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“You don’t come by nearly enough to suit us, that’s all I know.” Raymond clapped him on the back and jerked a thumb at the bags Dillon carried. “What’s in those?”
“I stopped by the bakery.”
His stepfather grinned, his weathered face suddenly seeming years younger. He spent a lot of time out in the sunshine maintaining their family’s property, and his nut-brown skin showed it. “Almond longhorn?”
“You know it.” Dillon smiled and pushed the bag at him. “There’s a muffin in there for Mom and a Danish for Cory, though I’m sure he won’t eat it.”
“That boy won’t take a lunch to save his life.” Raymond shook his head. “He’s going to end up in intensive care if he doesn’t let up.”
Dillon scratched his chest and remembered the evasive look on his brother’s face the day before when he’d asked about Melinda. Maybe Cory would be finding something—or someone—new to o
bsess about soon.
Like you have?
“He needs a woman,” Dillon muttered. He should know, shouldn’t he?
He’d found one that he wanted to get to know a lot better, and not just physically. What he’d learned about Alexa so far barely scratched her alluring surface. But how long could he hang on to the teeter-totter he was balanced on? How long until he ran into the wrong person at the wrong time and they blew his cover?
He never should’ve lied. Even with the acrimony between her and Cory, he’d had a better chance of convincing her he wasn’t like his shark of a brother at the beginning than he did now. Now she’d believe he’d been scheming all along, likely for nefarious purposes. She’d probably think he was a spy for Value Hardware, intent on filling her head with business ideas he hoped were primed to fail.
“Speaking of women, have you found a date yet for the benefit?”
Dillon barely suppressed a groan. Not that again. His stepfather didn’t tack on the word appropriate, but he heard it nonetheless. Problem was the dates he’d once considered more than adequate simply wouldn’t get the job done any longer. Those sorts of women couldn’t compare when he’d had the real thing and only craved more.
“No, I don’t have a date,” he said under his breath, knowing that would pry the lid off a can of worms he didn’t want to touch.
“Why didn’t you say so? You know Stanley Wren, my golfing buddy? His daughter’s just home from Yale. She’d be perfect.”
Terrific. Filthy rich, educated in an elite school, and young too. There was a winning trifecta in Dillon’s book if he’d ever heard one. “I’m sure I can find someone.”
“Well, if you can’t find someone suitable,” his stepfather winked, “just let me know and I’ll get it set up with Haviland.”
“Haviland?” Dillon choked. “That’s a dish, not a person.”
Raymond chuckled. “She’s lovely. You’d like her. Why don’t I give Stanley a call? You simply don’t have time to find— ”
“No.” The sharpness of his answer made his stepfather do a double take. Damn, he needed to ease off. “I think I have someone in mind already,” he said, softer now.
Did he ever. Now he just had to figure out how to keep her in his life long enough for her to agree to go with him.
“Your choice, son. Let me know if you change your mind.”
They talked for a few more minutes while they walked through the store. His stepfather insisted on showing him a new pair of loppers he said cut through tree limbs like hot butter, and Dillon found himself chatting with a couple about the environmental benefits of a push mower over a traditional electric one.
By the time he swung by Cory’s office to take him the Danish, his mood had vastly improved even considering he was still pissed at his brother for making Alexa cry the night before. He knocked and opened the door to see what looked like Cory’s expensive Ming vase sailing through the air, hot on the heels of an ear-splitting screech, courtesy of Vicky. “God! You’re a complete ass.”
Cory hurtled to his feet in time to catch the vase, though he fumbled it a bit before clutching the artifact to his chest. “Have you lost your mind?”
“Yes, I have.” She snatched up her books, sailing past Dillon with barely a muttered hello. “Only an insane person would consider working with you.”
“You contacted me,” Cory called after her, shaking his head and setting down the vase as if he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. “You again,” he said, spotting Dillon.
“Women trouble?” Dillon asked mildly, fighting a grin.
Cory made a derisive sound in his throat. “Hardly. She’s still a girl. What is she, twenty-four? No wonder she’s such a hormonal wreck.”
“You do realize that bringing up hormones in connection with a woman is reason enough to have your balls strung up as jewelry, right?”
