Daring Dylan (The Billionaire Brotherhood Book 2) (4 page)

“No.” The
single syllable response sliced through the air like a scalpel while Dylan
stopped the car with robotic precision at the fork in the road. Only the rain
on the car roof and the whap-whap of the windshield wipers interrupted the
silence. “Which way?”

Well, he
hadn’t fallen apart from her needling, but she’d obviously hit a sore spot.
“Right,” Gracie directed. “About another quarter of a mile. There’s a sign at
the end of a little lane.”

Once he’d
reached the destination, his headlights picked up the script lettering and he
turned onto the driveway. “Liberty House? What’s that? A hotel?”

“A
B&B.” She unbuckled her seatbelt and prepared to make a dash through the
rain.

Gran had
turned on the exterior lights. The soft glow of Liberty House welcomed Gracie
home with the guest wings stretched out like giant arms. Small lights along the
walk revealed sprouts of pink phlox. Spiky delphinium stalked among the
boxwoods edging the front porch. The building exuded a charm that combined the
solid structure of days gone by, her grandfather’s expert carpentry, and her
grandmother’s loving care.

The
unpleasantness of the past few weeks dissolved. Tears Gracie had kept frozen
inside threatened to melt under the onslaught of warmth and comfort that gushed
through her. She bent her head to hide any betraying emotion and hugged MacDuff
close.

“Thanks for
the ride.” Her fingers groped for the handle. “Turn right at the end of the
drive, go about a mile, and look for a dilapidated school house with a caved in
roof.” She lifted her eyebrows to ask if he got that, and he nodded. “Turn left
onto Cleveland Road.”

“You’re
kidding, right?”

“Nope, but
the road’s narrow and overgrown. The sign’s been missing for years.” She
smirked. “See you around, Dylan Bradford.”

“Wait,” he
commanded. “I don’t know your name.”

“It’s
Gracie.” Impatient to see Gran and be out of the presence of another difficult
man, she prepared to jump and make a dash through the rain. “Gracie O’Donnell.”

The tail of
her jacket hooked on the door handle, halting her exit. He leaned forward to assist
her, but she jerked free, slammed the door, and didn’t look back. Entering the
house, she heaved a sigh.
Home at last.

“Gran!” She
set MacDuff on the parquet floor and sniffed the familiar lemon furniture
polish and lavender potpourri. Those heavenly aromas mingled with Gran’s
cooking, stirring up a treasure-trove of childhood memories.

“Finally!”
Her white-haired grandmother’s sweet voice that had soothed countless fears and
read thousands of bedtime stories floated to her. Emerging from the kitchen at
the end of the hall, Gran dried her hands on her apron. “I didn’t hear your
car. Why did you come in through the front? Looks like you got caught in the
rain. What’s that on your face? Is Baxter with you?”

She opened
her arms, but Gracie stepped back. “No, wait. I’m all wet.”

“A bit of
damp doesn’t matter, not when it’s been a month since I’ve seen you.”

Gracie
hugged the little woman whose fragile exterior hid the emotional strength and
sturdiness of Maine granite. She held onto the embrace longer than a casual
homecoming warranted. After she’d soaked up all the emotional reassurance she
could without alarming her grandmother, Gracie straightened and fielded the
questions.

“No, I’m
alone. Sorry, I’m late. I got caught in the rain, had some car trouble, and had
to hitch a ride.”

Over her
grandmother’s shoulder, Gracie glanced at her reflection in the mirrored
umbrella stand. She rubbed a finger over a black streak smudged across her
nose. “Darn. Grease from the car.” With an arm around Gran’s shoulders, Gracie
headed toward the kitchen, her favorite room in the house. “How’s Granddad
today?”

“Feeling
guilty because you’ve had to come and help out and grumpy about being laid up
due to his own foolishness. He knew he shouldn’t have tried to paint the Colony
Room by himself, but Edgar called in sick that day and your grandfather didn’t
want to wait.”

“That’s
Granddad, all over. Be back in a sec.” Dropping a quick kiss on Gran’s cheek,
Gracie ducked into the laundry room to change into a dry flannel shirt she found
hanging on a peg and a pair of warm gray socks she fished out of the dryer.
Running a comb through the Medusa curls did nothing to control the chaos. She
abandoned the task with a shrug. No one but Gran around anyway.

Gracie
raised her voice over the gush of running water while she washed up. “Except
for the fact that he’s hurt, I’m glad I had an excuse to get out of Hartford
for a while. With two new pediatricians at the clinic, it wasn’t any trouble to
take a short leave.”

“Probably
more trouble than you’re admitting, but I’m happy you’re here. It would’ve been
a challenge to get the place ready for the season’s first guests if you hadn’t
been able to come.”

When Gracie
paused in the kitchen door, Gran turned away from the stove and fixed her with
a measuring eye. “Will Baxter be arriving tomorrow? Or later in the week?”

“No.” She’d
hoped to avoid the subject of her ex-boyfriend a little longer. Retrieving dog
food from the cupboard, she filled MacDuff’s bowl. “He won’t be arriving at
all. Ever again.”

“Is it over
between you? I’m sorry.” Gran’s hug made Gracie feel better than the pound of
Godiva chocolate she’d consumed in the past week. “Are you all right?”

“I’m okay.”
She didn’t want too much sympathy or she’d dissolve into another futile puddle
of tears. “At first I was mad. And then sad, and now, like Granddad, I’m mostly
annoyed that I got hurt because of my own foolishness.”

Gran shook
her head. “Loving someone isn’t foolish.”

“No, but
loving someone who isn’t trustworthy is.” Gracie turned away to lift the lid on
the kettle of simmering clam chowder. “At least I’ve learned that lesson.”

“Did you
really love him?” Gran scooted her over to stir the award-winning recipe. “The
times I saw you together, you coddled him more like he was a child or a patient
than your sweetheart. It seemed like he expected to be the center of your world
and his and everyone else’s, too.”

“Hmmm.” His
monumental self-absorption was obvious now that Gran pointed it out. “I’ve
known for a while we weren’t right for each other, but I decided to wait and
break up after he finished his cardiac residency.” She grabbed utensils from a
drawer and set the oak table with nubby blue place mats and napkins. “Turns out
it was Clarice Bennett, one of the other cardiac residents, he wasn’t finished
with. The two-timing rat.”

Gran rapped
the spoon against the rim of the pot with unnecessary force. She efficiently
ladled the thick chowder into pottery bowls Gracie’s mother had made many years
before. “You’re better off without the rodent.”

“Probably.”
Definitely.

Gracie’s
heart and stomach felt hollow, despite the brave face she paraded for Gran’s
benefit. At some point between moving in with Baxter last year and discovering
the full scope of his betrayals last week, her self-confidence had weakened to
the consistency of wet tissue paper.

She took
her seat at the table. “I’m sure I’ll be better off concentrating on my
patients instead of letting myself be sidetracked by some man.”

“Speaking
of men who’d like to sidetrack you...” Gran settled into a chair across from
Gracie. “I saw Clayton at the hospital this afternoon. He said he’d stop by
here after his evening rounds.”

“Great, I
have something important to tell him. You’ll never guess who—” The ding-dong of
the doorbell interrupted her news. Both women glanced at the Regulator clock on
the wall, and then exchanged quizzical looks. “Expecting someone?”

“Just
Clayton. But he wouldn’t ring the bell or come in through the front.”

“And it’s
too early for him.” Gracie jumped up. “You sit. I’ll get it.”

MacDuff
went bounding down the hall in front of her. The outside lights were still on,
and Gracie peeked out the sidelight. If she hadn’t known Dylan Bradford was in
the neighborhood, she might have believed it was her best friend standing in
the shadows of the wide porch with his back to her.

Going by
size and shape alone, the tall, broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped, man waiting
there could have been Clay’s twin. But Dylan carried himself with an assurance
that her friend’s abandoned-child insecurities would never let him duplicate.
And from a purely objective standpoint, Dylan had a way better ass.

Squelching
the observation beneath a world of misgivings, Gracie pulled the door open.
Dylan turned toward her, and she got her first full-length, full-frontal view
of him.

And what a
view! Wow! Her heart went zing. Except that reaction would be physically
impossible. She would not allow herself to generate such a cartoon-ish
reaction. Her gaze traveled over his brooding, upscale, male-model good looks.
She searched, praying for flaws. Warts or moles or jagged scars.
Anything
unsightly would do.

Nope. None.
Blond, sun-streaked hair in artless disarray, chiseled jaw with just the right
touch of grunge, the beginnings of a goatee rimming a perfectly shaped mouth,
and deep blue eyes that flashed heat and commanded attention.

And to say
he had on a sweater and jeans would be like saying Pavarotti could carry a
tune.

More than a
few lambs had provided the soft wool for the garment that covered his wide
shoulders and chest. And she knew from shopping with Baxter that the designer
denim molding itself to Dylan’s long, muscular legs cost more than the blue
book value of her poor, dead car.

But he
apparently didn’t like being studied any more than she’d liked it earlier. His
clenched jaws rippled as if he were cracking walnuts with his molars. Dropping
the leather duffel bag he carried, he leaned over to greet MacDuff, effectively
ending her inspection.

The dog
licked Dylan’s fingers like they were covered in hamburger, but his interest
soon waned and he moved on to sniffing the bag. Straightening, Dylan stuck his
hands in his back pockets and lifted his lips into a cajoling smile.

“The
cabin’s uninhabitable.” He proffered the information as though it was the
latest stock tip. “I need a place to stay.”

“Too bad.”
Gracie’s primary goal was to get rid of him before Clay arrived. Disobliging
the spoiled playboy at the same time was just a bonus. “There’s a motel out on
the highway if you need a place to stay.”

“You said
this place is a bed and breakfast. What about here?”

Because Clay will be here any second
. “We aren’t open for
the season.”

“I just
need a room for one night. Someplace to sleep and plug in my laptop. It doesn’t
have to be perfect. I’ll clear out first thing in the morning.” He upped the
firepower of his smile from cajoling to megawatt.

The gesture
had the exact opposite effect on Gracie than he probably expected. No way could
he know that her disastrous association with Baxter had immunized her against
the easy charm of entitled young men with too much money and too little
character.

“Sorry.”
She crossed her arms and refused to budge.

“Hey,
c’mon,” he coaxed. “I gave you a ride.”

“Not until
I asked,” she reminded him.

“And I’m
asking you—”

”Gracie?”
Gran said, coming down the hall. “Who’s here? Is it Cla—?”

“No.” She
hoped she’d cut her off in time. Slanting her eyes toward Dylan, she checked
for a reaction. “Just a tourist looking for a place to stay.”

Gran stopped
in the doorway beside her. “I’m afraid we don’t open until next week.”

“So your
granddaughter said.” Dylan treated her grandmother to the same persuasive smile
he’d used on Gracie a minute before. “And I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you,
but it’s kind of an emergency. If I could stay the night, I’d make it worth
your while.”

“We-ell,”
Gran began.

Seeing her
soft-hearted grandmother waffling, Gracie stepped in. “Sorry, but no.”

“I’m Dylan
Bradford.” He ignored Gracie and spoke directly to Gran. “I haven’t visited the
area since I was a child, but I might be here fairly often in the future.”

Gran
nodded, recognizing him, of course. “I’m Nora Lattimer.”

“It’s a
pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Lattimer. Have you lived in East Langden long? Did
you know my father’s family when they came here regularly?”

“I saw them
around occasionally. My husband, Chester, worked for them at the mill.” Gran
offered the information in her usual mild-mannered way, not mentioning that
Granddad had been the mill’s master carpenter and that losing his job had been
a financial catastrophe for them, or anything about the years of hardship that
followed.

“I’ve heard
my uncle say what a sad day it was for the family when the business here
closed.” The high-voltage smile dimmed appropriately.