Dylan (11 page)

He turned and smiled at her. “How're you doin', Ronnie?”

She found her voice and answered, “OK. Mavis is right; you do look better. Have you been resting up?”

His laugh was deep and so like Dylan's her insides just melted. Good grief! She'd have to be on her guard whenever one of them was around.

“Restin' in the saddle every day.”

Mavis shook her head. “Broken ribs don't mend if you're not resting. You don't want one of them to snap clean through and puncture a lung, do you?”

Tyler's face lost its healthy glow. “I, uh… no. I don't.”

Satisfied she'd made her point, Mavis patted his cheek. “A man needs to be aware of the consequences of his actions.”

Tyler rolled his eyes and looked over at Ronnie. She grinned back at him. “I've only known Mavis a couple of months, and I can definitely tell you: don't mess with Mavis. She's never wrong.”

Tyler laughed. “She's got you pegged, Mrs. Beeton.”

“Ronnie brought meatballs and sauce for dinner—”

“Hot damn! We're gonna have real food for a change.”

Intrigued at the thought, Ronnie asked, “How long have you gone without?”

“We've been scrounging for the last few days.”

“I thought Lori had only been gone a day or so.”

“Longer actually, and she wasn't thinking about stocking our freezer or fridge with food. She was thinking about that ex-loser she was hooking up with again.”

“Don't hold back, Tyler.” Ronnie laughed at the pained expression on his face. “Just tell us what you really think about Lori's situation.”

Pain morphed into a dark and dangerous anger. “What she did to Jesse's criminal.”

Ronnie looked over at Mavis to gauge her response. Her friend's mouth was clamped shut tight, so she decided not to add her two cents. A glance in Tyler's direction, and she knew she'd made the right choice. He was vibrating with anger, and she wasn't sure how to diffuse the situation. Finally, he seemed to get ahold of himself, drawing in a deep calming breath.

He pushed his Stetson to the back of his head, revealing a clean swatch of tanned skin that had been hidden beneath the hatband. “Sorry, ladies. He's pretty upset about her leaving and I—”

“We understand, Tyler,” Mavis interrupted. “Best not to dwell on what can't be changed.” She smiled up at him and swept her hand over to the farm table, drawing his attention away from his anger. “Look what Ronnie's baked for your dessert.”

He swept his hat from head and held it in his hands. “Shoot, Ronnie,” Tyler said, a hungry gleam in his eyes. “Can I taste test that pie?”

Her laughter bubbled up from inside and spread warmth through her, calming the nervous fluttering in her belly. “Are you willing to forfeit your dessert tonight to have a piece now?”

“No ma'am,” he said eyeing the pie and cake beside it. “What kind of cake is that? It's not frosted.”

She turned her attention to the man staring down at her baked goods, wondering if she should have baked a second pie. “It's pound cake; doesn't need frosting.”

“Yeah?” Tyler looked from her back to the cake. “Maybe I should try a sliver of it to make sure you don't need to whip up a batch of frosting before I let you leave.”

Mavis was laughing so hard, she had tears in her eyes. “Land sakes, Tyler Garahan, are you that hungry?”

He smiled sheepishly. “I didn't have much of a breakfast this morning—didn't have time.”

Instantly concerned, Mavis patted his shoulder. “Now why don't you just wash up and Ronnie and I'll heat up those meatballs for you.”

Before she could stop herself, Ronnie asked, “Where are your brothers?”

Tyler seemed distracted at the thought of satisfying his hunger. “In town… they had an errand to run.”

Oddly disappointed, Ronnie sighed. “Oh. Well, I don't know if Emily mentioned it or not, but in exchange for your brother's carpentry skills, I'll be cooking for you.”

He nodded. “She did, and that's why I feel it's my duty as the oldest Garahan brother to taste test your cooking—we know you're an awesome baker, but what about putting a meal together on the table?”

Tyler walked over to the sink and began to wash up.

Horrified at the idea of that kind of dirt near where she was going to prepare food, she said, “Um, Tyler.”

He looked up at her. “Ma'am?”

“If I'm cooking in here, shouldn't you be washing up in the bathroom or something?”

He grinned at her. “No, ma'am.”

Irritated, she bit back, “Why not?”

“Sink's too small.”

Hands on her hips, she retorted, “Well, I don't like the idea of God knows what kind of dirt you've brought in the house with you ending up in the food I'm cooking for you.”

Tyler smiled down at her while drying his hands. “That a fact?”

Was he laughing at her? “Do you think that's funny?”

If possible, his smile deepened, and she knew she'd be a goner if Dylan ever turned the full power of that Garahan charm on her.

“Mrs. Beeton, maybe you could explain things to our friend here from back East.” With that he walked to the back door, leaned out, and yelled, “Hey, Timmy! Tell your friends to take a break. We've got company and they brought food.”

“Now, Ronnie dear,” Mavis said slowly, “don't mind Tyler and his high-handed ways. Not one of those Garahan men have been housebroken yet.”

Tyler's sharp bark of laughter got under her skin, annoying the crap out of her—not unlike his younger brother. She wondered if she could raid their medicine cabinet and find any laxative to add to his food. That'd teach him not to laugh at her.

“Not quite what I had in mind, Mrs. Beeton.” He leaned against the doorjamb and crossed his arms in front of his chest, totally at ease, even with the tension in the room. “Since you're not from around here, you probably wouldn't understand, but out here we don't have time to worry about every speck of dirt that gets tracked into the house—”

“Newsflash, Tyler,” she grumbled, “you've got a heck of a lot more than a speck of dirt on you.”

His eyes were brimming with laughter and she softened a bit, remembering his brother's expressive dark eyes. Trouble—the Garahan brothers were chock-full of it.

“Yes, ma'am, my point exactly. We use the kitchen sink to wash up in and try not to track in too much of the pasture inside with us, but sometimes it happens. Time is short when there's work enough for ten men, and we're down to the three of us, plus my young friend Timmy and two of his hoodlum friends lending a hand.”

“Well,” she said slowly, “I guess it is your house.”

“There you go,” he said, obviously pleased that she understood.

“If you're going to be hanging around while we cook, you may as well make yourself useful.” She nodded toward the table. “You can set the table.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

She was about to say more but was distracted by the troop of boys coming in the back door. Ronnie started adding servings in her head, realizing that if these boys were as hungry as Tyler, there wouldn't be any leftovers. “Just how many boys do you have working for you?”

The tallest of the bunch answered, “Today, there's just three of us.” He leaned closer to the pie and looked over at Tyler and grinned. “Some days four. Hey can I have some of that pie?”

Ronnie wanted to smack herself in the forehead for not baking that extra pie. “Why don't you boys wash up and Mrs. Beeton and I'll fix you a plate.”

“You bring any biscuits to go with that?” Tyler wanted to know.

Her temper heated up another notch. “Did you set the table yet?” Tyler's crooked grin was starting to piss her off. “Are you laughing at me?”

Immediately contrite, he stopped laughing and answered, “No, ma'am. I know better than to do that. Besides, Emily'd kill me if I laughed at her when she was working up a good mad.”

“Mavis, I could use a little help here.”

Her friend was hustling the boys over to the sink where they were taking turns washing up when Timmy asked, “Hey, where're Dylan and Jesse at?”

“In town,” Tyler answered, before adding, “they'll be back soon.”

Those four little words set Ronnie's heart a pumping and her juices flowing, anticipating seeing the tall hunk of cowboy again. Lord, the things he had her dreaming about doing with him… to him… for him…

She must have been daydreaming, because when Mavis laid a hand on her arm, she jerked back to reality… that reality being four hungry men in her kitchen… well, the kitchen at the Circle G.

“Are you all right, dear?”

The concern in Mavis's voice brought her all the way back to earth. She lost enough sleep over that slow-walking, smooth-talking cowboy, which was her private fantasy—a tall, good-looking man wearing a cowboy hat, boots, and jeans, shirt optional, ready, willing, and able to take her on the ride of a lifetime.

“You're flushed, dear. Tyler,” Mavis called out, “please get Ronnie a glass of cold water.”

“Here, dear, sit down.” By the time, she'd been pushed onto a chair and a glass shoved into her hand, she shook herself free of her favorite fantasy… it was harder now that the cowboy had a face and a name… Dylan.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I'm just tired. I didn't sleep much last night.”

“Drink up, dear. Your color's coming back to normal, not quite so flushed.”

Ronnie fought with her embarrassment and won, and felt the heat leaving her cheeks. She set the empty glass down and pushed to her feet. “I'm good,” she said, looking at the concern-filled faces surrounding her. “Let's heat up those meatballs. It's my grandmother's special recipe.”

Putting a hand to the side of the pot, she frowned. It had really cooled off on the ride over. “How much time do you have before you need to get back to your chores?”

Tyler looked at the bedraggled group of boys and over at the clock, “We could probably stretch it to forty-five minutes. How long will it take to heat up that pot?”

She sighed. “A lot longer than that if I don't want anything to stick to the bottom of the pot and burn.”

“What about the microwave?” Mavis asked. “I'm not a fan of using it to cook in, but it's great for warming things up.”

“In order to warm the meatballs all the way through, I'll have to cut them in half.” She really hated to do that. It just wasn't the same, biting into a half a meatball.

“Sounds great!” Tyler's opinion was echoed by each of the boys.

“All right then, I'll need a couple of microwaveable plates.”

Handing her what she needed, Tyler sniffed each and every plate he set down in front of the boys. Her opinion of him rose up a notch, because he set a plate in front of Mavis and offered her one before taking one himself.

She and Mavis shook their heads and Mavis said, “We'll eat later. Don't worry about us.”

When Tyler had served everyone else, he finally took the steaming plate Ronnie handed him, breathed in deep, and sighed. “If this tastes even half as good as it smells, you're invited to come on out and live here with us… as long as you cook three squares a day for us.”

“Who're you inviting to live with us, Ty?” a deep voice rumbled from behind her.

“You've already got a woman of your own,” Dylan grumbled coming inside to stand beside Jesse. “I've got dibs on this one.” He walked over to where she stood, eyes wide.

“Miss me, Ronnie?”

She licked her lips to keep from drooling. Oh man, did she, but she shrugged, playing it cool. “Maybe.”

“Liar,” he said, pulling her close and damned if each and every pore in her body didn't try to drink him in. Her body stood at attention as he started to slide his hand from her waist down to her—

“Watch your hands, buster,” she bit out, grabbing ahold of his wandering hands and slipping out of his embrace. She looked over at the youngest of the brothers and sighed. He was bound to be as much trouble as his older brothers.

“Man, Dylan,” Jesse said, walking over to the stack of plates. Grabbing one, he helped himself to a heaping serving and elbowed his way in between Timmy and the boy on his left. “Does this as taste as good as she smells?”

“Excuse me?” She couldn't believe what she'd just heard. “Did your brother just say—”

“Yeah,” Dylan answered. “Ty?”

His brother looked up from his now empty plate. “Yeah?”

“Remind me to kill Jess later.”

“Done.” Tyler nodded at the youngest Garahan. “You should know better than to poach.”

“Claiming dibs doesn't count when the woman hasn't acknowledged the claim.”

“You're right,” Tyler said slowly, eyeing his siblings.

But before he could start something that would end up involving fists, Mavis called their attention back to more important matters. “Who'd like pie and who wants cake?”

Dylan groaned out loud. “Man, is that pecan pie?” His gaze shifted from the pie to Ronnie. “Darlin', you free later?”

Suspicious, she asked, “Why?”

“We can find someone to marry us up, then you can bake your way to my heart.”

Jesse snickered. “More like she should try to stroke your—”

“There's ladies present, Jess,” Tyler warned.

The youngest Garahan tucked his head to his chest and mumbled, “Sorry… not used to it yet.”

“Emily's been here for over a week.”

“She don't count, Ty,” Jesse said. “She's family.”

Ronnie's heart melted at the thought of being a part of their family. Good thing, because it distracted her from thoughts of bashing Dylan over the head with the serving spoon in her hand, right before she laid a lip lock on him guaranteed to grab his attention. Talk about feeling conflicted!