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A Husband in Wyoming

Page 9

by Lynnette Kent


  “Glad to hear it.” He aimed the truck into the parking lot beside a building with a sign for Kate’s Diner. “This is the best food in the county, except for Susannah’s. Also the only restaurant in Bisons Creek.” His grin emerged. “Shall I wait for you to come around and open my door? Would that restore your independence?”

  “But then we might have to deal with your wounded masculine pride—a dangerous prospect. I’ll let you get out on your own, thanks.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Jess scowled at him. “I’m hungry. Let’s go find some food.”

  And some answers to her questions. She didn’t want to provoke him in public, but an entire day had passed without any concrete progress on the interview. At this rate, she’d be making up the article as if it were a fiction short story.

  As little as he wanted to cooperate, Dylan might prefer that solution, anyway.

  * * *

  DYLAN WASN’T SURPRISED to find the diner full of customers, practically all of whom he knew. He nodded and smiled at them as he guided Jess to the one open table along the wall.

  “I’m going to pull out your chair,” he said into her ear. A whiff of her cologne teased his senses. “But only because everybody is watching. Don’t take it personally.”

  When he sat down across from her, she was smiling. “There does seem to be a lot of attention directed this way.”

  “That’s a small town for you.”

  The smile faded. “I remember.”

  Before he could probe that reaction, their waitress arrived. “Hey, Dylan. Haven’t seen you in quite a while. Guess you all are busy up there with those kids?”

  “Hello, Ms. Caitlin. We are pretty busy this summer, with one job or another. This is Jess Granger, a magazine journalist. Jess, Caitlin’s on the rodeo team at her college, planning to turn pro.”

  The pretty blonde nodded. “Barrel racing is my life. Are you writing about rodeo? I’d be glad to talk to you.”

  “Actually, I’m writing about Dylan, here. But I’m learning about rodeo, and I might be able to make an article on that subject work.”

  “You’re writing about Dylan? That’s cool. He was awesome with saddle broncs. I remember when I was a little girl watching him ride.”

  Dylan put his head in his hand. “Now I feel old. Just get us some drinks, Caitlin. Take your young self away.”

  “So old. You’re all of twenty-seven.” Jess was laughing at him. She looked so gorgeous, laughing...but then she sobered suddenly. “I’ve got as many years on you as you have on her. Now I’m depressed.”

  “Caitlin will be lucky if she’s half as beautiful when she’s your age.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “That doesn’t help, thanks all the same.”

  He decided to challenge her. “Why not? You said this afternoon that you have a great life with all you could want. You wouldn’t be able to say that if you were nineteen and just starting out.”

  “True. At nineteen I was working three jobs to pay for college, and sleeping four hours a night.”

  “What kind of jobs?”

  “Waitress. Laundromat attendant—that’s when I got my schoolwork done. Research assistant, where I learned how to mine the library and computers for information.”

  Caitlin brought their drinks—Dylan’s usual iced tea and a diet soda for Jess. “The special tonight is fried chicken and gravy with potato salad, green beans and Kate’s homemade rolls. Or I can bring you a menu.”

  “Do you have a big salad?” Jess asked. “Lots of vegetables? And vinaigrette dressing?”

  “Sure. Do you want cheese or cold cuts on it?”

  “No, thanks. But I would enjoy one of those rolls.”

  Dylan ordered the special and sent the waitress on her way. “You’re the smart one, given how much Susannah is feeding us. But I can never resist Kate’s chicken.”

  “Ah, but I noticed all those pies in the cabinet behind the counter. I’m imagining the day will end well with a piece of coconut cream pie.” She folded her arms on the table, elbows in her hands. “So let’s get down to business here. Where do you envision your career going in the future? What is your long-range plan?”

  At that moment, a hand landed on his shoulder. “Hi there, son. How are you doing?”

  Dylan got to his feet to shake the portly man’s hand. “Good, Mr. Harris. I hope you’re well.” He leaned down to kiss the cheek of the tiny woman just behind him. “Mrs. Harris, you look so pretty this evening. Did you get your hair fixed?”

  She giggled. “You always notice, Dylan, dear. Wish somebody else would.” Her gaze went to Jess. “It’s so nice to see you out with a young lady for a change. I swear you live like a monk most of the time.”

  “The nicest girl in town is already taken,” he said, but he felt his cheeks heat up. “This is Jess Granger. She’s writing a magazine article.”

  “About Dylan? Well, that’s very nice. Is this a magazine we can get here in town? We’ll all be glad to read about our hometown boy.”

  “Um...” Jess obviously didn’t know how to explain.

  Dylan stepped in. “I’ll make sure Kip orders a bunch of copies for his bookstore.”

  Mr. Harris saw Caitlin hovering at the end of the aisle with their plates. “We’d best let them eat, Merle,” he told his wife. “Though this young lady could use more than just a salad, pretty as she is. Have a good night,” he said, shaking Dylan’s hand. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  “Which gives us a lot of leeway,” Dylan said as he sat down. “I hear he was a wild one as a teenager. And if his grandsons are anything to go by, the stories are true.”

  “Oh, they’re true.” Caitlin set Jess’s salad in front of her, and then gave Dylan a huge plate of chicken. “My granddad was one of his pals, and he tells some crazy tales.” Hands on her hips, she surveyed the table. “Anything else I can get you right now?”

  “A longer belt,” Dylan suggested. “But we’re fine, thanks.” When Caitlin was gone, he looked across at Jess. “As we were saying before, I probably do know everyone in town. You said you understand what that’s like.”

  “Did I?” She speared some lettuce and a cucumber slices with her fork.

  “You mentioned growing up in small towns in Connecticut.”

  “I talk too much. But, yes, I grew up where people tend to know what you’ve been doing, where you’re living, and can list the mistakes you’ve made. They remember you’re a foster kid and they disparage you for that fact.”

  “Is that why you’re living in New York City? You prefer the anonymity?”

  “I went to NYU for college. And stayed for the jobs.”

  “You must have friends from school you still see.”

  “A few. But this is supposed to be my interview. Do you take your dates to other towns, so people here don’t bother you?”

  He sipped his tea. “They don’t bother me. I’m always proud to be out with a beautiful woman for dinner.”

  Her exasperation was obvious. “This isn’t a date.”

  “Is there a reason it couldn’t be?”

  “I’m here for an interview.”

  “Is there someone in New York who would mind that you’d gone out with me?”

  “No!” She stared at him in frustration. “You’re incorrigible.”

  “Just trying to get the facts.” So she didn’t have a lover or husband. At least he’d gotten one piece of information out of her.

  “Without answering my questions.”

  “You’re more interesting.”

  “You are the subject of the interview, damn it.”

  The entire restaurant heard her, and a short silence fell. Then conversation and clatter picked up again. Jess sat across from him, still glaring, her cheeks flushed red.

  “Everything okay back here?” Kate herself stepped up to the table. A tall, well-built woman, she’d run the restaurant since the husband who’d named it for her had died ten years ago.

  Dylan introduced he
r to Jess. “She’s frustrated with me.”

  Kate nodded. “That’s a pretty standard condition for most of us at one time or another. Dylan has his own ways of meeting expectations.”

  Jess nodded. “So I gather. I’m considering thumbscrews. Or the rack.”

  “His brothers probably have a few torture devices they’d allow you to use.”

  “I am not a problem,” Dylan protested. “Ask me anything you want.” He was taking a risk, but he figured he could handle the worst.

  The reporter didn’t say anything for a few moments, but eyed him with speculation in her golden gaze. “Why did you choose sculpture as your means of artistic expression?”

  “I like being able to consider an object from all different angles. A subject changes, depending on your perspective.”

  “Slippery as an eel,” Kate said, and returned to her kitchen.

  But Jess seemed satisfied. “How do you decide what subject you want to work on?”

  “As you saw, I make sketches of what I observe as I’m out working on the ranch. When I’m ready to start something new, I’ll be drawn to one of those when I look them over. Or I’ll witness a scene that stirs me, and go with that. It’s kind of a random process.”

  “Do you build more than one sculpture at once?”

  As long as she asked such specific, process-oriented questions, Dylan didn’t mind answering. They talked until their plates were empty, until they’d each polished off a slice of coconut cream pie and a cup of coffee. The shadows outside had lengthened by the time Jess relaxed against the back of her chair.

  “I’m impressed,” she said, pulling her hair behind her shoulders. “No evasion or equivocation.”

  “You were throwing softballs,” he told her. “Not even fast-pitch.”

  Her grin acknowledged that fact. “I wondered if Kate was going to have to play umpire.”

  “She would, if necessary. And she’d be good at it. Shall we head home to the Circle M?”

  Jess nodded and picked up her purse. Dylan meant to pull out her chair as she stood, if only to annoy her, but Cindi and Dan Bowman passed their table just then, requiring an introduction and some chitchat.

  Once the couple moved on, Jess got to her feet. “Beat you to it,” she said as she walked by. Then she waved the check Caitlin had written up in front of him. “And I’m paying.”

  Short of wrestling over the piece of paper—which had its own appeal—there wasn’t much he could do about the situation. “Apparently I’m not the only one who’s sneaky,” he said, holding the door for her to leave the diner.

  “A job qualification for journalists,” she told him as they walked to the truck. “You find out what you need to know by whatever means necessary.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “More of a promise. Or you could just tell me the truth and get the process over with. Like pulling a tooth—one quick jerk and it’s done.”

  Dylan grinned at her as he started the engine. “Ah, but sometimes it’s more fun to extend the process, make it last as long as possible.”

  She frowned and shook her head at him. “Incorrigible.”

  The sun hovered above the Big Horns as they drove to the ranch. Dylan rubbed his burning eyes a couple of times during the trip. The long stretch of working late was catching up with him, and he was going to have to get a good night’s sleep pretty soon to keep him going. With luck and lots of coffee, he could hold out till Sunday, when Jess would leave.

  For some reason, that prospect didn’t appeal to him tonight the way it had yesterday. He wasn’t so anxious anymore for the nosy reporter to take off again, even if that meant continuing to dodge the questions he didn’t want to answer.

  Of course, that was a dangerous state of mind. And due, no doubt, to those kisses at high noon. He found himself reliving those moments more often than he wanted to admit, and, even worse, anticipating a repeat experience.

  Fortunately, when they drove up to the house, all the kids were outside after dinner. They’d set up a badminton net and were batting shuttlecocks back and forth. Even Justino and Lena had joined in the fun. Ford and Caroline were playing. Amber swooshed her racket around without actually hitting anything.

  “I have to wait my turn,” Garrett said as Dylan stepped onto the porch behind Jess. He nodded at the bag she carried. “What did you two buy?”

  “Books,” Jess announced with a grin. “Lots of books for teenagers. They can trade them around for a few weeks. There should be something for everybody to enjoy.”

  “That’s a terrific idea.” Garrett got to his feet and put his arms around her. “And a very generous donation on your part. Thanks so much.”

  She emerged from his hug with a blush in her cheeks. “Just creating my future audience, you know. Where should I put these out so the kids can sort through them?”

  Garrett bore Jess off to the bunkhouse to set the books out on the tables there. Dylan sank down into one of the rockers on the porch, suddenly too tired to do much more than watch other people having fun. When was the last full night’s sleep he’d had?

  “Hey, you.” A hand shook his shoulder. “Wake up.”

  He opened his eyes. “I’m awake.”

  Wyatt snorted. “Sure. You were snoring.”

  “I never snore.”

  “You have three brothers who beg to differ.”

  Dylan knuckled his eyes. “They all snore.”

  “Maybe you ought to get some rest.”

  “I’m fine.” He shook his head hard, trying for full consciousness. “All good.”

  Ford came to the edge of the porch. “I’m with the Boss. Get some sleep. We’ve got things covered till morning. Tomorrow we’ll need you fully functional on the cattle drive.”

  “Jess—”

  “Will manage the rest of the evening without your attention. She’s over there with the kids, talking about books. We’ll tell her you’re working. Go to bed.”

  “Okay, okay. I give up.” He almost tripped down the steps to the ground. “Shut up,” he said, before anyone could remark on his lack of coordination. “I’ll be up early tomorrow. Night.”

  At the studio, he considered lying down on an empty table rather than climbing up the stairs, but convinced himself to make the effort. Fortunately, he had an effective jack to help get his boots off. A second later, he put his head down on the pillow.

  And smiled. The world’s most famous scent still lingered from the morning when Jess had lain there.

  Chanel. A sure ticket to sweet dreams.

  * * *

  JESS EXPECTED SOME of the grudging reactions from the kids with regard to the books. The usual suspects complained loud and long about first having to write something and now being expected to read. In contrast, though, Nate asked if he could take three books, Lizzie and Becky took two each, and Justino and Lena cooperated without comment.

  What thrilled her, though, were the seven pieces of writing she received—one for every camper and all of them at least half a page. Each of them had made an effort. She couldn’t wait to read what they’d come up with.

  So she said good-night to the adults early and went to her room at the house, settled into the armchair with a cup of tea and began to read.

  “I wud go to New York,” wrote Marcos, “and ern mony to by stuf, like fast cars and tikets to ball games. I wud be real rich and not take crap from nobudy. I wud by my mom a house and she cud have people clene it for her all the time. And bring her tee to drink and make her food wen she wanted it and wash her dishs.”

  Blinking away tears, she pulled out Lena’s page. “I would go to LA with Justino and we would become movie stars and wear butiful clothes and have a shofer to drive us from our butiful house in Beverly Hills to go shopping on Rodeo Drive. And my brothers would come live with us and go to privet schools and grow up to be smart so they could get good jobs in an office and wear sutes and not have to dig in the dirt to make money. I would send money to my dad so he could keep his t
ractor fixed and hire men to help him on the farm because my brothers are gone. And maybe he could find somebody to marry who would cook for him and take care of his house, like Mama did. And Justino and I would get to make movies all over the world and everybody would go see them because we are so butiful.”

  Jess pulled in a deep, shaking breath and thumbed through for Lizzie’s paper. Since the girl had some writing experience, perhaps her piece would be more imaginative and not quite so wrenching.

  Ten minutes later, Jess was striding through the quiet house and down the hill toward Dylan’s studio. Even though he would be working, she couldn’t wait to share Lizzie’s composition with him. He would be as startled and as pleased as Jess was herself.

  She reached the blue door and knocked briskly on one of the glass panes. “Dylan? Dylan, it’s Jess.”

  When he didn’t answer, she peered inside, but couldn’t see him at the table where he’d worked last night, or at any of the others. He might be under the stairs, sketching. But surely, he would have heard her...

  She rapped on the glass again. “Dylan!”

  Then she saw him, barefoot and rumpled, coming down the stairs from the loft. He hadn’t been working. He’d been sound asleep.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, when he opened the door. “I thought—”

  “What’s wrong?” He rubbed a hand over his hair. “Somebody hurt?”

  “No, no. I—”

  “Glad to hear it.” He nodded, a sexy, sleepy smile curving his mouth. “Then I’ll just go back to that terrific dream I was having.”

  Before she could react, he pulled her into his arms. And then he covered her lips with his own.

  Chapter Six

  All the different sensations struck him at the same instant. Her hair tumbled over his forearms and the backs of his fingers like a waterfall, wild and untamed. That scent she wore surrounded him—floral with hints of citrus and spice but as cool as a blossom under snow. She felt small in his arms, thinner than she appeared and delicate, though he believed she possessed the strength to subdue a man.

  Her mouth alone, full and sweet and agile, might very well be his undoing. He couldn’t seem to get close enough, draw deep enough from the swell of emotion her lips evoked. The curve of her waist under his palm, the roundness of her bottom and the point of her shoulder blade offered pleasures he’d never understood until this night, this moment. Holding him tight around his waist, she pressed her body against his, and Dylan groaned low in his throat. A nip of her teeth, a buff of her tongue, and his knees dissolved.

 

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