Dylan (3 page)

Too bad she had no idea how much longer it would take until she found the right man and settled down for the long haul—for however long that might be. Her first choice had been a dismal one with disastrous results, but she'd accepted that she was partially to blame.

The Lord and fate had a lot to do with a person's happiness. Nonni DelVecchio had told her that just this past Sunday during their weekly late night chat, and even though she might not like what her grandmother said, she believed everything Nonni told her. Well, except for the family curse. Every other generation, one of the DelVecchio women met an Irishman and fell head over heels in love and had twins, and not necessarily after they were legally married. But she couldn't ever remember seeing it happen to anyone in their family and figured Nonni was given to exaggeration. Just to be on the safe side, Ronnie had gone to great lengths to avoid the dreaded curse by marrying a nice Italian boy from her hometown. Too bad he'd lived up to the rumors about him.

“Enjoy your drinks, ladies.”

Ronnie smiled. “Thanks.”

Three sips later, she couldn't feel the end of her nose, but she was feeling really, really loose. “Mmmm. Why do I always drink beer, when José is so delicious?”

Shannon and Lenore raised their glasses and started singing “Happy Birthday.”

“No, stop!” Ronnie moaned. “Sing something else—anything else.”

“But it's your birthday,” Lenore said, as Shannon started to sing the Beatles version of “Birthday.”

“Come on, Ron,” Shannon urged, “get up and dance.”

Just tipsy enough to oblige them, Ronnie stood up, glass in hand, and started dancing around their table. Her drink sloshed over the rim, and she stopped to lick every last drop off the back of her hand. Singing along, stopping only to cool her throat with the smooth, icy goodness of her new favorite drink, she wondered why she let that handsome hunk of cowboy kiss her, draining every thought from her head before letting him walk away.
Was
she
crazy?

A few more sips, and she wondered why she hadn't told him she'd wait. Her heart knew why: he was gorgeous and so tempting, and she'd been afraid to take him up on his offer, knowing he'd expect her to do a little mattress dancing with him after the way she'd spontaneously combusted when he'd hauled her in and kissed her. In his defense, she had totally given him that impression, but if she ever saw him again, and he asked, she'd plead the fifth.

Once
burned
, she thought. Well, she was nobody's fool, and she wasn't going to let a dark-eyed cowboy talk her into bed unless she was sober—no matter how amazing his kisses were or how hard his body was. Besides, from now on she was going to be the one who'd initiate any invitations that would end between the sheets.

Damn
, she thought, staring in the direction he'd walked down the long mirror-lined hallway. He'd ignited a spark inside of her that flared into a slow-burning fire. Too bad she had a feeling that Dylan Garahan was the only one who could put it out. She'd be doing a lot of yoga to get that man out of her system.

“So what else do you want to do for your birthday?” Shannon asked after Ronnie sat down.

“Find that dark-haired cowboy and lick every inch of his hard body.”

“Sounds good to me,” her friends answered as one.

“Oh, crap,” Ronnie said sinking onto her chair. “Did I just say that out loud?”

Shannon and Lenore grinned at one another and then her. “Yep.”

Ronnie put her head in her hands and noticed the room tilted just a bit off to the left. She closed one eye to see if her perspective changed. It did; now the room tilted to the right.

“Hey, are you OK?” Lenore asked.

Ronnie shook her head the room started to spin. “I was wrong. José is
not
my friend.”

Shannon and Lenore got on either side of their friend and eased her to her feet. “Come on, Ron,” Shannon soothed. “We'll take you home so you can sleep it off.”

As they walked toward the entrance, Lenore added, “You'll feel better in the morning.”

“Are all y'all leaving so soon?” Jolene called out from the side of the stage.

Ronnie started to shake her head, but her stomach flipped and she froze.

Taking pity on her, Shannon patted Ronnie's shoulder and said, “I think the birthday girl has had one too many Mega-Margaritas.”

Jolene nodded in sympathy. “Do you need help getting her home?”

“No thanks. We'll make sure she gets there in one piece so she can sleep it off.”

“I don't want to go home,” Ronnie protested, although her friends didn't seem to be listening. “I want to go find Dylan the Delicious.”

“Y'all come back tomorrow,” Jolene said. “I'll tell you where to find him.”

“Ish that a promise?” Ronnie slurred.

“Absolutely. See you tomorrow,” Jolene called out as they made their way down the hall.

“When I find 'em, I'm gonna shtart with the hollow of hish throat,” Ronnie said, stumbling on wobbly legs, wondering why she couldn't make her tongue work. The words sounded funny.

“That's José talking,” Lenore said, helping her cousin pour Ronnie into their car. “Don't worry, you'll feel better tomorrow.”

It was only a couple of blocks from the Lucky Star to Ronnie's apartment over her store, but she'd never have been able to walk that far without tripping and falling on her face.

“You'd better be careful what you wish for,” Shannon warned, as they helped her inside and up the stairs. “Birthday wishes sometimes come true.”

Two hours later Ronnie was still praying to the porcelain god. Exhausted and shaky, and halfway sober, she leaned her arm on the toilet seat and rested her head against it. Purging her system of the tequila hadn't been easy, but it would sure as hell be easier than forgetting the dark-eyed cowboy… that would be impossible.

“His lips were lethal,” she moaned. Her stomach felt raw and her head ached, and all she could think about was being lifted into a strong pair of arms and held against a wonderfully warm, muscled chest—Dylan's.

She couldn't stop thinking about him and was already making plans to ask Jolene where he lived so she could just happen to run into him again.

Beware
of
the
curse!
her grandmother's voice echoed in her head.

She'd been raised to fear the DelVecchio Curse. Generations of DelVecchio women had been warned not to taint their pure Italian blood, but in the end fate always had her way.

Her tired brain tried to sort out everything that had happened tonight. Maybe Dylan was only part Irish, so she might be safe in that regard. She couldn't remember the last time someone in her family had married an Irishman, but she ran through the names of all of her female cousins and then started on her aunts, just to be sure.

Too tired to think straight, she gave up before she could go through all of her aunts' married names. She couldn't think of one instance that would give credence to her grandmother's warning.

“Besides,” she murmured, as her eyes drifted closed, “fate doesn't always win.”

Poor
bambina
, she could almost hear her grandmother's voice crooning in her aching head. How many times had Nonni warned her not to try to drown her sorrows in alcohol?

Her stomach finally settled down. As her body gave in to exhaustion, she drifted off to sleep on the tile floor.

Dylan smelled coffee. He rolled over, lifted his head, and sniffed the air. He wasn't dreaming; the scent of fresh brewed coffee was so close he could taste it.

“'Bout time you got up.”

He ignored the grumpy voice and shifted so he was sitting up, leaning against the headboard. Without opening his eyes, he reached out his hand.

“We Garahans are so alike sometimes, it's scary.”

His little brother was still grumbling at him, but his brain couldn't quite wrap around what Jesse was saying. If Dylan wanted that mug of hot coffee, he was going to have to open his eyes and find out what was going on. Not that he expected Jesse to be in a good mood every morning. Hell, Dylan spent half of the weekdays waking up in a bad mood himself.

That's because you're jealous of your older brother and what he's found with Emily—that and you're missing something sweet in your life.

It was an effort, but he ignored the voice and opened one eye and saw Jesse leaning against the doorjamb, looking like he'd been in a wreck out on I-635. “What the hell happened to you?”

Jesse shoved one of the mugs at him but didn't say anything. Something was definitely wrong with his brother. The youngest of the three brothers talked like he'd been vaccinated with a phonograph needle at birth, or at least that's what their grandfather always used to say. They'd always gotten a kick out of listening to old records on his grandfather's record player, and heck, Jesse talked nonstop, just like those records played—nonstop until the record was over.

Dylan swallowed a mouthful of hot coffee and grimaced. “Damn, did Tyler make the coffee this morning?” When Jesse didn't answer right away, he added, “You couldn't have made it. I'd be able to drink it if you had.”

That got the reaction out of his brother that he was hoping for. Jesse snickered and bit out, “Some habits die hard, Bro. If Tyler's up first, he makes the first pot.”

“But the first pot must be gone by now. Is something wrong with Lori?”

At the mention of their cook and childhood friend's name, Jesse stiffened up and turned to leave. “Hey wait up, Jess.” Dylan set his mug down so he wouldn't spill it and got out of bed. A quick glance down reminded him of their grandfather's rule about women and breakfast. “Is Lori in the kitchen?”

Jesse shook his head and kept walking. Something wasn't right. “Is Emily still here, or did she leave for work?”

“She left fifteen minutes ago.”

Good, he could ignore his grandfather's rule about putting on his damned pants for breakfast, since there weren't any females in the house. Grabbing his mug, he followed after his brother. “Hey, Jess,” he hollered. “Wait up!”

His brother had other ideas. Dylan heard the back door slam as he walked into the kitchen. “Perfect.”

Since Lori had been back at the ranch, she'd twisted the youngest Garahan brother into knots again… just like she had a few years back, before she'd run off with that shit-for-brains excuse for a man she'd married.

She
wouldn't have run off with the same man again and left Jesse twisting in the wind, would she?
Dylan started to think about it, but knew it was useless; women operated on their own plane of existence sometimes, leaving men without a clue as to their thoughts.

“Not my worry, not my problem.” That was Dylan's motto since his girlfriend had left him to make her mark on the archaeological community.

He poured water and measured scoops of coffee into the drip pot. Banging open cabinet doors, prowling over to the refrigerator, he opened up the meat drawer and found a ham steak, snagged three eggs and the margarine, and finally had everything he needed to fix his breakfast except bread.

“Maybe I could ask Emily if she knows how to make Irish soda bread,” he mused, hunting up and finding two clean frying pans. “There's just something about it toasted, slathered with sweet cream butter.”

While the meat was heating in one frying pan, he cracked the eggs against the side of another one-handed. He'd inherited his big hands from his grandfather; all three brothers had. Good thing. They needed them to work the ranch and keep the place from falling down around their ears.

With his hands busy, his mind wandered, replaying events from the night before with a twist. The image of the blindfolded brunette got stuck in it. As he lassoed and reeled her in, the desire in her eyes beckoned to him. He knew without asking that she'd wait for him, ready to run her hands up and over his shoulders, sliding them down to grab him by his ass—

Grease from the pan spattered the bare skin below his navel. “Shit!” Grabbing the dishcloth, he ran it under cold water and tried to cool the heat of the burn. “Damn, it's a good thing I'm not as tall as Jesse, or that'd have burned something important.” Still grumbling he added, “That woman's trouble and she's not even here!”

You
should
have
put
your
pants
on. You're burning daylight, Son.

“Gee, thanks for the advice, but you always said we only had to dress if a woman was in the house.”

His grandfather had always reminded them that dungarees were made of tough material that would save their legs riding the range—and would have saved his skin from grease burns. They were always trying to beat the clock, getting their chores done before they ran out of daylight. The old man had taught them that putting their pants on before breakfast would save time if they didn't have to go back upstairs to get dressed before going outside.

Irritated that he was seeing visions of the beauty from last night who'd turned him down and imagining that he was hearing voices in his head, he bit out, “Maybe I should saddle up wearing my damned boxers, like that time I was eight years old and hell-bent on riding out in my underwear.”

He shook his head, remembering the beating his legs had taken after riding a few short miles before he turned back to doctor the scratches on his legs and put on his jeans. His mind wandered back to last night and the dark-haired woman who'd captured his eye and then stomped on his heart when she refused to wait for him, ignoring the sensual pull they both felt when their lips met. Sizzling and the scent of meat about to burn brought him back to the present. “Damn. I'm gonna have to work hard to keep my mind focused today until I can get my hands on that female.” He grinned. “Just because she turned me down is no reason to back off.”

By the time he'd fried the ham and eggs and ate them, he'd used up half an hour's time. “At this rate, I'll never get to the repairs on the barn roof, which I can't start until after I help round up those strays.” His never-ending list of chores dwindled by the end of each day, but seemed to grow by leaps and bounds overnight. Tyler was handy with plumbing, but Dylan's expertise was carpentry.

He'd learned his skills the hard way, in exchange for staying out of jail when he was twelve. A chuckle escaped, surprising him. He hadn't thought about that time in his life for a long while. His grandfather had stepped up to the plate and had gone to bat for him, going head-to-head with Sheriff Wallace. Dylan had been scared spitless by the mountain of a lawman, but his grandfather had just smiled and turned his Irish charm up to brilliant.

Pouring his second cup of coffee, which was a whole lot closer to the real thing than Tyler's sludge, Dylan noticed something sticking out from behind the coffeemaker. Reaching in, he pulled out a tightly wrapped heel of soda bread someone—probably his pain-in-the-ass younger brother—had tucked behind the coffeemaker to hide it and save it for later.

“It'd serve him right if I ate the whole thing.” And he would have too, if he didn't have to get dressed and head on out to the western border of their land to meet his brothers. Tyler'd end up hurting himself if Dylan wasn't there to keep their older brother from ripping out his stitches or breaking a few more ribs.

Slathering butter on a slice of soda bread warm from the toaster, he bit into it and sighed. He should have asked Lori to marry him. Man that woman could cook. Polishing off the second piece, he knew he'd have to get in line or fight Jesse to marry Lori. Jesse'd been stuck on Lori a few years back, and from what Dylan had noticed recently, still was.

“Women,” he grumbled, as the image of the black-haired, green-eyed female filled his head again. Luscious lips curved up in a smile, had his heart pounding and his libido standing at full attention.

He'd have to ask Tyler what happened with Lori; odds were that if he asked Jesse, he'd get sucker punched. Their little brother had a mean streak a mile wide. Dylan grinned; he really admired that trait. Now that he thought about it, Jesse was definitely the one who'd hid the soda bread. Mean and greedy.

Piling his dirty dishes in the sink, he didn't even think about washing them. He was already behind schedule and would have to ride hard to catch up to his brothers. They'd be chasing down a couple of strays who had wandered through a break in the fence. He couldn't keep his older brother from riding out; broken ribs and stitches hadn't kept Tyler down for long. Dylan and Jesse had thought about tying their brother to a chair, but figured Emily'd just untie him. She was partial to their brother.

And now he'd have to deal with one brother in a good mood—because Tyler got to sleep beside the curvaceous redhead who had stolen his heart—and the other brother in a foul mood—because for some reason Lori had left.

Thinking of Tyler's injury had him flinching. All that blood… He should have shot first—right between that damned bull Widowmaker's eyes—and asked questions second. He owed that bull for head-butting Tyler into a barbed wire fence, slicing him up, and breaking a couple of Tyler's ribs.

He walked to the stairs, then took them two at a time, hoping to cut down on the time he'd already spent making his own damned breakfast. “Lori better not have cut out on Jesse again,” he grumbled, grabbing the pair of jeans off the floor where he'd shucked them the night before. Pulling on clean socks and his boots, he nabbed a shirt from the pile of clean clothes he'd left on the top of his dresser. Why bother to put them away, when he'd only have to dig them back out to wear them? Besides he had a system: clean clothes on top of the dresser and dirty ones in the corner on the floor.

Dylan caught up to his brothers a little while later. The heat from the sun soaked in through his tired, overworked muscles all the way to the bone, warming him. His horse responded when Dylan tightened his quads and leaned to the right. “Atta boy,” he murmured, when the horse started after one of the stray steer, “let's go get that ornery little sonofabitch.”

With his help, the three of them were able to round up all of the strays and coax them back in through the break in the fence. “Hell, we spend as much time mending fences and chasing down strays as we do tending stock.”

“Easier now than when they didn't have as much of the land fenced in,” Jesse grumbled. “It was tough when the open range started to close down all those years ago.”

Tyler groaned then shifted his horse so he wasn't twisted in the saddle. “It must have been hard to change their way of doing things. Hell, letting the cattle graze wherever they wanted and rounding them up when it was time to drive them to market must have been one amazing trip.”

“Not if Grandpa's stories are to be believed,” Jesse said. “The trail was hard on the men and the cattle. Throw in the weather, acting like a pissed off female—all teeth and nails—and you've got yourself one bitch of a cattle drive.”

Dylan listened to his brothers rambling and wondered what it would have been like. He wouldn't mind working harder than he did now, as long as he had a certain raven-haired beauty waiting on him when he dragged his sorry ass back to the ranch house at the end of the day.

He smiled imagining her waiting for him. He'd be heading in from the barn, using his Stetson to brush the dust of his day off of his jeans. He'd look up and their gazes would meet. She was such a welcome sight to a man who'd worked until his legs ached, his back screamed, and his hands were stiff from holding on to the reins.

He grinned and she leaped off the back porch and ran to his arms, not caring that he'd sweat through his shirt and smelled like the steer he'd been wrangling. Her lips were warm and welcoming as they molded to his. Diving in, he let his tongue tangle with hers as he slid his hand down to the sweet curve of her ass and…

“What the hell's wrong with you?” Jesse demanded punching Dylan in the shoulder.

“Hey, what? Ow!” Dylan rubbed the abused joint and mumbled to himself.

“Something on your mind, Bro?”

Dylan looked over at Tyler and noticed that his brother looked really tired, but knew neither he nor Jesse would be able to get their brother to stay behind unless they hog-tied him and left him there. Not that they hadn't tried a time or two when they were teenagers.

“Work,” he finally answered.

“My ass,” Jesse added.

“What the hell is your problem anyway?” Dylan demanded, glaring at Jesse. “You lit out of the house without telling me what happened to Lori.”

Jesse's jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed, but he didn't say anything. He turned his horse and headed north to where the worst of the break was.

Tyler nudged his horse to follow. “I'll tell you later, Dylan. We'd better catch up and mend this section of fence. I've got other chores to see to.”

Dylan snorted. “You've got a date with a bottle of aspirin, big Bro.”

Tyler shook his head. “Already took it. Should hold me for another hour or so.”

Working together, the Garahan brothers repaired the fence without speaking—just the way Dylan preferred to work, quietly, so he could focus on the job and get it done. But today, a certain female had worked her way under his skin and messed with his mind more than once, and he didn't like it.