12 Borrowing Trouble (11 page)

It was Carrie’s turn to groan.  At this moment, that is exactly what she wanted
too. 

But she had a cake to bake
, and time was running out to get to the grocery before it closed.  Just that quick, she’d forgotten all about it.  And she’d forgotten there were at least five men outside that rough wooden door.  She was sure they were curious as to why she’d been in Dylan’s room as long as she had.  It didn’t take that long to drop off a shirt.

This man had that effect on her.  Her brain wen
t haywire when he kissed her.  She sat upright on the edge of the bed.  “I need to go to the store, and Terri had to take care of Jayden.”

“Looked like y’all bought out the store earlier.  What more could you possibly need?” he asked with a
tired laugh.

“Butter.  I used up all Terri had in the house this morning.  We forgot to stop.  I’m scared I’ll get lost in the dark trying to get there.”

“And you want me to go with you?  To protect you from the boogeyman?” he drawled in that sexy, dark voice that set her nerves on edge.

“
I can take care of the boogeyman myself.  I just need you to ride with me, so I don’t get lost in the dark.  I don’t know the way.”

“What if I
’m the boogeyman and
want
to get lost with you?” he asked, taking a strand of her hair to tuck it behind her ear.  “The way I’m feeling, we might not find our way back until morning.”

Carrie’s skin tingled.  Getting lost with him sounded like just what she needed right now.  But no sleep would mean she wouldn’t be sharp tomorrow.  “I’ve got to get back and go to bed.  Doing this cake right means the world to me, Dylan,” she said.

“If it’s anything like that carrot cake you made, you don’t have a damned thing to worry about.  Those people will scarf it down like hounds.”

Pleasure at his compliment floated through her.  “You had some of my cake?” she asked with surprise.

“Yeah, I kept Penny company and enjoyed your efforts from this morning, while I waited for y’all to come back.  That bread was damned good too,” he said with a chuckle.  “I’m glad you’re not going to be around here all the time.  Hell, I’d weigh three hundred pounds.”

Dylan was glad she wasn’t going to be around all the time for another reason too. 

He realized now he could become just as addicted to this sweet, damaged woman, as he had become to her carrot cake.  Sunday morning was going to be fun, but Dylan knew he would be looking forward to her leaving on Sunday afternoon, before that could happen. 

If she stood him up again, he would be disappointed, but he wouldn’t be crushed.  He would survive.  Just like he had before he met her.  He
was a survivor, because he didn’t let himself get attached to folks, especially women, or let them attach themselves to him. 

That wasn’t going to change now,
just because something in Carrie Collins’ sad, puppy-dog eyes called to him to fix her problems.  He could sense she had plenty of problems too.  That’s why he’d almost waded off into them this morning to try and restore her faith that things would get better for her.  The edge of desperation in her voice had scared him.  That edge was gone now, replaced by hope and excitement for her new project, and Dylan was relieved. 

He
was almost thankful she had stood him up this morning.  He was better off not knowing what had driven her there.  That would lead to him caring.  Trying to fix things for her.  It looked like Terri had fixed them instead.

He’d dodged a bullet
.

***

Carrie took a big swig of her third cup of coffee, before sitting the cup down to pick up the heavy mixing bowl, which contained the red velvet cake batter.  She carefully tilted the pouring spout toward the first of the three greased and parchment-paper lined cake pans of various sizes. After she filled them, she carried the three pans to the pre-heated oven, arranging them a few inches apart on the center rack. 

From her carrot cake yesterday,
Carrie knew the oven was perfectly level, so she didn’t have to make adjustments there.  She put a small water-filled bowl inside the oven with the pans to keep the cakes moist as they baked.  Between that and the applesauce she’d used to cut the oil requirements in the batter, the cake should melt in your mouth.  She’d also used another secret tip for a lighter cake given to her by her grandmother, adding a teaspoon of lemon juice to the butter and sugar mixture when she creamed it.  Carrie had done everything she could think of to make this the best cake she’d ever made.  It had to be the best cake ever.  Her future depended on it.

She
set the timer on the oven and huffed out a breath.  Easing onto the barstool again, she picked up her coffee cup.  She had a few minutes before she started mixing up the next batch of batter.  When doing several layers, she didn’t like to pre-mix the batter, because it could mean the cake would rise too high during baking.  But she could lay out the ingredients for her butter-cream frosting, she thought, as she shot to her feet again. 

Thank
goodness Dylan had agreed to go with her to the grocery store for butter last night.  She would be a nervous wreck right now if she had to go this morning.  He had been so good to her last night.  Even when she left him at the door of the bunkhouse instead of going inside like he’d suggested, he hadn’t gotten upset.  He’d just growled, “Sunday,” when he finished kissing her good night at the door.  She loved his voice, that growl, his playful personality.  And the way he smelled made her knees weak. 

It had taken everything in her to stay strong and not go inside with him last night.  Everything.
  And she hadn’t gotten much sleep last night after all, because she’d stayed awake thinking about that kiss.  About what would happen Sunday. 

To get there though, she had to get this cake baked.

Carrie sighed and walked to the dining room table, where she’d put all the bags of ingredients she’d purchased.  She found the bags with the frosting ingredients and carried them back into the kitchen, then unpacked the bags on the counter beside the sink.  Like her thoughts summoned him, the back door opened quietly, and she looked up to see a sexily sleep-rumpled Dylan walk through the door with a coffee cup in his hand.

“Damned Jarvis let us run out of coffee at the bunkhouse,” he grumbled as he walked toward the coffee maker.  “I could have picked some up last night, if he told me,” he added as he filled his cup to the brim.
  After taking a long, slow sip, he leaned back on the counter to study her.  “How’s the cake coming?” he asked conversationally. 

From his casual stance, it looked like he planned on staying for a chat.  Carrie
wanted to do a lot more than that, but she couldn’t let the sexy cowboy distract her right now.  “It’s coming along fine, but I don’t have time to chat.  Take your coffee back to the bunkhouse,” she ordered, turning her attention back to unloading the bags.

“You always this grumpy in the morning?” he had the audacity to ask her.  Her eyes flew up to his and she saw he was smiling. 

Her heart softened like the butter on the saucer on the counter.  Not good.  “Dylan, I’d love to talk, but I have things to do.  You distract me.”

“Do I now?” he drawled in that sexy-as-hell tone of his.  He s
et his cup on the counter beside the pot, then strolled over to her.

She backed up a step
to put her hand in the center of his chest.  “Get out of here,” she said again, with much less conviction than a moment ago.  The heated desire in his eyes melted her resistance into a puddle of need that flowed down to her core.

“Give me a good morning kiss, and I will,” he growled
, pulling her against his hard body.  His breath smelled like rich, warm coffee as he leaned down to let his lips hover above hers.  Electricity buzzed over her lips and she licked them, before pushing up on her tiptoes to meet his mouth.  His arm squeezed her tighter to him, as his mouth closed over hers in a bone-melting kiss. 

“Well if that’s the secret sugar you used in the cake you made yesterday, no wonder it tasted so damned good,” Terri said with a laugh from the doorway of the kitchen.

Carrie shoved Dylan away from her and dragged in a breath, as heat shot to her face.  He laughed as he stumbled back into the counter.  She spun to face Terri with a hand to her chest.

“I, ah…Dylan came to get a cup of coffee,” she explained.

Carrie’s face got hotter as Terri held up a hand, then used it to wipe off her grin.  “Looks like he found the sugar just fine,” she said with a chuckle, as she walked into the room.  Her eyes lit on Dylan’s arm and she frowned. “Where’s your damned sling?”

He picked up his coffee cup and shrugged.  “At the bunkhouse.”

“Damn lot of good it’s doing you out there,” she griped, walking to the freezer.  She pulled out two ice packs, then slammed it shut.  “How’s your shoulder feeling this morning?”

“A little better,” he replied.

“It would feel a lot better if you just did what I told you to do!”  She pointed to the barstool.  “Sit down, so I can wrap your shoulder.”

“Yes, ma’am
.” He chuckled, as he flopped down on a barstool.

Terri found more bandages in the cabinet, and Carrie watched
longingly as she tended to Dylan’s shoulder.  Her fingers flexed, wanting to be the one touching his hot, smooth skin.  But she hoped they hurried, because she needed to start mixing her next round of cake batter.  They were in her way.

Carrie waited five more minutes, and was relieved when Terri finally put the last clip on the bandage and stepped back.  Dylan started to rise, but Terri pushed him back
down.  “Stay,” she said shortly.  “I need to get you some ibuprofen from the med shack.”  Terri headed toward the back door, and Carrie bit back a groan.

The back
door closed, and Carrie frowned.  But instead of staying put, Dylan stood to walk over to her.  “I’ll just follow her out there. You get your baking done, sweet cheeks,” he said, dropping a quick kiss on her lips.  “If you need some of that special sugar for your cake, just give me a whistle.” His laugh and wink, sent a thrill zipping down her spine.

“I’ll do that,” she
replied with a grin.  Her eyes followed his tight backside as he sauntered to the back door.  He gave her a wiggle of his fingers as he walked out.  Carrie’s heart was floating on happiness, as she turned to get back to work.

CHAPTER SEVEN

At the edge of the pavilion,
Carrie held her breath as the first piece of her beautiful cake was served to a guest.  The bride had been over the moon at how the decorating turned out.  Carrie had been pretty impressed herself.  It was way beyond anything she’d ever done before, and looked almost identical to the photo Terri had given her.  Except hers wasn’t done in fondant icing, her lavender-tinged orchids and leafy sage-colored lattice work were done in sugar, on buttercream icing.  Much more difficult to achieve in her opinion. 

Carrie had no idea now how she’d done it, or if she would ever be able to repeat it, but that didn’t matter.  She. Had. Done. It.  A sob bubbled in her chest as pride and joy tried to overwhelm her. 

Now, if it tasted as good as it looked, as good as Carrie thought it did, she would be a happy woman.  But taste was subjective, and the bride’s opinion was all that mattered.  Well her and the guests.  If they were happy, she knew the bride would be as well.

Once she could tell if they liked it,
Carrie would sneak off in the darkness and find a place to either scream or cry out her happiness.  Maybe both. 

Someone walked up behind her and grabbed her hand.  Carrie dragged her eyes from the guest with the cake, just as a champagne glass was shoved into her hand.  “Take this, you look like you need it.  And we need to toast your success,” Dylan said, his deep voice working its way along her nerve endings.

Her numb fingers gripped the stem.  “I’m not counting my chickens yet,” she said swinging her eyes back to the guest with the cake.  “I need to see if they like it.”

“Well if that lady isn’t having an orgasm at the table, I’d say she likes it,” Dylan said
, and his laughter rumbled through her.  The tension in her neck eased and Carrie laughed too, but elbowed him in the ribs. 

He grunted, and she gasped as champagne sloshed over the rim of the glass onto her hand.  Dylan caught her wrist and took the glass from her. 
He lifted her hand to his mouth and his eyes held hers as he licked the droplets from her skin.  Carrie bit down on her moan. 

“Stop it!” she hissed jerking her hand away.  “I need to focus.”

“Honey, you’ve been focusing since yesterday.  The cake is a hit, the crowd is happy.  What you need to do now is relax.” He grabbed her hand to drag her away from the pavilion. 

Carrie dug in her heels and pulled away.  “I can’t lea—“ she started but lost her voice
when she saw how nice he looked in his black hat, pressed shirt and jeans.  Her eyes slid down his body to his fancy snakeskin boots, which she saw he’d even polished.  “You look nice,” she said tamping down the instant lust that flooded her body.

“Well you look like a walking wet dream, which is what I’ll probably be having tonight,” Dylan replied
, jerking her hand to get her moving forward again. 

Carrie looked down at the black dress she’d borrowed from Terri, and laughed.  “This isn’t even my dress.  I can’t tell you when the last time I wore a
dre—“ 

Yes she could.  At Sean’s funeral.   Her good mood vanished,
replaced by longing and sadness.  Her success tonight was something she would have been able to share with him.  He would have been very proud of what she’d done tonight.

Dylan looked down at her, his hat shaded his face, but she saw his frown. 
“Well the last time I wore a pressed shirt was at my mother’s funeral,” he said gruffly.  He stopped beside a tree swing under a big oak tree and took her shoulders in his hands.  “I imagine you were going to say the same about your dress.”  He sat down on the swing and patted the seat beside him.  “Well my mother, and your husband aren’t here, and it’s a beautiful night.  Let’s not waste it digging up bones.” 

Carrie nodded, then sat beside him. 
His mother was dead?  She’d been so wrapped up in her own problems, she hadn’t thought to ask him about his circumstances and background.  The darkness in his voice when he talked about his mother’s funeral told Carrie it wasn’t a good situation.  “When did your mother pass?” she asked softly.

His body tensed beside her. 
“When I was thirteen.”

Chris’s age.  Sorrow for the young man who lost his mother filled her.  “I’m sorry,” she said squeezing his hand which rested on his thigh.  “I’m sure that was tough for you and your father.”

There was silence for a second, and Carrie thought maybe Dylan wouldn’t respond, when he finally said, “It was tough for me, but thanks to the rodeo I survived.”

Me
, not
us
.  Carrie read between the lines to figure out that he didn’t have a father in his life either.  Sympathy sent a sharp pain shooting through her chest, and tears burned her eyes.  “I’m so sorry,” she said again, her voice trembling over the words.

His hand flew up to grip her chin
, and he twisted her face toward him.  “It was a long time ago.  It’s done and I’m over it.  Now stop with the morose conversation.  It’s not helping you relax,” he grated, before his mouth covered hers in a hot kiss. 

Neither was this kiss, she thought
, as he devoured her mouth as if he could wash all thought from her mind.  That didn’t happen.  His heat, his delicious cedar-tinged scent reminded her of the promise she made to have sex with him tomorrow.  He’d couched it as a ride to the lake, but both of them knew what would happen out there. 

Carrie had wanted it to happen Thursday afternoon as much as he did.  Probably more. 
She had been in the middle of a meltdown, and he had comforted her, distracted her.  Made her feel alive like she hadn’t felt in three years.  Desirable.  Not alone.  With his suggestion, Dylan had presented the perfect opportunity for her to avoid dealing with what was really bothering her.  The situation with Chris, and her financial problems.  In the state of mind she was in at the time, his offer looked like a lifeline to her that she grabbed with both hands.

Today
though, since she’d had time to think about things, Carrie wondered if a one-afternoon stand with this man was really such a good idea after all.  He was delicious enough, as good looking as they came in a rough, alpha cowboy sort of way, and his kissing was off the charts.  She was sure his lovemaking skills would be too.  Dylan could get the job done and then some probably, but what about tomorrow?

He would be history, and her
problems would still be there.  When she had another meltdown like she knew she would, she would probably look for a similar solution.  Carrie had children to think of first.  She never wanted them to think she was that kind of woman.

She turned her head
, sliding her mouth off of his.  With her hands on his chest, she pushed back to look at him.  “Dylan, about Sunday—“

“There you are!” Terri shouted as she jogged across the yard toward the tree.  She was out of breath by the time she got there.  “The bride and groom are looking for you.  Several guests are too,” Terri said.

Carrie’s heart shot to her throat, and she pushed up from the swing.  “Did it taste okay?” she asked anxiously.

“I’ll let them answer that,” Terri said with a chuckle, as she hooked her arm with Carrie’s to drag her toward the pavilion.  She looked back over her shoulder and saw Dylan slouched down on the swing with his head resting on the back
, as he rocked it back and forth.

When they walked into the light of the pavilion, Terri led her through the crowd toward the other side.  She stopped beside a group of wealthy looking older people, who were talking with the bride and groom. 
All eyes turned their way, and Carrie felt heat crawl up her neck.

The bride immediately grabbed her into a hug that almost choked the breath out of her.  “Thank you so much,” she whispered in her ear, adding an even tighter squeeze, before she finally released Carrie.

Her head was spinning when a snazzily dressed, unsmiling silver-haired man asked, “Are you the young lady who baked the wedding cake?”

“Yes, sir,” she replied, swallowing hard
, waiting for the hammer of his displeasure to drop on her head.  Carrie forced herself to step forward and extend her trembling hand to him.  He took it and gave her a fishy handshake like most men did when shaking hands with women.  She cleared her throat and stiffened her shoulders.  “I’m Carrie Collins, and yes I’m the baker.  Did you enjoy it?” 

His weathered face
finally cracked, wrinkling around his mouth when he smiled broadly.  “Little lady, that was the best damned cake I ever ate.  Heaven on a plate,” he said rubbing his belly, as he held up his champagne glass to her.

R
elief washed through her.  “Thank you,” she said smiling now, standing a little taller. 

A
tall woman in a sparkly black evening dress stepped around him.  She extended her hand to Carrie.  “I’m Regina, Rollie’s wife.  The bride’s mother.”  The woman’s coral-colored mouth stretched in a wide smile.  “I have to agree with my husband, Ms. Collins, your cake was spectacular. So good in fact, I plan on recommending you to all of my friends.  Do you do special occasion cakes too?  Or just weddings?” she asked politely.

Fake it
til you make it
.  Terri’s words floated through her mind.  “I ah, can do any kind of cake,” Carrie replied, forcing confidence in her tone and posture.  If she looked up the recipe online, and practiced, she was sure that was true.

The woman’s smile broadened, and she opened her clutch to pull out a piece of paper.  “These are the phone numbers of my friends who have family members getting married soon.  On the back are those having anniversaries and birthdays.  They’ll all need cakes, and I’ll be giving them a call to
sing your praises and break the ice for your call.”

“Wow, thank you so much,” Carrie said
, dumbfounded as she looked at the lengthy list the woman had given her.  Her mental calculator clicked off the money she could make if she was given all these orders.  Her knees went weak.

Terri dropped her arm around Carrie’s shoulders.  “Let’s go have some
of that spectacular cake ourselves, and a glass of champagne,” she suggested, turning Carrie to lead her toward the cake table.  She squeezed her shoulders and said, “Good job.  This is pretty exciting, huh?”

Yes,
very exciting.  Except for one thing.  Carrie had nowhere to bake all of these cakes. 

They stopped at the
cake table, and Terri picked up a saucer and turned to hand it to her.  Her eyebrows slammed together between her green eyes.  “Why are you so pale?”

“I don’t feel well,” Carrie said putting a hand to her stomach
, wadding the paper in her other hand as her fist clenched against a sharp pain.  Her stomach was a boiling cauldron, as she watched her dreams fly out the window.

“Let’s go
to the house so you can lay down,” Terri said setting the plate down on the table.  “You’ve been a wreck today.  You need a break.”  Inside the house, Terri walked her to the sofa and she sat down.  Terri pulled off her high heels, then shoved her shoulder.  “Lay back on those pillows.  I’m going to get us a drink.” 

Carrie tried to relax, and put her feet up on the sofa.  A minute later Terri walked back into the room with two
shot glasses, and handed one to Carrie.  “Drink up,” she said throwing her head back to lift her own glass to her lips.

“I don’t know if I can—“

“Drink it!” Terri said sitting on the sofa beside her feet.

Carrie’s hand shook as she raised the glass to her mouth and took a sip.  The liquid burned down her throat, but by the time it hit her stomach a wa
rmth spread through her veins. Whiskey, good whiskey.  The warmth spread through her whole body, and she did relax a little more.  “Thanks,” Carrie said with a forced smile.

“Okay, now spill it.”

“The whiskey? Carrie asked in confusion, downing the last sip of amber liquid.

“No—tell me what the hell is wrong with you?  Did Dylan hurt you?” she asked angrily.

“No!” Carrie shouted sitting up on the sofa.  “He’s been amazing.”

“What’s wrong then?” Terri asked pinning her with her eyes.

“I want to do this baking thing.”  She uncurled her fist and sat the shot glass on the coffee table, to smooth out the crumpled paper.  “I’m totally amazed that woman was so impressed she gave me all those names.”

“And that upset you?”

“No, no…I can’t take the orders,” Carrie said, casting her eyes down at the paper, so Terri didn’t see the frustrated tears that burned there.

“Why the hell not?”
Terri demanded.

“I don’t have anywhere to bake them.  I live with my parents, and the kitchen is small and old.  There’s no way I could pull off a cake like the one I
just baked there.  That’s what those people will expect.”

When Terri got quiet, Carrie glanced back up to see
she was deep in thought.  Her lips twisted, and she sighed before saying, “I told Joel we needed to put in a catering kitchen out at the pavilion so the food we serve is fresher.  The caterers could just cook out there.”

“That would cost a fortune,” Carrie said before she could stop herself.