It didn’t escape Dylan’s notice that Conner hadn’t said a word. He scowled a little and seemed to study Dylan. Finally he asked, “You dating my sister?”
He couldn’t help it, it made him laugh outright. “Not according to her,” he said. Then he went for his bike. He’d let Conner ask his sister that question when she checked in with him later. He kind of wished he could hear her answer, though he suspected it would be unflattering. Women were usually kind of jazzed to date him. Not this one, apparently.
As he drove back to his little cabin, he thought hard about the fact that this was an entirely new experience for him—Katie Malone could take him or leave him. Even though Dylan never played the movie star card, he was accustomed to the women being a little more…motivated.
Back at the Riordan cabins at dusk, Luke was starting a fire in the pit. After parking the bike, Dylan walked down to the fire. “Is this a nightly tradition?”
“Only on cool nights when Shelby isn’t working,” Luke said. “She’s getting the baby settled. How about a beer?”
“I could be talked into that. What I’d really like is to hear about the Black Hawk—your training and some of the stuff you did.”
Luke grinned. “I did some war, buddy. Including Mogadishu.” And then he went for the beer.
Luke knew what Dylan and his buddies did for a living, but he didn’t know the details. Nor did he know the company was Dylan’s and it was struggling. He was more than happy to swap stories over a couple of beers. While Dylan wanted to know all about a career in a war chopper, to his surprise Luke was very interested in flying charters and impressed to learn that Dylan had type ratings in several aircraft. They talked through a couple of beers before they killed the fire.
He set his phone alarm for 4:30 a.m., which would give him plenty of time to brew a little coffee before heading to town, but he was wide-awake at four. That put him in Virgin River just after four-thirty. He took a look at the stack of play-set parts. There were no plans, of course. Likely Paul would bring them later, but it seemed pretty straightforward—four A-frames that would be joined by top bars, to which ladders, slides, rings and other stuff could be added. So he got to work on that.
It wasn’t until Conner pulled up in his truck that Dylan realized he’d made it to the school early deliberately. He might not have planned it, but he woke up ahead of the alarm, ready to go, anxious to get there ahead of the other men.
He stood from the crouch where he was piecing together the A-frames to greet Conner, who was wearing the same grumpy face. “Good morning,” Dylan tried. Conner merely nodded. “I didn’t have any plans, but I think it’s pretty obvious how this fits together so I got started.” Conner just went to the tool chest in his truck bed and pulled out a smaller, more portable tool chest and carried it to where Dylan had been working. “I said good morning,” Dylan repeated.
Conner glowered at him. “And I said—” He dropped his chin in a nod.
Something from his childhood came back and he said, “I hope your face doesn’t freeze that way.” When that made Conner’s expression slightly more fierce, Dylan couldn’t help but laugh. “Come on, man. Relax. I took them to McDonald’s. And I’m only going to be around a couple more days.”
“Why are you around?” Conner asked.
“I’m checking out the area and waiting for a call from L.A. about a possible job. After that, I’m headed home. Of all the people I’ve met around here, you’re the only one who’s been unfriendly!”
“I’m probably the only one with a little sister,” he said. Conner pulled out a battery-operated screwdriver, the baby version of a torque. “Tighten up those screws with this,” he said, handing it to Dylan.
“You mean I got this right?” he asked, accepting the screwdriver.
“Not exactly brain surgery,” Conner said.
“You know, I’d be a lot nicer to you if you were trying to learn to fly.”
“You teach flying?” Conner asked.
“I’m a flight instructor, yeah. Among other things aviation. It’s what I do.”
“In Montana,” Conner seemed to want to confirm.
“You can start timing me,” Dylan said. “I should be a memory in a couple of days because I do have things to do.”
“Okay, sorry,” Conner said, but he didn’t look all that sorry. “I’m Katie’s only family and I worry about her sometimes.”
“Well, from what I saw, she can take care of herself.” And then he turned and proceeded to tighten the screws.
It was only moments before some others showed up. Jack had a big thermos of coffee and a box of doughnuts in the back of his truck. “Hey,” he said, all grins as he stuck his hand out to Dylan. Paul was right behind him and then, to his surprise, Luke followed. They all stood around the back of Jack’s truck with coffee and doughnuts for about fifteen minutes and it was confirmed—the only grump in the crowd turned out to be Conner, who kept looking at him suspiciously. As if he was going to kidnap Katie.
Dylan tried to imagine what Conner was so worried about. That Dylan would hurt Katie? Oh, he hoped not. If he just spent a couple more days here, that shouldn’t happen. Not unless Katie was one of those weepy, wimpy, clingy girls who got all in after a trip to McDonald’s. The Katie he’d experienced was not that girl. If he got a few more kisses out of her before he left, that shouldn’t do any harm and he wouldn’t complain.
The men nearly finished the work on the jungle gym and swing set by seven-thirty. It was time for Paul and Conner to head for work. Jack had to get back to the bar to serve breakfast. Dylan volunteered to hang all the equipment—swings, rings, et cetera—and rope off the play set so that it wouldn’t be used this first day. They had anchored it in quick drying cement around the posts and while it would probably hold just fine if a bunch of little ankle biters started wiggling it, it was guaranteed to hold if they gave it another twenty-four hours.
His good deed paid off. Right around 9:00 a.m. Katie showed up with the twins. She seemed completely surprised to see him there and while the boys rushed into the building, she went to Dylan.
“What are you doing here?”
He indicated the play set. “I offered to help with that and they took me up on it.”
“That’s pretty nice of you,” she said. “For a guy who is just passing through.”
“I’m pretty nice,” he confirmed. “What’s on your agenda today?”
“Not sure,” she said. “I thought about going into Fortuna and looking around while the boys are held hostage. I could go as far as Eureka,” she added with a grin.
“Ever been on a motorcycle?” he asked.
“Of course I’ve been on a motorcycle. I secretly dated a boy with a bike in high school.”
“Secretly?”
“I was not allowed on the back of a motorcycle or in the bed of a pickup truck. I beat the odds.” Then she grinned again.
That grin of hers was completely irresistible. It made him want to grab her right here in front of the new elementary school. “If I were going to be around when the boys were sixteen, I’d tell.”
“I’m not worried,” she said confidently. He’d be gone before they were five and a half. “You won’t be.”
He didn’t like the way she said that, but he shook it off. Ignored it. After all, he had already said he was hanging out for a few days and then would have to get going, so it was hardly a psychic prediction. “I have an idea. I have a rider’s helmet at the cabin where I’m staying. Follow me out there. You can leave the car and I’ll take you to breakfast, then for a ride.”
“I don’t know.... Think that’s a good idea?”
“Nervous?” he asked with a lift of his eyebrow and a sly smile.
“The roads around here are kind of freaky,” she said. “But worried about you?” She shook her head. “You don’t scare me. I think I scare you!”
“You shouldn’t do that, Katie. Set up a challenge like that.” He stepped back. “Follow me.”
“Okay,” she said. “I don’t have anything better to do.”
Six
This is okay, Katie told herself. This isn’t going anywhere—it was just for fun. She might be a little vulnerable in the man department, but she was smart. No way was she getting involved with a guy like Dylan Childress. She remembered him all too well from her youth—she had watched his show every week when she was a girl, adored him, and lapped up every story printed about him in the gossip rags and teen magazines. He had a bad, bad reputation, which had thrilled her when she was about twelve. He had seemed very exciting and dangerous back then. But she was a grown woman now, a mother, a widow for God’s sake. Fantasies like Dylan Childress were fun brain candy, but not her weakness.
Still, she could take one lick of this ice cream cone without selling her soul.
They took off away from the Riordan cabins on his bike and headed down the mountain to Fortuna, where he parked in front of a little café between a tattoo parlor and a liquor store. While they ate omelets, he asked her a lot of questions about herself, her brother, her life before Virgin River. Clever, she thought. Directing the conversation away from himself the way he did.
She told him everything, but not the long version. Her life the past year had become very interesting. She explained about Conner’s ordeal as a witness, how they’d gone into protective custody—separately. That accounted for him coming to Virgin River and Katie going to the other side of the U.S. to Vermont. And now they were ready to start over. As a family.
“In Virgin River?” he asked.
“Well, that’s an accident. Conner came here to lay low and he met Leslie. They fell in love. We’ve agreed, Conner and I, that we don’t want to live in Sacramento again after what went on. Sacramento is a very good place, but our recent experience is a bit too jarring. It’s time for a change. And now that I’ve experienced a couple of smaller communities—Burlington and Virgin River—I think it might be a good idea to raise the boys in a different kind of place. And they should be close to Uncle Conner—Conner has been like a father to them since they were born. They need that kind of consistency. It’s the least I can do for them.”
“That sounds like you aren’t completely sold on Virgin River,” he suggested.
“Not quite yet,” she answered with a shrug of one shoulder. “But that’s because I haven’t looked around too much yet. No matter what, I’ll make sure the boys are close to Conner so they can spend time together. Why wouldn’t I do that for them? They need stability. They need family. Most of all, they need a strong masculine influence.”
“Well, then,” Dylan said, wiping off his mouth and putting down his napkin. “Why don’t we look around? See if there’s anything around here you like.”
And they jumped on the bike, heading south first.
She hung on around his waist and thought, It’s so funny that he thinks he’s anonymous. Maybe to her brother or to Jack Sheridan he would be, but to a girl who was in love with him from eight to twelve years old? Hah! Could he really be oblivious to the number of eight-year-old girls who’d loved him with their entire hearts? And grieved for him when he dropped out of sight? Well, at least until Jason Priestley and the Backstreet Boys came along.
Of course, when she was eight, nine, ten years old, she believed that Dylan lived in that family she watched on TV every week. If not specifically that family, then one very much like it. The show was called Rough Housing and it was a comedy about a dad who went to work every morning with a lunch pail, a mom who cooked and cleaned and tore her hair out because she had three sons who were constantly in some crisis that could be completely resolved in thirty minutes. They were that classic middle-America family who stayed in love and positive and devoted and wise despite their struggle with the bills, the work pressures, the challenges of family life. Dylan played the handsome middle child and was clearly the most popular of all. His additional movies that had nothing to do with Rough Housing were also successful and his popularity soared; the other boys in the series didn’t score big movies.
Over time, as she got a little older and threw him over for other teenage stars, she recognized that he was not a good boy, that all the gossip must be true. He came from a world she didn’t understand, a Hollywood family that bore no resemblance to hers.
She wasn’t going to tell him she knew. Or maybe she would when they said goodbye in a couple of days, if they actually said goodbye, just to see the look on his face. But was he used to this? she wondered. Women who’d had girlhood crushes on him gasping with awe and star worship when they recognized him? Because Katie had been that way at twelve, but not now. Hell, at thirteen she might’ve thrown her panties at him, but now she had some class. Or stubbornness. Or just plain old experience.
But there was no denying his sex appeal. Within ten miles of their twisty-turny travels she was leaning with him and the bike and loved the tight curves, scary tilting and high speed.
He took them through a small Victorian town, around a road that seemed to go into the hills but popped out on top of a small mountain high above the ocean and she squealed with delight. The descent was exciting, exhilarating. Then along the oceanfront, through a couple of towns that hardly qualified as towns. He braked for crossing deer, slowed to pass what appeared to be a bull ranch, through a dark, dense, overpowering redwood grove, into a vineyard. She was pretty sure they were trespassing in the vineyard, but she didn’t care. In fact, that made it more thrilling.
She had no idea how long they’d been riding when he took them along a winding road that went up into the trees. It felt like the spiral ascent inside a parking garage and her ears popped. When they finally broke through, they were on top of the world and in front of her the ocean spread out again. This was where he stopped the bike, turned it off and raised it onto the stand using his long, strong legs. She got off and removed her helmet and he did the same. Then he flopped down on the soft grass, flat on his back. He moaned.
“Are we quitting?” she asked.
He lifted his head. “We’re taking a break.”
“Why?”
“We’ve been riding for two hours! It’s time for a break!”
She sat down beside him, circling her raised knees with her arms. “Do you tire easily, Dylan?”
“I was driving,” he said. “You were riding.”
“Can I drive?”
“No.” He raised up, bracing on his elbows. “Did you talk to your brother last night?”
“I did.”
“Did he ask you if we were dating?”
“He did.”
“And what did you say?”
She reclined on her side, holding her head up by bracing on one elbow. “I could have just said no, but I said he should mind his own goddamn business. I have to keep an eye on Conner. When he steps up to help me or be there for the boys, it warms my heart, it really does. Getting in my personal life, that annoys me.”
“Has he been doing that for a long time?” Dylan asked.
She made a face. “When I was six, he walked me to school. I wanted my mother to walk me and he could have raced off with his friends, but the truth is—Conner took me on at an early age. Which is sweet, don’t get me wrong. And I love him. But I want to pick my own boyfriends.”
Dylan grinned. “Am I your boyfriend?”
“Oh, please!” She laughed at him. “A kiss just to show off and a trip to McDonald’s and a promise to be gone in a couple of days? I can do way better than you.”
He sat up. “Wait a minute. I took you to breakfast and on a fantastic bike ride!”
“That’s on the cusp,” she said. “Close, but no cigar.”
“Jesus,” he said, running a hand over his head. “You’re tough! What’s a date to you, anyway? It’s not like there are fancy places to go dancing around here.”
She was shaking her head. “I can’t remember when I last danced anyway.”
“What is it you’re looking for? Want to cut me in on the secret?”
> She shrugged. “I’ll know it when I see it.”
He stared at her for a moment. He liked that smile; he liked that she was an uppity, self-confident little witch. One corner of his mouth lifted, then he slid his hand around the back of her neck and deftly lowered her to the ground. He hovered over her and concentrated on those large eyes for a second before he leaned in to her plump, delicious mouth. He teased, a little kiss, a little nibble, a lick, waiting for her to let him know she was interested in more. And it didn’t take long, either. She slipped her hands around his neck and pulled his lips down to hers, lowering her lids and opening her mouth for him immediately.
She made a low sound in her throat and he groaned. Their tongues tangled together; he threaded his fingers into her wild hair. He was drowning in her and let his lips slip from hers to her neck with a whispered exclamation. “God, you taste good.” And he kissed her neck, her collarbone, her jaw, her ear, then went back to her mouth for more, licking her open and devouring her. He hadn’t planned this part, but it came to him that he needed her and he was glad it had. Of the hundred or so women he’d kissed, this one was somehow different. As he moved over her mouth, he thought of her as belonging to him. This kind of thought had never happened before; he’d always focused on “this is for now.”