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When Shaye glanced at Dylan, he was looking at her.
As she moved ahead of the cart, she left him to navigate on his own. But he was always right there beside her. Their hands tangled as they reached for the same apple. Their fingers brushed as they realized they both liked the same kind of salad dressing. When Dylan insisted on loading the grocery bags into his SUV, she helped him, the sleeve of her jacket rubbing against his, his hands coming to within a few inches of her body when he took a bag from her grasp.
Sliding into her car for the drive to her town house was almost a relief, yet a disappointment, too. She was glad Dylan had agreed to go to her place for lunch.
The older streets of Wild Horse Junction were lined with larch and aspen. Pines decorated backyards and towered high over decades-old houses. Shaye, however, lived in a newer section of town where the western Victorian flavor wasn’t as prominent. The groupings of duplexes had high-peaked roofs with modern trim. With tan siding and blue shutters, they announced that Wild Horse Junction wasn’t just a small Western town, but rather a growing town. Retirees who didn’t mind the volatile winters moved here every year. Tourists on vacation who fell in love with the town sometimes relocated whole families into the area. Wild Horse Junction fostered a sense of community and that’s what Shaye liked most.
“Nice section of town,” Dylan commented as Shaye opened the front door and they went inside.
“I like it. Gwen lives in a ranch house on a street behind this one.”
“Is that by design or coincidence?” he asked with a smile.
“By design. She lived with her father for a few years after she got her training, but then decided it would be better for both of them if she was on her own.”
That decision hadn’t been an easy one for Gwen, Shaye knew. Her father, an alcoholic, had played on her sense of responsibility for years until finally Gwen realized she was enabling him. That was when she’d moved out.
After Dylan set the bags on the table in the kitchen, he scanned the downstairs.
“This is nice,” he remarked, his gaze passing over the rust, brown and turquoise Southwestern design on the sofa, the light oak tables, a sculpture of The End of the Trail, as well as a landscape painting of the Rocky Mountains above the sofa. All of the colors coordinated, coming together in the braided rug on the floor.
“I have two bedrooms upstairs,” she said in a chipper voice that didn’t come off quite that way. Talking with Dylan about bedrooms made her heart beat much too fast.
To cover her confusion, she said, “I’m going to call the hospital to make sure Timmy’s still doing okay.”
With a nod, Dylan slipped off his jacket and hung it around one of the kitchen chairs. She unzipped her parka and arranged it on a chair across from his. Their gazes met and she felt a trembling start inside.
He broke the silence. “I’d better stow away the eggs and milk while you make the call.”
They’d decided on grilled ham-and-cheese sandwiches for lunch, along with deli salads. The meal would take about five minutes to prepare.
Crossing to the counter, she picked up the cordless phone and dialed the hospital. When she reached the nurses’ desk, Dr. Carrera happened to be there. Apparently from her conversation with the nurse, he realized who was calling and asked to speak to her.
“The nurse said he’s stable. That’s true, right?” Shaye asked the physician.
“He’s stable. By the end of the week, hopefully we’ll take out the feeding tube and he can eat on his own, too. Now I want you to stop worrying, Shaye. Relax. Try to find your life again, because as soon as you take this baby home, it’s going to change.”
“How long do you think that will be?”
“A few weeks. A month. I can’t tell you for sure. But to get ready, you have to stay well, get plenty of rest and stop worrying.”
Over the past week Shaye had wrapped her professional demeanor around her, the one that stayed in control, took everything in stride, was assertive when she had to be. Now at Dr. Carrera’s words, that facade cracked along with her voice when she answered, “I will.”
As she set the handset in the base, tears came to her eyes. They spilled over and ran down her cheeks. There was absolutely nothing at all she could do about them.
She felt Dylan come up behind her. She felt his strong, tall body close to her back. His large hand capped her shoulder. “Is Timmy all right?”
“He’s fine. It’s just…Dr. Carrera told me to relax and stop worrying. Ever since this whole thing started, I’ve been operating on autopilot and—”
Dylan turned her around, put his palm under her chin and made her look at him. “I know what you mean. I did the same thing. It’s habit for me. After my parents died, I had to come up with a plan…not give in to the loss. Julia and I talked about that once. For me, anger took over instead of grief. It didn’t go away until I was finally her legal guardian and we were really brother and sister again. Now, losing Julia was awful, but I have to think about Timmy.”
“I know, and she would have wanted us to think about Timmy first. You know that as well as I do.” Her tears were falling again. “I just know I miss her and I’m still worried—”
When Dylan enfolded Shaye in his arms, she knew he was giving comfort. As he bent his head to hers and kissed her, she knew they were looking for escape and they needed to affirm life. She never expected to get so lost in Dylan…never expected to respond to his kiss as if her life depended on it. Her hands laced in his shaggy hair, loving the feel of it, the coarse texture of it. While his tongue slid into her mouth, his hands pulled her even closer. There was no space between them. The entire length of her body was pressed against him, and she was excited by the maleness of every aspect of him. His chest was hard. His belt buckle pressed into her tummy. And below that…
How long had it been since a man had wanted her? Since she’d wanted a man? How long had it been since she’d felt fully alive as a woman? How long had it been since touching and being touched hadn’t seemed important anymore?
Much too long.
Dylan broke away to trail kisses down her neck, and her knees felt weak. As his fingers fumbled with the buttons on her blouse, she pulled his turtleneck from his jeans. She slid her hands underneath onto his bare skin…into the soft chest hair. He groaned, a deep guttural sound that made her wet. Time and place and reason disappeared as they undressed each other in a frenzy of wanting to touch and taste and enjoy.
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