by LENA DIAZ,
“I hate for you to give up your room for me, but I really appreciate it. I’m not sure I could handle stairs right now.”
“Are you—”
Her stomach chose that moment to rumble. Loudly. Her face flushed hot.
His lips curved up in a sensual smile that was like a punch in the gut. Good grief, the man was sexy.
“I was about to ask if you were hungry,” he teased. “But I think I have my answer. I’ve been cooking for myself for over twelve years now, since the day I left for college. So I reckon I can rustle up something decent to eat. What are you in the mood for?”
“Anything that won’t run away when I stick my fork in it.”
He laughed. “That hungry, huh? You should have said something earlier. We could have grabbed food back in town. Soup and sandwiches are quick so you don’t have to wait long. Sound okay?”
“Sounds wonderful. Thanks.”
He grabbed the duffel and stood. “Chris mentioned he might stop by in a bit to brainstorm on the investigation. I usually leave the door unlocked, but with everything that’s happened, I’m keeping the house sealed up tight. If you see him at the front door, holler at him to use his key.”
“Okay.”
He grabbed a remote control off the thick oak coffee table and set it beside her. “If you want to watch TV, click that top button. The TV will pop up out of the table behind the other couch.”
“Hmm. Sounds like a fancy luxury to have.”
He gave her a droll look. “Electronic equipment isn’t a luxury. It’s a necessity. Especially during football season.”
She rolled her eyes and he grinned again. Thankfully he headed to the bedroom to drop off her duffel bag before he could realize she was debating the merits of grabbing him and pulling him onto the couch with her. A girl could only take so many heart-melting smiles in twenty-four hours without suffering some kind of lust-crazed breakdown.
He headed back through the family room to what she supposed was the kitchen. But she carefully kept her gaze on his eyes this time instead of that devastating smile.
* * *
DILLON REACHED THE kitchen and sank into one of the chairs at the table in the middle of the room. He had to take a minute, just one, before making lunch. If Ashley smiled at him one more time he didn’t know what was going to happen. Ever since she’d showered and came out in those sweatpants that molded to the contours of her perfect bottom, he’d been useless as a detective. All he could think about was pulling her onto his lap and kissing her until she begged him to take her to bed.
He drew a shaky breath, trying to focus on something else, anything else but the far-too-appealing woman in the other room. Thornton hadn’t understood his reluctance to keep Ashley at his house. After all, any time some hotshot law-enforcement official or even a witness in a case needed somewhere to hole up, Dillon always offered his house. The only hotel in town was a disaster. And Dillon’s farmhouse was huge, only twenty minutes outside of town, and his security cameras would pick up on any vehicles coming down the road long before they reached the house. But he’d known having Ashley here would kill his concentration. Unfortunately, he hadn’t wanted to admit that to Thornton, so he’d grudgingly agreed to bring her home.
After another deep breath, he shoved out of the chair to fix the sexy little distraction something to eat. After that he’d call down to the office in the bunkhouse and make sure Griffin and his men knew to be on the lookout for anything suspicious. Iceman didn’t strike Dillon as the kind of man to give up. And if he figured out Ashley was here, a few security cameras weren’t going to stop him from going after his target again.
* * *
ASHLEY BLINKED AND opened her eyes. It took a moment to get her bearings. She was lying on the couch in Dillon’s family room, a royal-blue quilt tucked around her and a soft pillow cushioning her head. The sun was fading from the large bank of windows out front and the glass oval in the door was turning black as the sun began to set. The last thing she remembered was thanking Dillon for the ham-and-cheese sandwich and vegetable soup. She must have fallen asleep and slept right through the dinner hour.
Deep voices carried to her from the back of the house somewhere. She recognized Dillon’s voice, and realized the other voice must be Chris. She must have been exhausted to sleep through his arrival.
She sat up and twisted around. The door to the bedroom wasn’t that far away, and Dillon had mentioned there was a connected bathroom, a facility she was sorely in need of at the moment. Calling out to him to carry her to the bathroom was an embarrassment she didn’t relish, especially if Chris was here, too. Surely she could hobble by herself without his help.
By using the arm of the couch, and then the back of the couch for support, she slowly, painfully made her way upright. Her feet were tender, bruised, but the fiery burn was gone. The salve Dillon had put on her cuts had already made a huge difference.
It took far longer than her bladder wanted, but she made it into the bathroom all by herself. She fist pumped the air, ridiculously happy to not be an invalid anymore, and quickly took care of her needs. She hobbled to the duffel bag on the bed and riffled through it. Sure enough, Donna had gotten everything on her list—clothes, makeup and even her laptop. Ashley grabbed a hairbrush and some makeup and made a mental note to find a way to express her appreciation to Donna and the men who’d risked their lives yesterday to save her, both at the office building and later on Cooper’s Bluff.
A few minutes later, with her hair brushed and some makeup on her face, she felt like a brand-new woman. She slung the strap of her laptop case over her head, letting it hang across her shoulder. Then she cautiously made her way down the hallway she’d spotted underneath the staircase earlier.
Following the voices, she ended up in the doorway of a massive room in the back right corner of the house. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined two of the walls. The third wall had a bank of small TV screens, which she realized showed pictures of the road out front and various other angles of the farm—probably that fancy security system Dillon had told her about. The last wall was a bank of windows with an incredible view of the sun sinking over the mountains. Little puffs of white mist rose into the air all across those mountains. She remembered staring at that same mist as a little girl, asking her daddy if the mountains were on fire. He’d laughed and told her no, the mist was a natural phenomenon because of the climate, and the reason people called the mountains the Smokies.
“Well, hello,” a male voice called out.
She tore her gaze from the picturesque view out the windows. Apparently Chris was the one who’d spoken, because he gave her a friendly wave. The two men sitting on either side of him around an enormous cherrywood table in the middle of the room smiled at her, as well. They were the SWAT officers who’d been with Dillon and Chris yesterday, the same ones who’d rescued them on the island—Max and Randy.
She returned Chris’s wave and hobbled into the room. “Where’s Dillon?” she asked.
“Right behind you.”
She whirled around in surprise at the deep voice that sounded so close. The movement sent a sharp, fiery spike of pain up her calves and she started to fall.
“Whoa, whoa, I’ve got you.” He caught her in his arms and lifted her against his chest. “You okay? Did you need something?”
“I, uh, no. I don’t need anything. And you certainly don’t need to carry me again.”
“I don’t mind.” He winked.
Her face flushed hot. “I woke up and thought I’d do a little work.” She patted her laptop bag. “I heard voices and followed them back here.”
His gaze traveled over her hair and her face in a soft caress. “Looks like you might have made it into the bedroom, too, and did a little primping,” he teased, his voice a whisper only she could hear. “For the record, you were already beautiful. Bu
t you look even better now.”
She blinked, not sure what to say.
“So what’s the verdict? Now that you know all us guys are here, do you want to stay or go back to the family room? We’re reviewing the case files and brainstorming.”
“I’d rather stay, if you don’t mind. I won’t get in the way. And if you have any questions for me, I’ll be right here.”
“Works for me.” He strode to the table and gently set her on one of the padded chairs, then sat next to her.
She set her laptop on the table and turned it on. But the silence had her glancing back up. Three pairs of eyes were watching her. The only one who wasn’t watching her was Dillon, who was silently reading from one of many folders scattered across the tabletop.
“Um, hi,” she said. “Don’t mind me. I need to finish my report for Mr. Gibson’s bank. I’ll sit here quietly.”
Chris slid a bowl of pretzels across the table to her. “Hungry?”
“I could eat. Thanks.” She popped a pretzel in her mouth.
“You’ll need a drink,” Max said. He appeared to be the youngest of them, probably fresh out of school. His angular face and dark hair made her wonder if he might have some Cherokee in him. “Water? Sweet tea? Beer?” he asked.
“Seriously, no one needs to wait on me. I’m fine.”
Dillon looked up and frowned as if just realizing his men were staring at her. “We have work to do, guys. Max, you can grab her a drink, then hurry and get back in here.”
Max eagerly nodded and headed out of the room.
For the first time since she’d met him, Ashley realized Dillon seemed aggravated. He must be irritated that she’d interfered with their work. She gave him an uncertain smile and focused on her computer screen, determined not to interfere anymore.
When Max returned with a glass of water, she thanked him. He nodded and gave her a shy smile before returning to his seat. The conversation started up around her again and she tuned it out so she could concentrate on typing the final conclusions into her report. It didn’t take long, since she’d been mostly finished with it.
Using the Wi-Fi hotspot feature on her computer to access the internet, she emailed the report to the bank, with a copy to Ron Gibson. The poor man was probably grieving over the loss of his son and didn’t care about the report right now, but he would later. And when he did, he’d be pleased to know she’d concluded his company was sound with no obvious causes for concern. He’d be able to get that bank loan if he still wanted it. She sent another email to Lauren, letting her know she’d be delayed a few more days before going home, and reminding her of her promise not to worry Ashley’s family.
After shutting off her computer, she stowed it back in her laptop bag and looked around the table. It shocked her to realize that Max and Randy had left and she hadn’t even noticed. Chris had slid over into the chair Max had occupied earlier, the one next to Dillon. They were both speaking in low tones to each other as Dillon wrote notes on a legal pad.
Chris glanced at his watch and shoved his chair back. “I guess I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow at the office. Or are you working from here?”
“That depends on Ashley,” Dillon said.
“I don’t mind going to the office with you, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Both men looked at her in surprise.
Dillon smiled and stood. “I thought you were still buried in that laptop of yours. Did you finish your report?”
“Yes. Finally. What about you two? Any progress?”
“Some. I’ll catch you up in a few minutes. I’m going to lock the door behind Chris.”
“Actually, can you give me a minute alone with Miss Parrish?” Chris asked.
Dillon’s brows rose but he nodded and headed to the door. “I’ll meet you on the porch.”
“Thanks.” Chris waited until the sounds of Dillon’s boots on the hardwood floor faded before turning back toward Ashley. He crossed to her chair and took the seat beside her.
When he didn’t immediately say anything, she teased him, “Let me guess. You want some tax advice, right? Happens all the time. People hear I’m a CPA and they think I can save them some money on their taxes.”
His look turned thoughtful.
“That was a joke,” she said.
“Yeah, I know. But still. Maybe you can save me some money. We’ll have to talk about that later.”
She shrugged. “Sure, I don’t mind. What did you want to talk to me about now?”
A light flush colored his cheeks and he stared down at his hands. “I, ah, wanted to thank you, actually.” His dark eyes shot up to hers. “You saved my life this morning, on the boat. You saw that guy, the one you call Iceman, before anyone else did. If you hadn’t tackled me, I’d be dead. The bullet went right through the boat’s windshield, right where I was standing. Thank you is hardly adequate but, well, thank you.”
“Are you kidding? I’m the one who owes you and the entire SWAT team my thanks. If you hadn’t risked your lives and gone into Gibson and Gibson yesterday, I’d be dead right now, or at the very least, a prisoner of Iceman. And I’m not kidding myself that he wants to keep me alive long-term, so either way you did save my life. Thank you.”
He seemed to sit a little straighter in his chair. “Well, I guess we’re equal, then. We saved each other. But I still owe you a debt of gratitude. If you ever need anything, I’m there. All right? Just say the word. I mean it.”
She put her hand on his where it rested on the table. “The one thing I could use right now is a friend.”
He grinned. “Now, that I can do. See you tomorrow, friend.”
Ashley called out to him when he reached the door. “Hey, Chris?”
He turned. “Yeah?”
“Do you like chocolate?”
A look of confusion crossed his face. “Who doesn’t? Why?”
“Just wondering. Good night. See you tomorrow.”
He nodded and headed out the door.
Ashley yawned. The past twenty-four hours were catching up to her. Even with the long nap she’d had, she was suddenly exhausted.
“Let me guess. You’re too sleepy to stay up for dinner and to hear an update on the case, right?” Dillon stood in the opening of the room Ashley thought of as the library, his tone teasing.
“Actually, yes. I’m bushed, and not at all hungry. Maybe you can catch me up on the case tomorrow at the office?”
“No problem.”
She put her laptop bag over her neck and shoulder again and stood, wincing at the pressure on her sore feet. Suddenly she was in Dillon’s arms and he was carrying her back through the house.
“I really can walk now, you know. You don’t have to keep carrying everywhere.”
“It gives me an excuse to hold you,” he teased. “I really don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind, either,” she breathed.
He shot her a surprised look, then frowned and carried her into the master bedroom, depositing her gently on the bed.
What had that frown meant?
“I’d like to leave around seven, if that’s not too early,” he said.
“Not at all. I’m an early riser. I’ll be ready.”
He glanced at the windows and frowned again. He made a circuit around the room, checking the locks on the windows and closing the heavy curtains.
“Dillon, the name of your farm, was that handed down through the generations, too?”
He slowly shook his head no.
“Well, it’s a pretty name, Harmony Haven. How did you come up with that name?”
He stood like a stone, his mouth drawing into a tight line. The silence stretched out between them, turning awkward, the air charged with some indefinable emotion. Pain? Regret? Anger? Then, without answering, he l
eft and closed the door behind him with a firm click.
Chapter Eight
The sun was barely up the next morning by the time Dillon finished his rounds of the barns and checked in with Griffin, who assured Dillon that he and his men understood the danger and would be on their guard in case Iceman somehow ended up here.
Satisfied he’d done everything he could to keep his home and workers safe, Dillon left his filthy boots in the mudroom at the back of the house, washed up in the utility sink and headed into the kitchen. He froze at the smell of warm chocolate and stared right into the smiling eyes of Ashley Parrish.
His kitchen, in the two hours since he’d left the house, had been transformed into a bakery. And the person responsible was standing right in the middle of the chaos in a pair of jeans, fluffy pink bunny slippers and an adorable “Kiss the Cook” apron, watching him warily, as if she expected him to yell at her.
He sighed and locked the door behind him. He owed her an apology for last night, but Harmony was one subject he had no intention of discussing with her. Ever. She was here on a temporary basis. She’d made that abundantly clear. And he wasn’t going to share the memory of Harmony with someone who’d be gone in a few days.
The unexpected sadness that shot through him at that reminder—that this beautiful, spunky, smart woman would be out of his life so soon—bothered him far more than he cared to admit.
She set the mixing bowl she’d been holding back on the counter and bit her bottom lip. “I’m sorry if you’re upset that I made a mess of your kitchen, and used your supplies from the pantry. But I’d hoped you wouldn’t mind. I love to bake, and I thought I’d make something special to thank everyone at the police department for everything they’ve done, and are still doing for me. I couldn’t find you this morning and thought you wouldn’t...” Her shoulders slumped. “You’re angry. I should have waited and asked permission.”
He reached her in three long strides and put his hand beneath her chin, gently forcing her to look at him. “I’m not angry.”