Her Bucking Bronc (4 page)

And too damn sexy.

“Are you hungry?” She kept her tone light and a smile pasted on her face.

“No.” He turned back to the plans. “I skip lunch a lot.”

She gritted her teeth and walked toward him. “Today you won’t skip. I made us steak sandwiches to celebrate the start of the new restaurant.”

He made a few notations on the plans.

Hannah slammed the basket on the plans with a thump. “Did I interrupt your work?” She flipped the basket open with a grin. “I don’t cook for many people, so be polite and eat the food.”

Dylan straightened up and narrowed his gaze. “You don’t know how to behave, do you?”

“I behave like I want to.” She shrugged. “The world needs to be shaken up now and then.”

“And you’re just the woman to do it, right?” His nose twitched. “Did you say steak sandwich?”

“Uh-huh. With caramelized onions and Havarti on my homemade toasted pretzel rolls.” She waved her hands to push the scent toward him. “It’s a peace offering. Don’t be a dick about accepting it.”

To her surprise, he threw his head back and laughed. “You sure have a set of brass balls.”

The comment stung, but she didn’t let it show. Her height and her inability to simply accept what she didn’t believe gave her a reputation as an Amazonian bitch. Better Dylan knew about it from her than from some other concerned citizen.

“Some people think I’m a bitch.” She reached into the basket to give her hands something to do; otherwise she would either make a fist or pull out her hair. “I know what I like and I have high standards. If I was a man, people would say I’m strong-willed.”

He accepted the sandwich from her. “It’s still warm.”

“I drove over from the ranch. Staying with my brother and mom isn’t my idea of fun. I think I’m driving him crazy too.” She handed Dylan a second sandwich. “Because I know construction is hard work.”

He saluted her with the roll. “Thank you. These smell wonderful.” He walked toward the back of his truck and pulled the tailgate down. “I don’t have a fancy table and chairs, but I got a seat to share.”

She picked up the basket and followed. Hannah climbed up on the tailgate and pulled out the third sandwich. “Nothing to say about the reputation?”

“Nah. People in small towns spend half their time watching their neighbors and the other half gossiping about them. It’s the reason I don’t live in a small town.” He unwrapped the sandwich and took a big bite, then spoke through the food in his mouth. “Ermegerd. Fckng amng!”

“Um, thanks.” She opened her own sandwich then reached back into the basket. “I brought cold root beer too.”

His brows rose and the corner of his mouth quirked up. This time he didn’t talk with the food in his mouth, but he did take the proffered soda. They ate in a companionable silence as the sunshine and light breeze danced around them.

The sounds of the machinery slowed to a crawl, then to a stop as the crew left the site to seek out their own lunch. Hannah and Dylan were left, for all intents and purposes, alone.

“I don’t
try
to be a bitch,” popped out of her mouth. She winced and shoved the sandwich into her teeth to stop the flood of foolishness.

“I don’t think you’re a bitch. You’re like any other client I’ve worked with. Opinionated, stubborn, and thinks she’s always right.” He popped the root beer and took a gulp. “Sounds like
you
think you’re a bitch, though.”

That stopped her hand halfway to her mouth. “What?”

“You wear it like a flag of pride, waving it at people, daring them to say it to your face.” He took another bite of his sandwich blithely, as if he hadn’t just turned her world upside down.

Did she do that? Wait for people to judge her,
dare
people to judge her?

“I, uh, I have no fucking clue.” She rewrapped the rest of the sandwich and put it in the picnic basket. It appeared Hannah had been handed her ass by a master. A man who could see what she had failed to see in twenty-five years on the earth.

Hannah was her own worst enemy.

Even Phillip, the man she’d loved with every molecule of her being, had never said such a thing to her. Perhaps love was blind. She would never know because Phillip couldn’t speak to her from the grave.

“Thanks for lunch.” He wiped his hands on one firm thigh. She willed herself to look away.

“You’re welcome. I figure I should butter you up before the real work begins.” She set the pie down beside him. “You won’t like me in about two months.”

He nodded as though she’d spouted Plato to him. “I can promise you the same thing.”

She didn’t want to be attracted to him, but she was. Hannah needed to smash her attraction before it got out of control. She picked up her basket and wiggled forward toward the edge of the tailgate to climb down.

“Hannah?”

She turned to find Dylan standing beside her, holding out his hand. Hannah stared at his hand, callused with blunt fingers and a sprinkling of dark hair on the back of his fingers. Surprisingly, the nails were clean. What a silly thing to notice.

She must’ve waited too long because he withdrew his hand as she reached for him. In the absence of of his assistance, she lost her balance and fell forward. He grabbed her waist to stop her from tumbling to the ground.

That’s how she found herself pressed against the very man she didn’t even like. Breasts to chest, crotch to crotch, eye to eye.

Holy shit.

Chapter Three

Dylan told himself not to react. He’d been with enough women in his life that a pair of tits were nothing to lose his head over.

That was before Hannah Blackwood and her perfect body. Having her pressed against him was a slice of heaven. His dick woke up and waved hello. He told it to go back to sleep but it stirred to life no matter what.

She smelled of cinnamon and lemon with a mixture of something flowery. Damn, the woman could make him forget all his good intentions to keep his distance from her. She was perfectly formed, tall enough to accommodate his height and had the most beautiful brown eyes he’d ever seen.

Fucking hell.

He set her on her feet and his hands itched to grab her again and pull her into the vee of his legs. She blinked rapidly and then stepped back.

Without another word, she picked up the basket again and walked away. He hoped like hell that wasn’t the end of his employment. He didn’t have anything else lined up for four months and he didn’t want to be desperate enough to take on building decks or backyard sheds just to eat.

Dylan got back to work, checking the progress. He did his damnedest to forget about Hannah and do what he was being paid to do. The job would be an easy one if he could keep things on schedule and avoid overages. He was good at keeping a tight budget and tracked every penny. No matter how detailed Hannah said she was, she had nothing on Dylan.

His life was about details, from the records he kept on the job he currently documented to every single moment of his life. If he wasn’t balancing his checkbook to the penny, he was recording his gas mileage and depreciation on his truck. Details saved him.

The men side-eyed him as Dylan whipped out his notebook and marked down what had been done. He didn’t care what they thought of him or his record keeping. Working hard was all he knew. He’d worked all his life to help his mother make ends meet. She’d had three jobs and relied on the neighbors to watch him until he was seven, and then he watched himself.

Another few judgmental stares from the men. He turned away, unwilling to be drawn into stupidity with them. Most people assumed by looking at him that he was a hulking brute with a brain the size of a walnut. He was big, but that was genetics and a lifetime of working hard. He wasn’t, however, stupid. He’d taken more than a few courses at the community college near his apartment, most of them in accounting and business. Dylan wouldn’t admit it, but he nerded out over budgets, spreadsheets, and balancing them all.

He walked back to the construction trailer and stepped inside. His work had been the center of his life since he’d gotten his license. Becoming a general contractor combined his skills as a carpenter with the love of running a business. He loved what he did and he knew he was lucky for that. Too many people hate their jobs but drag themselves out of bed every day and deal with that unhappiness. Dylan looked forward to work each morning because it gave him purpose.

Hannah would put a crick in his neck if he didn’t stop thinking about her. He turned his attention back to business and spent the rest of the day verifying the supply purchase and deliveries.

He woke the next day determined to do his job and stop obsessing about the woman he worked for and his attraction to her. The sky was thick with leaden gray clouds. He drove his truck to the local coffee shop, his empty thermos in hand.

When he closed the truck door, he noticed a sheriff’s car beside him. There wasn’t anyone in the vehicle. The inside was impeccable, with nary a piece of lint out of place. Unusual for a small-town cop, who tended to be a little more lax than their big-city counterparts.

Dylan opened the door and found three people in line. Two of them were women in sweatpants and ponytails who were talking a thousand miles an hour. Behind them stood the deputy sheriff. He had brown hair, which had a few random curls stuck up from his slicked-back hair.

He was an inch or two taller than Dylan and had a physique that said he didn’t sit on his ass and eat donuts. Dylan had wondered what the law was like in Tanger. Now he knew.

The girl behind the counter—the name
Amber
was written in silver marker on her apron—smiled as the lawman stepped up to the counter. She’d swept back her auburn asymmetrical bob today, but the dimple on her chin and friendly brown eyes remained constant. Amber gave the impression of a pixie and she had the touch to make some damn good coffee.

“Mornin’, Kyle.” Without asking, she filled an extra-large-sized cup with the dark roast coffee, then passed it to him. The deputy handed her five dollars and turned around.

Dylan’s gaze slipped to the man’s nametag, which read
BLACKWOOD
.

Of course it did. He vaguely remembered Hannah taunting him the day they met about her cousin who was a cop.

“Sir.” With a polite nod, the deputy stepped around and left the coffee shop with the tinkle of the bell above the door.

Dylan set his thermos on the counter. Amber’s normally welcoming smile looked forced.

“Your usual?” She reached for the thermos.

“I’ve been in town a week and I already have a usual?”

“Sure you do. Everybody does.” She turned around and got to work. He watched as she fixed his coffee with that magical concoction of milk, sugar and a sprinkle of what he thought might be cinnamon.

When he paid her ten dollars, she pushed a small paper bag to him. “What’s this?”

“I’m trying a new baker. I used to buy pastries and biscuits from Cindy’s, but nothing has been as good. I need a tester.” She shook the bag. “Let me know what you think.”

Everything in this town came in a circle and landed with the Blackwoods and the restaurant. Even the damn cop was one of them. Dylan needed to stop fighting it and just embrace the small-town life.

“Will do.” He took his breakfast and left for the jobsite. As he wound his way through the streets to the restaurant, he took a bite of the pastry in the bag. Or rather, the cardboard decorated with cinnamon. He threw the remains back in and wished he could take a swig of coffee to get rid of the taste of the horrible pastry; since he was driving, he couldn’t unscrew the thermos and save himself. At least he hadn’t paid for it.

When he swung his truck into the jobsite, he spotted the familiar red one already parked in his spot. With a grunt, he parked beside it, too close to the tree that was dripping sap and dropping acorns. He took a sip of coffee then hopped out of the truck with his thermos in hand.

Dylan followed the sound of female laughter and found her with the same picnic basket on her arm, surrounded by every fool who worked for him. They all had what appeared to be bear claws in their hands, happily munching on them. Even the ugly tailless cat was meandering its way around her legs, meowing and purring.

“Did I miss an early morning meeting?” Dylan crossed his arms, annoyed that he was annoyed.

Hannah’s gaze snapped to his. “I thought I’d bring everyone a treat to say thank you.”

He wanted to ask if there was a treat for him, but he couldn’t push the words past his lips. He wasn’t there to eat pastries, no matter how delicious they looked. Instead he turned into the hard-ass boss and looked at his watch.

“Daylight’s wasting. I’m not paying you to flirt with pretty girls. Get to work.”

The men crammed their mouths as full as they could, nodded and murmured thanks to Hannah, then scattered onto the jobsite. Dylan turned toward the construction trailer and Hannah’s voice stopped him.

“Pretty girls, hm?” She tsked. “You didn’t need to scare them off.”

“Yeah, I did. You want to keep on schedule, Harry? I need them to keep their minds on the job, not on your, ah, pastries.” He was still annoyed for no good reason. The woman set him on edge, which was a red flag. He told himself he couldn’t get involved with any woman for a long time, especially one who signed his check.