“We took a walk in the park for an hour this morning. Well, I walked, Daisy rode in my arms. And before you blow a gasket,” Dylan said. “Mrs. Dowd was with us the entire time.”
Eve understood the benefit of Daisy growing accustomed to having Dylan around, though she knew without a doubt he was her uncle, he was still a stranger.
Eve wanted to believe Dylan would keep Daisy safe; she couldn’t be certain. Visits with his niece had to be supervised by someone she trusted. The list was short. Just her and the Dowds.
“You’re right not to trust me,” Dylan said as though reading her mind. “I’m a good guy, Eve. I would cut off my right arm before I’d let anyone harm a hair on Daisy’s head. But you only have my word.”
Eve considered herself a good judge of character. However, she learned a long time ago that some people are born liars. Because they rarely told the truth, they became experts at fooling others.
Until Eve came to Trident, until Daisy wiggled her way into her heart, her relationships were transitory. By choice, she lived and traveled with no one to worry about but herself, careful not to let anyone get close enough to hurt her.
Sneaking a glance into the next stall, Eve suppressed a sigh. Dylan worried her. Not because she thought he was a bad man. Just the opposite. Deep down in a place she thought no longer existed, he sparked a glimmer of hope that maybe good men do exist.
For Daisy’s sake, Eve hoped Dylan was everything he seemed to be and more. As for her? Hope was a wonderful thing, but she would be better off if she smothered the spark he ignited before it turned into a flame.
“You don’t need to try so hard,” Eve said as she shoveled the last bit of manure into a pile that would be turned into fertilizer.
“What do you mean?” Dylan asked as he matched her shovel-for-shovel.
The work was hard. Some might say backbreaking. When the cows were in the field, Mr. Miller turned off the system that regulated the temperature. By the middle of the afternoon, the barn felt like a furnace.
“Getting sweaty and ruining your fancy clothes won’t make me like you any faster than if you sat on your butt and watched.”
“Do I look like I’m sweating to you?” Dylan asked with a wicked twinkle in his dark eyes.
No, Eve admitted to herself. While she was a mess, her clothes sticking to every inch of her body, Dylan looked cool and collected with barely a light sheen of perspiration on his forehead.
“I cleaned out three stalls before you arrived,” Eve pointed out, unwilling to admit the reason Dylan was unaffected by the hard labor was his amazing physical condition.
“By yourself?” Dylan frowned. “What the hell is your boss thinking?”
“Because I’m a woman?”
“Gender has nothing to do with it. The work is too much for one person,” he said, giving in to the heat and wiping his forehead on his sleeve.
Dylan wasn’t wrong. Eve was about at the end of her energy reserve. But the pay was good. Plus, she always felt a sense of accomplishment—and relief—when she finished.
“If you’re worried about me, don’t be.” Eve shrugged, hiding a wince when her muscles protested. Knowing she would stiffen up if she didn’t keep her body in motion, she moved to the final stall. “Thanks for helping. No need to ruin your nice clothes. I can finish on my own.”
“I already smell like the back end of a cow,” Dylan grimaced, then laughed. “Besides, my clothes aren’t that nice.”
“Right,” Eve scoffed. “How much did you pay for your sneakers?”
“Okay, the shoes were pricey,” Dylan admitted. “But my jeans are ten years old. I bought them at a yard sale when I was still in college.”
“You did not.” Eve eyed the fashionably worn denim that molded Dylan’s thighs like a dream. “Do you know how much those would sell for in a department store?”
“Forget the store. Unwashed and autographed, you could sell them on eBay for a small fortune.”
“You’re pulling my leg,” Eve snorted.
“Completely serious,” Dylan assured her.
“Why would anyone want to buy a pair of your smelly old jeans?”
“Because I’m a famous athlete,” he said with a casual shrug.
“So?” Eve wasn’t impressed.
“Don’t ask me to explain the way people’s minds work,” Dylan said. “I’m just grateful they fill the seats when my team plays a home game. Sponsors pay popular athletes to hawk their products. I make more from a few commercial deals than I do from my contract with the Knights.”
“Now you’re just bragging,” Eve sneered as the pile of manure continued to grow.
“Maybe,” Dylan admitted. “But I work hard to be the best at what I do. I won’t apologize for reaping the rewards.”
Eve tried hard to swallow her resentment. For the most part, she succeeded. If she had the talent to play professional sports, she would happily sell her image to the highest bidder. But she couldn’t help but wish that someone would send a boatload of cash her way just for making it through another day.
“Doesn’t hurt to have a pretty face.”
Eve winced when she realized she’d let her thoughts tumble from her mouth. Naturally, Dylan heard every muttered word.
“You like my face?” he asked with a cocky smile. “My body isn’t bad either. I did a commercial for a new body wash. Me, in the shower, naked. They couldn’t keep the stuff on the shelves.”
Amazed by the size of Dylan’s ego, Eve shook her head.
“The love affair you have with yourself is truly impressive,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Tell me. On average, how much time do you spend looking in the mirror?”
“Be honest,” Dylan said, ignoring Eve’s jab at his ego. “You want me to take off my shirt. Right here. Right now.”
Of course, Eve wanted to see Dylan without his shirt. Sheesh. She was only human. However, because she was ninety-nine-point nine percent certain Dylan meant his words as a joke—and because she didn’t want to embarrass herself by drooling—she didn’t bite at the bait he so temptingly dangled in front of her.
“I don’t have all day,” Eve said, keeping her head down. “Either help or get out of my way.”
“Come on,” Dylan continued to tease. He lifted the hem of his shirt to reveal an inch of his toned, hard abdomen. “Just a peek?”
“You want a shovel full of manure to the face,” Eve asked, hoping she sounded more nonchalant than she felt.
When Dylan’s smile widened, Eve reached her limit. Taking an extra-large scoop, she aimed and fired—right at his smirky mug. Unlike when she splatted his shoe, this time he was ready.
Showing off his best football moves, Dylan ducked, faked right, then swerved left. Before Eve knew what happened, her shovel flew from her hands and she was trapped in his arms.
Why Dylan smelled so good, Eve couldn’t say. But sweat, nature, and a spicy undertone melded to make an oddly heady combination. She knew because her nose was pressed tight against his chest.
“Let go,” she said through gritted teeth, trying not to breathe too deeply for fear she might do something foolish—like a sigh of pleasure. Please, God, no. “You have to the count of three.”
“And then what?” Dylan asked, his breath brushing against her ear.
Eve suppressed a shudder of pleasure. Rather than give him another warning, silently, she counted down.
“And three,” she exclaimed.
Rearing back, she aimed the toe of her work boot at Dylan’s shin.
“What happened to one and two,” he yelped, hopping on one foot when her aim was true.
Eve’s moment of satisfaction was short-lived. Dylan’s arms continued to hold her like a pair of steel bands. So, she kicked him again. This time, he was prepared. Sliding his leg to the right, he avoided contact but found a particularly fresh mound of manure.
Dylan’s foot slipped from under him. To his credit, he almost mainta
ined his balance but at the last second, with Eve’s added weight plastered to his chest, he toppled like a six-foot three-inch, two-hundred-and-ten-pound mighty oak.
Aware that she was about to hit solid ground, her muscles tensed. Somehow, at the last second, Dylan twisted his body, landing on his side and taking the brunt of the impact. He rolled to his back, taking her with him.
With his arms around her waist, Dylan settled Eve onto his chest. For a moment, they remained silent. Their breathing was the only sound to be heard in the empty barn.
“Are you okay?” he finally asked.
“I’m not the one who landed with a thud.” Eve gave him a worried look. “How’s your back?”
“Ever have a three-hundred- and fifty-pound linebacker land on top of you?” he asked.
“Can’t say I have,” Eve said.
“Comparatively speaking, you’re like a feather in the wind.”
“Since I know how much I weigh, you’ll understand if I doubt your word.” Eve suddenly realized her eyes—and mouth—were level with Dylan’s. Try as she might, she couldn’t stop her gaze from lingering on his slightly parted lips. “Let me up.”
“I can’t,” Dylan whispered.
“Why? Are you in pain?” Eve tried to move away but Dylan held tight. “Did you injure something in the fall?”
“I’m fine,” he assured her.
“Then why can’t you let go?” Eve demanded.
“Because I don’t want to.” Dylan’s smile disappeared as eyes darkened to a rich, chocolate brown.
Eve wasn’t oblivious to what he felt. The same budding need swirled through her blood. She could have acted coy or pretended not to notice the way the wild beat of his pulse matched her own.
Could a kiss hurt her? Depended on if they stopped with one or let their passion lead to something more.
Take a chance. Eve wanted to follow the siren’s call ringing in her ears. What do you have to lose? The question was too big and too frightening for her to answer. Perhaps pushing Dylan away was the coward’s way out. Right now, as her body urged her to enjoy the moment, her logical brain told her to step on the brakes. She would worry about the consequences of her choice later when her senses cleared, and she could think straight once again.
“I have manure lips,” Eve said in a rush.
As she hoped, at her outrageous proclamation, Dylan froze. His mouth was a hair’s breadth from hers.
“Manure?” he asked, his gaze narrowing as though after an hour of shoveling the stuff, he still didn’t understand what end of the animal it came out of.
“Bovine feces,” she explained, patiently, slowly. As she would if Daisy had asked the question. “Mrs. Cow eats the grass that grows in the meadow. Several hours later, after her meal has digested, she poops. The smell isn’t great, but—”
“I don’t need you to draw me a picture,” Dylan grumbled. Again, his eyes moved to her lips. “I just wondered how much manure there could be. Not a lot, right?”
“Are you serious?” Taking advantage of Dylan’s bemused state, Eve jumped to her feet. “After everything I said, you were still going to kiss me?”
“No.” Picking up his shovel, Dylan cleared his throat. “Of course not.”
“Yes, you were.” With a derisive snort, Eve went back to work. “You, Dylan Montgomery, are seriously weird.”
With a shake of her head, Eve turned her back on Dylan. She was careful to maintain a cool façade, but inside, she laughed—hard. The look on his face had been priceless. And, she had to admit, seriously adorable. Like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Or a grown man called out for wanting something so much he threw caution to the wind.
Eve froze when the implications of Dylan’s actions hit her. He. Wanted Her. Whether he felt the same flutter in his stomach as she did, or his interest was a case of temporary lust, the result was the same. They walked on dangerous ground.
Nothing monumental would happen to change the world if Eve gave into the attraction. She wasn’t the type to expect promises of endless devotion—the idea made her cringe.
However, if the DNA results ran true to what she expected, everything would change. Dylan would take Daisy with him back to Seattle and though Eve would no longer be a daily presence in the little girl’s life, she wasn’t about to disappear. She would keep tabs and hold the Montgomery family accountable.
Now and then, Eve would visit—talking on the phone, texting, Facetime, wasn’t enough. The didn’t want to make things awkward for Daisy simply because she couldn’t control an unexpected bout of lust.
Think of Dylan as Daisy’s uncle, Eve told herself, trying to conjure up unsexy images of portly men with bald heads and smoked stinky cigars. She glanced to her right and sighed when she noticed how the muscles on Dylan’s forearms rippled when he gripped the shovel.
Eve blew out a puff of air as she applied herself to her work. One thing was certain. If all uncles were as hot as Dylan Montgomery, there had to be a lot of happy aunts in the world.
▲ ▼ ▲ ▼ ▲
CHAPTER FOUR
▲ ▼ ▲ ▼ ▲
DYLAN WIPED A dab of shaving cream from his chin. Setting aside his razor, he ran a hand over his face. Smooth and stubble-free, he took the towel from his hips and hung the damp cloth over the nearby rack. Naked, he walked from the bathroom.
The Holiday Inn where Dylan currently resided was clean and convenient. Though located near the city limits, the motel was only minutes away from Eve’s apartment.
As Dylan dressed, zipping up a pair of khaki-colored linen pants and pulling a light-gray t-shirt over his head, he tentatively sniffed at his arm. He’d scrubbed at his skin to remove the smell of the cattle stalls, but the scent seemed to linger. His imagination? Hopefully. If not, he was royally screwed.
Sitting on the bed, Dylan tied the laces on his boots, lamenting with a wry smile the loss of his collector’s edition Michael Jordan Nike sneakers—signed by the man himself. With the help of the desk clerk at the motel, he was lucky to find a cleaner that could clean his cow shit crusted jeans, shirt, socks. And for good measure, his underwear.
Shiloh’s Fluff and Fold picked-up and delivered. Though the owner guaranteed his clothes would be back to normal, the shoes, he said with proper respect for the dead, were a loss.
Couldn’t blame anyone but yourself, Dylan told himself as he checked the contents of his wallet before slipping it into the inside pocket of his jacket. No one forced him to follow Eve to the dairy farm. Once there, he could have kept his opinion on her job to himself. Instead, he goaded her into retaliating—all over his prized shoes.
Despite himself, Dylan found himself smiling. Something about Eve brought out the need to prod and poke until she responded. He felt like an untried boy who for the first time realized there was a big difference between boys and girls. One girl, to be exact. Rather than tell her how he felt, he insulted her. Or teased her. Or pulled her pigtails.
Was he too old to be in the throes of a crush? Seemed the answer was a resounding no, Dylan thought as he started the SUV.
From the moment he first laid eyes on Eve Stewart, his feelings became jumbled. She annoyed him. She made him laugh. She challenged every word that came out of his mouth. She was opinionated. Stubborn. Easily irritated. Cute as a button. Sexy as hell.
The husky undertones of Eve’s voice made Dylan’s blood heat while her fearless need for independence chilled him to the bone. He had no right to fear that she might work herself to exhaustion. Yet last night, he lay awake trying to think of how he could help, knowing that if he thought of a solution, she would rail against taking his help.
Another thing bothered Dylan. He had yet to be on the receiving end of Eve’s megawatt smile. To everyone else, she passed them around without reserve. For him, she could muster little more than a sneer. Or nothing at all.
On the few occasions when Dylan thought he saw a friendly twinkle in her gray eye
s, her lips didn’t move—not even a twitch. Frustrated, he almost resorted to telling a joke. But if his efforts fell flat, he would feel like a fool.
Besides, Dylan didn’t want to earn his reward through artificial means. When Eve finally smiled his way, if the gesture wasn’t organic and from her heart, then he wasn’t interested.
Dylan sighed. He didn’t know if Eve was unlike any woman he’d ever met. But one thing was certain. She was the first in a long time—perhaps ever—who occupied his thoughts even when she wasn’t around. She made him anticipate the next time they would meet while he tried to think up an excuse to see her sooner than planned.
Shaking his head at his wild musings, Dylan stared out the window. Less than a week ago, he didn’t know Eve existed. He checked his watch. Forty-eight hours ago, he’d never laid eyes on her outside of a hastily snapped photograph that didn’t begin to do the woman justice.
Yet, Dylan knew when the time came for him to say goodbye, when he was safely back home in Seattle, living his life, the memory of Eve would linger in his consciousness.
Whether Eve’s continued presence in his thoughts would turn out to be something he celebrated or cursed, only time would tell. He couldn’t say what tomorrow would bring. Today, Dylan planned to relax and allow himself to enjoy the novelty of his one-sided crush.
Dylan started the car just as his phone rang. Letting the engine idle, he checked the caller ID. Surprised to see Erin Ashmore’s name on the screen.
“Hey, Doc,” Dylan said, smiling as he pictured the blonde goddess. “How’s the morning treating you?”
“I’m on my way to deliver a set of twins to a mother who is thrilled to be at the end of her pregnancy,” Erin answered with a laugh. “After gestating two whole human beings for the past nine months, I understand her feeling of relief.”
“Twins?” As a man, Dylan couldn’t imagine. “Why isn’t she scared witless?”
“Right now, she’s more exhausted than anxious,” Erin said. “The terror of becoming a new mom will come later. After the epidural wears off.”
The Last Honest Man: A Sports Romance (One Pass Away: A New Season Book 3) Page 5