by Darcy Burke
“Don’t get in the way,” Hayden said.
Sara threw him a glare. “Don’t be a bossypants. I’m older than you.” Not that age had ever stopped him from overprotecting her.
Derek stood up from a chair near the desk Tori had been sitting behind. “I’m older than both of you. Hayden, shut up. Let’s go, we need to get to the office. We have a conference call in thirty.”
Hayden exhaled. “Never a dull moment. See you guys.” Derek preceded him from the trailer, but Hayden paused, his hand on the door. “Hey, this is the second time I’m leaving the two of you alone together. Do I need to be worried? Maybe have Dad polish his shotgun?” He threw Dylan a narrow-eyed stare that evaporated when he cracked a smile.
“Listen to Derek,” Dylan said. “Shut up.”
“Methinks the gentleman doth protest—”
Sara practically shoved him out the door and slammed it closed. She waited a moment before sneaking a look at Dylan, who was watching her intently.
“You didn’t tell them . . .?”
“God, no. He’s just being a stupid brother. You have those, don’t you?”
“More than enough.” He stood up behind the desk. “Were you serious about helping with demolition?”
“Sure, why not? Breaking things apart sounds kind of fun.”
He grinned. “It is. Careful, Archer, a woman who likes to do construction is a bit of a turn-on for me.”
And just like that her insides melted. Not good. “Oh, maybe I shouldn’t come then.”
He looked down and shook his head. “No, you should. I need to stop saying stuff like that. You’re just too damn fun to flirt with, what can I say?” He cocked his head to the side. “I don’t suppose you have a hard hat?”
His question thankfully jolted her from her own flirtatious thoughts. “Seriously?”
He chuckled. “Guess not. I’ll get you outfitted. Just dress for work. Don’t wear anything that can’t be stained or ripped.”
Ripped? Her mind reverted right back to its amorous bent as she imagined him ripping her clothes. Maybe working with him wasn’t such a good idea. “Are you sure I won’t be in the way?” Ugh, now it sounded like she was listening to Hayden.
“Absolutely not. When it comes to demolition, we can use all the extra hands we can get.”
She worked really hard not to look at his hands. Or remember what they were capable of doing to her. “I have no idea what to do.”
“I’ll show you. Like you said, it’s breaking things apart. I’m sure you can do that.” His gray-green gaze raked over her, heating her from head to toe. “Despite your preference for pink, you don’t strike me as terribly girly. You did, after all, kick my ass at pool.”
“True.” She smiled softly, really warming to the idea of letting out some physical aggression. “I can definitely break things. Just ask my brothers. Taking apart their Legos was one of my favorite childhood pastimes.”
“Then you’ll be a natural,” he said. “We’ll start at eight, but don’t feel like you have to be here at the stroke of. You’re not on the clock.”
“Okay. Thanks for letting me help.” And because she couldn’t think of any other reason to procrastinate her departure, she went to the door. Pausing at the threshold, she looked back. “See you.”
“See you,” he said, sitting back down at his desk.
She closed the door and stalked back to her car.
Ugh!
He flirted with her. He stopped flirting with her. He gave her vibes that he wanted to repeat their one-night stand. He gave her vibes that he wanted to keep their relationship professional. What the hell?
Wednesday’s demolition and the chance to release her frustrations couldn’t come fast enough.
AFTER DITCHING HIS brother Saturday night, Dylan invited him over for dinner and to watch the Blazer game Tuesday evening. Cameron arrived with a bottle of pinot noir in hand and sniffed as soon as he stepped inside. “Did you cook?” he asked incredulously.
“Don’t act so surprised,” Dylan said, “I’ve been known to cook.”
“Actually, I was surprised you didn’t ask me to pick up a pizza.”
It was true that Dylan typically resorted to take out, especially when he had guests, but for some reason he’d decided to cook. Maybe it was that conversation he’d had with Sara about successfully cooking. He’d been thinking about her an awful lot lately. He should probably knock it the hell off. It was bad enough that he kept flirting with her. He’d stepped over the line yesterday.
Dylan tuned from the door and led his brother down the hallway to the kitchen.
“Damn, that smells pretty good, Dylan. What did you make?”
Dylan crossed back to the stove and stirred the pot. “Chili. I hope it tastes as good as it smells.”
Cameron set the wine bottle on the large granite-covered island. “I’m sure it will. I should’ve brought beer instead.”
“I have beer. Help yourself.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” Cameron went to the fridge. “I barely cook, but damn, I have kitchen envy.” He traveled a lot for his job as a sales manager for a local winery, so he lived in a small townhome in “downtown” Ribbon Ridge.
“Great, then you can clean it later,” Dylan cracked.
“Funny.” Cameron popped the top off his beer. “You need another brewski?”
“Not yet.” Dylan tasted the chili. Not bad. “We can eat whenever.”
“No rush. Game’s not for another twenty minutes or so.” Cameron pivoted and looked at the TV in the living room, which was on with the volume at half. He went around the island and sat in one of the stools. “How’s the project going?”
“Starting demo tomorrow.”
“That’s the best part.”
Dylan pulled sour cream and cheese from the fridge. “Like you’d get your hands dirty.” He went into the pantry and snagged a bag of tortilla strips.
“Look at you with all the fancy condiments,” Cameron teased. “Has a woman been shopping for you? Sara Archer maybe?”
Dylan nearly dropped the bag as he crossed back to the island. He ripped the top off the package before setting it down. “Why would you say that?”
Cameron shrugged as he took a drink of his beer. “Because you hung out with her the other night. Or did she ditch you?”
Dylan considered lying. He didn’t want anyone to know about their . . . what was it? Connection? Flirtation?
“Uh-oh, you’re hesitating,” Cameron said, leaning forward with interest. “What happened?”
“Nothing, we played pool. No big deal.”
“Then why’d you think about it first? You weren’t gonna tell me, were you?” Cameron grinned. “You didn’t take her home, did you?”
“I did not.” That night. “Like I said, it’s no big deal. I wasn’t hesitating. We played pool, ate some potato skins, and I walked her to her car. End of story.” Minus the part where he’d gone home and dreamed about her.
Cameron sat back, looking a little disappointed. “That’s too bad. She’s cute.”
“She’s also my boss, so knock it off, Cupid.”
“Fine, fine.” Cameron took another swig of beer. “But dude, you seriously need to get back out there. Why didn’t you come out with us the other night? I was worried you were maybe bummed out about Jess getting married.”
Dylan took a couple of bowls from the cupboard and set them on the counter. “Bummed isn’t the right word. Surprised, I guess.” He grabbed a ladle from a drawer and spooned chili into the bowls. “Which is dumb because it’s not like we’re friends or anything. I haven’t spoken to her since the divorce. It’s weird that I never run into her in town.”
“No, it’s not. You barely do anything in Ribbon Ridge. Sometimes I wonder why you moved back here since you keep such a low profile.”
“I do stuff. I went to the Ribbon Ridge Festival last summer.”
“Yeah, I guess you did. But you work too much—on the job and here at your hou
se.”
Dylan arched a brow at him. “Yet you envy my kitchen, so clearly it’s work well spent.”
Cameron flashed a smile. “Smartass.”
Dylan moved the chili-filled bowls to the island where he’d set out the condiments. “Sour cream?”
“Hit me—all of it. You have any olives?”
“On your chili?” Dylan shrugged. “I guess that could work. But no, I don’t have any. See, I clearly don’t have anyone shopping for me.” He slapped the condiments on both bowls and slid one to his brother. He followed it with a large spoon.
“Looks good, bro,” Cameron said. “You going to answer my question about getting back out there? And I’m not talking about picking a girl up here and there. You’ve mastered that. It’s time you find something a little more permanent.”
“You’re really going to give me advice? The guy who picks up a new babe every time he travels, which is at least once a month.”
Cameron stirred his chili, mixing in the sour cream. “I’m younger than you. I have time to sow my oats.”
“Oh, I’m approaching middle age or something? I need to hurry up and get remarried before my testicles dry out?” Dylan blew on his steaming chili. “I may never get remarried, and that’s fine.”
“The hell it is. You deserve a family and some happiness.” Cameron held up his spoon. “Don’t argue with me. You think you’re alone, but you’re not. It’s time you stopped acting like a loner.”
Dylan shook his head. “You sound like my mother.”
“Yeah, well, maybe she’s right.”
“God, please don’t ever say that.”
Cameron grinned. They tackled their chili for a minute before Cameron spoke again. “I just want you to be happy.”
“I am,” Dylan said. “I’m really pumped about this job.” And about how much I’ll see Sara doing it. Damn, if he wasn’t careful, he was going to develop an obsession for his boss. Not cool.
“There’s more to life than work.”
Yes, there was. But the more Cameron talked about it, the more Dylan realized what a failure he was at relationships. The only people he saw on a regular basis and whose company he enjoyed were his employees and Cameron—and his other brothers when they were home. And his sister when she wasn’t at school. But he even sucked at those relationships, because he rarely texted or e-mailed. He’d learned to keep his focus pretty narrow. There was far less disappointment that way.
Frustrated with the conversation, Dylan let his gaze drift to the TV. “Highlights.” He grabbed the remote and jacked up the volume as Cameron turned his head. “Come on, we can move to the table.”
Dylan picked up his bowl and beer and went to the table that sat between the kitchen and the living room.
Cameron joined him, shaking his head. “You are the master of deflection.”
“And you’re a nosy son of a bitch.” Dylan finished his beer. “Grab me another IPA.”
Cameron bowed. “Yes, sir.” When he came back, he started talking about the game, evidently taking the hint that therapy time was over.
But his words stayed with Dylan, and at the back of his mind, he wondered if he really ought to look for something more.
Chapter Nine
ON WEDNESDAY MORNING, Sara dressed in a pair of old jeans and a T-shirt. After a quarter hour of footwear indecision, she’d finally opted for a pair of hiking boots. It was the one thing in her closet that most closely resembled the work boots Dylan had been wearing yesterday.
On her way to the monastery, she checked in with Craig, who’d begun to settle in a little better. It was the first conversation in which he hadn’t asked her to do something. As was becoming usual, they barely talked about anything personal, just exchanging cursory “How are yous?” and “Fines.”
She pulled into the monastery at eight thirty. The parking lot contained a half-dozen or so cars but not Dylan’s truck. She wasn’t on time, but was it possible he was late too? No, she was certain he’d be punctual. And sounds of activity carried on the breeze from the direction of the cottage, which sat a few hundred yards away down a dirt track.
Anxious to get over there, she dropped her purse and lunch into the office trailer and locked the door behind her before starting toward the cottage. The sounds of demolition grew louder with each step.
Dylan’s work truck was parked at the end of the dirt track. Toolboxes were open and there was a flurry of activity visible through the open front door of the house.
Dylan came outside. “Sara, you’re here.”
“You doubted I’d come?”
“Nope, just glad to see you.” Was he? Her stomach did a silly little flip. “Come with me, I have some stuff for you.” He passed by her on the way to his truck.
Sara turned to follow him. “What sort of stuff?”
“Work stuff.” He opened the passenger side door and withdrew something then turned around. “Work hat, gloves, and goggles.”
She couldn’t help but giggle. “They’re pink. Even the goggles.”
He held them out. “Of course.”
She took the hard hat, which held the gloves and goggles in the bowl. “You just happened to have these lying around? I can’t imagine you in a pink hat. Or gloves. Or goggles.”
He gave her a mock horrified look. “I prefer something in mauve.”
She laughed outright. “Do you even know what mauve is?” She’d overseen dozens of weddings and wished she had a dollar for every groom who hadn’t the faintest idea what the wedding colors were. They were just “blue” or “purple” instead of cerulean or lavender.
He exhaled as he closed the door of his truck. “You caught me. I don’t know mauve from puce. Is puce actually a color? If it is, it must be ugly because, well, just, puce. What kind of word is that?” His pale gray-green eyes twinkled in the morning light.
“I agree it’s a gross-sounding word. And you’re right, it’s an ugly color. It’s reddish brownish purple. It’s actually the French word for flea and got its name from the bloodstains left by flea droppings on linen.”
His jaw dropped. “That’s disgusting.”
“Completely.”
He chuckled. “Why do you even know that?”
With a shrug, she extracted the gloves and goggles from the hat, then set the pink plastic bowl on her head. “Hopelessly addicted to Wikipedia and other sources of useless information.”
Nodding, he led her toward the house. “Good to know. Next time I need to learn about bug dung, I’ll know who to ask. Come on, I’ll introduce you to the crew.”
As he took her inside and introduced her to each worker, she was glad she’d come to help out. His guys were all so nice and so clearly happy to be here working. Warmth spread through her and she felt good about hiring them, even if it meant she was working closely with the guy she was trying to forget.
Forget? Fat chance of that, though she was trying.
His right-hand guy, Manny, grinned at her, his dark eyes twinkling. “I like how your hat and stuff matches your shirt.”
Beneath her zippered heather gray hoodie, she was wearing a pink and white horizontal-striped shirt. “Actually, your boss got them for me.”
Manny flicked a surprised look at Dylan. “Did he?”
Dylan gave him a look that might’ve held a hint of exasperation. Sara couldn’t tell for sure. She needled him a little to see his reaction. “I wish he’d given me some pink boots, too. I doubt they make those in a sturdy enough variety, though.”
Dylan’s gaze dipped to her feet. “Actually, they do. You can buy them online. I’ll send you the link.”
She surveyed the men working. Already, things looked different. The kitchen, which had been closed off from the dining and living area, was starting to open up as the crew was hard at work demolishing the separating wall. She slipped on the goggles and tugged on her gloves, which fit perfectly. She snuck a look at Dylan’s profile, surprised—and delighted—by his thoughtfulness. “Where do we start?”
“They’ve got things pretty well handled up here. I was actually going to start in the basement. Have you been down there?”
“Briefly.” It contained a laundry facility and some storage space, which they’d use for, well, laundry and storage. “It’s hard to tell how much space there’ll be for storage since it’s broken up into those weird rooms.” Besides the laundry room, there were three distinct spaces that looked as if they’d been built out at various times without much thought. One of them was in an odd L shape.
“I already took some tools down there,” Manny said.
“Thanks.” Dylan held a hand out toward the kitchen, where the door to the basement was located. “After you, my lady in pink.”
She flashed him a smile and walked into the kitchen. She stopped at the door. “You first. Last time I went down there, I walked into a spider web.” She and Tori had spent a lot of time discussing the renovation and they’d had more than one meeting in the building.
“Manny’s already been down there this morning.”
“No thanks. Manny’s not very tall. You first.”
He laughed. “Coward.”
This was going well. They could be friends. He wasn’t being overtly flirtatious, and she was doing a good job not thinking about the way he kissed or the way the light gray T-shirt stretched taut over his shoulder blades.
She had been doing a good job.
He opened the door and preceded her down the stairs. To the left was the laundry room. Light spilled in from the high windows set into the foundation. To the right was the L-shaped room that curved back behind the stairs. It too was illuminated by windows. In front of them were two more rooms, both with a variety of storage features—a word that didn’t quite do justice to the closets and ramshackle shelves that looked as though they might fall down.
He led her into the smaller of the two rooms. There weren’t really walls—at least no sheetrock or plaster—just bare studs and boards, like they’d carved out this space from the larger room and hadn’t finished it. Wood had been mounted between the studs to create a hodge-podge of shelves. Decades of paint, and jars, and boxes of knick-knacks sat here and there.