They both laughed, and the tension in the room eased. He’d put his Stetson on, but removed it when he walked into the kitchen. She reached a hand toward him, nodding to his hat. He hesitated before giving it to her. Placing it on the other side of the table, she didn’t see him step toward her or pull out her chair until she backed up and bumped into it.

  “Oops, sorry,” he apologized. “I was just trying to be a gentleman.”

  It made her feel good inside that as tired as he was, he wanted to remember his manners for her. She felt special. “Thanks.”

  “My pleasure.”

  When he sat down, she passed him the sugar bowl. “I put two spoons in already, but wasn’t sure just how sweet you liked it.”

  “How did you know I like it black with sugar?”

  Her cheeks warmed, and she hated that she was blushing, but more than that, she was embarrassed that he’d know she’d asked how he liked his coffee. May as well fess up. “I… uh… I asked Mavis.”

  His dark eyes gleamed. She couldn’t look away, caught in the crosshairs like a deer in the headlights. He didn’t say anything, just shook his head and scooped up a forkful of pie.

  Nerves dancing, she waited for his reaction. It was her friend’s recipe—she’d never roasted her pecans before putting them in the pie before.

  “Mmmm… Lord Almighty, this pie’s sinful.”

  He took another bite and closed his eyes as he chewed and swallowed. He opened his eyes and his gaze met hers. “Ronnie darlin’, you’ve got to move out to the Circle G so we don’t have to wait for you to drive on out with meals. It worked for Lori… well, most of the time we thought it had, but her plans changed. There’s a small room downstairs off the kitchen you could use if you want to.”

  “So, you just want me for my culinary abilities?” She couldn’t believe she’d just said that… or felt disappointed that he might have changed his mind about wanting her. Teasing a man like Dylan, who had a dangerous edge to him, was like teasing a wild animal. You never knew when he’d turn and walk away or jump you. A shiver of anticipation raced up her spine.

  He noticed. “Penny for your thoughts,” he said, eating the last bite of his pie.

  It was odd that he hadn’t said anything about wanting her. Damn! Had he changed his mind? Was she too contradictory, sending him mixed messages? Mavis had warned her that men like Dylan Garahan didn’t walk into your life more than once.

  She’d missed her chance to test his strength against her own and run her hands all over his righteous muscles. She really wanted to taste the skin by his tattoo. Would it be salty after spending the evening doing carpentry work downstairs?

  Her skin tingled thinking of the journey her tongue could take from the tattoo on his left pec over to his breastbone, tracing a path between his ribs, down the happy trail to heaven—

  “Darlin’, if you keep looking at me that way, we’ll be burning up the sheets on your bed, and I don’t think you’re ready to trust me enough to get naked with me yet.”

  Her mouth dried up. He’d certainly put her fears to rest. The man was still interested. She tried to clear her throat but couldn’t; there wasn’t an ounce of moisture left. He pushed her mug closer to her hand. She looked down and wondered if she would choke if she tried to sip it. Finally, she lifted it to her lips, sipped, and felt the moisture return to her mouth.

  “You know it’s gonna be good, but I won’t push you. I can wait.”

  “Dylan, you don’t know anything about me.”

  “You’d be wrong about that. You’re not a quitter; you didn’t turn tail and run when those teenagers busted up your shop and destroyed your stock.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but he held up his hand, and she fell silent.

  “You work hard; you’re loyal to your friends. You cook like an angel, and Lord, I’m hoping you’ll trust me soon, ’cause I just know you’ll love me like the devil.”

  Shock waves rolled up from her feet and crashed over her head as his words hit her dead center, brushing against her frozen heart. She could feel the cold lump begin to thaw. Mavis was right about Dylan: there wasn’t anyone else like him. She knew; she’d been looking for a long time.

  He nodded to her, pushed back from the table, and grinned. “I’ll just leave you with that thought. When you’re ready to let me love you, darlin’, you just give me a call. You know where to find me.”

  He grab
bed his hat off the table and put it on his head, his movements smooth and sure. Just like the man. Nodding to her, he touched the brim of his hat and was gone.

  What a study in contrasts he was: hard, yet not in his heart where it counted; strong, but she sensed he wouldn’t use it against someone weaker. Pure pleasure to look at, but if she told him that, he’d probably look at her like she was crazy. He wasn’t arrogant about his looks, but he was sure of himself and what he could do with his two hands and the good sense God gave him.

  “Oh crap!” She sank down on the chair as the realization washed over her. “I’m already in way over my head.”

  Nonni would tell her he’s a nice young man and to give him a chance.

  “I’m not ready to settle down, get married and have kids—let alone twins!”

  Maybe she shouldn’t tell Nonni too much about him. She’d probably urge Ronnie to open her heart and trust him.

  “But, Nonni,” she wailed. “Twins?”

  One for each arm. Your heart’s big enough… trust him. Damn it, her grandmother’s words echoed through her heart. She really needed to talk to Nonni, despite the fact that her grandmother would likely urge her into Dylan’s arms. Sunday was a couple of days away, and she’d already called her grandmother. “Time to stop worrying about it, and pick up the phone.”

  “Hello?”

  “Nonni, it’s me… I think I’m in big trouble.”

  ***

  Dylan’s gut churned and his jeans were too tight; they cut into him when he slid onto the seat. He shifted until he could sit without causing any permanent damage.

  “That woman’s going to be the death of me.” He shut the door, put it in drive, and fought against the urge to spin his tires, peeling out of the parking space in front of her shop.

  “When did I get so sucked in that I’d let a female tie me up in knots like this? She’s not like—” He couldn’t say his former girlfriend’s name without seeing images of their years spent growing up together, as their relationship changed from friends to lovers. He’d survived that particular train wreck when he’d finally listened to what she was saying and realized she was leaving, but didn’t think it was wise to revisit the scene of the accident.

  “I should just turn this car back around and—” His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “No. I want her to open up and trust me, damn it!” The tension coiling inside of him eased, but his hand ached where he smashed it on the wheel. He’d learned that particular lesson the first time around: inanimate objects always win; too bad he couldn’t think when he got riled.

  You’re stuck on her, Son.

  Grandpa always liked to rub it in when he was in the right and Dylan or one of his brothers was in the wrong. Fine time to remind me. The knot of tension at the base of his skull started to throb. He rubbed at it, but he knew it wouldn’t go away any time soon.

  “She’s got me hard all the time just thinking about her.” He blew out a breath and let the drive back home distract him. Better off paying attention when he was driving—another lesson where the inanimate object won. “Women.”

  A little while later, he turned off the main road onto their land. Pushing the gate to the Circle G open, he got back into his truck. When he pulled through to the other side and got out to close the gate, he couldn’t help but wonder if she was as frustrated as he was. Did women even get all hot and bothered just thinking about a man? Hell, he already knew that answer; he’d seen Ronnie’s reaction to him a couple of times now. That first night he’d claimed her lips and she was his for the taking—too bad her conscience reined her in. She would have been explosive in bed.

  Sitting in the cab of his truck, he looked into the rearview mirror and an odd thought swirled around in his aching head. “Jesse and me should have gotten our brand tattooed right alongside of the shamrock.” He shifted into drive and let that thought simmer while he drove up to the ranch house. His lights swept across the front porch and then moved on, illuminating the well pump and barn. He parked but didn’t shut off the headlights.

  He stared at the side of the barn and sighed. “Got a couple of boards that need nailing down, didn’t get to it yet.” Wildfire had gotten upset over something and kicked at the wall. “Probably that mare Tyler said O’Malley brought by a couple of days ago.”

  He shut off the engine and killed the lights. It was after midnight, but he wasn’t tired and he was too wound up to sleep. Knowing his horse had heard the truck, he grabbed a handful of oats when he walked into the barn and past the other horses, promising to feed them in a few minutes. Wildfire came first with him. The horse always would; he’d saved Dylan’s life zigging when Dylan wanted to zag. He’d have gotten trampled if he hadn’t trusted his mount and given him his head. “Smart, aren’t you, boy?”

  Horse and man eyed one another over the top of the stall door. Finally, Wildfire tossed his head high and snorted. “You’ve always got an opinion, don’t you?” The sorrel shook his head and nudged Dylan’s elbow.

  “Do you really care, or do you just want the oats?” He opened his hand and offered the treat to his horse, careful to keep his fingers out of the way; he’d been nipped before and it hurt like hell.

  “She’s killing me,” he confessed, leaning his forehead against Wildfire’s neck. As if sensing Dylan’s mood, the horse blew out a breath. When Dylan didn’t move, the horse tucked his head down, forcing Dylan to move or get caught in a headlock.

  “Women are nothing but trouble.” The answering whicker had him chuckling. He stroked the horse’s forehead in long smooth motions down to his nose. Wildfire snuffled into the hand Dylan cupped beneath his muzzle. “Sorry, boy, that’s all I have for tonight. Besides,” he said giving him one last pat to his jaw, “your barn mates would be jealous and start kicking out their stalls if I don’t deliver their promised treat.”

  Dylan always kept his promises. He passed out handfuls of oats to the rest of the horses, turned off the light, and was ready for bed; caring for the horses always soothed him. With no moon, the yard was dark, but the path from the barn to the house was well worn. Sometimes it soothed him when he thought of his mother and his grandfather walking the same cinder path from the barn to the house. There was another path that led out to the herb garden and a series of paths and old wagon roads that wound past the pond and headed in all directions to where they grazed their stock. The ranch house was at the center of it all—the heart of their land. The love for it kept the Garahan clan strong.

  “Out pretty late aren’t you, Bro?”

  Dylan’s heart jolted, not that he’d admit that to his little brother. “Up pretty late, aren’t you, Jess?”

  His brother’s snort was as close to a chuckle as Jesse was liable to get these days. “Can’t sleep.”

  Dylan walked up the steps and leaned against the porch railing opposite where his brother sat on the porch swing in the dark. “Whiskey?”

  Jesse swirled the glass in his hand, tipped it back, and emptied it. “Was.”

  Now that his eyes had adjusted to the dark, he hunkered down to look beneath the swing. “Where’s the bottle?”

  Jesse snorted again. “I tossed it over in the bushes, so you and Tyler wouldn’t know I’d been drinking.”

  Dylan clenched his hands into fists and then relaxed them. The need to pound something, or make that someone, until he was senseless was so close to the surface it took all of his control to keep the lid on it. “Did you break it?”

  Jesse looked over toward the barn and was quiet for so long, Dylan wasn’t sure he was going to answer. “Only thing broke’s in here.” Jesse thumped a fist against his heart.

  “Damn.” Dylan’s gut clenched. He knew exactly how his brother felt. “Been there, got over it,” he said softly. “You will too. Give it time.”

  “The hell you say!” Jesse shot to his feet and shoved Dylan backward. “You never loved Sandy like I loved Lori.”

  Dylan’s back smacked against the porch railing hard enough to feel the
imprint of the wood grain. The lid shifted and some of his anger seeped out. He gave as good as he got and shoved his brother.

  Jesse stumbled and landed on the swing. The impact forced it backwards against the opposite railing, the resounding crack echoed in the night a heartbeat before Jesse ended up on his backside with the swing splintered all around him.

  “Shit for brains! Dad built that for mom right before he shipped out to Beirut.”

  Dylan’s anger erupted. He dove for Jesse as his brother was gaining his feet. The two hit the railing like bulls at ramming speed. The rail broke, dumping the brothers over the side and into the flowerbed on the other side.

  Jesse fought like a wild man, but Dylan was more than ready to meet his brother’s fists with his own. The night echoed with the sound of fists meeting flesh and bone grinding against bone. Jesse got in a sucker punch that drove the air from Dylan’s lungs. As he struggled to draw in a breath, the back porch light flicked on and bathed the scene in a soft golden glow.

  “What the hell is wrong with you two?” Tyler was loaded and ready for bear. The sharply indrawn breath coming from behind him had Dylan shaking his head to clear it.

  Damn, they’d woken Tyler and Emily up. Struggling to his feet, he reached out a hand to help Jesse up out of the trampled garden. He looked at Jesse, then Tyler, and answered, “Nothing.”

  Jesse nodded at him and turned to Tyler. “Now.”

  The oldest Garahan was visibly vibrating. Dylan and Jesse looked at one another and grinned. Dylan said, “Bring it on, Bro!”

  The touch of a hand to Tyler’s back stopped what would have been one hellacious brawl. They hadn’t gotten into one in a couple of years. Dylan was sorry his brother stopped. “Could’ve gone another round,” he grumbled.

  “What’s gotten into you two?” Tyler demanded.

  He and Jesse looked at each other again and shrugged simultaneously.

  Emily was standing next to Tyler with her arms crossed beneath her seriously stellar breasts. “Well, are you going to answer your brother?”