The Taming of the Bachelor (3 page)

As usual the house was freezing when they got home and Paige had to bang on the furnace a couple of times to get it to kick on. While the fussy furnace groaned to life, she hustled the kids into their pajamas and then into bed, adding microwaved heating pads at their feet, between the sheets, to help warm them up.

She was shivering herself when she jumped into her own bed and pulled the covers close to her chin. Tonight was a night she could use a heating pad at her feet. Or a big, warm body in her bed.

Dillon came to mind, and once there, he didn’t want to leave. Or, maybe she didn’t want him to leave. He was easy to think about. And easy to look at. But then, the Sheenans were a good-looking family. Big, tough, ruggedly handsome ranchers and cowboys...

And bioengineers.

She’d had no idea he was a science guy. Interesting. As the mother of a science nerd, she knew those engineering minds worked a bit differently. They responded to logic and reason, not emotion. But she admired a good brain. Admired a mind that was always thinking and asking questions...

As well as paying her compliments.

She smiled against the covers, remembering Dillon’s compliments. That she was beautiful. Perfect.

Perfect.

She’d made a face when he’d said it because he’d been drinking. He didn’t mean the complements. But now, in bed, alone, the words rose up, little ghosts, and teased her.

Beautiful. Sexier then hell. No one he liked better.

She shouldn’t pay attention. He was buzzed. And a flirt. Dillon Sheenan was young. Just thirty years old, and like his brothers, he had a wild streak and a reputation for fighting, drinking, and taking risks.

He was also the most handsome of the Sheenans, and that was saying something as they were one good-looking family.

He was also the tallest. Easily six three. Maybe even six foot four. And full of cocky confidence and testosterone.

She smiled wistfully into her covers. She’d had fun tonight, at Grey’s, sitting next to him at the bar. She’d enjoyed the banter—even if it was all bullshit—and she’d loved the way he’d looked at her. As if she were his.

It was sexy. He was sexy.

But young. Really young. Barely thirty. And men took longer to mature than women so he was practically a boy.

With a man’s big hard body.

Paige grabbed a pillow and pressed it to her chest, arms wrapping around the cool softness trying to soothe her heated thoughts and skin. If he could turn her on just by looking at her, imagine how it’d feel if he touched her.

If he could make her feel like the only one in a crowded bar, how would it be if they were truly alone?

She shivered, wanting things she hadn’t wanted in a long time...

He’d done something to her tonight. Sitting next to him, being close to him, had stirred something inside of her, reminding her of someone she’d once been. Young, fun, pretty. Carefree.

It’d been a long time since she’d felt pretty, and feminine. She wasn’t sure if it was losing Lewis, or becoming a mom, but something inside her had changed, settling, maturing. Maybe maturing too much.

Yes, life was serious business, but did that mean she couldn’t still have fun? Enjoy life a little?

Was it possible to be beautiful and sexy and still be a good mom?

She didn’t know, but she suddenly felt guilty for wondering. She was lucky to have such great kids. She shouldn’t be greedy. She shouldn’t want too much. She loved her kids, loved her life, she shouldn’t want more.

D
illon was the last to leave Grey’s. He’d stopped drinking a half hour before closing but he wasn’t yet ready to walk to the Graff. He watched Reese clean up behind the bar. Listened to him shoo the last few customers out. Reese let him stay while he closed. Reese had always let him stay while he closed, knowing that Dillon liked to pound some water and sober up before he drove back to the Sheenan Ranch. Dillon had a thing about being careful. He’d always been more cautious than Cormac, and more responsible than Trey.

Dillon didn’t sleep with married women and he didn’t hook up with single moms, either because he knew those women already had it hard, and they didn’t need an asshole making it harder.

He liked the good-time girls, the ones who enjoyed teasing, flirting, getting laid. He understood those women and he could satisfy. Dillon was a virgin until his senior year of high school and his first time was a disappointment—to her, and him. He studied up before he tried again and had better control, but he could tell her orgasm, if she’d even had one, hadn’t been all that special. He went back to the books, read everything he could and even watched a couple adult films before trying a third time.

He got it right that time. She screamed his name as she came and then cried in his arms after, saying he was incredible and it was incredible and she thought she was falling in love.

In fact, she’d fallen in love.

Impossible, he thought. The sex had been good and he’d enjoyed the rush and release, but love? Ridiculous. She barely knew him.

It was in college he discovered how the brain released oxytocin during sex, which is why women often felt bonded to a man after, and he appreciated the bonding if the female was carrying his offspring, but seeing how he was scrupulous with birth control, he wasn’t interested in a permanent, monogamous relationship. He was young. He was a man. He wanted to sow his seed...so to speak.

In Austin he hadn’t worried about getting trapped into marriage. The women he knew were driven and ambitious, career women wanting to accomplish big things. But here in Marietta the women tended to be more family-oriented. They were ready to settle down, make babies. That was fine, provided they weren’t settling down with him.

Thus the rule, no single moms. No nice, church going women. No virgins. No daddy’s girls.

No trouble. No hassles. No thank you.

Reese hit the light switches in the back. Dillon stood up and pushed his stool in, under the counter, lining it up with the others then joined Reese at the front door.

“I can drop you off,” Reese said.

“I’m looking forward to the walk,” Dillon answered, buttoning up his leather barn coat. “It’s only a couple blocks.”

“It’s windy as hell.”

“Good. It’ll clear my head.”

Outside, Dillon jammed his hands into his coat pockets and hunching his shoulders against the icy blast of wind, crossed the street, heading north on 1
^st
. The Graff was literally three blocks away but the cold clean air felt good in his lungs. He’d miss these cold clear nights when he returned to Texas. He’d miss the big mountains and the stars and that little bit of California sunshine named Paige Joffe.

He didn’t know why he was so sweet on her. She wasn’t his type. He’d never liked petite blondes before. In fact, she was everything he tried to avoid but that didn’t seem to matter when he looked at her. Or talked to her. Or sat next to her.

She just felt good. She just felt right. He didn’t even know how to explain it. It didn’t make sense to say she felt good or right because he’d never touched her, or kissed her. He shouldn’t imagine things or project onto her.

For all he knew, she might be the world’s worst kisser. She might be awful in bed.
Ice
. Like this freezing February night.

His boots crunched as he crossed Front Street. She could be the same...ice, snow, frost, frigid.

Or not.

She could be fire.

Or she could be ice.

And then he’d warm her up. He’d kiss her until she melted and glowed sweetly, brightly, craving him.

By the time Dillon reached the hotel’s front door, he was no longer cold. It was impossible to be cold when he burned just thinking about her.

T
he day hadn’t started as planned.

Instead of having a relaxing Saturday morning, one where Paige could sit with her coffee and get caught up with the news and her magazines while the kids slept in, she was in the middle of a battle with a clogged toilet. And the toilet was winning.

Bad toilet.

Bad day.

On the plus side, the kids were still asleep, because once they woke they’d want breakfast and Addison and Tyler would argue over which cartoon to watch and the quiet morning would be gone. Far better to deal with the downstairs toilet now, before Tyler wanted to help, and Addison would want to get involved and there would be more fighting.

Placing the plunger Paige had just borrowed from her neighbor, Carol Bingley, in the middle of the bowl, she gave a firm downward thrust, creating a tight seal between the plunger and the bowl.

She gave another push, and was just about to push again when her cell phone rang.

It was sitting on the pedestal sink, too far to reach, so Paige ignored it. She needed to get the toilet working and the plunger back to Mrs. Bingley. Mrs. Bingley had made a point about the plunger being returned soon. Paige had assured her she’d bring it right back, and she would.

As soon as she got the toilet working.

And she’d do that, too. It wasn’t that big of a deal. It was just a toilet. Not death, or disease. At least she had plumbing. Something she was grateful for. Could you imagine having to deal without indoor plumbing? Imagine having to rely on an outhouse? Horrible.

So she counted her blessings. Thank you, God, for my house. Thank you, God, for clean water and sanitation. Thank you for my children, and the fact that they are healthy.

She gave the wooden dowel a vigorous push with each blessing.

Things could be so much worse. Compared to most, she was in good shape. She had kids, friends, a job, and a home. So what if the house had rotten floorboards, drafty windows, and a temperamental antiquated furnace that blasted hot air on warm days and no heat on frigid days?

At least there were floorboards and windows and a furnace.

At least she owned a home....even if dilapidated. Most people had no idea that her handsome 1893 Queen Anne on Bramble Lane was a disaster. Heck, she hadn’t even known the handsome house was a disaster when she plunked down her life savings for it.

She knew better now, but they were surviving.

The kids were healthy.

They were relatively happy.

It could be so much worse. They could be dealing with truly awful things. Death, hunger, famine.

Even bigger taxes.

A clogged toilet on a Saturday morning was nothing.
Nothing
.

The phone rang again, and Paige inched towards the sink, trying to see the number of her phone. It was Flo, from the diner.

Paige chewed her lip. Not good. Flo had worked at the diner forever and wouldn’t call for anything less than an emergency, especially on a Saturday morning before eight. She’d need to take the call.

Paige lifted the plunger, carefully setting it down even as the toilet made a strange keening sound.

Or was that sound coming from below the toilet...down below the floor?

Paige listened more closely. For a moment all was silent. Nothing happened. And then suddenly the water was draining from the porcelain bowl, the muddy water making a rapid retreat, swiftly disappearing down, until it drained out with an obscene sucking noise.

Holding her breath, Paige gingerly leaned forward to look into the toilet. There was nothing left. The water was gone, the bowl totally empty.

For a second she didn’t know what to feel. Was it okay? Had she fixed it? It’d be such a relief if she had. Money was tight, credit cards still full after Christmas.

Maybe she was doing okay.

Maybe this single mom gig wasn’t so bad.

Maybe living in a small town in the middle of nowhere Montana wasn’t such a bad thing.

But if the toilet was okay, why wasn’t there any water? Shouldn’t the bowl automatically refill?

Paige leaned over the empty bowl, jiggled the handle, and then flushed to try to encourage the water tank to fill the bowl. For a second nothing happened. And then the toilet exploded, shooting filthy water and waste straight up, a geyser of sewage from the bottom of the bowl.

Paige jumped away, barely escaping the shower as dirty water sprayed in a wide arc across the fragile Victorian wallpaper. She’d loved the house for its authentic period detail—much of it still original—which is of course why nothing in the house worked.