With the sun beating down on his bare back and shoulders, Dylan mowed the lawn below his deck and across his yard to the fenced pasture. Dylan and Adam’s horses, Atomic and Tinkerbell, stood beneath the shade of several pines, dozing, indifferent to the sound of the engine. When he was through, he pushed the mower to the weathered barn to the left of the pasture and stored it beside his John Deere.
He filled the trough with fresh water and then turned the hose on himself. Bent at the waist, he let the cold water run over his head, the back of his neck, and down the sides of his face until he felt his brain freeze. He straightened and shook like a dog, sending a spray of water in all directions. Droplets slid down his spine and chest and were absorbed in the waistband of the soft Levi’s hung low on his hips. He rinsed grass clippings from his boots, then reached for the spigot and turned it off. He thought of standing in Paul and Shelly’s kitchen earlier that day, washing his hands and listening to Ms. Hope Spencer.
“Flora and fauna,” he scoffed. Who in the hell ever used words like “flora and fauna”? And he’d bet his left gonad that her idea of communing with nature was to open the sunroof of her car as she tootled down Santa Monica Boulevard.
He wondered if she ever smiled, really smiled with her blue eyes shining, full lips tilting up. He wondered what it would take to put a smile like that on her face. Another place and another time, he would have liked to try.
She was too perfect. Her clothes, her makeup, her everything. She was the kind of woman his hands just itched to mess up real good, but for a lot of reasons, that kind of itch could get him into trouble. Especially with a woman like her. A writer spelled out big trouble in neon letters for him and Adam.
It wasn’t uncommon for writers to spend time in the wilderness area, working on travel guides or backpacking articles. Only MZBHAVN didn’t look like she spent much time in the great outdoors. He didn’t know the real reason for her move to Gospel, but he had a few doubts about her story. It was best if he just stayed away from her. Best if he didn’t even think about her, because when he did, it reminded him of exactly how long it had been since he’d made love to someone besides himself.
He walked around the side of the house to the front porch and reached for his shirt. Adam was making a mess out of the shrubs again, but Dylan couldn’t work up enough energy to care. He pulled his T-shirt over his damp hair and shoved his arms through the holes. The shrubs could wait for another day.
“Are you about done?” he asked as he tucked the ends of the old cotton shirt into his jeans. “I think it’s about time we cooked those trout we caught today.”
Adam put down the shears and dug into his pocket. “I found a pretty rock. Do ya wanna see?”
“Sure.”
Adam jumped off the porch as a Dodge truck turned into their dirt drive.
“Don’t be rude,” Dylan warned as he watched Paris Fernwood pull the truck to a stop. She got out and walked toward them with a cake in her hands.
“I don’t like her,” Adam whispered and shoved his rock back inside his pocket.
“Be nice anyway.” He looked up and smiled at Paris. “What have you got there?”
“I told you I’d bring you an Amish cake.”
“Well, now, isn’t that sweet?” He nudged his son. “Don’t you think that’s sweet?”
Adam’s idea of being “nice” was to purse his lips and not say a word. He didn’t like women paying attention to his father. Not one little bit. Dylan didn’t exactly know why, but he figured that it more than likely had something to do with Adam holding onto a fantasy that his mama would someday come and live with them.
Dylan picked up his cowboy hat and brushed his hair back with his fingers. “I’d invite you in, but I’m afraid you’ve come at a bad time,” he said and pushed the hat down low on his forehead. “Adam and I are busy cutting back these shrubs.” He reached for a pair of hedge trimmers and whacked off some foliage. “Adam, why don’t you take that cake from Paris and run it in the house.” Dylan had to nudge him a few more times before he did what he was told.
“I really can’t stay anyway,” she said and turned her head to watch Adam walk away. Her braid fell over her shoulder. She’d woven daisies into her fine brown hair.
“Paris, you put flowers in your hair. I like a girl with flowers in her hair.”
She patted the braid and blushed. “Just a few.”
“Well, you look real pretty,” he said, which she took for an invitation to chat for a good half hour. By the time she left, Dylan had whacked the hell out of one shrub and had started on another.
That night, as he and Adam ate dinner, Adam looked up from his plate and said, “If you weren’t so nice to all those girls, they wouldn’t come around here.”
“All those girls? Who you talking about?”
“Paris and Miss Chevas and”-he held out his hands as if he were holding up watermelons- “you know who.”
“Yeah, I know who.” Dylan bit into his corn bread and watched Adam pick a bone from his fish. “Miss Chevas? You mean your teacher from kindergarten?”
“Yep. She liked you.”
“Get out of town.”
“She did, Dad!”
“Well, I don’t think she did.” Dylan pushed his plate aside and looked into his son’s big green eyes. Even if what Adam said was true, Dylan wasn’t looking for a wife. And ultimately, that was what all the single women within a hundred miles wanted. “You’ve got to quit being so ornery to the ladies. You’ve got to be nicer.”
“Why?”
“ ‘Cause it’s a rule, that’s why.”
“Even the ugly ones?”
“Especially the ugly ones. Remember when I told you that you can’t ever hit a girl, not even if she kicks you in the shins? Well, this is like that. Men have to be polite to ladies even if they don’t like them. It’s one of those unwritten laws I’ve told you about.”
Adam rolled his eyes. “What time is it?”
Dylan glanced at his watch. “It’s almost eight. Put your plate in the sink. Then you can go turn on the TV.” Dylan gathered the other dishes on the table and rinsed them in the sink. He washed the heavy oak table, scooted in the four matching chairs, then set Paris’s cake in the middle.
Living in the same town with Paris was like belonging to the dessert-of-the-week club. He really wished she’d quit bringing him food, but he just didn’t know how to tell her. He knew of her marital intentions, of course. Hell, he was the best prospect in Pearl County, but compared to the other contenders, that wasn’t exactly a compliment. Then there was Dixie Howe. He didn’t know if she was interested in marriage or just sex. Either was out of the question. Just the thought of it shriveled him.
Even if there was a woman he wanted to bring home for the night, he couldn’t. He had a young son, and he didn’t believe in exposing children to that sort of thing. He couldn’t park his car outside a lady’s house for very long without the whole town knowing about it, talking about it behind his back, and speculating on a wedding date. Not only did he want to avoid being the object of rumor for Adam’s sake, he was the sheriff, an elected official, and couldn’t afford that kind of gossip. Especially not after Sheriff Donnelly had been caught with his pants down.
Dylan tossed the dishcloth into the sink and moved to the entry to the living room. He leaned a shoulder against the wall as the theme music for Adam’s favorite television show, Heaven on Earth, filled the room. Fluffy clouds, blue sky, and the beautiful face of Adam’s mother filled the screen. Golden springy curls waved about her face as if she really were the angel she played. America’s sweetheart, Juliette Bancroft, rolled her eyes toward heaven and a light appeared above her head.
The Julie he knew was nothing like the angel she portrayed. When she’d lived with him, she hadn’t been so soft-spoken, and as far as he could remember, she’d never spent one hour in church. Heck, her hair was really brown, the color of their son’s.