A Wedding Worth Waiting For (10 page)

“I'd like to say yes, but it's hard to know for sure. As much as my shooting impressed them, I'm still new. They'll be waiting to see how I conduct myself, to see if I'm trustworthy. But it was a good first step.”

“So, what now?”

“Now it's your turn. Have you ever shot before?”

“A bit. I had a BB gun, like any ranch kid, and my father made sure we could all use the shotgun if we needed to. But it's been a long time. I'm certainly nowhere near your caliber.”

“Not many people are.” She winked. “Ever shot a handgun?”

“No, but I'm willing to learn, since I've got Annie Oakley for a teacher.”

She stuck her tongue out at him, and pulled another ball cap out of her backpack. Sticking it on his head, she pulled it down snugly. “To keep the hot shells from getting caught in your hair. I'll go first, talking you through it, and then you can try.”

Dylan watched Sam's deft hands load rounds into a plastic magazine. “This is a Glock 21. It's 45 caliber, so it has a strong kick, but all the stopping power you could need.” Slamming the full clip into the butt of the gun, she showed him how to rack the slide and chamber a round. “Most people do it this way.” She demonstrated, holding the gun in one hand, pointed downrange, and pulling back on the top with the other. “As a man you've got the hand strength to do that. A lot of women, or people with arthritis or other issues with hand strength, will do it like this, to transfer the load to the biceps.” She demonstrated again, this time holding it in front of her and pushing with both hands, at opposite angles. “Pushing muscles are stronger than pulling muscles. Most of the time it won't matter for someone your size, but if you're ever injured, it's good to know both.”

Turning the barrel downrange, she continued her narration. “Never point a gun anywhere you aren't willing to shoot. That includes an unloaded weapon.”

“All guns are loaded guns. I remember.”

“Sorry, I forgot you grew up around them. Not everyone does, and too many people treat them like a toy.”

“It's fine, better safe than sorry.”

She nodded in agreement. “Okay, so the next rule is never put your finger on the trigger until you're ready to shoot. Just rest it here, alongside, until you're committed.”

He nodded that he understood.

“Okay, now for stance, you have a few options, but the steadiest is going to be a Modified Weaver stance. Legs shoulder distance apart, with the leg on the shooting side a bit behind the other, and your weight forward over the toes to absorb the recoil. Arms are extended and locked. Head should be level. Bring the sights up, line up your target and squeeze the trigger smoothly.”

Her shot echoed through the building.

“The next bullet will chamber automatically. Just continue to fire until you're empty.” Nine more shots rang out in quick succession, clustering just to the right of center.

“Okay, now I definitely don't want to make you angry.” Moreover, he was starting to feel like a fish out of water, desperately out of his element. He was a modern guy—he didn't need to be better than a woman at everything—but he also didn't want to make a fool of himself in front of her. When he was interested in a woman he liked to impress her. And despite all the reasons he shouldn't be, he was definitely interested in Sam.

Taking the empty magazine she'd discharged, he tried to remember the movements she'd used. Pushing the bullets in took more strength than he would have thought, but the magazine slid into the gun easily once it was full.

“Okay, now rack the slide...good.”

He kept the gun pointed downrange and settled into the stance Sam had shown him, making sure to stagger his feet. Getting knocked on his butt would definitely end any chance of looking good. Taking aim, he said a little prayer that he'd at least hit the target, and squeezed the trigger.

“Awesome!” Sam bounced on her toes in his peripheral vision. Encouraged, he reset his stance and tried again, repeating her instructions in his head with each squeeze of the trigger. When the last round had fired, he set the gun down carefully and let out the breath he'd been holding.

Sam pushed the button to pull back the target and let out a whoop. All but one bullet had hit the target, and about half were within the inner three rings. “Not bad, surfer boy, not bad at all.”

“Thanks, but I know when I'm outclassed.”

“Maybe, but you handled it well. A lot of guys get bent out of shape when a woman is better at something than they are. But you were willing to go along with what I wanted, even knowing I had more experience than you. And on top of that, you let me handle those guys, instead of getting all macho and taking over. So, thank you, it means a lot to me.”

“If the men you've been around are scared off by a strong woman, you need to hang out with a better class of man.”

She cocked her head and looked up at him, as if trying to gauge his sincerity. “Maybe I do, at that.”

Something in her tone told him she meant it, that she was feeling some of the same attraction and intensity he was. But before he could find a way to ask his phone buzzed in his pocket. Checking the screen, he bit back a curse. “It's one of the night shift volunteers. She needs me back right away—she says it's an emergency.”

Chapter Ten

D
ylan made good time to the
clinic, pushing the speed limit on the back roads. The message had been cryptic,
and no one had responded when he had texted back asking for more information.
He'd also tried calling the back line at the center with no success. Trish's
text hadn't given much information, leaving him to his own imagination. None of
the animals had been critical, but it was possible one could have taken a turn
for the worse. Or maybe it wasn't an animal, but something structural, like
another leak. Except it hadn't rained in days. The most likely scenario was that
someone had shown up after hours with an injured creature, but the protocol in
that situation was to page the vet, not him.

By the time they pulled into the parking lot, he had enough
adrenaline pumping through his veins to jump-start a jet engine. He was out of
the truck before Sam had a chance to put it in Park, but by the time he was
turning his key in the front door she had caught up. Part of his brain processed
that she had her duty weapon holstered on her hip, instead of in the case she'd
used earlier. Surely she didn't expect to need it? Of course, since he had no
idea what was going on, he didn't argue against it.

His key turned easily, and he pushed open the door, blinking
against the bright overhead lights. Sitting in his chair, her feet on his desk,
was not Trish, the volunteer who had texted him, but Dani.

“You got here quick.” She stood and walked over, giving Sam a
hug. “And I didn't know you were with him. That's a bonus, so now it will be two
against one.”

“What are you talking about? What's the emergency?”

The sound of nails clicking on the hard floor drew his
attention. “Did one of the animals get out?”

“It's more that one got in,” Dani hedged. Before he could
question her further, a small, gray-muzzled beagle made his way from between the
desks to stand at Dani's feet. “Meet Toby.”

Dylan's eyelid started to twitch. “Dani, we're a wildlife
refuge, not the pound. We don't take in homeless dogs. And how on earth did you
get in here, anyway?”

“Trish let me in. I told her there was an emergency with Toby
here, and asked her to text you.”

“Why couldn't you text me yourself?”

She looked away. “Um, my phone battery was dead.”

Bull. She knew he'd have just called her and asked for more
information if she'd been the one to contact him. He'd have a word with Trish
tomorrow, but in all reality the poor teenager hadn't stood a chance against
Dani. “And Trish is where now?”

“She left a few minutes ago. She was done with the night
chores, and I told her I'd be fine here by myself.” And the young volunteer had
probably jumped at the chance to avoid being part of this particular
confrontation. “But that's not important. What matters is poor Toby here. He
belonged to the grandmother of one of my clients, but she died and there's no
one to take him in.”

“Aw, the poor thing.” Sam knelt down and stroked the dog's
head. “That's terrible. Can't your client's family keep him?”

“No, the youngest boy has asthma and is allergic to dogs. And
there's no one else. I'd take him myself, but my apartment doesn't allow
dogs.”

Sam sighed. “Mine has a one-pet maximum, and I've already got
Cheesy.”

“Okay, I get that he's running out of options, but like I said,
we're not equipped to handle pet boarding. Maybe Cassie could help? She's taken
in foster dogs before.”

“You mean nine-months-pregnant-due-any-day Cassie? I'm sure she
would help, if I asked her, but I'm not going to add one more thing to that
woman's plate right now. And before you ask, Mollie is in Atlanta, and even if
she wasn't, this dog has lived in one place his whole life. Getting used to one
new home is going to be hard enough. It's not fair to ask him to try to
transition to traveling between two places.”

She had a point. Mollie and her husband, Noah, traveled back
and forth between Atlanta and Paradise, splitting their time between the island
they loved and the more metropolitan area. Mollie's dog managed, but he was
younger and not dealing with the loss of the only owner he'd ever known. “What
about Jillian?” he asked, although he was pretty sure he already knew the
answer.

Sam looked up from where she was snuggling the little dog.
“Isn't Jillian the one that just had a baby?”

“Yes,” Dani answered, glaring at him. “We can't ask a woman
with a one-month-old to take on a new—well, an old—dog.” Turning to Sam, she
smiled. “I knew you'd be on my side.”

“What side? Do you seriously expect me to keep him here? I
couldn't if I wanted to. We're full to the gills.” But even as he protested he
started mentally rearranging patients, trying to see where he could fit a dog in
among the possums and pelicans.

“No, of course not,” Dani assured him, grinning. “You're going
to adopt him.”

“No, I'm not. You can't just trick me into coming here with
some false emergency, then inform me I've adopted a dog.” Even in Paradise,
things didn't work that way.

“You've said a million times that you want to get a dog. And
this one needs a home.”

“I meant a puppy, not a senior citizen. And something big, like
a golden retriever that I could take jogging on the beach. Toby's going to have
to find another sucker.”

“So you're just going to turn him away?” He tried to ignore the
disappointment in Sam's voice, but it was no good. He had two options here—one
choice would have him looking like a hero in her eyes, the other like a cad.

Sinking down into a crouch, he called the dog over. “Hey, Toby,
what do you think? Do you want to come live with me?”

A quick thump of the tail and a wet dog kiss sealed the deal.
He was going home heavy one geriatric beagle.

* * *

Sam watched Dylan drive off with Toby hanging his head
out of the back window before climbing up into the cab of her own truck.

“Thanks for your help in there. He never stood a chance.” Dani
looked up at her with a grin.

“Thanks, but I really don't think I did anything.”

“Are you kidding? One look from you and he was ready to agree
to anything. That man's got it bad. I almost feel sorry for taking advantage of
the situation. Not quite, but almost.”

Sam replayed Dani's words in her head. “What situation? Just
because we're...dating? It's not like it's serious. We barely know each
other.”

“Trust me, it's serious. At least for him. My career depends on
me knowing how to read people, knowing what they're thinking even when they're
saying the exact opposite. And that man is falling fast and hard for you.”

Before Sam could string together a coherent argument, Dani was
gone, waving as she climbed into her little convertible. Left standing there,
she tried to rationalize Dani's words. After all, she didn't know that the
relationship between Sam and Dylan was all for show, so of course she'd think
there were romantic feelings involved.

On the other hand, Dani and Dylan were good friends. Maybe she
was picking up on something that Sam hadn't. Yes, she knew he had been attracted
to her, enough to ask her out, and she'd started to feel like they were forging
a friendship, but could it be more than that? Surely he wasn't really falling
for her. Not now.

Checking the directions he'd given her, she steered down a
narrow canopy road. She'd planned to allow him and his new pet to bond, but as
she was leaving he'd suggested they order a pizza to share while he got the dog
settled in to his new home, to make up for cutting the date short. It had seemed
a reasonable plan before, but after Dani's comments she wasn't so sure. It was
too late to cancel, though; he would have already ordered the food and would be
expecting her.

Turning onto his street, she slowed to check the house numbers.
Most of the homes were older, on large, tree-covered lots. Halfway down she
spotted Dylan's pickup and pulled in behind him. His house was one of the
smaller ones on the street, an older cabin style with a wooded yard that backed
right up to the wilderness area. He could walk out his back door and hike for
miles if he wanted. She thought of her own concrete apartment block with a stab
of jealousy.

Her knock was met with an enthusiastic braying, and she stifled
a grin. It seemed Toby was already settling in to the role of watchdog. Dylan
opened the door and glared at her. “I blame you for this.”

“For him being loud? I think that's just what beagles do.”

“Yeah, well, if you and Dani hadn't ganged up on me, he'd be
doing it somewhere else.” His words were harsh, but he was scratching the dog's
head as he said them. And glancing around she could see he'd set up a folded
blanket for a bed and filled the food and water bowls he'd borrowed from the
rehab center. He might talk a tough game, but he was a big softy at heart.

“I think he ended up right where he belongs. Didn't you, boy?”
Toby wagged his tail, but stayed at Dylan's side, leaning against his leg. “He
certainly seems to have bonded quickly with you.”

“That's the kibble talking. I'm pretty sure he'd do anything
for food. Speaking of which, don't leave your pizza plate where he can get it.
He already tried to swipe a piece, and I don't want to be cleaning beagle puke
at midnight.”

“I'll keep that in mind.” She followed him to the kitchen,
where a small, high-top table by the window held a pizza box and paper plates.
“Nice place, by the way.”

“Thanks. It needs a lot of work still, but I like it.”

She chewed a bite of pizza and let her eyes roam. The eat-in
kitchen was small, with old-fashioned but clean Formica counters and what looked
to be brand-new stainless-steel appliances. Modern meets retro seemed to be the
theme, and it carried over into the living area, where a flat-screened
television hung on 1960-style wood-paneled walls.

Noticing the direction of her gaze, he shrugged. “Like I said,
it needs work.”

“Maybe some updating,” she agreed. “But the location makes up
for it.” She finished her pizza and shifted over to the couch. Toby immediately
jumped up with her, curling up into her lap with a contented sigh. Sam raised an
eyebrow at Dylan. “Is he okay to be up here?”

“It doesn't look like I have much of a say in the matter.”

“Probably not.” But she was glad he was being so kind to the
old dog. Stroking his fur, she closed her eyes. It had been such a long day,
she'd earned a few minutes of rest. When the couch shifted, she looked up to
find Dylan had joined her, his body only inches from hers.

Dani's words echoed in her head. If he was developing feelings
for her, she should try to squash them. She certainly shouldn't sit snuggled on
the couch with him, and yet she couldn't bring herself to move away. Not even
when he reached to pet the dog, shifting even closer. His thigh pressed against
hers, warming her body. They sat like that for several long minutes, the sound
of a light rain on the roof and the feel of the soft fur of the dog in her lap
relaxing her so much she found it hard to keep her eyes open. When she started
to nod, Dylan reached his arm around her, pulling her closer to rest her head on
his shoulder. Warning bells rang, but this time she ignored them.

“This is nice.” Dylan's voice rumbled softly through her,
sending up a tingling awareness.

“It is, but it isn't real. It doesn't mean anything.” Even as
she said it, she snuggled closer, seeking the solid strength of him.

“It could.” His hand stroked her hair, but he held the rest of
him still. It was as if he wanted her to know that if anything happened, it
would be on her to make the first move. All she had to do was turn her head the
slightest bit, and his lips would be right there. Kissing him would be as easy
as breathing, but a huge mistake.

“No, it can't. Not yet, anyway.” How could she explain to him
what she was just starting to understand herself? “I need to get my life in
order before I can even think about adding anything else.” She could stop there,
but for once she wanted to put into words the fears that haunted her at night.
Maybe if she said them out loud, here with him, where she was safe, they'd let
her sleep tonight. “Dylan, I'm scared.” His hand stilled in her hair. “No, I'm
terrified. I've worked my whole life with one goal, and if I don't get things
right, that could be taken away from me. I'm scared of losing my job, of never
fitting in in the one place I think of as home. I just can't risk anything else
right now. I'm sorry.”

She should get up now and go home to her apartment. Instead,
she twined her fingers though his, trying to let him know that she wasn't ready
to move forward, but for now at least she wasn't going to run away.

* * *

Sam had stayed way too long at Dylan's, dozing on the
couch until well after midnight. But Toby's snores had finally roused her, and
she'd slipped out without waking the dog or his master. Now she was in her own
bed, alone and wide awake. She'd never thought of herself as a lonely person,
but tonight she found herself missing the quiet company she'd found at Dylan's.
Nights like this, when sleep wouldn't come and the silence was nearly deafening,
were when she missed her mother the most.

Some of her favorite memories were of sitting at the kitchen
table with her mom, sharing cookies and milk in the wee hours of the morning—her
mother's remedy for nightmares. Better than the sweets had been having her
mother's undivided attention. She'd been an amazing listener, never judging,
always taking whatever childhood fear Dani had so seriously.