Only in My Dreams (10 page)

He threw her a reassuring smile. “No, which sort of made the therapy seem unnecessary to me, but it was required so I went. The one thing I took away—not just from the therapy but from the army in general—was to find solace in myself. Trust myself. Believe in myself. Rely on myself. It was the best advice I've ever gotten.”

“How so?”

From the corner of his eye, he could see she was watching him intently, completely vested in what he was saying. “Just that at the end of the day we have to be happy with ourselves. That within ourselves we can find whatever strength or direction or inspiration we need. And that the only approval that really matters is our own.”

She settled back against her seat and was quiet for a moment. “Sounds very independent. I can't remember the last time I thought of myself in that way. Being a wife and mother is about as codependent as you can get.”

This conversation seemed to be veering into an extension of her therapy appointment, and he barely knew her. “Don't underestimate yourself.”

“Thank you. I'll work on that.”

He did a better job distracting her as they drove the next fifteen minutes to her house, focusing mostly on the new bypass that would divert traffic from going through the small towns on their way to the beach.

At last he pulled into the quarter-mile lane and then into the circular drive that looped around a giant water feature.

“Would you mind driving through the porte cochère?” she asked, pointing to the archway that connected the massive house to a garage.

He did as she directed, and she pressed a garage door opener.

“You'll have to do a U-turn to get in. I park in the garage attached to the house.”

The first door was up, so Dylan parked there. “That right?”

“Perfect, thank you.” She smiled, but the weariness on her face stamped out any genuine pleasure in her expression.

She climbed out of the car before he could help her. “Come inside so we can figure out how to get you home.”

Though he hadn't felt his phone vibrate, Dylan pulled it out anyway, hoping Cameron had texted him back. Nothing. Dylan sent another text.

Emily led him into the house through a mudroom. Dylan noted the hooks with the kids' names. Alex's name was still there, as was Sara's. A black coat hung from her hook.

“Hi, Mom.”

Trailing Emily down the short hall to the kitchen, Dylan froze at the sound of Sara's voice.

“Hi, dear.” Emily lifted her hand. “Dylan Westcott drove me home.”

Sara was standing at the doorway to a small circular room that adjoined the kitchen and looked to be an office. Her blue eyes grew wide. She turned toward her mother. “Drove you home from where?”

“My therapy appointment.” She rubbed her fingertips against her temple. “I'm tired. I think I'm going to lie down. Will you drive him back to his car, please?”

Sara glanced at him quizzically. “Um, sure.”

Emily thanked him again. “I'll remember what you told me,” she said with a forced smile. She looked even paler than when he'd seen her in the parking lot. She walked through the kitchen toward the hall and left. Sara pivoted toward him, crossing her arms. “What happened?”

“I found her in the parking lot at the hospital. She seemed lost or disoriented. Or both.”

Sara blinked. “I don't understand.”

“She was just sort of standing in one spot and staring off. It took me a couple tries to get her attention.”

“Maybe she was just daydreaming.”

Dylan didn't want to be blunt, but he wanted Sara to understand that her mother hadn't been in a good place. “I had to help her find her car. She was completely out of it for a bit.”

Sara's face crumpled, and she dropped her arms to her sides, her shoulders sagging. “Oh. Well . . . thanks.”

He took a small step forward. “She seemed pretty upset. I wonder if someone should take her to her appointments from now on.”

“Is that what she said?”

“She told me she used to go to the hospital every week with Alex, but that now she went alone.”

Sara leaned back against the doorframe of the little office. “Sometimes I went with them. I'd meet them in Newberg.” It was halfway to her condo, Dylan noted. “Thanks for telling me. And for bringing her home. You didn't have to do that.”

She looked at him in question, silently asking why he had.

He shifted, uncomfortable with her gratitude. Their relationship should be business and nothing more. “It was nothing, really.”

“It wasn't, but I won't argue with you.” She pushed away from the wall and started down the short hall toward the mudroom. “Come on, I'll drive you back.” She stopped at the hooks and pulled her coat down. She'd pushed one arm into a sleeve before Dylan got to her and held the garment up for her.

He checked his phone again. Still nothing from Cameron. “I was hoping my brother would come get me. I don't want to put you out.”

She glanced at him in surprise. “Like you driving my mom home wasn't a major inconvenience.”

He shrugged. “She was so out of it I didn't want her to wait around while one of you came to get her.”

“Well, thanks.” She eyed him with a mix of curiosity and caution. “Let's go.”

S
ARA CRINGED AS
she walked to the garage. She'd used those exact words—
let's go
—when they'd left Sidewinders for their one-night stand. She desperately wished she could take them back. Sneaking a look at him as he followed her into the garage, she wondered if he'd even noticed. Likely, the awkwardness she felt was all one-sided.

What if it wasn't? She was dying to ask if she made him uncomfortable. And if so, why? Did he regret their night together? Did he want another one?

Yikes, where had that come from?
She turned and got into the car, long-ago advice from her dad bouncing around her head:
Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to
.

Dylan got into the passenger seat as she started the engine. The temperature in the car seemed to spike. Again, she assumed that was only her perception. He was staring forward, his expression utterly inscrutable.

Great
.

She backed out of the garage and turned toward the drive. She punched the radio on, thinking that could help defuse the tension.

“I like this song, even though it's a little goofy. You?” His deep voice cut through her anxiety and gave her a jolt.

“What?” She hadn't been paying a lick of attention to the music and now sought to listen. Catchy tune, lots of radio play, nominated for an Oscar for that kids' movie with the little yellow minion things. “It's cute.”

They fell into silence for a few minutes. By the time they reached Ribbon Ridge proper, she couldn't stand it anymore. “What did you and my mom talk about?”

“Not much. Cookies, the bypass, her therapy a little bit.”

Her therapy? She hadn't wanted to talk about it lately. “What did she say about the therapy?”

“You know, it really wasn't a lot. Just what I told you about going alone.”

“Alex's death has been hard.” Her voice hitched a little as emotion welled up in her chest, but she swallowed it back. “Especially for her. She spent so much time with him. He still lived at home, and he worked for Archer.”

“Your dad's company? What did he do?”

“He was a writer. He did all of the marketing copy, the website, that sort of thing. He named all the beers. Hmm, I wonder who will do that now.” It was just another question that needed answering since he died. It seemed like there was something new every day. Something he touched that now gave them pause. “It's still so weird to say ‘was.' ” She pulled her sleeves up over her hands so she could rub the fabric between her fingertips and the steering wheel.

“I bet,” he said softly. “Your mom's strong though. Maybe stronger than you guys think.”

“Why do you say that?”

He shrugged and set his elbow on the door. “She's going to therapy. She's trying to find a way back to normal maybe.”

Every time she thought things might actually start to return to normal, something happened to make her realize normal was a long way off. And maybe it was gone forever. Maybe they had a new normal. Her senses started to spin, causing her to seek more sensory input from the ridges on her cuffs.

“I notice you do that with your sleeves.” His question drew her to look toward him. He nodded toward her hands. “And judging from the condition of the edges, I'd say it's a little more than a habit.”

“A compulsion, you mean?” She felt a jolt of defensiveness. Most people didn't get the things she did to regulate herself—the fiddling, the squeezing and compressing, the lingering in quiet corners. “It's part of my sensory disorder.”

“What disorder?”

“You don't remember from high school?” People may not have known the specifics, but she'd been Quirky Sara with her odd ticks and aloofness.

“No. Tell me.” He'd been a senior when she was a freshman, so it was likely he'd never been aware of her reputation. In fact, nobody might have been aware of her at all if it hadn't been for Liam, Tori, and Kyle, who'd been insanely popular.

“It's kind of hard to explain.” And she didn't really want to get into it, especially with him when she was trying to keep things professional. “Forget I mentioned it.”

“I think this is the second time you've brushed this off. If I'm remembering right, you were going to say something about it at Sidewinders.”

She cast him a sidelong glance. “Uh-oh, you broke the Vegas Rules.”

He laughed. “My bad. I guess we should be pretending we didn't meet each other that night at all.”

Should they? That's what Vegas Rules sort of implied and that whole night was supposed to be locked in a vault. Too bad it kept leaping into her head at the slightest provocation. “I don't know about you, but that's pretty hard for me to do. I can separate it from our relationship now, but I can't forget it.”
I hope
. She stopped herself before she said anything more, like how great it had been.

She snuck another look at him, saw him watching her, and quickly snapped her gaze forward.

“I get you. Vegas Rules in full effect.”

Eager for a safer topic, she asked, “Sounds like you and my mom had a good chat on your drive.”

“I don't know if it was good, but it wasn't bad. Actually, I offered to distract her, but I wasn't very good at it.”

She sensed from his tone that his heart was in the right place. “I'm sure you tried. It's hard to avoid the subject. It's consuming her.”

“I can see that. I gave her some advice from the army. Rely on yourself, find inspiration within.”

“That's what the army taught you?”

“Among other things, but yeah. Trust and believe in yourself. All that crap.”

She laughed, slowing for a red light. “You gave my mom crap advice?”

“No,” he said with a touch of humor. “It
sounds
like crap, but it actually does work. At least for me.”

The light turned green, and she pressed the accelerator. “Tell me about the army.”

“There's not a lot to tell—bad food, tedious assignments, really boring outfits.”

She laughed again, enjoying his company more than she wanted to. It would be so much easier to keep him at arm's length if he weren't charming and funny. “You cared about the clothes?”

“Okay, not that much. But my ex complained about doing the laundry. She stopped doing it after the first year.” He winced slightly, as if he wished he hadn't said that.

Sara didn't want him to feel bad—she dealt with enough of that already. He was her light spot, someone she could forget about her troubles with and . . . be someone different. Wait, was that true? “So she divorced you over laundry? I can see that. I'm putting that in my prenup—each spouse must do his or her own laundry.”

“I don't mind that. I actually don't hate laundry. You should see my washer and dryer.”

Was that some sort of invitation? Or at least the verbalization that maybe someday she'd have cause to be in his house? Whoa, she was way overthinking. They were having an innocent conversation. No, they were kind of flirting and she should put an end to it. But she didn't.

“You're an odd man, Dylan Westcott. I suppose you cook and clean toilets, too?”

“I try to cook—and sometimes I succeed.” He flashed her that disarming smile and she locked her gaze on the road, which is where she planned to keep it. “I'm an ace at cleaning toilets—the army made sure of that.”

He liked laundry, could cook, and cleaned a mean toilet. “Why exactly did your ex divorce you? She sounds like a moron.”

He laughed and it heated Sara's insides, infusing her with a soothing warmth she hadn't felt in a long time. “I promise you, I have plenty of faults,” he said.

They'd somehow entered the outskirts of Newberg in record time. Or maybe she'd just been enjoying the ride too much to notice, which was pretty bad since she was driving. As she pulled into the hospital parking lot, she cast him a sidelong glance. “Like line dancing.”

“Ouch. And you broke Vegas Rules.”

Sara clapped her hand over her mouth, eliciting another laugh from him.

She parked next to his large, gray truck. “Thanks again for bringing Mom home. I hope she didn't mess up your entire afternoon.” She suddenly realized he was maybe supposed to be working.

“It's fine. We're in the middle of a remodel, but the electricians were working today so I stopped in this morning before I had lunch with my mom. She works here at the hospital.” He turned to look at her and suddenly the space in the car seemed very, very small. “And it was my pleasure.”

Just hearing him say “pleasure” sent shivers up her spine. She glanced away, reminding herself that she'd be better off ignoring her attraction to him and trying to make it go away. They were probably going to be working together, for crying out loud. At least, she was 99.9 percent confident they would. Tomorrow morning, Derek would join them to review the proposals and hear their interview feedback; then they'd make their hiring decision.