“Got plans for tonight?”
“Yes, I do.”
His eyes narrowed when she fidgeted. “With who?”
Rory glanced down.
Strong fingers lifted her chin. “With who?” he repeated.
“A couple of girls I met at the community center. We’re all single so we call it our Friday night date.”
Dalton continued to stare at her. “Then you’ll just have to invite me as your date next Friday night. Because, sweetheart, you’re no longer single.”
Her jaw dropped. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope.” He angled forward and flashed his teeth. “I want to make it very clear to everyone that you and I are together.”
“What if I’m not ready for that?” Rory demanded.
“Then get ready. I’ve waited long enough.”
“FYI: I don’t like the pushy bastard McKay side of you.”
Dalton got nose to nose with her. “FYI: Tough shit. I’m not hiding our relationship from anyone.”
“We don’t have a relationship. One lunch date, one dinner date and a bunch of stolen kisses do not a relationship make, Dalton.”
“Fine. Rory, will you go steady with me?”
She scowled at him. “Not funny.”
“You have a set number of dates in mind before we can call this what it really is?”
“What this is, is you having delusions about what we—”
His very loud, very male growl of displeasure stopped the flow of bullshit from her brain to her mouth.
“Don’t pretend this is one-sided.”
She said nothing.
Which seemed to further annoy him. “If you don’t want me in your life at all, say the word. I’ll walk away right now and you won’t see me again.”
Her mouth opened. Closed. She tried to open it again but she’d contracted a case of lockjaw in the past five seconds. She couldn’t force the denial out of her tightly closed lips.
That’s because you can’t deny it.
Christ. She had to be the most masochistic woman on the planet, jumping in the mosh pit with Dalton McKay again.
But Dalton didn’t gloat. He seemed relieved. “Answer the question. How many dates?”
Somehow, Rory tossed out, “Five dates. Real dates.”
“What constitutes a real date?”
“The usual. We meet. We talk.” Too easy. Add another stipulation. “And we kiss.”
“I’ll agree with that definition.”
Wait a second. Why was he being so agreeable? And why did she feel she’d stumbled into another trap?
“Our first date was down by the creek the time you asked if we could touch tongues because you didn’t get how French kissing could be fun and not gross.”
“That was not a date! We were ten and twelve years old.”
“Hey, I’m following your criteria.” His voice dropped to a husky murmur. “And we kissed that day, jungle girl. I still remember the taste of your lip gloss. Something sweet and fruity. The flavor was sugar…something.”
“Sugarplum.”
“You still use it?”
“My tastes are a little more refined than a ten-year-old girl’s these days.”
“Pity. Our second date was the night I so charmingly rid you of that pesky virginity. I kissed you then.”
“You’re insane.”
“Our third date was the night in Laramie when I drove you home from the bar and we ended up in bed. I kissed you then too.” His gaze dipped to her chest. “More than just your mouth, if I recall.”
Her face heated from his purely sexual look. “If I recall, I was drunk, so it shouldn’t count.”
“You sobered up damn fast after you threw up all the alcohol. You knew exactly what you were doin’ when you invited me into your bed.”
Why didn’t he have selective memory like most men?
“Then the night I caught up with you at the Twin Pines? Date four.”
Rory shook her head. “No way. That one is reaching.”
“How about the second time we were together in Laramie?”
She remained stoic. “I don’t even want to think about that time, Mr. How-fast-can-I-put-my-pants-on-and-run-out?”
“Not fast enough if I recall correctly. Didn’t you kick me in the balls?”
Rory smirked.
“I’ll disqualify that one. How about two nights ago when you came to my place? That was very date-like and we kissed. So by my count? We’ve reached that magical dating number today. Right now as a matter of fact.” He smiled with utter confidence and charm. “Face it, sugarplum. We are officially in a relationship. Feel free to tell your girlfriends you’ll have a plus one next Friday night for date night.”
The food arrived, cutting off her retort.
While she shoved bites of burrito in her mouth, Dalton kept sneaking looks at her and smiling, a little too…pleased with himself.
She set her fork on her plate. “You’re gonna make me ask about that smirk, aren’t you?”
“Nope. It’s not a smirk; it’s a smile. This is what I look like when I’m happy.” He picked up her hand and kissed her knuckles. “You have no idea how happy I am.”
Oh, how sweet.
Are you out of your fucking mind? He’s not sweet. This man has an agenda, he’s working an angle. And you’re falling for it.
“What’s wrong?”
You. Me. This. But mostly me because I cannot believe I’m getting sucked in by you again. “I, ah, think I ate too fast.”
His eyes showed concern. “Do you have antacids? If not I’ve probably got some in my truck.”
See? Sweet. Genuinely sweet. Like the time when you were kids and you jabbed a piece of wood in the bottom of your foot and he carried you to the cabin.
She’d forgotten that. What other good things had she forgotten about Dalton McKay? A lot.
What’s goin’ on between us ain’t really so sudden.
That freaked her the fuck out. She stood abruptly. “Thanks for lunch, I gotta go or I’m gonna be late getting back to work.”
That marked the first time she ran away from Dalton McKay.
Chapter Eight
For the past two days, Rory’s concerns, accusations, whatever they were, kept popping up while Dalton was alone working on the house. He admitted they had a tumultuous past, but it hadn’t started out that way.
Dalton remembered the first time he’d met Rory when he’d been nine years old. Most kids didn’t recall specific days from their childhood with such clarity, but meeting her had been a life-changing event for him.
Had he ever told her that?
Probably not. And if he told her that now she wouldn’t believe him. The woman was so damn suspicious of him. Not that he blamed her, given their history.
That afternoon he’d raced away from home as fast as his legs could carry him to the secret spot he’d discovered—a mini oasis compared to the dry, flat land around his house. The creek zigzagged, leaving one section accessible through the fence line. He’d been warned to stay out of the area, but the sound of water soothed him. The icy coldness of it numbed the pain from the strap marks on his backside. He could lie on the flat rock beside the creek and gaze at the sky, lazing in the sun like an old barn cat. Lazing in a way that’d get him whupped again at home. He’d hidden himself away there more than a dozen times, always alone.
Until that day.
A shout of, “Hey!” had jolted him out of the peaceful place.
Dalton had turned around so fast he’d tumbled off the rock. He’d been on his hands and knees, when a pair of red cowboy boots had stopped right in front of him. He looked up into the scowling face of a pigtailed blonde.
“What are you doing on my rock?” she demanded.
Before he could answer, she hit him with another accusation.
“You’re not supposed to be on our land.”
He’d picked himself up off the dirt and loomed over her. “Yeah, what are you gonna do about it
, short stuff? Tattle?”
“Maybe.”
“Hey, I know you. You’re in first grade.”
“I’m going into second grade,” she corrected him.
He eyed her suspiciously. “If this is your land, how come you don’t ride the bus with me’n my brothers?”
“Because my mom works in town and she picks me up after school.”
“What about your dad?”
“I don’t got a dad.”
“Why? Did he die or something?”
“No. It’s just me’n my mom.” She scowled. “How’d you sneak in here?”
“Didn’t sneak. I walked.” He pointed. “From that way.”
Her mouth formed an “O”.
“What?”
“You’re one of them.”
Even at age nine Dalton hadn’t needed an explanation on what she’d meant. But he’d immediately shot back, “And you’re one of them hippies.”
“Am not!”
“Are too!”
“Am not!” Then the blonde sprite had charged him, knocking him on his butt in the dirt. He’d cried out, not only because a girl had tackled him—a girl!—but by pouncing on him, he’d hit the ground hard.
“You take that back,” she’d shouted in his face.
She’d sat on him and kept his arms pinned down. Man, she was really strong. “Lemme go.”
“Not until you take it back.”
“All right, all right, you’re not a hippie.”
Not three seconds later she’d grinned at him and let him go before she stood.
Indignant, Dalton heaved himself to his feet. “I wasn’t really tryin’, you know. I could’ve gotten away from you at any time.”
“Then why didn’t you, huh?”
“Because I ain’t supposed to hit girls.”
“Oh.”
“What’s your name anyway?”
“Aurora Rose Wetzler. But everyone calls me Rory.”
“Aurora Rose? Ain’t that the name of one of them Disney princesses?”
She lifted her chin. “No. The princess in Sleeping Beauty was named Briar Rose when she was in hiding with the fairies. I’m Aurora Rose. Not the same at all.”
“Huh. I’m Dalton—”
“McKay,” she finished with him. “You’re in third grade.”
“Goin’ into fourth grade,” he corrected.
Rory walked around him and scrambled on top of the rock. “This is my rock.”
“Says who?”
“Says me.”
“Bet I can knock you off and make it my rock.”
“But you ain’t supposed to hit girls, remember?”
That’d put him in a dilemma. He’d scrambled onto the rock beside her. “Not the same thing. It’s like a contest. Or a game. Like playing king of the mountain.”
“That’s a stupid game.”
“We could play something else.” Might be fun to play with a girl for a change. He used to play with his cousin Keely but she bossed him around as much as his brothers did. Not that his brothers wanted to play anymore. And since he was older than Rory, he’d get to be in charge. “We could play pirates! The rock could be our ship.” Dalton struck a pose. “I could be the pirate king. You could be the princess I rescued from another ship.”
“No way,” Rory said. “I don’t wanna be some dumb princess. I wanna be the pirate king.”
“You’re a girl, you can’t be a king,” he scoffed.
“Then I’ll be the queen of the jungle.” She’d pushed him off the rock.
Rather than getting mad, he laughed at her audacity.
Surprised by his laughter, she laughed. And they’d become fast friends. Secret friends, running through the woods, splashing in the creek, making forts. The friendship parameters had changed during their teen years, but they’d been a constant in each other’s lives.
Dalton needed to remind her there was more than just bad history between them.
So on a whim Sunday morning he’d texted Rory, telling her he’d swing by her place at noon. But Rory’s dog, Jingle, was a lot happier to see him than Rory was—and Jingle growled at him.
Only not as much as Rory did. “You cannot just show up at my house whenever you feel like it, Dalton McKay.”
“I texted you.”
Arms crossed over her chest, she blocked the entrance to her cabin. “You didn’t ask if you could come over. You just said you were coming over. Big difference.”
Man, her hackles were up as much as Jingle’s—not that he’d voice that comparison. “So you’re not interested in the glazed donuts and raspberry-filled bismarcks I brought?”
Her gaze moved to the grocery bag dangling from his fingertips. “That is cheating. Plying me with my favorite donuts so I forgive your breach of etiquette.”
“Then why don’t you go ahead and add this onto my list of broken rules.” He pressed his mouth to hers, intending to share a sweet kiss. But the instant her lips parted, he couldn’t help but sneak his tongue inside for a tiny taste of her, which wasn’t enough. So by the time he forced himself to back off, his cock was as hard as his breathing.
Good thing he wore a long coat.
“Not fair,” she murmured against his cheek.
“I warned you I ain’t gonna play fair.” He kissed her temple. “I haven’t seen you for two days. Which is two days too long. So you gonna let me in? Or will I be sharing these donuts with Jingle?”
“Come in.”
Dalton kicked off his boots and headed for the small kitchen.
“Sit and I’ll get plates. Would you like coffee?”
“Sure.”
Neither spoke until they were both settled at the table with food and drink. “How late did you work last night?” Dalton asked.
“Till it closed at two. The bar side was hopping so I helped out.” She ran a hand over the top of her head. “That’s why I’m a mess. I slept in.”
“You don’t look a mess to me. You look perfectly beautiful, as always.”
Rory’s green eyes turned shrewd. “Yeah, I’m some stunner today. No makeup, my hair pulled into a ponytail and I’m wearing sweats.”
Dalton shrugged. “I stick by what I said. Ain’t the clothes that make a woman sexy.”
Not sure what to say, Rory focused on demolishing her donut. “So why are you here?”
“To bully-kiss you, ’cause I know you missed it.”
She snorted.
“I thought I’d see what your plans were for today.”
“Not much. Laundry. Catching up on some reading for work. Why?”
“Because I need furniture. You’ve got great taste so I’d like your help.”
“That’s it? You’re falling down in the charming and cajoling department. Try again.”
Fishing for compliments? He could oblige her. “Rory, my stunningly gorgeous, sinfully sexy, surprisingly sweet, whip-smart and all-around perfect dream woman. If you don’t help me choose decent furnishings, I’ll buy mismatched bean bag chairs and TV trays and call it good.” Dalton leaned forward, the picture of earnestness. “Please, goddess of all that requires a shrewd eye and a deft hand, save me from myself.”
She laughed. “That’s much better. We going into Rapid City?”
“I thought we’d start in Spearfish.”
“Why? You interested in antiques? Secondhand stores?”
“No and no.”
“That narrows your shopping choices in Spearfish.”
Jingle put her paws on Dalton’s knee and he ruffled the dog’s ears. “Then let’s head into Rapid. I don’t want anything that has to be special ordered. The furniture has to be in stock so they can deliver it next week. I’m sick of sitting on the damn floor and sleeping on the floor.”
Rory drained her coffee and stood. “I’ll go get ready.”
Dalton was pleasantly surprised when Rory walked out of her bedroom about five minutes later. In his past experience with women, “getting ready” took anywhere from twenty minutes to a
n hour. “That was fast.”
“No need to fuss when you’ve already seen me au natural.”
He tugged her against his body. “I haven’t seen you au natural for a long damn time and I’m makin’ it a priority to change that.”
Rory twined her arms around his neck. “I half-expected your reason for showing up today was to convince me to take a tumble or ten with you, since I actually have a bed we could tumble into.”
“Tempting.” He kissed her. “Make no mistake that I want you like fucking crazy, but I won’t rush it.”
“So if I said I wanted you to drag me to my bed and ravish me right now…?”
Dalton clamped his hands on her ass and started pushing her toward the bedroom.
She laughed. “Just checking.”
He’d always hated shopping until he’d gone with Rory.
She refused to let him settle for bachelor-bland furnishings. But the couch, loveseat and recliner she picked were comfortable and not too girly. He chose a king-sized mattress and she convinced him he needed a nightstand and a chest of drawers.
However, she wasn’t invested in his home entertainment choices at the electronics store. Dalton picked the most basic setup, including a dish for satellite TV and the internet, a DVR and a DVD player and it still set him back more than he expected.
On the way back to Wyoming, he joked, “I intended to take you someplace nice for helping me out today, but I’m thinking DQ is the extent of my budget.” Might make him pathetic, but he was testing the waters—see if Rory had an issue being seen in public with him in Sundance. “I’m sure Dewey’s has a decent Sunday special. If you’re all right eating there.”
“Cool.”
Dewey’s Delish Dish was nearly empty. The hostess seated them in the back row of booths.
Rory ordered hot tea. Dalton ordered iced tea. They both chose the same open-faced hot turkey sandwich and a dinner salad.
“See? We have things in common.”
“Food? That’s hardly an endorsement for our compatibility.”
Their easy companionship from the day had vanished.
“Dalton, I need to ask you something.” When she struggled to speak he knew he wouldn’t like her question. “Why do you think a relationship will work between us?”
“It just will.”
The waitress dropped off their salads.
“Why are you supposedly so crazy about me?”
Redneck Romeo (Rough Riders) Page 8