Page 18 of The Heartbreaker Next Door

It was so strange to learn about Dean through the lens of his brothers, townspeople, and ranch staff. They all had similar descriptions of him, claiming he was a cold, distant, non-feeling human who kept everyone at arm’s length. They teased him, saying he was a robot, void of human emotions.

Nonna explained that Dean had always been her favorite “Heartbreaker” which was a nickname he and his brothers were known for around town. I figured the moniker was a play on words, but Nonna explained that every time Selma gave birth to one of her sons, nurses and visitors in the hospital would comment, “You got yourself a heartbreaker,’ or, “He’s going to be a little heartbreaker,” or something to that effect.

I asked her if the brothers lived up to their name, not that it was any of my business, but I had to admit, I wanted dirt on Dean’s love life. I hadn’t been able to manage to go a full five minutes without him popping into my head unprovoked. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Working with Dean was difficult enough, not that we communicated that much, or at all. We passed each other in the hallways, sat in the same meetings, and occasionally had to speak about the job, mainly my projected expense reports. He was definitely keeping me at arm’s length.

Nonna said none of the boys had settled down until Sadie came back last year and reunited with Dawson, named after the James Vanderbeek’s (rest in peace) character in Dawson’s Creek.

She said Damon, named after The Vampire Diaries, was a flirt. She actually said he had "honey on his tongue and trouble in his eyes.” Said he would flirt with a lamppost if you put a skirt on it.

I could attest to that characterization. Damon had charm and charisma in spades, and he had no issues turning those qualities on when it came to the opposite sex. The third in line to the Lockhart dynasty had paid me quite a bit of attention the past week and made me feel very welcome. Usually, I didn’t love getting hit on by men, and especially not at the workplace, but Damon had such a non-threatening, fun, happy vibe about him, it didn’t bother me at all.

The youngest Lockhart, Dylan, named after one of the leads in Beverly Hills, 90210, was a wild man, an adrenaline junkie. He was fearless, jumping off roofs into swimming pools, “surfing” on the top of moving SUVs, playing chicken with tractors, Footloose style.

But she said Dean, named after Rory’s boyfriend in Gilmore Girls, reminded her the most of her late husband, and love of her life, Raphael. She said they both had a quiet confidence, a dry wit, intelligence, type-A tendencies, unflappable loyalty, an authority and command that made people listen the first time they said something, and were fiercely private people. She said Raphael didn’t wear his heart on his sleeve, he wrapped it in socks and buried it deep down into her subconscious.

Nonna said it was fair to say that all four Lockharts had left trails of broken hearts, but the only one who ever had anything remotely serious was Dawson.

For some reason, that had made me sad for Dean. I don’t know if it was just because he had a reputation of being so closed off, but I’d seen a different side of him, one that made me want to dig deeper into the humanity I doubted many people witnessed. I had a feeling beneath that hard exterior, there was a very sensitive man who deserved love.

I kept telling myself I was not the one to show him that. I just wasn’t sure I believed myself. He made it very difficult not to fall for him when he would go to my house during work hours and fix not only the roof, but the ceiling as well. I hadn’t asked him to. He’d mentioned Uncle Walter had given him a spare key and told me he could give it back but asked if it would be okay if he dropped by to fix the roof. I told him to keep it, just for emergencies and of course, if he wanted to go check on the roof, he had my blessing. I’d just come home one day and not only was the roof and ceiling in the kitchen repaired, he’d also filled all the holes and installed the recessed lighting. Oh, and it was also spotless. He was a man who was a fan of cleanliness.

When I saw the repairs to my house, my eyes filled with tears. What man does that without being asked or wanting anything in return? It was unnerving and also, deeply, deeply romantic.

I finally reached Dean’s office, and the door was slightly ajar. The sound of Maverick’s laughter was definitely coming from inside. I peeked in, half-expecting to find Maverick talking a mile a minute, holding Dean hostage with his stories. Instead, I saw something out of a Norman Rockwell fever dream: Dean, in his crisp, white button-down and tailored-to-perfection black slacks, which were his uniform for this place, perched on the edge of his desk, was holding Deputy Neigh Neigh with one hand and a sewing kit with the other. Maverick stood at attention, watching with rapt, almost religious focus, as Dean attempted to suture a torn seam in the horse’s leg.

The sight was so bizarre and sweet that I forgot my initial panic entirely about Mav being missing. I just stood there, unseen for a moment, watching the way Maverick’s whole body vibrated with excitement.

“Is it going to be alright?” Maverick asked, breathless.

Dean considered the question like he was testifying in court. “If he holds very still, I think he’ll pull through. But he’s probably going to have a scar.”

Maverick solemnly nodded. “He’s brave. Like a real horse, right?”

“Braver,” Dean responded, not even glancing up from his work. “Most horses faint at the sight of needles.”

Maverick giggled, it was the same sound I’d heard from the hallway.

Dean finished the stitch, tied it off with an impossible little knot, and then handed the patient back to its owner. “There you go. You might want to give him a few days off from rodeos.”

Maverick cradled the horse, eyes shining. “Thank you! You’re a doctor and a cowboy.”

Dean huffed out a sound of laughter, which was the closest I’d ever seen him come to smiling. “I have a friend named Dr. Russo who would probably not agree with you.”

I was sure he was talking about Giovanni Russo, Nonna’s grandson. I’d met him once when I was dropping off Mav for the day. He was a really good-looking guy, charming, and funny. He didn’t tempt me in the slightest to break my No Men rule. Neither did Damon, or Dylan, for that matter, both of whom could have easily been Abercrombie or Calvin Klein models in the ’90s at the peak of both campaigns.

The only man who had made me question whether I could shut off all romantic ties with the opposite sex was Dean Lockhart. The man just did something to me, something I couldn’t explain. It was frustrating, to say the least.

Not able to witness the precious moment any longer without the danger of falling in love with the man who’d just performed open-stuff surgery on Deputy Neigh, I cleared my throat and stepped inside, feeling suddenly like I was intruding.

“Sorry to barge in,” I said, trying to gather up some authority, “I was just looking for Mav.”

Dean met my eyes—steady, unreadable—and gave a half-shrug. “He showed up with a medical emergency. We had to perform emergency surgery.”

Maverick sprinted over, clutching Deputy Neigh-Neigh, and threw his arms around my waist. “Mom, he fixed Neigh! He can ride again!”

I tried to ignore the way my heart stuttered at the sight of Dean, all stoic competence and secret kindness. He handed me the sewing kit, as if to prove he hadn’t been doing anything sentimental. “You might want to keep this on hand,” he muttered.

“Thanks,” I said, tucking it into my pocket. “And thank you for… uh, the surgery. Say thank you to Mister Dean, Mav.”