Page 10 of Coach (Shady Valley Henchmen #8)

Coach

I honestly forgot there were even any houses on the side street coming off the main drag in town.

Este lived on a dead-end road with only three houses: two ranches and one three-story duplex.

From the look of things, though, the other side wasn’t occupied at the moment.

The house had great bones: a classic Italianate style with a generous front porch, cornices, arches, corbels, and a clapboard finish that had seen better days.

I could tell immediately which side of the duplex was Este’s, thanks to the front porch that had been sanded and repainted.

And, well, the dog that was barking at me through the front window when I climbed out of my truck.

“I wish I could say she will calm down eventually, but she barks the whole time the lawn service mows across the street. Thankfully, the place isn’t occupied, so apparently, they only come in to mow every couple of weeks.”

“She won’t bother me,” I assured her. “There were always a ton of dogs where I grew up. So are you doing the whole backyard?” I asked, falling into step with her as she led me around the side yard.

“Well, it would have to cut off here,” she told me, stopping between a set of windows at the back. “No one is in the other side right now, but someone could move in at any time. I don’t want to have any issues with Trix. But the whole other side would be great. I mean, if it’s not too much.”

“Not at all. It’s a good yard. Needs some love, but you’ll get there.”

“Yeah. I have all kinds of boards drawn up. I think those two trees are going to be perfect for a hammock. Though I think I need a shed too for all my tools.”

“Doesn’t this place have a basement?” I asked, eyeing the little windows near the foundation of the house.

“Apparently, but the access must be in the other side of the duplex. So, no basement and no garage means my dining room has kind of become my tool station right now.”

“In that case, I’ll build a double gate, so when the time comes, the company can drive through the backyard to drop the shed. I have a ton of extra wood lying around. Once I unload here, I’ll run and grab it.”

“You’re amazing,” she said, shooting that megawatt smile at me. I swear that thing packed a punch. Straight to the solar plexus. It was hard to fucking breathe when it shone in my direction.

“Can I help you unload everything?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Can I offer you some coffee? Iced?”

“That I’ll take.”

“Cream? Sugar?”

“Splash of cream.”

“I’ll be right back with that.”

She was, too. In a massive reusable cup with dinosaur-shaped ice cubes.

While I was gathering supplies, she clearly ran to the market, coming back with several reusable bags to, I presumed, make me a meal.

The promise of that kept me going even as the auger beat the shit out of muscles that hadn’t used one of the damn things in years.

It was a surprisingly cushy life, being an arms dealer. At least compared to the ass-breaking work I used to do from sunup to sundown.

Still, by the time the sun started to go down, I had all the posts placed with braces to keep them straight as the cement set.

“Sorry, she couldn’t wait,” Este called as her dog started to bark.

Turning, I saw her trying to keep the sturdy black-and-white dog in the front yard while she clearly wanted to come and inspect my presence more closely.

“It’s fine. Bring her on back.”

“I don’t know if that’s the best idea.” But Trix clearly had other plans, though. She eased up on the lead in an attempt to give Este a false sense of security. Then, as soon as there was a little slack in the lead, Trix charged forward, dragging Este with her.

“Trix, stop!” Este yelled, attempting to dig in her heels. But Trix was one determined dog, finally giving the leash too hard of a tug and making it slip out of Este’s grasp. “No!” Este yelled as the dog bounded toward me, barking maniacally.

“Trix, sit!” I called, tone brooking no argument. She didn’t sit right away. But she did stop charging. Her head cocked to the side, watching me. “Sit down,” I demanded again as Este ran up behind her dog to grab the leash.

“No way,” she said as the dog finally dropped her butt down to the ground. “I was sure she was going to go for your throat.”

“She probably would have if I were afraid. Here,” I said, reaching to take the leash from her hand. “Let’s walk. Get her used to me more so you don’t have to lock her up somewhere to eat.”

“About that?”

“Did it burn?” I asked. I had just enough self-control not to add While you were watching me from the window.

“No. I just really underestimated how long the potatoes were going to cook. So there’s a solid half an hour left. At least.”

“Perfect. We can walk Trix,” I said, noticing the way the dog kept glancing over at me, but the tension in her body was easing. “Then I can clean up a bit before. Got a change of clothes in the truck.”

“I have a newly painted and tiled bathroom just begging for someone to break it in. Though the water pressure in the house isn’t the best. And you have to promise not to judge the color too harshly. I got it for free, and I hate wasting anything.”

“What color is it?”

“The best way to describe it would be eggplant.”

“I think that could work in a house like this, though. The style kind of begs for bold colors.”

“I agree. It’s growing on me. I think with some art, it might be perfect. But I want your honest opinion.”

Once I got to see the work she’d done already to the living room and kitchen, I had no doubt that she’d pulled off the bathroom even before she was shoving towels at me and explaining that the hot and cold were somehow in reverse order.

I wanted to offer to fix it.

But I also didn’t want to come off as overbearing.

I already had another surprise for her coming in the next week or so. Too much too soon was going to make her start seeing red flags.

There was friendly.

Then there was obsession.

And while everything I knew about Este so far said she was a woman worth obsessing over, the last thing I wanted to do was scare her off.

Alone in her shower, surrounded by her bath products that carried that distinct rose scent that clung to her body, it took a fuckuva lot of effort to clear my mind, to not think of her in the shower, scrubbing the bubbles all over her body.

Better yet, the two of us in the shower with me getting to wash every inch of her.

The last thing I needed was to be rock-hard in her shower. Because it was absolutely crossing a line to jerk-off in her bathroom, for fuck’s sake.

When I was sure I was under control enough, I climbed out, dried off, and slipped into the spare white tee and jeans I kept around just in case.

When I walked back out, Trix looked up from her bed, her hackles starting to rise, before she let out a harrumph and settled back down on her enormous round bed.

“That thing looks thicker than my mattress,” I said as I passed, making my way toward the scent of dinner cooking.

I had meals cooked for me all the time. Detroit loved to cook. So did some of the club wives.

That said, that was family.

This was different.

And I wasn’t sure I’d ever had a woman who wasn’t related to me in some way make me a meal.

“Smells great,” I said, walking in to find Este stirring something on the stove, a little waist apron on that had my mind conjuring up shit it had no business thinking about. “And I like the eggplant. It’s good to have something moodier to offset your brighter palate.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” she said, turning away to walk past me, then stopping and scrunching her nose up. “Oh, I don’t like that.”

Did I smell?

I’d scrubbed pretty damn hard, knowing how sweaty I’d been outside working.

“I like your normal scent better,” she told me. She leaned in to give me a sniff. “Yeah, no. The nag champa smell suits you much better.”

I shouldn’t have been as pleased as I was to know she’d taken note of what I normally smelled like.

“I like the rose on you.”

“On me, yeah,” she agreed, making her way past me. “Okay. As I mentioned before, I have no table yet. So, I got crafty and set up a piece of wood on some sawhorses.”

I followed her out into the living room to find her makeshift table. She’d draped it with a pastel-colored quilt and put a trio of candles in the center.

“Looks great to me. Now, what can I help with?”

“Nothing.”

“Nah, come on. Let me do something.”

“No, I want to do the serving. Besides, you’ve been working all day. Oh, you can grab drinks. But that’s it. There are some options in the fridge.”

She actually had a selection of decent beer, but when she opted for a hard cider, I did the same.

“Don’t put her out for my sake,” I said when she coaxed the dog down the hallway with what looked like a piece of steak.

“This is for both our sanity. She’s such a great dog.

Except she is a horrible beggar. It doesn’t matter if I’m just having bran cereal; she will whimper and paw at me until I give in and let her have the milk when I’m done.

” She tossed the steak into a room past the bathroom I’d cleaned up in, then quickly closed the door. “There. Now we will have some peace.”

With that, she went back to the kitchen and returned with two plates. Mine seemed to be piled with enough food to satisfy a whole crew of linemen.

“I’ll be honest,” she said when she caught me staring at the pile. “I haven’t cooked for a man since my grandfather. And he wasn’t a big eater. So don’t feel obligated to eat all of it if it’s too much.”

She’d gone all out with crispy smashed potatoes, roasted Brussels sprouts with lightly charred cheese clinging to each sprout, an herb and vegetable couscous, and a massive pile of steak cooked just right.

“I hope the steak is alright. I had to broil it. I would have preferred to grill it, but I haven’t gotten around to looking for a grill yet.”

“Looks perfect,” I told her, my stomach grumbling now that I had it in front of me.

“Oh!” she said, jumping up so fast that she knocked the table and nearly set everything flying. “I forgot the bread.”

“You made bread?” I asked when she came back cradling a pan with mismatched potholders.

“It’s a quick focaccia recipe. I doubt it will be as good as the real kind. But that needs to proof for up to a whole day in the fridge. And we didn’t have that kind of time. It smells good, though.”

“You bake bread.”

She shot me a smile at the wonder in my voice.

“Another thing I learned growing up. My grandfather was old school. He didn’t want to buy anything that could be made at home.

He always made a couple loaves of sandwich bread a week for each of our lunches.

Once I was old enough, he let me take that over.

And from there, I fiddled with new recipes. ”

“The women in my family make some mean tortillas but loaves of bread weren’t common in my house.”

“That’s one thing I haven’t made,” she admitted, cutting a giant slice of bread for me, making the air burst with the scent of rosemary.

I didn’t care if I had to waddle home after, my waistband full to bursting; I was going to eat every last damn bite of food she’d made for me.

Then I had something very specific and very sweet in mind for dessert.