Before the Rain (4 page)

His abrasive nature proved only to intrigue her more, though. “Are you always this pleasant, Dylan?”

A teen girl with shiny black hair down to her ass and rosy cheeks bounced from the doorway and landed beside him.

Sammy rose to all fours and wagged his tail, sniffing at the girl’s hand. She smiled and ruffled the dog’s long ears. He barked and nuzzled his nose against her touch.

“Your daughter?”

“Nope. I’m his sister, innit.” She preened her long-ass tendrils.

“Innit?” Zoe asked.

“It means ‘isn’t it,’” Dylan offered, then pointed a finger at his sister. “And I’ve told you before not to use that slang, Rhiannon. Slang shows poor upbringing.”

The girl shrugged. “Whatever, Dylan.” She faced Zoe and said, “I’m Rhiannon. If you need any info on the village hot spots, come to me.” The young girl reached into her jeans pocket then handed Zoe a candy-pink, chevron-patterned business card.

Rhiannon Mostyn, Travel Blogger and High Schooler at large.

She even had an email and blog address listed.

“Impressive. So, you’re a writer. Me too.”

The girl beamed. “I know. Lucy said you write for a big-shot newspaper.”

“How sweet.” Lucy had landed herself some brownie points. “What else did she say about me?”

“You got dumped at the altar at Christmas for like the tenth time or something, and you hate men.”

She gaped. “She seriously told you I hated men?”

Dylan side-eyed Zoe then turned to his much younger sister. “Enough, Rhiannon, don’t bother the lady.”

A chill caught Zoe, and she squirmed in her pajamas. “I should get dressed. I wasn’t expecting company.”

“No need. We’re leaving after I’ve shown you where the electric meter is. You’ll need fifty pence pieces for it. Cathy always keeps a stock at the post office in the village. And before you ask, yes, she takes American Express. I marked the store, along with a few others you may find useful, on the map I put on the table with the breakfast supplies. Come, this way.”

He strode out the front door, and Sammy obediently followed. Rhiannon dragged her feet behind him.

Zoe slipped into her tennis shoes and joined them around the side of the cottage, the bitter winds lashing up and around her fuzzy top.

Clamping her top down against her waist, she shivered. “Good thing there’s no one else out here.”

“Why?” he asked.

“I’m in my pajamas?”
Goodness gracious.

He snorted. “It’s no fashion show out here on the farm, love.” He opened a metal box stuck to the side of the cottage and pointed to a coin slot. “Stick the coins in here. If you don’t, you’ll be sitting in the dark and freezing to death. Got it?”

“Got it. So how long does a coin last in this thing?”

“Dylan, can I go? I’ll be late for the school trip bus if I don’t leave now. It’s meant to be here any minute.”

“Fine. Go.” He pecked her forehead. “Have a good day at the petting zoo, sweetie.”

“It’s not a petting zoo. It’s a wildlife refuge. O. M. G.” She pivoted, her gorgeous, shiny hair swishing as she stormed toward the road.

Sammy barked and started down the driveway after her.

“Sammy, stay.”

The dog immediately raced back to his master’s side and sat.

“I see both yourself and Rhiannon inherited the same sassy gene.”

Dylan raised a brow. “Fun-ny.”

“So where are your parents? Do they live close by?”

His chest puffed out as he sucked in a long breath, and his gaze lowered. “They’re dead.”

She scooted closer and offered an understanding nod. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry, Miss America?”

With a tilt of the head, she pursed her lips and thought for a moment. “Because it can’t be fun having to deal with such a loss.”

“None of your business.”

How on earth would she stand it here with him acting like such a jerk-off?

“You know,” she added in a gentle tone, “we’re going to be living pretty close to each other over the next three months. It wouldn’t hurt us to at least try to get along. Unless there’s a reason you hate me so?”

He kicked the heel of his left foot against his right and turned his gaze away from her.

“Really?”

He softened his expression and inched back. “Bloody hell, I don’t hate you. Aunty Betty said I was rather rude to you yesterday, not helping you find your way, so I’m sorry, I am. It’d been a long day and the last thing I needed was—”

“The last thing you needed was Miss America all snappy and impatient getting in the way of your day. Yes, I know. I wasn’t the nicest of people yesterday, either.”

“
Ia
, I’m pretty clueless when it comes to being nice, but I’m trying. I am.”

“But you dragged me out at first light while I’m still dressed for bed. That’s not so nice. I think you owe me a coffee.”

His frown returned, and he crossed his arms across his chest and stood tall. “Now, Zoe, remember our rule. They’ll be no funny business.”

Cocking a hip, she put a hand to her head and struck a cliché sexy pose. “Yeah, I’m really trying to charm you into my bed right now with my dead-sexy nightwear.”

“Hmm, you have a point.” He chuckled, his smile crinkling around his eyes but his beard hiding the full strength of his warm gesture. At least he wasn’t all scowl anymore.

“In fact, my inability to get dressed in the mornings probably scared away all those men before I was able to drag them down the aisle,” she sassed, expecting him to share in the joke.

He raised a brow. “Indeed.”

“Not much of a talker, are you?”

“We’ve established I don’t do well with strangers. Didn’t get on with Lucy or…Paul, was it?”

Zoe nodded.

“Well, I didn’t care for either of them. They never went out of their way to talk, either. Not like you. You, you talk for England.”

Sammy barked.

“Yes, you talk a lot too, Sammy.” He rewarded the animal with a pat on the head then chuckled. “You both can talk for England.”

“Talk for England? Are you saying I’m chatty?”

He nodded, a smirk creeping over his mouth.

“Actually, I’m pretty quiet for the most part. It’s you. You make me talk so much because you say so little. It’s like carrying on a one-sided conversation except when you’re twisting my words or throwing insults.”

“Unintended.”

“Fine, so, how about a coffee for a fresh start?”

“Yes to a fresh start, but no to the coffee. I’ve got work.”

She reached for his arm, but he snapped it toward his chest.

“You’re afraid of me?”

“Nope.” He crossed his arms. “Just setting boundaries, love.”

“You must have gotten the drift by now. Dating is the last thing on my mind. Besides, you’re not my type.” She stormed back into the cottage, her blood heating toward a boil. Men. She’d done well to swear off them. To swear off love. Pivoting, she pointed her finger at him. “Why assume you’re all I’d be interested in from the get-go? Have I got ‘desperate’ written on my forehead?”

He threw his hands up in a defensive gesture. “No, no you don’t. But Lucy—”

“I’m not Lucy,” she barked.

“I was gonna say Lucy painted a different picture of you to Rhiannon on the few occasions they chatted.”

She snorted. Heck, patience had never been her thing, but this guy? This guy got on her last nerve.

“Ah, bugger. Aunty Betty will be mad when she hears I’ve upset you even more. I try being nice, but it never works out that way.”

“Dylan, in case you didn’t get the newsflash my sister blurted to your sister, I got dumped at the altar and I’m homeless.”

“Pfft.”

“Oh, you want more? I got fired because my advice at love stinks. I hate love. I’m so not loving love right now. I repeat, no love for me, and certainly no bed. Okay?” she rambled, not stopping for a single breath.

“Do you feel lighter now?”

She nodded, heat rising to her cheeks. This man brought out the worst in her. Made her think about her failings. She didn’t like that. Not one little bit.

“I was gonna say Lucy mentioned we’d be good together when she’d phoned to hold the cottage for you. I guess her comment stayed on my mind. I was worried all you’d come here for was a holiday romance with your very own hero like in those chick movies, that you and Lucy had cooked up some crooked dating scheme.” He turned his back to her. “I guess that was wrong of me. Kind of presumptuous, that’s me.”

“And clueless.”

“
Ia
.”

Lucy had been wrong. They’d make a terrible couple. But damned if she couldn’t help wonder if he made love the way he talked to her, with fiery determination, rough, and to the point.

Heck, if she didn’t want to find out. She mentally dared him to storm up to her and rip her pajama top buttons off and take her right there and then in the front yard.

What the heck was the matter with her?

Men suck.

“Dylan,” she cooed. “I dare you to do something to make me smile. Go on. I bet you can think of a way.”

“Well.” He paused, his stare, deep and intense, bore into her and he intrigued her even more. “Get dressed and come up to the house for french-pressed coffee. How’s that, Miss America? Nice enough for you? We have scones and jam, too.”

Not bad, Welshy, not bad at all.

He pivoted and strode off, his shoulders hunched and his gaze tipped down. Sammy matched him step for step, staying close to his side. As Dylan passed the rental Mini, her mind drifted to her most delicious daydream again. She willed him to ask for her help with something.

Alas, he passed the car and kept moving down the driveway and up toward the house.

Darn this man frustrated the heck out of her.

A tsunami of scrambled thoughts raced through her mind, and her stomach twisted. What if coming out here was the biggest mistake she’d ever made? Like ever. Men spelled trouble where she was concerned, and she didn’t need intuition or good sense to know this particular man was thrice the trouble he was worth. A Leo, she was willing to bet. Somehow, she was always pulled toward Leos. Maybe they brought out the best in her, but they also brought out the worst.

She changed into her usual garb of yoga pants and sweatshirt, freshened up, and painted on her black eye liner and a quick lick of lip-gloss. She then hiked to the Rose Farm house and knocked on the door.

Dylan flung the door open and ushered her in, no greeting or words of any kind.

Arms crossed, she followed him through a narrow corridor covered in crimson brocade wallpaper. Upon the walls hung sepia photos of farm animals—sheep, cows, and one of a lamb.

“Oh, that’s so cute,” she cooed.

He glanced over his shoulder and scowled her way.

“Oh, my, you are a hard one to read.” With an effort to sound casual, she added in a breezy tone, “You have a beautiful home.”

“Indeed,” he replied, his tone flat as he strode through the last doorway.

She popped around the doorjamb and discovered a huge family kitchen. Ms. Mostyn stood at the sink with her arms elbow-deep in suds.

“Hi, y’all,” Zoe sang with her best effort, uncrossing her arms.

“Well,
helo
there, come on in.” Ms. Mostyn ushered her into the room with wall-to-wall custom fit-to-the-ceiling mahogany cabinets, simple yet elegant beige worktops, and the biggest farm-style sink she’d ever seen.

“I just told Mr. Mostyn that I love your home. It’s beautiful.”

“Mr. Mostyn. That’s so formal. Betty and Dylan, okay?” She dried up and ushered Zoe forward. “Love, relax, we don’t bite.”

She wasn’t so sure about that.

“I just love this room.” The same fresh paint odor from the cottage teased her nostrils. “Newly done?”

“Well lush, isn’t it? Dylan did it.”

“Impressive. I love the cute window seats. Cozy place for a book and a coffee.”

“
Ia
, Rhiannon is always lounged out there reading her dystopians and swooning about some character or another. I swear, that girl. God help us the day she brings a boy home.”

Dylan twisted his mouth. “Not in my lifetime.”

Zoe snickered, imagining him greeting the lad with a rifle at the door. “Looks like the cottage was renovated. Did you wave the do-it-yourself wand in there, too?”

“For Lucy’s stay, yes. Then a quick recoat of paint last week to make it nice for you.”

Betty side-eyed him and dug her elbow into his ribs. “Never mind the decorating talk. Is Miss America staying for breakfast?”

Zoe inched back and stuck her palm out. “If it’s a problem, I can go.”

“No, no bother.” She reached into a high cabinet and dragged out three mugs. “Glad to have company, I am. Please sit, make yourself at home.” She pointed at Dylan’s feet and blasted at him, “Boyo
,
take those muddy boots off and leave them at the door.”

“I’m not stopping.”

The busty woman put a mug back and huffed.

“Excuse me, ladies. I’ve a fence to fix.” He fled, slamming the door on his way out.

“Ah, don’t mind Dylan, love.” She crossed her arms. “He isn’t too fond of making nice with strangers, more so if he thinks they’re not sticking around. Don’t take this the wrong way, love, but he sees you more of a temporary bother than a person who enriches his life.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed.”

Betty snickered. “He’s an acquired taste, for sure. But I love him, I do. Like my own son. Same with Rhiannon.”

“It shows.”

“So, coffee? I’m a dark roast girl, but I have light, too, if you prefer.”

“Dark roast is perfect. Can I help?”

“Park your bum. Help yourself to the village newspaper. Not that there’s ever anything in the thing, but it beats
The Sun
with its flimsy stories and those disgusting page three spreads.”

“Page three?”

“Topless models with ‘a story’ to tell, and in a daily publication. Terrible, it is.”

“In a daily newspaper? Holy moly.”

The woman nodded. “Can you imagine such a publication on a family’s table at breakfast?”

Zoe flicked through the pages of the local paper, which featured stories of local events and similar fare. “Ah, well, the village publication is just darling.”