The Taming of the Bachelor (10 page)

A
s they entered the house, Dillon took off his hat and had to dip his head to keep from hitting some decorative paper hearts hanging in the arch separating the hall from the living room.

That’s right. Valentine’s Day would be here soon. Next week. He glanced at Paige who was peeling off her coat and turning on lights as she approached the living room couch where the babysitter had dozed off with an ivory knit afghan pulled up over her legs.

The girl jumped up the moment Paige touched her shoulder and quickly folded the blanket. “Sorry,” she apologized, yawning. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“It’s okay,” Paige said. “I’m glad you slept. It’s late, a lot later than I normally keep you.”

“I don’t mind. Did you have fun?” The teenager’s gaze darted from Paige to Dillon, expression openly curious.

“I did, thank you.” Paige slid a wad of bills into the girl’s hand.

As the sitter pulled on her coat, she quickly filled Paige in on the evening, telling her that the kids had fallen asleep around nine thirty and that Addison had woken up at eleven needing to go to the bathroom but both had been out ever since.

Dillon listened to the exchange, feeling increasingly awkward, thinking he didn’t belong here. It was such a normal conversation, mundane as families went, and yet it drew him up short, reminding him that he was the outsider. That he was the man who was determined to avoid families. Single moms. Children.

His gut tightened. He gripped his hat.

He knew first hand how hard it was to be a single parent. His dad had raised him after Mom died and it hadn’t been easy. Not for Dad. Not for Dillon.

Dad might have been a decent father, but he wasn’t patient, or sympathetic, which had made him a lousy mother.

The babysitter, Ruby, was heading for the door but stopped abruptly in the hall. “Oh, and the toilet, Mrs. Joffe, the water is still turned off but I checked it a little bit ago and it’s still threatening to overflow. If you need a plumber, my parents know a good one. I can ask my dad tomorrow.”

Paige grimaced. “I might be calling you tomorrow. Thank you again, Ruby. Good night.”

Dillon followed the teenager to the door. “Where are you parked?” he asked.

“In the driveway, behind Mrs. Joffe’s car.”

“You have far to go?”

“No. I’m just over by the high school.”

“You’re comfortable driving?”

“As long as it’s not icy.”

“It’s not icy right now. Probably will be later.”

“Then I’m all right.”

“Just take it slow going home, okay?”

“I will.”

He waited in the driveway for her to start the car, and then stood in the front yard watching her back out and then head north on Bramble. He watched until her red tail lights disappeared before turning to face the house.

Dillon studied the tall narrow green Victorian, the steep roof collecting snow, the ornate trim around the windows in need of paint.

The house needed a man to take care of it.

The family inside needed a father and a husband.

He could see the need as plain as anything, and it weighed on him. He was a man that understood responsibility. He’d never shirked from responsibility, either. So how could he go back into the house, and make love to Paige, as if he had a right to love Paige...and then just leave.

Walking away from her as if she didn’t matter...

Walking away from her worries and her problems without doing anything about them...

And yet, what could he do about her worries and problems when he was in Austin? What could he do for her?

He closed his eyes for a moment, shook his head.

This wasn’t going to work. He couldn’t make love to her and then walk away from her, as if he didn’t know who she was and what she needed.

Dillon exhaled and slowly headed up the walkway, to the front porch. His boots thudded dully on the wooden steps. He knocked the snow off on the mat but he didn’t go inside. He waited on the threshold, waiting for Paige.

She was just coming down the stairs. She’d taken off her coat and her heels. She was even more petite barefoot and his chest tightened as she flashed him a shy, uncertain smile.

He managed a tight smile. Her smile faded and she sucked in her bottom lip between her teeth, chewing on the lip, the bright light dimming in her eyes.

His chest squeezed. He felt like a shit.

“Changed your mind?” she asked.

He swallowed around the knot in his throat. His gut hurt. He felt as thought he’d swallowed a bucket of nails.

She was so right in so many ways, and yet he was so wrong for her, at every level.

But that didn’t stop him wanting to wrap her in his arms, and hold her. Everything in him ached to protect her. Keep her safe. And warm. “I don’t want to lose my head with you, baby. You deserve better.”

Her eyes shone, her lower lip trembled. “Do I?”

“You’re not looking for a one night stand, and I’m not sticking around.”

“Maybe a one night stand is just what I need.”

“You’d hate yourself tomorrow.”

She blinked hard, her chin lifting. “I wouldn’t.”

This sucked. This sucked bad. She’d come down the stairs excited and shy,
hopefu
l, and now she stood in the hall, sad, and hurt.

He could see it in her face, see the pain as it registered...he was rejecting her.

He was walking away from her.

Dillon forced himself to breathe, in, out. He didn’t like hurting her, but he had to do the right thing. He had to shut things down before they got out of control. Better one of them kept it real, thought it through.

P
aige wouldn’t cry in bed. She hadn’t cried in years. She’d forgotten how to cry after Lewis died. And for a year or two she’d forgotten how to laugh, too.

She’d begun to find her sense of humor in the past year but the tears hadn’t returned, although tonight her eyes had burned and she’d felt so naked standing there at the foot of the stairs, naked and stupid and embarrassed. Embarrassed because she’d come down the stairs excited and so full of feeling, so full of yearning.

And then she saw Dillon’s face. She saw how he looked at her, distant, detached. No longer a woman, but a mom. A mother. Not sexy, not desirable. She was...nothing.

She hugged her pillow to her chest, swallowing hard, once and again to keep the emotion from rising.

She wouldn’t be sad, wouldn’t be angry, either. She wouldn’t give him another thought, wouldn’t waste her time or heart. He was leaving town in two days. He’d be gone and this whole embarrassing night would be behind her.

P
aige was starting her Sunday in another standoff with the toilet.

Having to borrow a plunger again from neighbor, Carol Bingley, only made the situation worse. In fact, asking to borrow anything from Carol was far worse than the overflowing toilet itself.

If she wasn’t a single mom she could have left the sleeping kids with the husband and zipped down to the hardware store on Main Street and purchased her own plunger. She ought to own her own plunger. In fact, she was sure she’d bought one. Sometime. Somewhere. But tools seemed to disappear.

Kind of like socks....

And husbands.

But no, that wasn’t fair. She’d only had one husband, and she didn’t lose him. He’d died, doing what he loved. And she missed him, and she’d grieved for him, but truthfully—and it was a terrible thing to admit, something she couldn’t admit to anyone but herself—if she had the chance to get him back...would she take it?

Obviously, for the kids, yes.

But for her....if she were only thinking about her needs...was he the right one for her?

She’d thought so when they were dating and newly married. She’d tried to continue believing in them when he set off on his treks and journeys, but in all their years of marriage, he’d never asked her what she wanted.

What she needed.

Like Dillon did last night.

Not that she wanted to think of Dillon. She was so uncomfortable with how things had ended last night. She still felt raw this morning. Raw and embarrassed.

She’d practically thrown herself at him, begging him to be with her—

She broke off and ground her teeth together, trying to block out the memory, and her sleepless night. Heartsick, she’d tossed and turned, checking the bedside clock every hour or two, desperate for morning to come.

Why had he kissed her, if he wasn’t interested in her?

Worse, why did she have to respond the way she did? She hadn’t held back. She’d given in to the desire, surrendering to the moment, and now she just felt stupid. Mortified.

For God’s sake, she wasn’t a teenager. She was eight years older then Dillon. She was a mom. She’d been a wife. She wasn’t someone who ever threw herself at a man...

She’d never even thrown herself at Lewis.

Paige jammed the plunger up and down, furious with herself and Dillon and the entire Bachelor Auction. She shouldn’t have gone out last night. Shouldn’t have worn that stupid jumpsuit. Shouldn’t have—

She paused, listening. Was that a knock at the door?

She put the plunger down and stepped into the hall, listening again.

T
here it was again.

Someone was at the door.

Paige wasn’t wearing her watch, but she knew it was early. Not even eight thirty yet. Hopefully it wasn’t Carol Bingley coming to gloat, or retrieve her plunger.

Carol Bingley had to be the world’s nosiest neighbor.

Paige washed her hands and hurried to the door. She glanced out the door’s glass panel and her heart tumbled at the sight of Dillon on her front porch. Tall, broad-shouldered, ridiculously handsome.

And holding a plunger.

Great. Just great.

She opened the door and stepped outside, arms bundled across her chest. “Morning,” she said flatly.

“Hope I didn’t wake you,” he said.

“I was up.”

“How is the toilet?”

“It’s fine.”

“You got it working then?”

“Almost.”

“So you don’t need a plunger?”

“No.”

“You were able to borrow one again from Carol?”

Her eyes narrowed. “How did you know about that?”

“Yesterday morning she was telling her friends you’d borrowed hers. Her voice carries. I didn’t like it. So I bought you one of your own, this morning.” He handed the plunger to her. “I can have a look, if you’d like.”

“Not necessary,” she said crisply, chin high. “I’ll figure it out.”

“You don’t need to spend the money on a plumber—”

“Who said I’m calling a plumber?”

“I’ve fixed countless toilets in my life. I am sure I can fix yours.”

She closed the door all the way behind her, not wanting their voices to carry. The kids were still sleeping and she wanted to keep it that way. “I appreciate the offer, Dillon, I do, but I don’t want to take advantage of you—”

“You’re not. I’m offering help.”

“You’re being kind, thank you,” she said with exaggerated politeness. “But I’ve got pride, and after last night I need to salvage my self-respect—”

“Because I wouldn’t come in?”

“I don’t want to talk about it. That was then, this is now—”

“You’re being ridiculous.”