"Taylor?"
Obviously he was a lot more pooped than he thought. "I told you about her," he said levelly. "The day-camp lady who takes care of Seth in the evenings when I can't pick him up on time."
"Oh, yes, yes, I remember now. The kindergarten teacher, right?"
"Yeah, that's her." Level voice or no, there wasn't a damn thing he could do to keep his heart rate from kicking up a notch or two, or a memory from the other day from jarring loose and floating to the surface of his brain. He'd actually picked Seth up from camp early—well, on time—to find Taylor in the grass out behind the church with at least two dozen little kids piled on top of her, laughing so hard she could barely get her breath. When she'd untangled herself from the heap and gotten to her feet, grinning and flushed with half the kids still clinging to her like seaweed, he'd wanted to kiss her so badly he thought he'd choke.
Only then she'd done…something. A small gesture, maybe, the certain way she'd looked at the kids when they'd run off. Nothing he could put into words. But suddenly, it was as if he could feel what she was feeling, her emotions spilling from her psyche to his and ricocheting through him so sharply it hurt.
A second later, if that, she returned her gaze to his. And smiled, a half tilt of her bare lips that seemed almost apologetic, though God knew for what. And the purely libido-driven drive to kiss her from only moments shattered, to be instantly supplanted by an ache infinitely more basic and a million times more complicated, to pull her into his arms and simply hold her, protect her, comfort her, with gentle words and heartfelt promises he'd stopped believing in himself a long time ago.
And how dumb was that? He had no power to protect her, or anyone else, from anything. Still, the moment had jolted his emotions like a slug of bad booze on an empty stomach. Why this woman, for God's sake? And why now? Because she'd been dead right the other night, that he and Seth were leaving when the project was finished, that there was no point in anybody becoming attached to anybody else.
Even if they weren't leaving, there was no point in anybody become attached to anybody else.
"What?" he said, suddenly realizing his mother had been talking.
"I said, he's probably still grieving. After all, it's only been, what? A month?"
"Something like that, yeah."
"Just give him time, mijo." She paused, then said, gently, "Give yourself time. Nobody's watching you, waiting for you to make a mistake."
"Except Seth."
"Especially not Seth. As long as he knows you care, that's all that's important. So," she said, in her now-I'm-changing-the-subject voice. "Tell me about this Taylor."
Joe actually laughed. "Nothing like being subtle."
"Subtle is for people much younger than I am. She sounds like a sharp cookie. Is she young, old, what?"
"She's about my age," he said calmly. "As are lots of people. And she's just my brother's temporary caregiver."
"Of course she is. Is she pretty?"
"Pretty is subjective."
"Then I guess I'll have to decide for myself."
Despite the temperature still hovering somewhere between sweltering and blistering, a cold chill tramped up Joe's back. "What are you talking about?"
"In the if-the-mountain-won't-go-to-Mohammed department," Danielle said, "I called that Double Arrow place you're working on, and talked to somebody named Hank—he sounds like a very nice man—and he said, sure, Kristen and I could come stay in one of the cabins for the last week in July. As long as we understood how messy it was with all the construction going on. And that it got pretty noisy sometimes during the day."
"What?"
"From everything you said, it sounds like a beautiful place, and we got a good deal since it's under construction. And since we haven't really had a chance to see you in so long, I thought this would be a great way to kill two birds with one stone. Three, actually, since Seth can meet his sister, then, too."
The phone melding into his palm, Joe said quietly, "Do you really think this is a good idea? If Kristen thinks I'm going to be able to hang out with her all the time…"
"We've talked about it, and she understands."
Does she? he wanted to ask.
But even greater than the risk of disappointing his sister—who didn't take disappointments well under the best of circumstances—was the risk of his mother's reaction to his working the extra job. Although Danielle had always been grateful for Joe's financial help, it would be a major blow to her pride to discover the extent of that help.
"What is it?" his mother said, teetering on the brink of sounding hurt. "Don't you want us to come?"
"It's not a matter of wanting you to come or not," Joe said. "It's the timing that worries me. Look, after this project is done, why don't I plan to take a couple weeks off, and come and see you then? Seth should be more prepared to meet Kristen—"
"And then something else will come up," his mother said softly, "and then something after that, and before you know it another six months will be gone."
Joe waited out the rebuke's sting, then said, "I'm sorry, Mom. You know I'm only doing this for you guys."
"I do know, mijo. So I'm doing this for us. All of us. So we'll see you on the twenty-fourth. Brace yourself."
After she hung up, Joe yanked open his car door, climbed inside and rammed the key into the ignition. Tires squealed as Joe peeled out from the Double Arrow's parking lot and away from the motel. And once he hit the road, for a second—maybe more than a second—he was tempted to keep on going, driving away from everything and everybody who had some sort of claim on him. Maybe drive straight through to Denver. Or California. Why not? Maybe not forever—although forever sure seemed like a good idea at the moment—but just for a while. Just long enough to find himself again underneath this mountain of responsibilities and gotta-dos.
Except when he got to the turnoff leading to Taylor's place, he turned. With a huge sigh, and a choice cuss word or two, but he turned. Because there was a kid expecting him to and a woman who would read him up one side and down the other if he didn't.
Sometimes, life was just like that.
As he approached Taylor's house, however, curiosity nudged aside his bad mood when he noticed the commotion in her front yard. What kind of commotion, he couldn't say, since a breeze kicked up a cloud of dust just then, throwing a sandy-orange film over the whole scene. Plenty of jumping around, though, it looked like. And, when he got close enough to hear, lots of laughter.
Lots of laughter. Taylor's, mostly, but Seth's, too, his sparkling giggles darting in and out of her darker, richer belly laugh like a brightly colored bird through a lush forest. They seemed to be doing something with the dog. Who didn't look all that happy, from what Joe could tell.
A bath, Joe finally realized as he parked the car. They were giving the dog a bath.
Or he was giving them one, it was hard to tell. Woman and boy were wetter than the dog, Taylor's hair half out of its ponytail, plastered to her face and pale neck like so many dark red snakes, the tops of her breasts glistening over the neckline of the most unsexy bathing suit Joe had ever seen. Some dark color, blue, he thought, with wide straps, the bottom half concealed by a pair of baggy running shorts.
But it wasn't her body that had his attention, not now. Now all he noticed was the energy pulsing around her, from her, through the laughter that surged up from someplace deep inside her.
And Seth…look at him, having the time of his life, wet and filthy and giggling his head off. Like a regular little kid.
"No, hang on to his collar!" Taylor said breathlessly as she vigorously scrubbed the dog's back with a wide brush, while water spurted every which way from the hose clamped in her right hand. "Oakley! Stay still! Oh, no you don't—!"
She grabbed at the slippery skin folds sagging from the dog's neck, but the beast broke loose, knocking Seth—who was limp with laughter by this point—on his butt in the grass, only to get no more than five feet away before he started to shake, a blur as
shockwaves rippled from muzzle to tail. A million water droplets flashed in the late-day sun, hovering airborne for a second before drenching them both even more. Then the dog shot away, cavorting around the yard and baying to beat the band. Taylor and Seth took off after him, half laughing, half yelling.
"Come back here, you miserable beast! Ooooh…!" Breathing hard, the redhead stopped, bent over at the waist, her palms pressed against her thighs as she glared at her dog, who, now safely across the yard, pranced in place with his tongue lolling out of his mouth, before letting out a challenging "Rworf!"
Now he was having a good time, boy, Joe thought on a chuckle.
His bad mood had all but vanished. And even though he should be bone-tired—hell, he was bone-tired—watching those two nuts trying to wash a dog that outweighed the two of them put together…God knows, it didn't make any sense, but suddenly, he felt downright invigorated.
"Need some help?" he heard himself call over.
"Joe!" Seth yelled, running to him as Taylor's head swung around. Water from her dripping hair sliced through the air; her smile dimmed, just barely, only to rekindle with a dazzling radiance that took Joe's breath.
While Seth started in about a dead animal and Oakley stinking to high heaven and how they were trying to give him a bath before he "fixiated" somebody, Taylor straightened, her chest rapidly rising, falling. Rising. On second thought, maybe that swimsuit wasn't as ugly as he'd first thought, especially when she brought one hand up to swipe a hank of wet hair off her forehead, parking the other on her hip. "You know anything about herding dogs?"
"Not a whole lot, no."
"Then you'll fit right in." Something like concern flitted across her features. Or maybe that was amusement. "This is gonna get messy, though."
"I imagine I'll live," he said, stepping closer. To Taylor, not the dog. "Can't do much to jeans and a T-shirt."
"You don't know Oakley."
"You can get him, Joe, right?" Seth said, hanging on to his hand.
The dumb dog had backed himself up against the white picket fence that ran along one side of the yard. "Piece of cake." He ignored Taylor's snort beside him. "So he smells really bad?"
"We're talking eau du rotting flesh."
"Charming."
"You said it."
He chuckled. When the wind blew from the east, he smelled wet, soapy woman, which was both very good and very bad. When it shifted, however, he smelled wet dog overlaid with dead animal. Bad didn't even begin to cover it.
"I'm getting a poodle next time," Taylor said in a low voice as they both maneuvered closer. "Something prissy with bows in its hair that sits in my lap and doesn't go rolling around in dead stuff."
He glanced over at the soggy, mud-streaked woman next to him. "Somehow, I can't see you with prissy."
"People change," she said, only to then let out a bellowed "Get him!"—good God, the woman had a set of lungs!—as she lunged for the dog. Who slipped right out of her grasp to mow Joe down like an army tank.
"You okay?" Taylor tossed out, sprinting past as Joe once again found himself communing with the sky.
This was getting real old.
"Never better," he muttered. He sprang to his feet and went after the dog again, thinking it was probably a good thing he hadn't decided on a rodeo career. Several minutes later, however, through a combination of dumb luck and macho determination—and spurred on by the cheers from his audience—he'd corralled the mutt and herded him back to his bath, where both adults hung on to him long enough for Seth to wash and rinse. At long last, Taylor pronounced the beast clean enough and they let him go. The dog took off like a shot, barreled around the yard three times at about ninety miles an hour, then flung himself down to roll in the dirt.
Joe looked at Taylor, who was frowning at the dog. "And the point of that was?"
"Wow, Joe," Seth said. "You've got, like, dog tracks all over you."
He looked down. Sure enough, paw prints tracked from his thighs up to his shoulder. And everywhere there was a paw print, a muscle whimpered in pain.
Then he looked over at Taylor—wet, dirty, flushed and incredibly, unselfconsciously female as she strode over to the porch, where she'd apparently left a stack of towels—and everything else whimpered in another kind of pain.
So he broke the connection. Because he'd already used up his rebellious allotment for the day—the month, the year—and indulging in the kinds of thoughts that seemed hell-bent on taking over his brain would only lead to misery for all concerned.
"Here," she said, flinging a beach towel in his direction before wrapping Seth in another and vigorously rubbing his hair dry, chuckling low in her throat at Seth's squirming. "Lord, you're as bad as the dog—stay still, goof!"
A breeze whisked across the yard, making her shiver. And Joe's gaze wandered. He couldn't help it. It had been too long and she was too…there.
Taylor glanced up, then glanced down. And chuckled again, even as she got a third towel for herself and wrapped it around her breasts.
After Seth went inside to use the bathroom, Joe muttered, "Sorry."
"For what?" she said, her grin unaffected as she reached up to squeeze the water out of what was left of her ponytail. "Being human?"
Exactly.
"I'd—we'd—better go. It's getting late."
"Oh." She shook the excess water from her hands, her smile fading slightly. "I could probably scrounge something up for dinner if you want to stay—"
"No, that's okay, I don't want to put you out."
"You wouldn't be, believe me—"
"Aw, c'mon, Joe," Seth said, the screen door slamming shut behind him as he came back outside. "Please? I was having so much fun!"
Yeah. So was I. Joe's gaze shifted to his brother's, and he saw in the boy's hopeful expression exactly what Taylor had feared would happen—that he was becoming too attached.
Just as he imagined anyone who was really looking would see the same thing in his.
"Not this time, squirt," he said, the damp towel hanging limply from his hand, the bruises on his body not nearly as tender as the ones being inflicted by the kid's big brown eyes. "I've got a lot of work to do tonight—"
"Just for a little while? Please?"
"I'm sorry, Seth."
His brother's eyes darted to Taylor—whose silence Joe didn't find the least bit reassuring—then back to Joe, before he tromped back inside to gather his things. Two seconds later he was back, stomping down the stairs and over to the car, his brows practically meeting in the middle.
Joe finally looked at Taylor, whose attention was fixed on Seth's rapid retreat. Her arms were crossed, her mouth set, but when he started to say something, she simply shook her head.
"Don't make it worse," she said, reknotting the towel under her arms before stomping over to the porch to snatch up Seth's abandoned towel.
"You don't understand—"
"It was just dinner," she said, whirling around, her eyes blazing. "A friendly gesture, that's all. Because you helped me with the dog and you look like you could use a couple hours off. And besides, the kid was having a good time, for crying out loud! I thought that's what you wanted, to see him feeling better!"
"I do! And I'm grateful to you! But—"
"Never mind," she said on a sigh, then held out her hand. "Give me the towel. And now you'd better go, Seth's waiting."
"I can take it back and wash it—"
"Oh, for God's sake, just give me the damn towel! It's no big deal!"
He shoved the towel at her, opened his mouth, realized he didn't have a damn thing to say that would make a lick of sense, then turned and strode off to the car, refusing to believe that had been hurt he'd seen in her eyes.
* * *
The minute Joe's car was out of sight, Taylor dropped to the porch step and gave in to a good old-fashioned sobfest. One of the perks of living out in the middle of nowhere was that she could bawl her eyes out and nobody would hear her. Whimpering in concern, Oakley haule
d his much nicer smelling self up beside her and nosed aside her arm to lay his head in her lap.
"It's so s-stupid, Oak," she said, stroking him. "Like I said, it's only d-dinner. So why am I acting like an id—" her breath caught "—diot?"
She grabbed her towel to wipe her eyes, only to realize she'd grabbed Joe's instead because suddenly his scent was everywhere, pungent and arousing and comforting and frustrating. She threw down the towel with a groan, only to snatch it up again and bury her face in it because she was obviously pathetic. No, beyond pathetic—hopeless. Not to mention hornier than any living creature should ever have to be. All of this combined to set her off again, so she sat and blubbered until she was all blubbered out, then sat and sighed deeply until she got so light-headed she thought she might faint.
Then she sat a little longer, hugging her dog and listening to the breeze whispering in the trees, until the woman who was perfectly fine with her dog and her house and her kids, even if they weren't her kids, moved back inside her head. Because that other one—the whiny, weepy, pathetic one who seemed to have forgotten that she'd chosen this life—was a real pain in the butt.
Then Taylor hauled that butt off the porch steps, gathered up the soggy towels and carted them inside to throw them in the wash.
* * *
From the other side of the booth at Ruby's, Seth watched his big brother mess around with his French fries, like he was eating them only 'cause they were there, not because he really wanted them. Seth didn't feel a whole lot like eating, either, but his stomach kept growling so he figured maybe he'd better. Besides, he liked Ruby's a whole lot—how it always smelled like coffee and fried onions and hamburgers, the way Ruby and her husband Jordy acted like everybody was their best friend, not just a customer. Even Joe and Seth, when they'd come in the first time. Seth'd eat here every day, if he could.
Other than asking him if he wanted to come here for dinner, he and Joe hadn't talked hardly at all since they left Taylor's. Seth got the feeling Joe and Taylor were mad at each other, but he couldn't figure out why. Especially since they'd been laughing so much and stuff when they'd all been chasing the dog. Then Seth had gone inside to pee, and when he'd come out it was like a big cloud or something had come over everybody. It didn't make sense. And he didn't like it, not one bit. In fact, the more he thought about it, the madder he got. Mad enough to get up the nerve to ask his brother how come he had time for them to come here for dinner when he'd said he was too busy to stay at Taylor's?
Everybody's Hero Page 9