Page 39

My entire body goes warm and gooey when Dean McAllister smiles at me. I feel like a cookie straight out of the oven, like if he pulled my hand, I’d completely fall apart.

“You two walked to ice cream, I hear,” he says to me, splitting his focus between me and Archie.

I love that he does that, I love that he gives the boys his attention and not just to impress me.

He likes Archie—I can tell. A mother knows when someone does not like their child, and what I see with Dean and all three of the boys is real.

That thought makes my heart thump a bit faster. “We did. Thought burnin’ off some energy before loading up on sugar made some sort of sense.”

At his boots, Archie jumps, reaching, his ice cream quickly melting in a bowl on the ground, where he set it.

“Whatcha reachin’ for partner?” Dean asks, thickening up his country drawl because it makes Archie smile.

“Your hat! Can I wear it? Please? Just for a minute while I finish my ice cream?” Archie’s little hands grip at Dean’s leg, and I reach out, to pull him back.

“Archer,” I say, full-naming it because I didn’t raise any of the boys to beg and grab on people. “Give Coach Dean some space. It’s not nice to claw at people,” I remind him. I look up at Dean and shake my head. “I’m sorry, Coach.”

Dean shoots me a wink that incinerates all pure thoughts, leaving behind only sinister scorched earth and devious, filthy desires. My mind is full of all adult content when he takes his hat from his head, and places it atop Archie’s.

Archie thanks Dean, plopping down right there on the pavement to dig into the rest of his ice cream.

I don’t know why, but the words are unstoppable off my tongue once they ping pong around in my brain.

“I was actually gonna invite you to join us for ice cream and… I don’t know what else,” I say, hating the way my cheeks fill with color.

I’m not good at flirting. I’m not used to saying something without saying it.

Dean looks down at Archie, giving him a wink, too. When he lifts his gaze to meet mine, his smile and wink have been exchanged for something a little more serious, more private. “Is there a reason why you didn’t?”

I lick my lips, suddenly aware that the back of my neck is hot.

I glance at Dean’s hand, and remember the way we held hands on my couch the other night.

It felt good. Being with him felt good—the laundry and talking, the way he talked Tanner through that horrible surge of pain in the middle of the night—all of it.

“I wasn’t sure if Archie and I were gonna have some us time or not,” I explain.

Dean looks down at Archie who is getting to his feet, tossing his empty ice cream cup into the blue plastic garbage can nearby. “How was it? Good?” Dean asks him.

Archie licks his lips. “Good… but I don’t wanna give the ha t back just yet.” He makes a move, suddenly, and pulls an invisible gun from his make believe holster. “Hands up or I’ll shoot!”

Dean jerks his hands to the sky, showing Archie his palms.

Archie looks at me, erupting in laughter. “See? This hat is so cool.”

Dean looks at me, then takes a chance—one I’m grateful for. “How about I give you and your mama a ride home, and hang out for a while? That way you can keep wearin’ the hat, and I can keep talkin’ to your mama.”

Archie looks up at me. “Is that okay with you, mama? Can Coach Dean come over for a little bit? Tyson has wooden guns, and if I call him, he’ll bring ‘em and me and him can finally play cops and robbers.” He tips the brim of the oversized, worn Cattleman up, waggling his eyebrows at Dean. “I’m the good guy.”

Dean clicks his tongue. “Course you are.” He looks at me, and I have to temper my reaction so I don’t come off eager, horny and desperate. All of three things that I am seriously starting to feel when I’m around Coach.

“Sounds good.” I nod toward the nursery. “What were you getting in there?”

“Rose bush for my parents' garden. Their yellow roses didn’t come back this year, so I was gonna grab them and head over tomorrow. And one other thing.” He looks down at Archie. “You wanna pick out some stuff with me before we get in the truck?”

Archie tips his hat back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Can I put someone under arrest?”

Dean shakes his head with a chuckle. “No arresting, just buyin’ plants and flowers.”

He sighs. “Alright.”

Once we’re at my house, Archie disappears outside with Dean. A few minutes pass, and when I peak out the window, I find Dean up to his wrists in soil, Archie, too. Though I didn’t give the bed of the truck a close look when we left the nursery, I see now what Dean purchased.

A mature, fruiting peach tree.

Though my feet are bare, and my white sundress is a bit too thin for the setting sun and traces of early evening, I push through the back door, taking the cement porch steps two by two.

Cool grass fills in the gaps between my toes, and my heart races as I make my way toward them.

Dean stretches up, looking at me over his shoulder, sweat jeweling along his forehead.

“You bought us a peach tree,” I murmur, surprised by how thin my voice sounds, how raspy I am.

“Push all that soil in there, around the roots. There you go,” Dean orders Archie as he climbs to his feet, leaving long boot prints in the dirt.

He towers over me, and even though I know how big he is, it still steals my breath when I’m forced to reckon his size.

His focus is on me now, and my stomach flips and twists in bated response.

“We don’t want Mrs. Salinger blowing a gasket over stolen peaches.

I mean, she could write a note that says if I’m dead, it was the stress of the stolen peaches.

Then Bluebell PD would be over here, telling you that you gotta serve time since Arch is a minor.

” He dusts his soil-laden hands together triumphantly.

“You’re welcome, I basically just got you out of jail. ”

At that, I can’t help but laugh. “My god,” I say, “how can I ever repay you? I never had a chance to make you something nice while I was locked up.”

He winks and my vagina nearly collapses in on itself in a desperate reaction. “I can think of something.”

Archie gets to his feet, staring down at the planted, small peach tree with pride radiating from his puffed up chest. “There.” He looks at the fence with his small eyes narrowed. “Suck it, Mrs. Salinger!”

“Archie!” I scold. “Watch your mouth.”

“Tanner says it,” he argues.

“Tanner is older. And it’s still not okay for Tanner.” I reach for his hand. “Let’s get your hands hosed off, and get you in the tub.”

“Can I have Tyson over?” he begs, but it’s already late, and I can tell by the look in his eyes that he’s gonna crash in the next two hours.

“Tomorrow,” I tell him.

Archie nods. “I won’t have the hat tomorrow.”

“Let’s not focus on that now. Let’s get your hands washed and get you in a bath. Then you can finish your pirate movie, okay?”

He nods, and I lead him to the porch where we rinse his hands.

I take him inside, start his bath and get him washed.

I leave him in his room, where he is watching cartoons while selecting the perfect pajamas.

In the living room, Dean sits on the couch, knees spread, hair sweaty from working in the sun with Archie.

There’s sweat marking the center of his chest and beneath his arms, too.

He’s wearing a faded olive green long sleeve shirt, worn jeans, worn boots, and a leather belt with ornate designs.

He looks like a million, sweaty, delicious dollars.

And he made me come.

From a hug.

“Can I get you a beer?”

He smiles. “Do you have beer?”

I nod. “Yeah, I do. It may be two months old, and light, but?—”

Dean laughs but gets to his feet, brushing past me as he moves into the kitchen, like he’s comfortable in my home. He pulls open the fridge and snags two cans, opening them both before passing me one.

“Why didn’t you let me bring it to you?” I ask him, sipping the foam from the rim of my can.

He sips his too. “You’re a waitress. If I expected you to wait on me in your down time, that’d be pretty shitty.

” He steps nearer, and his hot breath dusts my lips, making my body tremble gently, the desire for him throbbing, the urge to have him bold and undeniable.

“And anyway, Miss Clara June, I don’t want you doing a damn thing for me.

” His curled knuckles lift beneath my chin, angling my mouth toward his.

Our lips barely graze as he whispers, “I serve you, mama.” He kisses me then, slow and deep, his arm looping my waist, tugging me closer.

He’s rigid everywhere—his chest, the swell of muscles in his arms, the solid press of his thighs into mine… his groin . I can’t quite get a feel for Dean beyond the fact that he’s hard, he’s big, and I can feel it.

The way I can feel it without exactly feeling it is driving me insane.

“I can’t believe I’m telling you this,” I whisper, the beer feeling warm in my hot hand. “But I love it when you call me mama. ”

A growl bounces around in his throat, and my body thrums to hear it, to hear more of his private tone, that scratchy growl that could promise so much, so many dirty things. “I like it when you call me Coach,” he finally says, though his admission feels more like a proposition than anything.

“Wanna stay for a movie? Tanner and Rawley are gone until tomorrow, and Arch will be out before the credits are over.”

“I’d like that.” He places his hand on my hip, putting some space between us, his thumb rubbing small circles where he holds me. “Still think we should move slowly though.”

I think about Dean shaking Rawley’s hand in the hall the other night, a mutual promise made of respect.

“Okay, I’m good with slow.” His smile is contagious.

“I wasn’t expecting to run into you.” He briefly surveys his clothing, and the obviously sweaty state he’s in. “I’ve been working in my yard all day.”

I can’t keep my hands to myself where Dean McAllister is concerned. I tug the end of his t-shirt. “Hard work looks good on you.”

“I’d never come here all sweaty and wearing my work clothes, not normally. But I know I’d be a damn fool to say no when Clara June Colt asks me out.”

Adrenaline spikes inside me, his charm and charisma making me anxious to see what else happens when I’m in his arms. “Technically,” I tease, “I only told you I was gonna invite you over. I think Archie did the rest.”

He sinks back down into the couch, and pulls me down next to him. I wished it was his lap, but I also get that it’s probably too soon for that. “Making a five year old get you hot dates,” he says, shaking his head. “That’s disgraceful, Clara June. Next time, just ask me yourself.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Next time, maybe I’ll send Mrs. Salinger over to ask you out.”

He chuckles, and a predictably sleepy looking Archie appears in the living room, Toy Story pajamas up top, Zootopia pajamas on the bottom. “Mama, I’m turnin’ in.”

I get to my feet. “I’ll come tuck you in. You want a song tonight?”

He nods. “Yes, ma’am. My favorite, please and thank you.”

I turn, stopped halfway between the living room—currently only partially covered in clean laundry—and the hallway. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Why don’t you find something you wanna watch?”

Dean winks at me, the gesture slowly disarming any discipline I have left. “Will do, mama.”