Dylan (28 page)

She tilted her head to one side and said, “I'm going to bring my lingerie and scented oils to show a few invited guests. Hopefully people will want to buy something silky or sweet-smelling. It'd help me keep my business afloat while you're rebuilding my shop for me.”

The brothers looked at one another and Jesse shook his head. “I guess we're not invited.”

Tyler scooped up some potato salad on his plate and pointed the serving spoon at the second bowl. “Women need to spend time together. Hey Ronnie, I recognize potatoes in there, but why doesn't it have mayonnaise on it?”

“It's German potato salad, made with vinegar, oil, onions, and parsley… no mayo or celery.”

Dylan picked up a fork and dove in. His surprise showed on his face. “It's good… different,” he told his brothers, “but good.”

“Gee, thanks, Dylan.”

He smiled at her and nodded. “We're pretty adaptable around here. Hey,” he said slowly, “any corn bread left?”

She laughed. “You took most of it with you this morning.”

Jesse pushed his way past his brother. “You made corn bread? How come I didn't get any?”

Dylan reached out and hauled her into his arms. “'Cause she likes me better than you.”

Love for the man simply swamped her. From the way he was gazing down at her, she had a feeling he felt the same way too. His lips captured hers in a fiery kiss that liquefied her bones, reassuring her.

“If you're not gonna share,” Jesse growled, “then cut it out.”

Dylan eased his hold on her, shifting her to fit against his side. “Sorry.”

“No,” the youngest Garahan grumbled, “you aren't.”

Dylan's sigh was long and just a bit patronizing. “Hell, when you're right, you're right.”

Jesse looked like he was ready to start swinging, and might have if Tyler hadn't stepped in front of him. “Let's eat. We've got more range to cover this afternoon before we can come back and have some of that lasagna.”

Having three men with healthy appetites to cook for was satisfying. She loved to cook and wondered if Emily didn't.

“Does Emily ever cook for you?”

Tyler grinned. “She bakes the best brownies.”

She waited for him to continue. When he let it go at that, she finally asked, “So she doesn't like to cook for you?”

Jesse snorted in response and Dylan chuckled. “She might if Tyler would let her out of the bedroom for more than just to go to work at the Lucky Star.”

Tyler grinned. “Woman's smart,” he said looking over at Ronnie. “She knows her place is in my bed.”

“Well, really,” she grumbled. “That's just simply medieval.”

Tyler was still smiling when he added, “Works for us.”

Her lips twitched as she fought the urge to smile. “Good to know.”

When the men had decimated the plate of sandwiches and three quarters of the salads, Tyler and Jesse thanked her and left. Dylan waited for them to leave before drawing her into his embrace. “I thought they'd never leave.”

She giggled. “They were hungry.”

He tipped her chin up, lined up their mouths, and swept her mind clean with a soul-searing kiss. Coming up for air, he rasped, “Me too.”

He kissed her again and asked, “Why can't I get enough of you?”

Ronnie leaned against him. “I have no idea, but I'm not complaining, because I feel the same way.”

“Good to know,” he said, nipping at her lips. “I've got work.”

“OK,” she sighed, squeezing him in a bear hug. “I'll see you at dinner time… Oh! Can I borrow your truck?”

His grin went straight to her heart. “You're asking me this time?”

“Yep.”

He brushed the tips of his fingers along the line of her jaw. “You want to borrow the keys?”

She placed her hand on top of his where it rested on her face and sighed deeply. “I don't need no stinkin' keys.”

His laughter reassured her that he understood her reference to an old Humphrey Bogart film and she didn't have to explain. “I'll be back in time to warm up supper.”

“If you aren't,” he warned, “I'll come looking for you.”

She stepped back into the circle of his arms. “Promise?”

He dipped his head and captured her lips one last time, drawing everything she felt from the depths of her soul and filling it back up with his.

“Promise.”

Mavis was waiting for her outside the Lucky Star. “Word's spread about our little get-together this afternoon.”

Ronnie's face lit up. “That's really great news.”

The older woman shook her head. “Not if it involves the Rotary Club or the Women's Club.”

Clutching her box tighter, Ronnie forged ahead; she'd hit roadblocks before and detoured around them successfully. This was just a minor bump in the road, not a full-fledged roadblock. “Instead of worrying about it, why don't you tell me what happened while I set up inside.”

Mavis shook her head. “Later,” she said, opening the door to the club. Ronnie inhaled and was instantly at ease as the scent of fresh rain washed over her. Turning to Mavis she smiled. “I usually have incense burning in the back of my shop. Maybe I'll have to rethink that and have the scent infused into my air conditioning and heating system like it is here.”

“It always smells wonderful in here,” her friend agreed, “and sets the tone for the evening ahead.”

“There's a grocery store back home that uses cinnamon from about Halloween on through the holidays,” Ronnie said. “But on really warm fall days, it's a bit much.”

“You've got some time to decide what scent you'd like to use,” Mavis assured her. “Will Dylan be finished with the repairs anytime soon?”

Ronnie paused on the threshold of the barroom and shook her head. “He's got a full plate with the repairs at my place and the possibility of one or two other side jobs that he was telling me about the other day. Then there's the never-ending list of chores to keep the Circle G running smoothly.”

Mavis hooked Ronnie's arm with hers and gently tugged. “That man works hard, but so do you. Let's see if we can keep your business afloat with a few more sales.”

“Hey y'all,” Jolene greeted the women. “Are you two ready to party?”

Emily walked out of the downstairs kitchen with two trays laden with food, one with tiny delectable-looking sandwiches arranged like a tower, and the other filled with yummy-looking brownies. “Gwen's bringing the pitchers of cold tea—one sweet and one with lemon.”

Ronnie grinned and set her box down. “You ladies are the best.” Her eyes teared up, but she blinked them away. “I can't thank you enough.”

Jolene reached for the box and grinned. “Maybe you can give us a major discount on your collection of lacy teddies.”

“Done,” Ronnie agreed.

Gwen grinned and asked Jolene, “Is the big bad fire marshal partial to lace?”

Jolene's grin said it all. “I thought it would be right neighborly,” she said, “if we all chipped in and bought something for Anne Marie and Janet.”

Gwen snickered. “Ronnie doesn't carry what those women need in her store.”

Jolene tapped her chin and asked, “What about your online store? Do you have any toys?”

Ronnie laughed, imagining the looks on the two ladies' faces when they opened their gifts. “My distributor would love if I'd add vibrators to my online store.”

Emily nudged her cousin. “Maybe we should go with something small; we wouldn't want them to feel awkward that they don't have something to give us in return.”

Moving over to stand beside Ronnie, Emily reached toward the rainbow-colored satin and lace spilling from the box. “May I?”

“Please,” Ronnie said. “In my store, I encourage my customers to touch. I have some fabulous satins and silk, but then, for those who prefer natural materials, I've got this cotton batiste that is to die for.”

Emily held up a swathe of black lace so tiny, she giggled. “What is the point?”

Ronnie held up another lacy thong in red. “If you have to ask—” Voices interrupted what Ronnie was going to say as a group of women walked into the barroom.

“Welcome ladies,” Jolene said motioning toward Ronnie. “Your hostess this afternoon is the owner of Guilty Pleasures. You all heard what happened to her shop. While Dylan's rebuilding her shop, Ronnie's going to be holding parties here at the Lucky Star.”

“Why don't all y'all help yourselves to something to eat and drink, and then browse her collection?”

“Thanks, Jolene,” Ronnie said, truly grateful. “I've seen some of you in town, and maybe one or two of you in my shop before. Unfortunately, none of the lingerie was salvageable, except for some bits of lace and satin that I'm planning on piecing together into a wall hanging to hang in my store to show whoever did this that I'm not easily intimidated and I'm not leaving.”

The round of applause was totally unexpected. She felt her face grow warm. “I'll get down off my soapbox for now.” She scanned the group gathered around her. “I just received an order in the mail, so I've got some lovely lingerie to show you. I have a handful of reproduction antique perfume bottles and a small sampling of fragrances that can be added to massage oil. Ask me anything you like.”

While women chatted amongst themselves and helped themselves to the food and drink, Ronnie watched as Jolene lifted one see-through chemise after another for inspection. A little old woman with snow-white hair and piercing blue eyes approached. She smiled down at her. “Yes, Mrs. Peterson?”

“Do you have anything that would tempt my Jonas?”

Ronnie looked at Emily and Jolene, but they looked at their feet. No help from that quadrant. She noticed that the room had gone quiet, and she realized that if she was going to build a business and name recognition in this town, she'd best keep on going the way she'd begun when she opened the doors of Guilty Pleasures: by being honest and forthright whenever possible.

“Actually I do… what's his favorite color?”

One by one the women gathered around the lovely bits of lace and satin draped on the ebony bar. The black was a perfect backdrop for displaying most of her collection.

“He's right partial to red.”

Ronnie nodded and lifted up a knee-length chemise with a peekaboo lace panel from the V-neck to the hem. “What about this?”

Mavis nodded. “That'll get his attention, Mille.”

Mrs. Peterson frowned. “I just can't imagine how it would look on.” Shaking her head, she sighed. “You know how a dress that looks great on the hanger, looks awful on you—you're not built like a hanger.”

Inspiration hit Ronnie. “We should have a fashion show! I've got a mix of sizes here. Why doesn't everyone pick something and go change in the dressing room at the back of the stage? Is that OK with you, Jolene?”

Jolene grinned and said, “Absolutely. Who's first?”

The women divided into groups, half of them sorting through the chemises and teddies to select one in their favorite color and the other half waiting for the makeshift dressing rooms to free up.

Mavis wrapped her arms around Ronnie and hugged her tight. “Our town's founding mothers would have taken to you right off, Ronnie.”

Mrs. Peterson nodded and said, “Like most everyone gathered here, I've lived in Pleasure all my life, and I agree. The Donovan sisters would have welcomed you with open arms.” She nodded to the group at large, and said, “How can we do any less? Welcome to Pleasure, Ronnie dear.”

The women took turns hugging Ronnie or shaking her hand. A feeling of contentment flowed over her, relaxing her. Their acceptance meant the world to her. “You have no idea how grateful I am—”

“They do,” Mavis interrupted. “We have a solid core of independent women here in town, but there is a small group determined to take over and change the way things have always run here.” Nodding to Jolene and Emily, she continued, “But we aren't about to let that happen, are we, ladies?”

Everyone started talking at once, and Jolene spoke up, “Thanks, Mavis. We love living here and providing a service to this community.”

Ronnie agreed and decided it was time to bring the conversation back to safer ground. “Amen to that. Did you know that aside from some regular customers, I have had a few adventurous men wander into my shop buying gifts for their wives or girlfriends, but they've detoured past my personalized massage oils? Anyone want to create their own free sample?”

While the women gathered around her, she passed around small vials of essential oil. “These two are my favorites: vanilla and almond. I add them to my homemade sugar scrub. It's a fabulous exfoliator, but leaves a hint of scent that your man will appreciate. So think about his favorite scents and I'll add a couple of drops to the massage oil I've brought with me.”

“Can't you just create one because you like the way it smells?” one of the women asked.

“Absolutely,” Ronnie said with a smile. “Not every woman has a man in her life or wants to complicate her life with a man, no matter how good looking or sexy he is.”

“Well now, darlin',” a familiar voice drawled, “I'm here to change your mind.”

Ronnie whirled around and watched as Dylan's eyes bugged out, but he wasn't staring at her; he was looking at the stage. “What the hell is going on here?”

She looked over her shoulder at the group of ladies who'd decided to take her suggestion to heart and were twirling up on the stage in various stages of undress—mostly scandalously skimpy. Clearing her throat, she answered, “What do you think?”

He tore his gaze from the stage and the women modeling Ronnie's lingerie and frowned down at her. “I thought you were just showing your underwear to the ladies.”

His Adam's apple bobbed up and down and his eyes widened as the elderly Mrs. Peterson walked stage front in her peekaboo lace-paneled chemise and called out, “What do you think, Ronnie dear?”

Before Ronnie could answer, three more ladies—all of them Rubenesque in build—walked out modeling her signature line of teddies, garter belts, and stockings.

Dylan opened his mouth to speak when he was interrupted by one of the ladies holding out a brightly colored catalog that Ronnie hadn't realized had been in the bottom of her box. “Can I order this Venus Butterfly from your online store?”

Dylan's jaw dropped, his eyes glazed over, and he slowly shut his mouth.

“Veronica DelVecchio,” a deep voice ground out, “you're under arrest.”

Ronnie whirled around and stared at Sheriff McClure. “Surely there's some mistake,” she said.

“Now hold on, Sheriff,” Dylan began, but McClure ignored him.

“For encouraging pillars of our community to be indecently exposed and for selling pornographic material without a license,” the sheriff said, slipping handcuffs around her wrists.

The irony of being in handcuffs while holding her supplier's catalog of pleasure toys wasn't lost on her. Since she was going down, she'd go down in flames. “Why Sheriff McClure,” she purred, “what a great idea. I'm going to have to start selling handcuffs along with my create-your-own fragrance massage oil.”

The man's face shot straight to purple. “Let's go.” He yanked and pulled her along behind him. “You ladies get dressed,” he ordered.

Ronnie noticed that he had a tic beneath his right eye.

“Somebody box up that evidence,” the sheriff bit out, “or you're all going downtown.”

Not one woman moved. “Are you crazy?” Jolene said, stepping in front of the sheriff. “Last time I checked, it's not against the law to have a party in this town.”

He glared at her, but she didn't budge. Emily got in his way, standing next to her cousin. “You cannot tell us how to celebrate or have fun.”

He stared at Emily but didn't speak; he stepped around the women, dragging Ronnie and the catalog she still held. Incensed that he wasn't listening to anyone, Ronnie whacked him on the back of the head with it.

He stopped and looked over his shoulder at her. “Assaulting an officer of the law while trying to perform his duties is going to add to your jail time.”

Dylan got between them and the door. “Now hold on there, Sheriff—”

Instead of the reaction either of them expected, the sheriff put his free hand to the holster at his hip. “Step back, Garahan,” he warned. “I don't want any trouble from you and don't need your interference upholding the law in this town.”

When Dylan opened his mouth to speak, Ronnie expected him to stick up for her and give the sheriff a piece of his mind while rescuing her from spending time behind bars. When he closed it just as quickly and stepped aside, her heart plummeted to her feet and her euphoric feeling of not only being accepted in town, but also being rescued by the man she loved, evaporated.

Dylan stared at her, but his expression was closed, unreadable. What was he thinking?
Would
he
just
let
the
sheriff
haul
her
off
to
jail?
Weren't they a couple? Shouldn't he be sticking up for her?
The sheriff hauled her away before she could ask.

Dylan pulled his phone from his hip pocket and hit the speed dial. “Come on, Bro,” he grumbled, “pick up the phone.”

“Hey,” Jesse answered. “What's keeping you and where's our cook?”

“I need you and Tyler to back me up.”

His brother didn't hesitate or disappoint him. “When and where?”

“I'm at the Lucky Star. Ronnie's just been arrested.”

“Yeah right,” Jesse drawled. “Are you two staying at her place? You'll miss her awesome lasagna… it even tastes great uncooked.”

He couldn't believe his brother was jawing about food when Dylan's woman had been dragged off to jail! He balled his free hand into a tight fist, clamping down on the urge to put it through the wall. He looked up, relieved to see Emily and Jolene standing close. “Put Ty on the phone. Emily'll explain everything.”

Handing his phone to her, he planted his boot heel and spun around, sprinting down the hall after the woman he'd move heaven and earth to see safely back at the Circle G. Damn, why hadn't he just said something? Why did he just stand there?