12 Borrowing Trouble (8 page)

But then she wouldn’t have her kids.

Even with as much trouble as Chris had been since he hit puberty, even with having to be a single parent, Carrie wouldn’t change her life.  Things happened the way they were supposed to, and she wouldn’t change a thing.  Damn, she missed them. 

A sob worked itself past the knot in her throat and floated
past her lips.  Carrie squeezed her eyes shut and breathed deeply, as she continued to knead the bread.  Tiredness washed through her, so Carrie grabbed the bowl off of the counter and slid down to sit on the floor with it on her lap.  A bigger sob escaped her, as she started kneading again then the tears refused to be stopped.  Her eyes and nostrils burned, and before long, it was hard to take a good breath she was crying so hard. 

A shrill piercing noise sounded, and Carrie woke up.  Her tears evaporated when she realized the
reason her eyes were burning wasn’t from the tears.  The kitchen was filled with smoke, and that shrill sound was the smoke alarm blaring.  Tossing the bowl of dough aside, she rose and sprinted toward the oven.  She flung open the door and where her perfectly browned cookies should have been were smoldering black lumps of coal. 

With a cough, s
he jerked a dishtowel off the counter and snatched one sheet from the oven.  The towel slipped, her skin met the hot metal pan and she yelped.  The sheet fell from her fingers to hit the floor.  She jumped aside as it clattered and cookies scattered.  Ignoring the throbbing welt raising on her palm, Carrie reached inside for the second sheet, then the third. 

Disgust filled her as she flung open drawers until she found a spatula. 
Through the smoke and her tears, she could barely see the stove as she dragged the trashcan over there from the pantry and began scraping the pans into the trash.  Realization dawned that she had just wasted what was probably fifty dollars’ worth of cookie supplies.  She would have to pay Terri back before she left.  More money, and just one more example of what a fuckup she was on her own.  Self-pity overcame her and Carrie didn’t just cry, she blubbered as she worked the burnt cookies off the second sheet.

The back door of the kitchen flew open and fresh air poured in.  Backlit by
the sunshine that cut through the smoke was Dylan, shirtless and in pajama pants.  With a cough, he ran across the room and turned off the oven, then picked up a dishtowel to fan it at the blaring smoke alarm.  It finally hushed, and he grabbed her arm to drag her toward the kitchen door. 

“It’s a wonder you didn’t pass out in there!” he
shouted as he pulled her out into the fresh air.  “What the hell were you doing?” He turned his head to the side to cough again.  “I’m messed up on pain meds and could hear that damned alarm all the way at the med shack.”

“I was baking,” she
replied, folding her arms and turning away from him.

“
Why the hell would that make you cry?” he demanded with frustration.  “Do you always cry over burnt cookies?”

In the last three years, Carrie had cried over cookies often, but not burnt ones.  That never happened.  Except when she forgot to set the stupid timer on the ove
n, like she had this time.  Dreaded tears burned her eyes again.  She sucked in a deep breath of clean air, hoping that would stop them.  Not at all sure it would work, she jerked her arm from his grasp, stiffened her shoulders and spun to stalk back toward the kitchen. 

The last thing she wanted was this man to see her crying.   She prayed he would
just go back to the bunkhouse and leave her to her baking and bawling.  Storming back into the kitchen, she grabbed the spatula and went back to work on cleaning up the mess she had made. 

After she finished scraping the last sheet, she
carried the sheets to the sink and ran water so they could soak.  When she turned back around, she bumped into Dylan’s broad, bare chest.  Because she didn’t want to stare at his spectacular chest, she looked up, which was a mistake. 

His eyes pinned hers, as his hands gripped her shoulders.  “What
the hell is wrong with you?” he asked this time with concern and a note of sympathy in his voice.  There was something else there too.  Understanding?  Maybe a hint of fear?

“What’s right would be a shorter list,”
Carrie replied with a short laugh.  She swallowed the lump in her throat, and finally admitted, “My life is a fucked up mess.”

“You can change that,
if you don’t give up,” he said, and Carrie wondered at his grave tone.  He didn’t know her or her situation.  This man didn’t know she was desperate and her head was just as messed up as her life.  But from the look on his face, he knew.

Her lower lip wobbled, and she bit it
, waiting until she thought she had control.  “I’ve been trying to do that since Sean died, but it’s not working.”  Carrie tried to step around him, but he stopped her, and trapped her against the counter with his body.  He put his finger under her chin and tilted it up so she had no choice but to look at him. 

His beautiful, caring brown eyes held hers captive
as he studied her intently.  “There’s always hope, as long as you keep trying,” he said with conviction.  His fingers tightened on her chin.  “Promise you won’t give up, Carrie.”  The intensity of his expression and words were a little over the top for the situation. 

Carrie
pulled her chin from his grasp and laughed.  “Don’t think you’ll find me face down in my cake batter.  I’m not suicidal over the cookies or anything, just frustrated.” 

She was just having a meltdown, one of many she’d had since Sean died.  Releasing her grief and frustration when she hit a boiling point was a good thing.  The therapist she’d seen after Sean died said so.  People who hadn’t been through what she’d been through, was
still going through, just didn’t understand.  When she had a meltdown, instead of giving her space to work things out, they thought they needed to fix things.  She didn’t want help fixing things.  She just wanted to be left alone to figure it out herself. 

“Don’
t joke about that,” he said angrily, and her gaze flew up to his.  The darkness in his reprimand matched the pained expression on his face.  His jaw worked, then he swallowed.  “If you ever get there, please talk to someone.  Talk to me.”

Suicide was a coward’s way out, not something Carrie would ever consider.  Too many people depended on her, and as messed up as it was, Carrie loved life.  This man’s persistence on the topic, the darkness and passion behind his words
, piqued her curiosity about his situation.  He acted like he had firsthand knowledge of the subject.  “Have you been there before?  Tried to take the coward’s way out?”

His
face paled, and his lips became so tight they were almost white.  She felt his tension in his fingers as they dug into the flesh of her shoulders.  “No, I haven’t,” he replied indignantly.  “I would
never
do that.”

He might not
ever consider it, but it was obvious to Carrie that someone close to him must have.  It was written there on his face.  Carrie wasn’t going to pry though.  It wasn’t her business, and she had enough problems of her own to deal with.

S
he forced a tight smile, and said in a light tone she didn’t feel, “I made biscuits, and they didn’t suffer the same fate as the cookies.  You hungry?”

Her deflection didn’t work.  He shook his head, then zoned back in on her. 
“No, I want to know why you were crying.”

Carrie dragged her eyes from his. 
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said, turning toward the stove to loosen the biscuits from the pan.  “Now, if you’re hungry, I suggest you get a biscuit and sit down to eat.  Otherwise, leave me alone and let me finish baking.”

There was a long pause
.  Carrie almost thought he’d left, but when she turned back around, he was still there.  Just staring at her.  When her eyes met his, he said, “If you were crying about last night, I’m sorry I hurt your feelings, and I’m sorry I acted like a drunk asshole.”

I’m sorry I kissed you
is what Carrie’s mind heard and emotion built in her chest again.  She wasn’t sorry he had kissed her, and that was probably why she was upset.  She had enjoyed it, wanted more of it.  The guilt that settled like a rock in the center of her chest almost overwhelmed her.  She rubbed the area between her breasts, because it hurt that bad.  “Please just leave me alone,” she whispered, as she tried to turn back toward the stove.

Dylan
stopped her and lifted a strand of her hair.  “You’ve got dough in your hair.” Every root on her scalp stood at attention as he slid his fingers slowly to the end, before he dropped it back to her shoulder.  They stood taller when he skimmed her cheek with his thumb, then settled his palm there.  The intensity of the want and need that surged through her body, the yearning in her heart to feel more of his touch, hardened her guilt to granite. 

Carrie pulled away
and spun back toward the stove.  She dragged in a shaky breath, as she picked up the spatula with a trembling hand.  “I have flour and dough everywhere.” 

How the hell was she ever going to move on if she couldn’t get rid of this guilt at letting another man touch her?  She deserved to move on.  It wasn’t her fault she was in this situation
, that she was without her husband.  Sean had left her.  But maybe she wasn’t ready yet.

Ready or not, Dylan didn’t leave or
back off.  His heat surrounded her as his body crowded her from behind.  His fingers brushed her skin as he pushed her hair aside to lean over her shoulder.  He stuck his nose into the crook of her neck and inhaled deeply, then hovered there a moment with his hot breath tickling the shell of her ear.  The richer, deeper timber of his voice vibrated through her, as he finally asked, “You like to bake.  Is that why you smell like sugar cookies?”  Electricity zipped down her spine when his lips touched down briefly on a spot right behind her ear.  Carrie shivered and he laughed.

“Or do you just wear the dough behind your ear to teas
e me, because you know I have a weakness for sugar cookies?”  After a final flick of his hot, wet tongue, he moved away.  Cool air hit the wet imprint left by his mouth, and Carrie shivered.  Her nails curled into her palms, and she sucked in a breath when they scraped her burn.  The spatula clattered to the stove, and she sucked the fleshy pad at the side of her palm into her mouth. 

Dylan
grabbed her hand to inspect it.  “Did you burn yourself?” he asked with concern.  “We need to take you to the med shack and get Terri to bandage it.  I was headed out there when I heard the smoke alarm, but I didn’t see her out there.”

“It’s fine,”
Carrie said tugging her hand away.  He didn’t let it go.  Instead, he brought it to his mouth and kissed it slowly as he held her gaze.  Carrie licked her lips, tasting the sugar cookies she had to taste test before she put them in the oven.  “Um, I, ah…” she stammered, at a loss for words as she stared at the blatant desire in his eyes.

“Do you ride?”
he asked suddenly.

H
er dazed mind spun trying to process the words.  “Since I could walk,” Carrie replied once she wrapped her mind around what he’d asked.

“I have a few days off for my arm to heal.  Will you go riding with me this afternoon?
  You need to relax a little,” he said with a little smile.

Carrie didn’t know how spending time with this cowboy would lend itself to relaxation.  Every time she got within three feet of him, she was wound tighter than
she had been in years.  Being alone with him wouldn’t help her put distance between them.  But her mouth opened, and “Yes,” fell out before she could stop it. 

She only had two days left here, and she couldn’t resist the opportunity to feel like a desirable woman once more.  That’s how he made her feel.  Something she hadn’t felt in three years
, and wasn’t likely to feel again for a long time after she left this ranch.  Dylan made her forget her grief, forget her problems.  Carrie knew agreeing to spend time with him was just avoidance.  Her problems would still be there when she went back to her parents’ ranch.  Right now though, he would help her forget for an afternoon.

“Come out to the barn around two, and I’ll have the horses saddled.”

“I can help,” she offered, and her gaze fell to his shoulder.  “You’re hurt.  You shouldn’t be saddling anything.  Are you sure you’re okay to ride?”

He laughed and his smile broadened.  “I could ride with one arm tied behind my back.”

“I’ll ride with you, if you let me saddle the horses then,” she propositioned.

“Deal,” he
replied and his deep voice vibrated along her nerve endings.  When he leaned toward her, Carrie held her breath.  His lips touched hers, lingered for a second, then with a playful little nip to her lower lip, he stood back up and smiled.  “You taste like sugar cookies.”

“That
’s what the lumps of coal in the trash were,” she replied with an embarrassed laugh.

“Give me some of those
beautiful biscuits, and a few of those cupcakes to take back to the bunkhouse with me.” Dylan eyed them over her shoulder.  “I’ll make some gravy to go with the biscuits for breakfast.”  His tongue made a circuit around his lips, and her eyes were dragged around with it.  Heat settled between her legs, and her lips sizzled.