by LuAnn McLane
Dakota glared up at him. “I’m fine,” she answered tightly. “Must you keep asking me that?”
His dark brows came together. “Need some help?” he asked as he extended his big hand.
“No,” she answered wearily. She wanted to hide her face with her hands, but he wrapped firm, warm fingers around her wrist anyway, and then gently tugged her to her feet. “Don’t you believe in knocking?”
“I did knock.”
“Really? I must have been …” She angled her head at him while trying to give him an I-wasn’t-daydreaming-of-you-in-my-bedroom look. “I must have been thinking of song lyrics or something. So, when I didn’t answer, you decided to enter anyway?”
He shrugged. “I brought some mousetraps and wanted to set them.” He drew in a deep breath. “I have some work to accomplish at the marina, and I didn’t want to have to come back later.”
“Oh.” The wind went out of her sails and she felt a bit childish. “Well, thanks.”
He jammed his thumb over his shoulder. “I’m going to go set them now.”
Dakota wrung her hands together at the thought of a little mouse trapped in such a painful way. “Okay,” she said slowly, but when Trace turned to leave she added, “Ew, wait. Stop. No.”
Trace turned around slowly. “Dakota,” he began, and was about to shrug and let well enough alone, but the thought of her being in a cabin with rodents scurrying around didn’t sit well with him. “The mice will get into your food. They carry germs.”
She closed her eyes and pressed her lips together. “Can’t I just get a cat?” she asked in a small voice.
“And just what do you think the cat will do?”
Her eyes opened wide as she looked over at him. “But that’s nature, you know?”
“Look, you need to let me do this. You’ll sleep better,” he added when he noticed the dark smudges beneath her eyes. He gave her a level look while thinking how she had engaged him in more conversation in a few minutes than he normally had in an entire day. She was breaking through his carefully constructed armor, and he had better put an end to it right now.
“I’m setting them,” he told her firmly. “I’ll come by tomorrow, and hopefully after that, you should be rodent free.”
Trace pivoted on his boot heel and left her sputtering her protest. When she didn’t follow, he figured it was because she really did want the mice gone but didn’t want to witness him setting the traps. Or then again, perhaps she simply didn’t want to be around him, he thought, and waited for the feeling of satisfaction that just wouldn’t come.
“Dakota?” he called after setting traps where she wasn’t likely to see or step on them. When she failed to answer, he thought about simply leaving. But her lack of response somehow bothered him, and so he went looking for her. He walked to the bedroom and was about to inform her that the deed was done, but he stopped in his tracks when he saw her. She was curled up in the middle of the mattress, sound asleep, and for a long moment he stood in the doorway and simply stared.
Her golden hair had come completely undone and fanned out against the green and white patchwork quilt. She had one hand beneath her cheek and the other one was balled in a fist near her mouth. Something hot and intense unfurled in his gut that went beyond sexual heat. She was doing things to him that he couldn’t quite comprehend or maybe just didn’t want to acknowledge. Unnerved, he glanced away, but the sound of her soft sigh drew his gaze right back to her sleeping form.
He knew he should turn on his heel and leave, but the morning breeze blowing through the open window was still rather cool, so he walked quietly over to the bed and pulled up the edge of the quilt and draped it over her. She stirred, murmured something, and for a heart-thumping moment he imagined her opening her eyes and reaching for him… .
Trace shook his head, trying to clear it. Even before the accident, he wasn’t a touchy-feely kind of guy, and yet he longed to lean down and caress her hair, kiss her forehead. And these tender feelings floored him. He didn’t even really know her yet. He shoved frustrated fingers through his hair. There was no yet. He was not going to get to know her.
She might have lived in L.A., but there was a girl-next-door sweetness about her that was no match for a scarred and jaded cowboy like himself, he thought darkly. Trace turned and quickly left the room.
He closed the door quietly, thinking that she really must not have slept much last night, and decided he’d tell Sierra to come up and at least sweep out the dust and cobwebs and bring some fresh linens and a few basic supplies. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Dakota was the owner and his boss. The least he and the staff could do was make the cabin presentable for her, he decided, and then headed over to the kitchen to locate the camp cook.
“What the—!” Just as Trace pushed open the kitchen door, Gil, the fishing guide’s dog, came blowing by him with a big bone hanging out of his mouth. Gil was closely followed by Sierra running after him with her fist in the air.
“Outta my way!” Sierra warned Trace, but before he could sidestep, she shoved him hard in the chest and he stumbled back into the open doorway. “Git back here, you mangy-ass dog!”
Gil, the full-blooded Australian shepherd, however, kept right on running down the dock with his stolen prize. Sierra followed in hot pursuit. Shaking his head, Trace watched, wondering who would fall into the lake first.
Grady Green, who was walking down the dock, tugged his ball cap up to watch the mad chase. “What the hell?” he asked when he reached Trace’s side.
“Seems like your dog made out with something from the kitchen,” Trace answered.
“Oh, baby, there’s gonna be hell to pay,” Grady said with a grin.
“You or Gil?”
“Both,” Grady answered with a grimace. “Course I always seem to be gettin’ in trouble no matter what I do, where Sierra’s concerned.” He scratched the side of his chin, which was shadowed with dark blond stubble. “Never done a damned thing to her, and yet she’s always ridin’ my ass for some reason or another.” He paused and pointed. “Whoa, she almost had him caught!” Grady shook his head while chuckling. “Damn. Course she’s a little bitty thing, so she’s quick.”
Trace turned with Grady and watched Gil take a sharp turn up the hill. Sierra gave it a good effort, but the dog quickly gobbled up some ground, leaving Sierra bent over and panting. Finally, she raised her fist and then slowly started to make her way back toward the dock. Trace noticed that she paused with her hands on her hips and looked at Dakota’s BMW parked in the driveway, and then made her way down the gravel road.
“We best not be caught gawkin’,” Grady advised. “Sierra might be little, but she sure is a spitfire when she gets riled up.”
“You got that right.” Trace nodded in agreement and followed Grady into the kitchen. Sierra was young, about twenty-three or so, but had a slew of brothers and could hold her own with the rowdy men at the camp. She might be small in stature, but nobody messed with her, and he had been telling the truth to Dakota about Sierra being treated pretty much as one of the guys. “Musta taken a soup bone,” Trace commented when he saw the ingredients for vegetable soup on the long cutting board. “I think it was on the menu for tomorrow’s lunch.”
“Was is the operative word here,” Sierra grumbled and then swiped at her damp brow as she walked through the back door. Strands of her dark hair pulled back in her customary no-nonsense ponytail were coming loose and curled around her face. She impatiently tucked a lock behind her ear and gave Grady a glare. “Your mangy dog snatched my soup bone.”
“Sorry,” Grady offered. “You want me to take you into town and get you another? You could ride with me and pick out whatever you need.”
Sierra’s green eyes widened just a bit and she suddenly flushed and looked away from Grady. “No, it would be too late to start the soup by the time we’d get back. I’ll have to make something else instead.” With her lips pressed together in agitation, she started gathering up the variety of vegetables.
> “I’m really sorry,” Grady offered again, and adjusted the bill of his black baseball cap, which sported a big fish and the phrase KISS MY BASS. “Is there anything I can do?”
Sierra paused and then pointed a carrot at him. “You can keep your dog under control, that’s what you can do. This isn’t the first time he’s run off with my food.”
“I’ll do my best,” Grady promised with his usual good-natured smile. “Gil’s a good dog, Sierra, and you know it. Back me up here, Trace.”
Trace raised his palms in the air while firmly shaking his head. “I’m staying outta this one.” Although he had a bit of a hell-raising, wild streak, Trace liked Grady. He was a hard worker, and when he wasn’t doing his fishing-guide duties he performed general maintenance around the marina, doing anything asked of him without complaint. In addition, he had disclosed to Trace that he was saving his prize money from fishing tournaments in hopes of owning his own bait and tackle shop.
“Yeah, well, maybe he is, and you’re not a good owner,” Sierra grumbled.
“Aw, come on, Sierra. How ’bout if I buy you a beer later on tonight down at Dewey’s Pub to make it up to you? You headin’ that way after work? Playin’ some pool with the boys?”
“You mean you don’t have one of your hot dates you’re always braggin’ about?” Sierra asked with a sassy little head bop.
“Naw,” Grady admitted.
It might be Trace’s imagination, but he thought Sierra looked pleased at Grady’s no-date. Trace suddenly wondered whether Sierra secretly had a crush on Grady. She was such a tough little no-frills cookie and fit in so well with the guys that Trace sometimes forgot she was a girl. Maybe they all did, including Grady.
“But the day’s not over,” Grady added with a wink.
Sierra lowered her eyes, but not before Trace noticed the disappointment, and he suddenly knew he was right on the money. Funny, he thought, but he never would have picked up on it before his little encounter with Sleeping Beauty up at her cabin. Just the thought of her sent his dormant sex drive into full throttle.
“Earth to Trace,” Sierra prodded with a shake of her head.
“Hmm?” He hoped she thought the sudden heat he felt in his face was from the kitchen stove.
Sierra flicked Grady a glance before turning her attention back to Trace. “I said to tell the guys that we’re having chili instead of vegetable soup. Luckily, I have some ground beef in the freezer.”
“Oh, sure, no problem.”
“Your chili kicks ass,” Grady commented. “You’re not afraid to make it blazin’ hot, just the way I like it.”
Sierra’s cheeks turned pink at his compliment, reconfirming Trace’s suspicion. “Well, it’s what you’ll be gettin’, like it or not.”
“And corn bread?” Grady pleaded. “Please say yes. Your corn bread is better than my mama’s, but don’t tell her I said so.”
“Yeah, and honey butter,” Sierra promised, and started to smile, but then seemed to catch herself and frowned instead. Trace knew the feeling, and wondered what she had in her past that kept her guard up too? Something he hadn’t thought about until now either. He shook his head, thinking that Dakota had really gotten under his skin in more ways than one.
“Trace, just where has your mind wandered off to again?” Sierra asked.
“Oh, did you ask me something?”
“Yeah, I was wondering what brought you to the kitchen. Was there something you wanted?”
“Oh yeah. When you get the chance, could you head up to Charley Dunn’s cabin and sweep it out? Maybe bring some fresh linens and a few basics, like soap and toilet paper?”
“Are Charley and Rita Mae in town?” she asked hopefully.
“Mmm, no. Actually, it’s Dakota Dunn, their daughter. She’s been living in L.A. She owns the marina, remember?”
“Oh.” Sierra’s eyes widened. “Yeah. Hey, wasn’t she famous or somethin’?”
Trace shrugged. “She had a few hit records a while back when she was a kid. Says she’s here for the peace and quiet and to reevaluate. Whatever that means.”
Sierra scrunched up her nose. “Sounds like some sort of new age mumbo jumbo.”
“Is she hot?” Grady asked.
Trace realized that Grady was just being Grady, but for some reason his question pissed him off, and so he shot him a quelling look.
Grady took his ball cap off and laid it on the kitchen counter, and then ran his fingers through his slightly damp wavy blond hair. “Hey, I was just askin’.”
“She’s your boss, Grady,” Trace reminded him firmly.
“Dude, I was just curious.” He shook his head. “You two are too intense. Lighten up.”
“Yeah, well, whatever.” Feeling silly at his overreaction, Trace suddenly wanted to escape. “I’ll see you two later.”
Sierra nodded. “I’ll head up to the cabin and give it a once-over and leave some supplies.”
Trace nodded. “Thanks. See ya around, Grady.”
“Yeah, see ya. Hey you wanna come into town tonight and shoot some pool? Toss a few back?”
Trace shook his head. Grady had been asking the same question every Friday and Saturday and always got the same answer. “No, thanks.”
“I tried. One of these nights you’re gonna come with me and have some fun.”
“Someone needs to be here and keep an eye on things,” Trace argued, even though that excuse was wearing thin. Although he didn’t mind hanging out with Grady and Sierra occasionally at the marina for a few beers, he had no interest in going into town to socialize.
“Okay,” Grady said with a shrug. “Maybe next time.”
“Sure,” Trace answered, even though they both knew he wouldn’t. He didn’t want to talk about his glory days or his accident, and he sure didn’t want to go trolling for women. No, he was content right here, spending quiet nights at the marina.
4
Slip Slidin’ Away
“What did you come here for, Grady?” Sierra asked after Trace left.
“A cookie,” he admitted with a crooked grin. “I’m not beyond stealing one just like Gil, but I can’t run as fast and you’d catch me and whup my ass. Can I have one … or three?”
“What?” Sierra frowned.
“Aren’t those your homemade chocolate chip cookies I smell?”
“Oh, shit! The cookies!”
Sierra picked up a pot holder, ran over to the oven, and yanked it open. The cookies were browner than she liked, but not ruined. She grabbed the cookie sheet and quickly pulled it from the oven, but in her haste she touched the metal pan with her fingertips. “Ouch! Damn!” she grumbled. She set the cookie sheet on the kitchen island with a solid clank and then glared at the pot holder as if it were the culprit.
“Hey, are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she lied, feeling stupid. Her fingertips tingled and she longed to blow on them, but refrained. “I must have forgotten to set the timer when Gil ran off with my soup bone.”
“Here, you need ice on that,” Grady insisted, and opened the big side-by-side freezer. After retrieving some ice, he came over to her side. “Let me see.” Before she could protest, he took her hand and pressed the cold cubes to her tender fingers. “Better?”
Sierra swallowed hard and tried not to be affected by his nearness. “Yeah,” she answered gruffly. “It’s no big deal. Burned fingers go with the territory.” She shrugged while he held her hand in his and rubbed the ice back and forth. “I’ll live.”
“Yeah, well, you’ll feel better living without blisters.” Grady looked up from his task and grinned. “You know, for a minute there I thought you were gonna catch Gil and wrestle that bone right outta his mouth.”
“Yeah, there woulda been hell to pay,” she responded, trying to sound angry, but her breathless tone blew that all to hell.
“I don’t doubt it one bit,” he agreed, and his grin widened to a full-blown smile. His teeth were white and straight, unlike the ones of some of the loc
al guys Sierra knew who dipped or smoked. “And I think Gil realized it.”
“He got me going up the hill. Guess I’m outta shape.”
He chuckled, as if recalling the mad chase. “Are you kiddin’? You were like greased lightning.” He frowned at her fingers, and then gently rubbed some more. He smelled of the outdoors and a hint of spicy aftershave and … dear Lord, did his eyes have to be such a vivid shade of green? Wavy blond hair that reminded Sierra of Paul Walker’s in The Fast and the Furious, curled at the nape of his neck, just begging a girl to run her fingers through it. “You were hell on wheels, that’s for sure.”
“You’re damned straight,” she responded, trying again to sound big and bad but failing miserably. Water from the melting ice ran down her hand and dripped onto the floor, but she didn’t care. It was a small price to pay for Grady’s undivided attention.
“I hope you don’t blister,” Grady commented, and continued to soothe her pink fingertips. “Nothin’ worse than a burn.”
“Oh, I’ll be fine,” Sierra assured him, and had to hold back a shiver that had nothing to do with the ice. She knew he wasn’t affected by their close proximity the way she was, nor did she kid herself that he was flirting, which kind of stung, because the attraction seemed so one-sided. But she would take what she could get.
Sierra had witnessed firsthand the type of girl Grady went after—tall, blond, and busty. And she was the polar opposite. While she stayed toned and slender due to physical work and endless energy, she wished for womanly curves that turned male heads. She tamed her unruly dark curls in a ponytail, dressed in jeans and Tshirts, and wore very little makeup. In truth, she longed to be more feminine, but her mother had run off when she was just a child, leaving her daddy and three older, rough-and-tumble brothers to raise her. She had always been treated as one of the guys and didn’t know any other way to dress or act.
“There,” Grady said after the ice melted to a mere sliver. “That should do the trick,” he added hopefully, and then gently dried her hand with a dish towel. “Sorry to have caused you so much trouble, Sierra. I know you work real hard and don’t deserve this drama.” Grady’s usual cocky smile suddenly seemed tender, and when he reached over and unexpectedly ran a fingertip down her cheek, Sierra wanted to tilt her face into the palm of his hand and sigh. But she knew he was simply feeling guilty about Gil’s behavior and nothing more, so she took a step back before she did something silly that she would later regret.