Only in My Dreams Page 8

  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.”

  SARA 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.

  She was tempted to tell Dylan he practically had the job, but in the end only said, “Talk to you soon.”

  His gaze lingered on her for a couple seconds and the attraction she was trying so hard to ignore leaped between them again. “Tell your mom to take care of herself.” He opened the door and, just like that, the sparks of electricity dwindled and disappeared.

  “Okay. Thanks again.”

  He threw her a smile and closed the door.

  Argh. She had to get a hold of herself. Their Vegas Rules night was long over, and they’d agreed that it was a one-night thing. Besides, it wasn’t like she had the bandwidth to start anything more permanent. Her life was in turmoil, and she had no idea where things would be in a week, let alone a month. Beyond that, they were going to be coworkers. She needed to forget about Dylan Westcott in every capacity except as general contractor. But how was she supposed to do that when he’d given her the most memorable night of her life?

  Chapter Six

  DYLAN PULLED INTO his dad’s driveway the following morning to help clean out the gutters. It was early, the temperature crisp, the sky a bright blue with the promise of a beautiful spring day.

  He went to the door and knocked. Dad answered quickly with a warm smile. “You know you don’t have to knock.”

  He never felt comfortable just walking in. Yes, he’d lived there, had called it his “primary” residence in high school, but he’d never thought of it as home. It was the place he’d stayed when it had been his father’s custodial time.

  “Just you and me today?” Dylan asked. “Or is Cameron joining us?”

  “He should be here, but you know him. Punctuality isn’t exactly his thing.” Dad gestured for Dylan to follow him. “Have some coffee.”

  Angie stood at the island in the kitchen with three mugs in front of her. “Hi, Dylan,” she greeted cheerily. She settled her glasses more firmly on her nose. “I have that vanilla creamer you like.”

  She did try to be thoughtful and was much better about it now than when he’d been younger. Her focus had been on her three sons, and part of Dylan couldn’t fault her for that. “Thanks.”

  “What’s new, son?” Dad asked, sipping his coffee, his hip against the island.

  “Not too much.”

  “You can do better than that.” Dad chuckled. “Getting information out of you is like pulling teeth. How’s work? Any exciting jobs lined up?”

  He never told anyone about jobs unless they were done deals. “Maybe. Too early to tell.”

  “Well, keep us posted. We want nothing but the best for you.”

  “Thanks.” He forced another swallow of coffee before setting the mug on the counter. “Ready to go?”

  “Let’s do this.” Dad set down his mug and led him into the garage.

  Dad’s house was a split-level, so one half was higher than the other half. They typically started with the high end. Dylan carried the ladder over and set it against the house as Cameron drove up in his ten-year-old Land Rover. Four years younger than Dylan, he bore a fairly strong resemblance to Dylan in height and build even though they were only half-siblings. Their similarities did not extend to their wardrobe, however. Cameron looked like he’d gone to Urban Outfitters that morning to get dressed.

  “You do realize we’re cleaning gutters,” Dylan teased.

  Cameron glanced down at his clothes. “These are my work clothes.”

  “You won’t be sad if they get dirty? What will you wear to the club tonight?” Dylan’s own clothes were things he actually worked in. They had stains and holes, and he’d never dream of wearing them “out.”

  “Funny,” Cameron said. “I don’t go clubbing every Saturday.”

  “No, I guess you have to do your nails and hair sometime.” Dylan always gave him shit for his metrosexual habits, which Cameron took in stride.

  “Happy to have you join me sometime. I’ve said it before and it bears repeating, you’d benefit from a manicure.”

  Dylan’s hands, currently covered with work gloves, were as rough and calloused as you could get. And he was fine with that. “You expect me to build shit with baby-soft hands? You’re nuts.”

  Dad came around the house lugging the power washer. “Hi, Cam.” His gaze dipped to what his son was wearing. “Did you forget we’re cleaning the gutters?”

  Cameron laughed. “No, I brought a rain suit.” He opened the back of his rig and pulled out the suit.

  “You’re a dick.” Dylan grinned at him.

  Dad looked between them, confused. “What? Why?”

  “Just stupid brother behavior.” Cameron toed his boots off and pulled the rain pants over his jeans.

  “The pants should be enough,” Dylan said.

  “And where are yours?” Dad asked.

  “I’ll get wet and muddy, so what?” Dylan didn’t care—his jeans were pretty trashed anyway. And once he was dirty, he wouldn’t have to go inside and have lunch or chitchat.

  “I have extra rain pants.” Dad was already heading toward the garage.

  “It’s okay, Dad!” Dylan called after him, but Dad just lifted his hand and kept going.

  “Nice try,” Cameron said. He’d put his boots back on and joined him at the ladder. “You’ll have to hang out for lunch now.” Cameron knew his tactics well.

  Dylan crossed his arms and waited for the stupid pants.

  “What, you have somewhere else to be? I doubt that. Seems like your social agenda has taken a nose dive lately.” Cameron looked at him expectantly.

  So he hadn’t been going out much the
past few months. He’d been busy working on his kitchen. “Yeah, so?”

  “You should come out with me tonight. Hayden Archer and I are heading into Portland to a new wine bar.”

  “I’m waiting to hear their decision about the job, so that would be pretty awkward. Thanks for the offer, though.”

  Cameron grimaced. “Oh, I didn’t realize the timing, sorry. But Hayden’s cool. It won’t be awkward for him, I’m sure. Hey, maybe it’ll boost your chances—you’re a hell of a wingman.”

  Dylan snorted. “Real professional, bro. Besides, tonight’s the night I sharpen all my tools and polish my nails—the kind I drive into wood with a hammer.”

  “Ha ha, you’re a laugh a minute.” Cameron leaned closer. “Come on. You haven’t been out with me in ages. Don’t tell me you’ve finally shucked your player reputation.”

  “Hey, I’ve worked hard not to have a reputation. At least around here.”

  “I know you have, and since I’m inviting you to Portland, there’s no reason for you to decline. Especially since I know how much you love a good chase.”

  “Shut up, Dad’s coming. Unless you want to discuss our sex lives in front of him. If so, I’m happy to ask you all about your flavor of the month.”

  Cameron grinned. “You’re cruel.”

  Just then a familiar figure came striding down the sidewalk, her arms swinging in a power walk. She slowed and stopped in front of the house. Hell, it was Monica Christensen, his ex-mother-in-law. He occasionally saw her in passing—at the grocery store or something, but they hadn’t exchanged words. She pretty much hated Dylan’s guts for “taking her baby away” when he was stationed in the army.

  “Morning, Monica,” Dad said. “I’ll get Angie.” He cast Dylan an apologetic glance and went inside.

  “Hi, Dylan, it’s been a long time,” she said.

  He worked not to grit his teeth. “How are you?” And because not to ask would be a massively rude omission, he added, “How’s Jess?”

  “She’s great. Wedding plans are coming along.”

  Wedding? His surprise must’ve shown. He’d had no idea Jess was getting married again.