Dakota Storm Page 16

  “Do you have an extra toothbrush?” Caroline repeated, twirling strands of red hair through her fingertips.

  David fought the urge to kick her out of the house. “No. I don't have an extra damn toothbrush.”

  “Can I just use yours?”

  “No, you can't use mine,” he snapped.

  So, this is what happened when he played the Good Samaritan? He could literally feel the wall Misty erected between them. The wall went up rather fast and easy, considering it had just come down not two minutes ago.

  And from the look on her face, it wasn't coming down again anytime soon.

  Chapter 13

  Misty couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this hot and bone-assed tired. She positioned another shingle against the roof of the house, set her nail gun against the top, and pulled the trigger with her aching hand for what seemed the millionth time that day. Sweat beaded on her forehead, trailed into her eyes, and trickled down the hollow of her back, causing her T-shirt to stick to her like a second skin. She and Matt had been on the roof all afternoon, putting the last of the shingles on the Buchanan's house. Just that morning David and Shane, his arm still in a sling from the rodeo, had finished installing the hardwood floor in the basement.

  David had decided that they might as well replace the whole roof while they were fixing the house, since it would only be a few more years before the house would need a new roof anyway. She and Matt had volunteered their time.

  Squatting on the roof, sweating out more water than she could take in, she wished she’d kept her mouth shut.

  She sat back on her heels and took a quick swig from her water bottle. The water was warm but welcome. Matt did the same, and both sat down on the roof, their energy drained by the unrelenting rays of the sun. Big Mike was coming home in less than a week, and David wanted the house finished before his father arrived. There had been a few complications where Big Mike was concerned, which had kept him in the hospital longer than expected. Thankfully, the prayers were working and his health was looking up.

  Shane's construction workers had been swamped with putting the town back together, and the Buchanan’s house had been nowhere near the top of their list. With Shane's help and guidance, she, David and Matt had decided they would fix the Buchanan house themselves. They'd been at it for over a week. David, Shane and Tucker had fixed the structural damage within a few short days and then moved inside to do painting and flooring. And none too soon. Today was by far the hottest day they’d spent under the sun. The heavy stench of manure hung in the heat of the air, and there wasn’t so much as a light breeze to push the putrid smell in another direction. This would have been a perfect day to head to the river and cool off, but there was work to be done.

  Her parents had moved into a temporary trailer on their property a few days ago. She and Matt were still staying with David—and Caroline. Nightmare. The woman hung out of every piece of clothing she owned, and she was trying every whore trick in the book to score with David. The other night she actually sat at the kitchen table sucking—literally sucking—down strawberries seductively while the rest of them ate lasagna.

  David had told Misty more than once that he really wanted to boot Caroline out of the house, but his conscience wouldn't let him. Caroline didn't have a place to go, he’d argued.

  Misty had replied, “I know a place she can go.”

  “I'm thinking we have another two hours and we'll be finished,” Matt said, resting a forearm on his updrawn knee. He’d worn frayed jeans and a T-shirt with the arms torn off, but had long ago taken his T-shirt off and tossed it to the side of the roof.

  She wished she could do the same.

  “Let’s just work through the pain so we don’t have to do this shit tomorrow,” he continued.

  “Okay,” Misty said, not paying much attention to Matt. David had sauntered out of the house and was making his way toward his new, shiny black truck. He’d splurged and bought it the other day. Big tires, chrome rims, leather seats. She was a little jealous.

  Thankfully his old truck was still parked next to the barn, and from what she’d heard, it was going to stay there. She narrowed her eyes in curiosity, trying to discern what David was doing. Where was he going? To get more supplies? She leaned forward to get a better look.

  “Good Lord, between you and Caroline, I'm not sure who's trying harder.”

  That managed to get her attention. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Matt, holding his empty water bottle, motioned to David with it. “Caroline's blatantly throwing herself at him even though he's shown he's less than interested, and you glare at him when he's looking at you, and drool over him when he's not.”

  If he weren't her twin brother she'd have socked him. She'd quit glaring at David days ago. “He's not my type,” she joked, watching David move around his truck to take something out of the bed.

  “Was Brandon your type?”

  “I wish you'd stop bringing him up...” her voice trailed off when David, after having looked up in their direction, hooked his hand on the back of his white T-shirt and tugged it over his head. He bunched the material in his hand and tossed it into the bed of his truck.

  “Are you kidding me?” Matt muttered.

  She ignored him. Lord, David's muscles had muscles. And the sleeve of tattoos? The jury had decided. She liked them. She’d come to that decision when he'd answered the door in that towel last week. At first she’d been dumbfounded at how much ink had covered his chest. But those tats just seemed to work on him.

  “You finished drooling so we can get back to work?” Matt asked, tossing his empty water bottle at her.

  She dodged the bottle and finally managed to snap her mouth shut. She grabbed the nail gun and a handful of shingles and hoped the conversation was finished. When it came to David she didn’t know what to think. A big part of her was drawn to him. Another part was sending her warning signs—slow down. Danger ahead. Don’t crowd the plow.

  “Hell, David's no better than Caroline,” Matt commented, picking up his own supplies. “Every time you're around he puffs up like a pathetic peacock.”

  She wouldn't call that body—or those tattoos—pathetic. She glanced over her shoulder to see if David was still outside, thinking he'd headed back inside the house since she hadn’t heard his truck start up. He hadn't. He was looking up at her. When their gazes unexpectedly met, she turned around so fast she lost her hold on some of the shingles and a handful of nails. She picked the scattered shingles up as quickly as she could and went back to work.

  “Why do you think Caroline persists when he doesn't show any interest in her?” she wondered aloud. Matt was right. Caroline didn't seem to notice that David did everything he could to avoid her.

  Misty noticed.

  “For the same reason he persists with you. She hopes one day he'll want what she's offering. And besides that, I think she enjoys getting under your skin. You make it too easy.”

  Did she? Caroline did drive her batshit crazy. If she wasn't lounging on the couch in next to nothing, then she was in the bathroom primping. The scent of cheap perfume hung in the air whenever she walked into a room, choking them out. The idea of an inside voice had never occurred to her either. Her booming voice tended to carry.

  Instead of saying all that, she summed up her thoughts in two words: “She's annoying.”

  “She's not that bad considering where she came from.”

  Broken home. Dad was on his third wife. “That's the only reason most people tolerate her.”

  She did feel bad for Caroline because she didn't have any real family to speak of, other than her sister, Pat. Her mom had bolted out of town seventeen years ago, leaving her two girls with their father, and no one had seen her since.

  Throughout high school she and Caroline just hadn't meshed very well. Hell, if you weren't a male then the chances of meshing well with Caroline were slim to none. She certainly didn't have a lot of female friends. And when David had s
tarted hanging out with her their senior year, Misty's dislike had morphed into something more potent.

  “Speaking of persistence, has Brandon quit texting you every five minutes?”

  Misty shook her head. “I told him last night that I was going to block him if he kept it up.”

  Matt laughed. “Well, you did shut him down pretty hard and fast. What did he say?”

  “He hasn't texted since.” A little disconcerting to say the least. Brandon Reynolds had tunnel vision when it came to something he wanted. She really didn't think he was through trying to win her back, she just didn't know the next avenue he'd take. He certainly wasn't the type to give up, even after she'd explained her true feelings to him. The day she’d broken up with him, he’d told her that they’d be finished if she walked out the door. Apparently that had been a hollow threat.

  She put it out of her mind and went back to work. About ten minutes later Matt said he was headed down to use the bathroom, complaining that he’d had to drink fifty gallons of water just to keep from passing out in the heat.

  As she continued working, she wondered if the sun was getting to her. She'd been busier than ever working on the house, keeping up with the ranch, and starting to put together her class material for the upcoming year. But no matter how busy she got, her mind kept tripping back to the day of the tornado and back to the conversation when David had said he'd always loved her. Today was no different.

  He'd taken off on her after one of the most life-changing nights of her life. Was she just going to roll over on that? Let him just waltz back into her life and potentially put herself through something like that again?

  She hadn’t known his dad had kicked him out of the house the morning after they’d been together, but how much weight did that knowledge really have? David could have at least called her, and not after bootcamp, but before a few months had passed. He could have at least touched base with her before he’d left and told her what happened. That’s what anyone with a little common decency would have done.

  Then again, they hadn’t been a couple. He really hadn’t owed her an explanation.

  “Take it easy killer.”

  Startled, she shaded her eyes and looked up. David was standing on the roof, towering over her. She'd been so lost in thought she hadn't heard him approach. “I'm sorry?”

  The sun was directly overhead and blinding her, but the outline of his shirtless self was enough for her to imagine the full picture in HD. Not much could get Caroline to do any heavy lifting, but if the chick knew David was up on the roof sweaty and shirtless, Misty wouldn't be surprised to see the slore up here with a nail gun lending a hand.

  “You're taggin' those shingles like they did you wrong.” He sat down next to where she was kneeling and handed her a cold bottle of flavored tea.

  She accepted it. Raspberry. Her favorite. “We're almost finished here.”

  “Sit back. Take a break.”

  She did as he suggested and looked out over the fields as she sipped her tea. Much better than the warm water she’d had earlier. She glanced down at the dark bottle in her hand and the condensation already beading on the plastic. Her brother's words rolled around in her head. “For the same reason he persists with you. She hopes one day he'll want what she's offering.”

  She thought about the night she'd arrived at David's place, and seeing Caroline in the entrance of the hallway asking to use his toothbrush. She doubted Caroline had needed a toothbrush. She’d likely just wanted to insinuate intimacy through the question.

  Misty would be lying to herself if she pretended David’s relationship with Caroline didn't bother her. Why had he started hanging around Caroline in high school? Why had he allowed her to stay in the guesthouse?

  “You've been working too hard. You should take the evening off.” He moved a little closer to her.

  She turned her head to look at him, knowing she was baiting herself at this point and not giving a rip. Sitting back to enjoy the view wasn't the worst thing she'd ever done. Like milk, the Marines did a body good. “And what? Lounge around the guesthouse and listen to Caroline talk about hair extensions and how fat she is?” Which was a joke. The woman had a thigh gap the size of Texas.

  “You want to go to the Roadhouse for dinner? Grab a steak and maybe a game of darts?”

  This past week, she, Matt and David had hit the rack absolutely exhausted. They'd talked, even shared a meal or two, but the tone of conversation had been nothing short of polite and casual. They never brought up her new single status or the fact that they'd shared a hot kiss the day the tornado had eviscerated their town. Matt brought up Brandon often enough, mainly to rib her, but only when David wasn’t around. She and David had managed to keep their interaction to a nice, even keel.

  Accepting his invitation would knock that even keel into a tailspin.

  He'd asked her to dinner in a casual tone of voice, but the invitation was anything but. The man was allowing her to stay at his place, refused any money she or Matt tried to offer, and seemed to have extended an olive branch. The emotions his invitation stirred up made his olive branch feel more like a California Redwood, but she shouldn't stay wound up so tight. Maybe a steak and a few beers wasn't a bad idea.

  Unfortunately, he'd have to put his shirt back on. “Yeah. Roadhouse sounds good.”

  David put his bottle to his mouth, pausing as he smiled against the bottle’s lip. His teeth were bright white against his tanned skin before he took a swig, and she wondered what he was smiling about. He had a chiseled jawline, a five o'clock shadow with the slightest hint of whiskers above his lip, and his ball cap pulled low over his forehead. No flat bill for his hat. He'd rounded the bill of his ball cap nicely, like any good cowboy.

  Other than the twenty extra pounds of muscle he'd put on while he was in the Corps, he looked almost as he had in high school. Now that she lived with him, she knew he lifted weights in his room at night. Now that would be a nice show...

  “What are you smiling about?” she asked, enjoying the easy tone of the conversation.

  He finished his tea and held on to the bottle’s neck by letting it dangle between two curled fingers. “Did you think I meant to invite Shane and Matt?”

  Actually, the thought never crossed her mind. Maybe she'd read too much into his invitation. He had been keeping a polite distance. “No, but you can if you want,” she said, hoping he wouldn't, but trying to sound cool, calm and collected.

  “I don't want to. I just thought maybe you figured I meant everyone, so I wanted to make my intentions clear.”

  “Your intentions?” she asked. Her gaze was pulled in the direction of his abs.

  “Yeah,” he said, getting to his feet. He held out his hand for her, callused from hours spent on the house renovations and the ranch, and she stood with his help. “Finish your tea, and I'll take the bottle down for you.”

  She finished what was left, completely aware he was staring at her intently. She licked her lips and handed him the empty bottle. “So, what are your intentions?”

  “I want an evening alone. With you.”

  David thought he was prepared for the looks he and Misty were going to get when they walked into the Roadhouse. He was wrong. If a record had been playing, he would have heard the scratch just as everyone turned to look. Their reaction would have been comical if it hadn't been directed at them. He felt as though he and Misty had just walked into a romcom, and he’d never exactly been a fan of the genre to begin with.

  The Roadhouse was packed. The walls were covered in rustic, reclaimed wood shiplap in various colors and stains. The owners of the establishment, Tim and JR, had started with one simple shiplap accent wall about three years ago, when shiplap had become all the rage. The addition had gone over so well with the locals, they’d thrown that shit everywhere else. There wasn’t a wall left that wasn’t covered with wood. Soon after that rustic renovation, Tim and JR had mounted deer heads, elk, and even a few bears to the walls to make the place even more wo
odsy. JR, a guy with a warped sense of humor and money to throw away, had mounted a deer’s ass end in the back of the bar area by the dart games. David never could figure that guy.

  The tables and booths that took up half the place were all reclaimed from other restaurants around the state. Nothing matched. Not even the glasses they served pop in. So, in a way, the Roadhouse did have a thread of continuity—the fact that everything was rustic, country, and unique.

  The bar area still looked like it was stuck in the eighties, though. The bar had a wrap-around counter that reflected nearly as good as a polished mirror, and the neon lights that ran along ceiling just above it called for a time that prefigured even boy bands. Maybe all the way back to Madonna mania.

  David figured the bar was next on their list to update.

  He put his hand on the small of Misty’s back and directed her to a booth toward the corner of the dining area. He ignored everyone as he hoped she would do. In a small town like theirs, there was no hostess. Diners just found a spot and claimed it. Hell, it was the only decent place to eat in Garner. From what he’d heard from Shane, the Roadhouse had been running on a generator for the past week or so, but they’d had power restored just that morning, and everyone was thankful for that. Probably why the place was so busy.

  As they scooted into their booth, the conversation in the bar and the dining area picked up again. The Roadhouse didn't get rowdy until midnight on a Saturday night, but the crowd seemed a little louder than it usually did on most evenings at suppertime. Some people were still struggling after the storm, and he figured that had a lot to do with it. Nothing like blowing off some steam after a long week, and he was plenty prepared to do that too.

  He hadn't planned on dressing up until he saw Misty just before they'd left. She'd put on a white sundress with sandals, so he'd slapped on a nice pair of jeans, a blue plaid, short-sleeved shirt, and his black cowboy hat. A little too much for a summer evening, but he didn't want to wear one of his usual T-shirts.