by Carol Grace
“What are we gonna do first?” Dylan asked. His eyes were bright with hope and excitement. His gaze traveled from the worktable to the tree house and back again.
Brandon suddenly wavered. What was he doing? Oh, he could build a new tree house. They could do it together. But it would take longer than today. In the meantime the kid’s hopes were rising. He was doing this because his dad was coming. What if he wasn’t? Maybe he ought to call Laura before they began this project. He should have called her earlier. What if she didn’t approve?
“First we’ll have lunch,” Brandon said. “I’ll go get us something and you can sort these nails and screws according to size.” He held out a couple of coffee cans and Dylan sat on the front step of the house and diligently began to sort. “Then we’re going to tear down the rotten boards at the old tree house.”
He saw a wave of indecision cross they boy’s face. He remembered how tearing down the tree house had not been an option for the boy, but Dylan finally nodded and went back to his task.
In the cool interior of the thick-walled house, Brandon went to his office, which was once the family room, and he saw the light on his answering machine flash. He was afraid it was Laura, but it was only messages from his clients. Clients he could take care of later. Laura had to know now. It was noon, so he called her aunt’s house, but there was no answer. He called the post office and she answered. When she heard his voice, she said, “Yes?” in a cool voice.
“Dylan’s here,” he said.
“Oh, no. I’ll be right there.”
“Wait a minute,” he protested, but she hung up.
He called back, but someone else answered and said Laura was on her lunch break.
He proceeded to make two cheese sandwiches, got himself a beer and the kid a cola and went outside. Dylan’s eyes lit up when he saw the soda. He said his mom didn’t let him drink sodas. They were expensive, contained too much sugar and would eventually rot his teeth.
The two of them sat on the steps eating in silence. Brandon debated whether to tell Dylan his mother was on her way. If she hadn’t been so upset, she might have listened to him explain the situation. Then she wouldn’t have had to dash out there. But she did dash out there. Her truck coughed and sputtered its way down the driveway.
Dylan’s eyes widened. “I’m in trouble,” he muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m not s’posed to be here and I’m not s’posed to be drinking a soda.”
“Maybe I can explain,” Brandon said. He knew how she’d look, her hair flying, her eyes blazing, ready to grab her son. So he ambled over and met her at her truck to head her off, to get a chance to say a few words before she exploded, which she looked like she was ready to do.
“Where is he?” she demanded, her hand on the door handle of the truck. “As if I didn’t know. He’s in the tree house, isn’t he? After our deal. After he promised.” Her lower lip trembled. He couldn’t let her cry again. Not here in this driveway. He knew what might happen. He couldn’t take a chance.
He leaned against the door, blocking her way, trapping her inside the truck. “Just a second. He’s not in the tree house. He came down. He says his dad is coming to get him.”
“That’s what he always says. I told you he’s not coming.” She turned the door handle, but he put his hand over hers. He wasn’t going to let her out. Not until she understood what was happening.
“But this time he seems more certain. He says his father told him he’d come today. Is that possible?” Brandon asked.
“No, of course not. Where is he? Let me talk to him. He can’t come out here. He can’t use his tree house.”
“Calm down, will you?” he asked.
“Calm down?” She pulled her hand away from his. “You’re telling me to calm down? You’re the one who doesn’t want him here. It’s your ranch, remember? You don’t want anyone to come here and you don’t want to go anywhere. You want to be alone.” Her face was flushed, her hair curled in tendrils around her face, her mouth was set in a straight line. The same mouth that had kissed him last night. If he kissed her again, right now, he knew how her lips would feel. She’d resist at first and then her mouth would soften, mold to his…A shaft of desire hit him right in the core of his body. It wasn’t going to happen. Not the way it had yesterday.
He had no excuse to touch her. She was off-limits. She thought he was a recluse. A hermit. That was what he wanted her to think. But that was yesterday. Now, seeing her behind the wheel of her truck, looking small and vulnerable, her eyes flashing warning signals, he knew why he’d offered to help Dylan make a new tree house.
Yes, he was concerned with the boy’s safety. Yes, he enjoyed working with his hands. Yes, he felt sorry for the kid. But those were not the real reasons he’d done it. The real reason was so he could see Laura again. So he’d have an excuse to see her. So she’d have to drive out here and she’d have to talk to him, look at him with those beautiful eyes. So he could have an excuse to touch her, to put his hand on hers.
The truth hit him like a massive two-by-four in the middle of the chest. The reason he was doing this. He knew what it was and he was ashamed of himself. He might admit it to himself, but he’d never admit it to her. He told himself it was lust, pure and simple. Lust he couldn’t help. Lust because it had been so long. Such a long time not looking at women, not noticing the color of their eyes or the curl in their hair or the way their skirt hugged their trim little bottom. Or the lace of their underwear.
He realized she was looking at him, a look that said she knew what he was thinking. But how could she? It wasn’t possible. Their eyes locked and held for a long moment. Then she pushed against the truck door. “Let me out of here,” she said breathlessly. When what she really meant was “Quit looking at me like that.”
“In a minute. He was in the tree house this morning. I didn’t want him up there in danger of breaking his neck when the thing fell apart, so I told him I’d help him rebuild it. We found some materials in the shed and we took them. I hope you don’t mind.” The last thing he wanted to do was to remind her that nothing here was hers anymore.
“Mind? Do I mind?” She looked dazed. “Those were materials Jason bought to build a deck for a hot tub, but as with all of his plans—” She broke off, blinked and managed a quavery smile. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to cry. He’s not worth crying over.”
Brandon reached into his back pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. “Just in case,” he said as he handed it to her.
She nodded. “Thank you. You can let me out now. I’m not going to skin him alive the way I planned. I don’t blame him for trying to find his dad. I blame myself. It’s my fault he doesn’t have his dad here. I just don’t understand why he came now, today.”
Brandon opened the door for her and took her arm to help her out. Her eyes widened. Surprised at that simple gesture. Why? What kind of men was she used to? What was her husband like besides being a no-good, no-account, rotten bastard who ran through all her money? Unreliable? Undependable? Impolite? Just the brush of her warm skin against his caused his heart to race out of control. Lust, he reminded himself. That’s all it is.
Laura jumped down from the truck, her legs unsteady. She’d raced out here determined to grab Dylan by the scruff of his neck and haul him away. She was prepared for an argument with Brandon. But he’d taken the wind out of her sails by being so damned nice. Too bad he was so damned unavailable. Oh, well, she had enough to worry about without falling for the new man in town.
“Dylan, what are you doing here?” she asked, standing over him with her hands on her hips.
He looked up at her, his blue eyes defiant. “I’m gonna build a new tree house.”
“But I told you you couldn’t do that,” she said.
“You told me I had to help my dreams come true,” he said. “I dreamed that my dad was coming to get me. So I came out here. That’s what you said. That’s what you told me. I could help make my dream come true.”
/> “Oh, Dylan.” What could she say? That’s what she’d told him.
“The workers are on their lunch break,” Brandon said, sitting down on the gravel next to Dylan. “Care to join us?”
She stared down at them, both chewing hungrily, surrounded by hammers, nails and boards and shook her head. In an ideal world, this was the way it was. Man and boy working together on a project. Bonding. Learning from each other. But this was the wrong man. The right man had never built anything. Never spent time with the boy. Except in the boy’s dreams.
How long would this man spend with the boy who so badly needed a father, a mentor? A few hours? And then what? The boy is left in the lurch again, forgotten and disappointed. And what was going to happen when the boy’s father didn’t show up today the way he said he would in Dylan’s dream? What could she do but give up and be grateful for small favors. Brandon had not ordered him off the property. Brandon was going to fix the tree house. Which would make it even more attractive to Dylan. How then would she keep him away from it? But this wasn’t the time to bring that up. This was the time to leave.
“Thank you, but I have to get back to work. I can’t come back until five.” She looked at Dylan and then at Brandon, waiting for one or both of them to protest, saying it was too soon or too late, but Dylan shrugged and Brandon just nodded.
“I’ll be here,” Brandon said. “I’m stuck. My car won’t be ready today.”
Not knowing what else to say, Laura left them there eating their lunch on the ground, feeling strangely excluded and worried about the consequences of this strange turn of events.
Back in the post office she took advantage of a lull in business to telephone her aunt and explain the situation.
“I don’t understand,” her aunt said. “Brandon Marsh is actually building a new tree house for Dylan? On his ranch?”
“No. Yes. He’s doing it so he can get Dylan out of his hair.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Emily said.
“I think he believes I can’t keep Dylan away from the tree house. That I have no control over him. Which seems to be true. Honestly, I don’t know what else to do. I’ve threatened Dylan and bribed him. Since Brandon is afraid the tree house is dangerous in its present condition, he’s making it safe. He’s probably afraid of the liability. I don’t know what will happen next. The best thing would be if I get the job at the post office and take over Willa Mae’s apartment, then we could move the tree house to the back yard. But Dylan wouldn’t accept that. He thinks his daddy is coming to the ranch to get him. That’s what he dreamed last night. In any case, I’m going there after work to pick him up, so I’ll be late for dinner.”
“Why don’t I pack a hamper for you to take out there for supper? The man seemed to like my cooking.”
“Of course he did,” Laura said. “Everyone likes your cooking, but that doesn’t mean—”
“I have some leftover cornmeal-crusted chicken and marinated vegetables and some brownies. After a hard day’s work a man gets hungry.”
Laura half expected her to say something about the way to a man’s heart. She didn’t, but if she knew her aunt, that’s what she was thinking. She also knew her feelings would be hurt if she didn’t accept her offer.
“I’ll pack plenty, so of course you’ll stay and eat with him.”
“No, I couldn’t do that, Aunt Emily. It would be too awkward. He’d think—”
“What would he think? That you’re showing your appreciation, that’s all, for taking Dylan all day. And that I enjoy cooking for people, especially for attractive men. And that you enjoy eating with someone your age instead of with a dotty old aunt and your son.”
“But I don’t want—I just want to pick up Dylan and get out of there. That’s what he wants, too. He wants to be left alone. That’s what he told me.”
“Hmmpf.” Her aunt sniffed. “I’ve never met a man yet who didn’t appreciate a good meal, and that includes Mr. Marsh. I’ll have the basket packed by five, so you come by and pick it up. If he turns you down I’ll eat my chef’s hat.”
Laura reluctantly agreed, fearing that this was her aunt’s way of throwing her niece together with the most eligible man to ever arrive in Silverado, not knowing that he wasn’t eligible at all. Laura couldn’t tell her Brandon’s tragic story, though maybe she already knew. But it wasn’t Laura’s wish to spread any gossip that Brandon had told her in confidence and that would make people feel sorry for him. Brandon had been adamant in his refusal to accept any sympathy from anyone. She wasn’t going to waste any on him.
On the way to the ranch she decided how she’d handle the food her aunt had sent. Once she’d arrived and had thanked Brandon for his help, she’d shoo Dylan into the truck and then casually hand Brandon the picnic hamper. He might say, “Why don’t you stay and eat with me?” and she’d say “No, thanks, we have to be getting back.” She wasn’t going to stay any longer than absolutely necessary. Her aunt might not believe her, but Brandon didn’t want company. He might want food, but he didn’t want people. No matter how amiable he seemed at the moment. His amiability could be attributed directly to the fact that she was taking Dylan home and he could be alone at last.
But Dylan wasn’t standing in the driveway waiting for her as she’d pictured. She had to follow the sound of pounding to the driveway in front of the garage. There she found Dylan hammering nails into a two-by-four and Brandon lifting a huge sheet of plywood off the sawhorses. She stood there for a long moment watching, neither of them aware of her presence. Her son’s face was flushed and his lower lip was caught by his teeth as he concentrated on his task.
Instead of well-pressed designer blue jeans and a yuppie polo shirt with a logo on it, Brandon was now wearing a faded T-shirt and denim cutoffs. His arms and muscular legs had tanned in the Nevada sun in the brief time he’d spent at the ranch, and sweat beaded on his forehead. This was obviously a man who did not spend all his time sitting in front of a computer. Those muscles had not developed overnight.
She stood rooted to the spot, her gaze moving from his broad shoulders to his torso and down his legs. Her pulse raced. A flight of butterflies took up residence in her stomach. She tried to tear her eyes away, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t have been more surprised at the transformation of a city man than if he’d suddenly appeared in leather chaps and a Stetson. When he ripped a rusty nail from a board with the back of a hammer, she felt like he was ripping away at a protective cover she’d put around herself months ago. She shook herself and took a deep breath. She had to do something, say something to break the spell.
“Hello.”
Brandon dropped his hammer and looked up at her.
She forgot her plan and just to have something to do, something to say, she held out the basket in front of her. “Compliments of my aunt,” she said briskly.
“What’s in it, Mom?” Dylan asked.
“Just some food for Mr. Marsh,” she said.
Brandon corrected her. “Brandon,” he said, straightening and walking up to her. He lifted the wicker cover and looked inside. “Fried chicken. Looks good. How did she know it was my favorite food?”
“Mine, too,” Dylan said.
“Come on, Dylan. We’re going home. You’ve taken up quite enough of Mr. Marsh—I mean Brandon’s time. Say thank you.”
“Thank you, Brandon,” he said dutifully, but his eyes never left the picnic basket. Dylan seemed more interested in the contents of the basket than in their imminent departure.
“And homemade biscuits and a three-bean salad and brownies if I’m not mistaken,” Brandon said, lifting a checkered cloth.
“Brownies!” Dylan exclaimed. “She never makes those for us.”
“Dylan. Not another word. We’re going home to dinner.”
“We don’t got a home,” he said, giving her that look that said it all, that made her feel like the worst parent in the world.
She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the truck, but he yanked at her
arm, resisting every step of the way.
“Wait a minute,” Brandon said. “There’s plenty of food here. Why don’t you stay and eat here? But maybe you have somewhere to go.”
“Yes,” Laura said.
“No,” Dylan said.
“Oh, all right,” Laura said, exasperated. Brandon was obviously being polite, and she was so tired of saying no to Dylan that she dropped his hand and let him hop up and down joyously. What harm could it do, after all, to spend an hour eating dinner if it meant so much to her son? On the other hand, Brandon was here for the solitude, not to entertain the former owners of his ranch. It was obvious he was just being polite. Her aunt had sent the food, enough for an army. What could he do but offer to share it with them? Which her deviously clever aunt knew full well.
They ate on the picnic table on the deck, the one her grandfather made from a pine tree that fell over in a windstorm one winter. Dylan never stopped talking. She’d never seen him so excited, so full of enthusiasm for a project. He talked about the improvements they were making to the tree house, the roof and the window and the shelf to keep his toys. And a secret place to hide messages and his own treasures. He ate some chicken, then took a brownie and went off to look for arrowheads in the Indian mound behind the house. He’d found one once, which he kept in the old cigar box with his other treasures.
Suddenly it was very quiet at the table. She shouldn’t have let Dylan go off like that. She should have packed up the empty dishes and left. But it seemed rude to eat and run, especially when Brandon was still eating. She had to say that he appeared to really enjoy her aunt’s picnic. Her aunt would be smug when she heard that, especially when she heard that he’d shared it with them. Which she obviously hoped would happen.
Laura gazed out at the purple sagebrush and thought about other dinners out here, her parents, grandparents, neighbors, gathered together on this big, old veranda, as it was called then, enjoying potluck dinners at this table, watching the children at play. The men would smoke their cigars out here and the women would go into the kitchen to do the dishes.