12 Borrowing Trouble

by Becky McGraw

  Heat sizzled up her arm to zap her in the chest. A little hope filled her as she slid her hand up his chest to cup his beard-roughened cheek. “I know, I definitely should have done that. It was inconsiderate of me not to do that. But I didn’t have time. I had to go to the cake store, before they closed. I’m sorry.”

  “What exactly was the offer?”

  “I have to bake a wedding cake by Saturday. If it turns out well, Terri is going to recommend me to others.”

  “So, she offered you a job here?” Dylan asked, his body stiffening, and his voice sounding a little odd.

  “Not exactly. I think she meant as a contractor. I don’t know where she thinks I’m going to make those other cakes though. My mom’s kitchen is too small, the appliances too old, for baking like that. Not to mention my mother’s oven isn’t big enough.”

  That was something Carrie hadn’t thought about when Terri made the offer. It was something she was going to have to talk to her about. To figure out. But one thing at a time. First, she had to bake this cake and do a good job of it. And to do that, she needed butter.

  “I ah, also came out here to ask you a favor…”

  He grunted. “You have some balls lady. You stand me up, then come out here to ask me for a favor? Is that why you apologized?”

  “No!” she shouted, then lowered her voice. No matter if he went to the store with her or not, she did want his forgiveness. “I really am sorry, Dylan. What’s it going to take to get you to forgive me? What can I do?”

  Silence fell between them, except for his raspy, uneven breaths. Carrie was holding hers waiting for his answer. After a moment, when she thought he’d gone back asleep, she made a move to take her hand off of his face. His fingers closed around her wrist like an iron band. His beard scraped her palm as he dragged her hand toward his mouth. He turned his face to drop a hot kiss on her palm, and she shivered.

  Shock rocked her when he forced her hand downward to press it against his rock solid erection. His heat scorched her palm through the sheet, and her fingers curled around him wanting to feel that steely hot skin, instead of the cotton sheet. To feel that thickness inside her body. Her mouth dried up as all the moisture in her body flooded south.

  Dylan sucked in a sharp breath, and hissed it out through his teeth. “This is what you can do for me,” he said in a gravelly, slightly slurred voice. “Before you leave this ranch, promise to go for that ride with me.”

  Carrie was leaving Sunday afternoon. Trace and Ronnie were bringing the kids to pick her up at five o’clock. In her mind, she ticked off what she had to do between now and then. Panic tried to tighten her chest, but she fought it back. “Sunday morning early. I promise.”

  “You better not stand me up again,” he growled, pulling her down to him.

  He shoved his hand into her hair and his delicious scent overwhelmed her senses, cocooned her in immediate pleasure, before his mouth closed hotly over hers. He ground his mouth into hers transmitting his frustration, and then his blatant desire. Her mouth opened, and his tongue danced with hers, sending desire pulsing through her veins like hot lava.

  Carrie fisted him, stroked him through the sheet, let him know she was just as frustrated, wanted the same thing he did. His knees bent to trap her hand. With a groan, his fist closed in her hair to drag her mouth from his. “Baby, if you’d don’t stop that, we’re not going to wait til Sunday for that ride.”

  “But I want—“ she started. Carrie wanted to strip her damned clothes off and crawl into this bed with him. Let him make love to her until neither one of them could walk. To help her get rid of the delicious ache he’d created inside of her.

  “A favor, right? Somehow, I don’t think that favor included me fucking you senseless, which is all I want to do right now.”

  It was Carrie’s turn to groan. At this moment, that is exactly what she wanted too.

  But she had a cake to bake, and time was running out to get to the grocery before it closed. Just that quick, she’d forgotten all about it. And she’d forgotten there were at least five men outside that rough wooden door. She was sure they were curious as to why she’d been in Dylan’s room as long as she had. It didn’t take that long to drop off a shirt.

  This man had that effect on her. Her brain went haywire when he kissed her. She sat upright on the edge of the bed. “I need to go to the store, and Terri had to take care of Jayden.”

  “Looked like y’all bought out the store earlier. What more could you possibly need?” he asked with a tired laugh.

  “Butter. I used up all Terri had in the house this morning. We forgot to stop. I’m scared I’ll get lost in the dark trying to get there.”

  “And you want me to go with you? To protect you from the boogeyman?” he drawled in that sexy, dark voice that set her nerves on edge.

  “I can take care of the boogeyman myself. I just need you to ride with me, so I don’t get lost in the dark. I don’t know the way.”

  “What if I’m the boogeyman and want to get lost with you?” he asked, taking a strand of her hair to tuck it behind her ear. “The way I’m feeling, we might not find our way back until morning.”

  Carrie’s skin tingled. Getting lost with him sounded like just what she needed right now. But no sleep would mean she wouldn’t be sharp tomorrow. “I’ve got to get back and go to bed. Doing this cake right means the world to me, Dylan,” she said.

  “If it’s anything like that carrot cake you made, you don’t have a damned thing to worry about. Those people will scarf it down like hounds.”

  Pleasure at his compliment floated through her. “You had some of my cake?” she asked with surprise.

  “Yeah, I kept Penny company and enjoyed your efforts from this morning, while I waited for y’all to come back. That bread was damned good too,” he said with a chuckle. “I’m glad you’re not going to be around here all the time. Hell, I’d weigh three hundred pounds.”

  Dylan was glad she wasn’t going to be around all the time for another reason too.

  He realized now he could become just as addicted to this sweet, damaged woman, as he had become to her carrot cake. Sunday morning was going to be fun, but Dylan knew he would be looking forward to her leaving on Sunday afternoon, before that could happen.

  If she stood him up again, he would be disappointed, but he wouldn’t be crushed. He would survive. Just like he had before he met her. He was a survivor, because he didn’t let himself get attached to folks, especially women, or let them attach themselves to him.

  That wasn’t going to change now, just because something in Carrie Collins’ sad, puppy-dog eyes called to him to fix her problems. He could sense she had plenty of problems too. That’s why he’d almost waded off into them this morning to try and restore her faith that things would get better for her. The edge of desperation in her voice had scared him. That edge was gone now, replaced by hope and excitement for her new project, and Dylan was relieved.

  He was almost thankful she had stood him up this morning. He was better off not knowing what had driven her there. That would lead to him caring. Trying to fix things for her. It looked like Terri had fixed them instead.

  He’d dodged a bullet.

  ***

  Carrie took a big swig of her third cup of coffee, before sitting the cup down to pick up the heavy mixing bowl, which contained the red velvet cake batter. She carefully tilted the pouring spout toward the first of the three greased and parchment-paper lined cake pans of various sizes. After she filled them, she carried the three pans to the pre-heated oven, arranging them a few inches apart on the center rack.

  From her carrot cake yesterday, Carrie knew the oven was perfectly level, so she didn’t have to make adjustments there. She put a small water-filled bowl inside the oven with the pans to keep the cakes moist as they baked. Between that and the applesauce she’d used to cut the oil requirements in the batter, the cake should melt in your mouth. She’d also used another secret tip for a lighter cake given to her by her gr
andmother, adding a teaspoon of lemon juice to the butter and sugar mixture when she creamed it. Carrie had done everything she could think of to make this the best cake she’d ever made. It had to be the best cake ever. Her future depended on it.

  She set the timer on the oven and huffed out a breath. Easing onto the barstool again, she picked up her coffee cup. She had a few minutes before she started mixing up the next batch of batter. When doing several layers, she didn’t like to pre-mix the batter, because it could mean the cake would rise too high during baking. But she could lay out the ingredients for her butter-cream frosting, she thought, as she shot to her feet again.

  Thank goodness Dylan had agreed to go with her to the grocery store for butter last night. She would be a nervous wreck right now if she had to go this morning. He had been so good to her last night. Even when she left him at the door of the bunkhouse instead of going inside like he’d suggested, he hadn’t gotten upset. He’d just growled, “Sunday,” when he finished kissing her good night at the door. She loved his voice, that growl, his playful personality. And the way he smelled made her knees weak.

  It had taken everything in her to stay strong and not go inside with him last night. Everything. And she hadn’t gotten much sleep last night after all, because she’d stayed awake thinking about that kiss. About what would happen Sunday.

  To get there though, she had to get this cake baked.

  Carrie sighed and walked to the dining room table, where she’d put all the bags of ingredients she’d purchased. She found the bags with the frosting ingredients and carried them back into the kitchen, then unpacked the bags on the counter beside the sink. Like her thoughts summoned him, the back door opened quietly, and she looked up to see a sexily sleep-rumpled Dylan walk through the door with a coffee cup in his hand.

  “Damned Jarvis let us run out of coffee at the bunkhouse,” he grumbled as he walked toward the coffee maker. “I could have picked some up last night, if he told me,” he added as he filled his cup to the brim. After taking a long, slow sip, he leaned back on the counter to study her. “How’s the cake coming?” he asked conversationally.

  From his casual stance, it looked like he planned on staying for a chat. Carrie wanted to do a lot more than that, but she couldn’t let the sexy cowboy distract her right now. “It’s coming along fine, but I don’t have time to chat. Take your coffee back to the bunkhouse,” she ordered, turning her attention back to unloading the bags.

  “You always this grumpy in the morning?” he had the audacity to ask her. Her eyes flew up to his and she saw he was smiling.

  Her heart softened like the butter on the saucer on the counter. Not good. “Dylan, I’d love to talk, but I have things to do. You distract me.”

  “Do I now?” he drawled in that sexy-as-hell tone of his. He set his cup on the counter beside the pot, then strolled over to her.

  She backed up a step to put her hand in the center of his chest. “Get out of here,” she said again, with much less conviction than a moment ago. The heated desire in his eyes melted her resistance into a puddle of need that flowed down to her core.

  “Give me a good morning kiss, and I will,” he growled, pulling her against his hard body. His breath smelled like rich, warm coffee as he leaned down to let his lips hover above hers. Electricity buzzed over her lips and she licked them, before pushing up on her tiptoes to meet his mouth. His arm squeezed her tighter to him, as his mouth closed over hers in a bone-melting kiss.

  “Well if that’s the secret sugar you used in the cake you made yesterday, no wonder it tasted so damned good,” Terri said with a laugh from the doorway of the kitchen.

  Carrie shoved Dylan away from her and dragged in a breath, as heat shot to her face. He laughed as he stumbled back into the counter. She spun to face Terri with a hand to her chest.

  “I, ah…Dylan came to get a cup of coffee,” she explained.

  Carrie’s face got hotter as Terri held up a hand, then used it to wipe off her grin. “Looks like he found the sugar just fine,” she said with a chuckle, as she walked into the room. Her eyes lit on Dylan’s arm and she frowned. “Where’s your damned sling?”

  He picked up his coffee cup and shrugged. “At the bunkhouse.”

  “Damn lot of good it’s doing you out there,” she griped, walking to the freezer. She pulled out two ice packs, then slammed it shut. “How’s your shoulder feeling this morning?”

  “A little better,” he replied.

  “It would feel a lot better if you just did what I told you to do!” She pointed to the barstool. “Sit down, so I can wrap your shoulder.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He chuckled, as he flopped down on a barstool.

  Terri found more bandages in the cabinet, and Carrie watched longingly as she tended to Dylan’s shoulder. Her fingers flexed, wanting to be the one touching his hot, smooth skin. But she hoped they hurried, because she needed to start mixing her next round of cake batter. They were in her way.

  Carrie waited five more minutes, and was relieved when Terri finally put the last clip on the bandage and stepped back. Dylan started to rise, but Terri pushed him back down. “Stay,” she said shortly. “I need to get you some ibuprofen from the med shack.” Terri headed toward the back door, and Carrie bit back a groan.

  The back door closed, and Carrie frowned. But instead of staying put, Dylan stood to walk over to her. “I’ll just follow her out there. You get your baking done, sweet cheeks,” he said, dropping a quick kiss on her lips. “If you need some of that special sugar for your cake, just give me a whistle.” His laugh and wink, sent a thrill zipping down her spine.

  “I’ll do that,” she replied with a grin. Her eyes followed his tight backside as he sauntered to the back door. He gave her a wiggle of his fingers as he walked out. Carrie’s heart was floating on happiness, as she turned to get back to work.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  At the edge of the pavilion, Carrie held her breath as the first piece of her beautiful cake was served to a guest. The bride had been over the moon at how the decorating turned out. Carrie had been pretty impressed herself. It was way beyond anything she’d ever done before, and looked almost identical to the photo Terri had given her. Except hers wasn’t done in fondant icing, her lavender-tinged orchids and leafy sage-colored lattice work were done in sugar, on buttercream icing. Much more difficult to achieve in her opinion.

  Carrie had no idea now how she’d done it, or if she would ever be able to repeat it, but that didn’t matter. She. Had. Done. It. A sob bubbled in her chest as pride and joy tried to overwhelm her.

  Now, if it tasted as good as it looked, as good as Carrie thought it did, she would be a happy woman. But taste was subjective, and the bride’s opinion was all that mattered. Well her and the guests. If they were happy, she knew the bride would be as well.

  Once she could tell if they liked it, Carrie would sneak off in the darkness and find a place to either scream or cry out her happiness. Maybe both.

  Someone walked up behind her and grabbed her hand. Carrie dragged her eyes from the guest with the cake, just as a champagne glass was shoved into her hand. “Take this, you look like you need it. And we need to toast your success,” Dylan said, his deep voice working its way along her nerve endings.

  Her numb fingers gripped the stem. “I’m not counting my chickens yet,” she said swinging her eyes back to the guest with the cake. “I need to see if they like it.”

  “Well if that lady isn’t having an orgasm at the table, I’d say she likes it,” Dylan said, and his laughter rumbled through her. The tension in her neck eased and Carrie laughed too, but elbowed him in the ribs.

  He grunted, and she gasped as champagne sloshed over the rim of the glass onto her hand. Dylan caught her wrist and took the glass from her. He lifted her hand to his mouth and his eyes held hers as he licked the droplets from her skin. Carrie bit down on her moan.

  “Stop it!” she hissed jerking her hand away. “I need to focus.”

  “Hon
ey, you’ve been focusing since yesterday. The cake is a hit, the crowd is happy. What you need to do now is relax.” He grabbed her hand to drag her away from the pavilion.

  Carrie dug in her heels and pulled away. “I can’t lea—“ she started but lost her voice when she saw how nice he looked in his black hat, pressed shirt and jeans. Her eyes slid down his body to his fancy snakeskin boots, which she saw he’d even polished. “You look nice,” she said tamping down the instant lust that flooded her body.

  “Well you look like a walking wet dream, which is what I’ll probably be having tonight,” Dylan replied, jerking her hand to get her moving forward again.

  Carrie looked down at the black dress she’d borrowed from Terri, and laughed. “This isn’t even my dress. I can’t tell you when the last time I wore a dre—“

  Yes she could. At Sean’s funeral. Her good mood vanished, replaced by longing and sadness. Her success tonight was something she would have been able to share with him. He would have been very proud of what she’d done tonight.

  Dylan looked down at her, his hat shaded his face, but she saw his frown. “Well the last time I wore a pressed shirt was at my mother’s funeral,” he said gruffly. He stopped beside a tree swing under a big oak tree and took her shoulders in his hands. “I imagine you were going to say the same about your dress.” He sat down on the swing and patted the seat beside him. “Well my mother, and your husband aren’t here, and it’s a beautiful night. Let’s not waste it digging up bones.”

  Carrie nodded, then sat beside him. His mother was dead? She’d been so wrapped up in her own problems, she hadn’t thought to ask him about his circumstances and background. The darkness in his voice when he talked about his mother’s funeral told Carrie it wasn’t a good situation. “When did your mother pass?” she asked softly.