Last night, she and Mark had finished up the black paint on the figures in companionable silence, and this morning, he’d picked them up so they’d be out of the way—and unseen—for classes. She gazed down at the picture. Overall, the evening had been . . . great. But she still had that insistent feeling that she’d overshared. And now, that they were being observed.
“Hey, new girl,” a husky male voice said from behind her, causing her to jump.
She turned. “Dalton. You startled me.” She rubbed oily blue chalk off her fingertips.
He chuckled. “I didn’t think you were the kind of woman who startled easily.”
“Only when I’m deep in thought.”
“Sounds dangerous.”
“You have no idea.”
He smiled, unperturbed, then glanced at the picture she’d sketched. “Did you do this?”
“Just goofing around before I cleaned up.” She put the pastels away and stacked the boxes.
“If this is goofing around, I’d like to see what you can do when you’re serious.”
“I’m sure you would.” She had some of her serious work in her office to show the kids so they understood that she knew what she was talking about, but something kept her from showing anything to Dalton.
“I’m not joking,” he said.
She smiled and leaned against the table. She hadn’t meant to come across as abrasive. “Maybe. Sometime.”
“I have to earn it, huh?” He leaned next to her.
“Something like that.”
“How about I take you out tonight? Dinner?”
After what she’d just experienced with her students, she hesitated. “I have work to do.”
“You just finished work.”
“You’re a teacher. You know the work never ends.”
He nodded. “All the more reason to get out. C’mon, just dinner. A couple of hours and then you can get back to work. I promise. It’s a school night, so I’m contractually bound to get you home at a decent hour.”
She gave him a smile for that. Despite the kids’ insistence, she doubted marriage was even on Dalton’s radar. She’d planned to start painting the nativity figures, but she’d put in good long hours on them already. A small break wouldn’t hurt, no matter what anybody said. And a little space from a project was important, especially one so emotionally charged.
“All right,” she said. “Dinner.”
He smiled. “Great. I’ll pick you up at six thirty?”
“Can we make it five thirty?” Earlier was better, so she could get back and work into the evening.
“Five thirty it is. I’ll make the reservation.”
“Reservation? Where are you taking me?”
“Ah,” he said, backing away and giving her finger guns, “that’s a surprise.” He disappeared out the door.
She stood, scrunching up her lips. A break would be good. Last night was deeper than she’d expected. Dalton wouldn’t go deep. She’d bet on it. She would go to dinner with Dalton, and hope Wyatt’s mom was nowhere in sight.
Mark turned the radio up as he headed to Riley’s house with the nativity figures. He hadn’t listened to much music lately, and this was a song he hadn’t heard before. He tapped his left hand on the steering wheel. When had he stopped listening to music?
Right.
He turned down Riley’s street and parked in front of her house. Rain hit the roof of his truck and bounced off the walk. A few degrees colder and this would be the white stuff.
Watching her house now, he couldn’t help the hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. The last couple nights with Riley had been great. Casual in some ways, but not in others. He’d never connected with a girl on this level before.
Maybe because you didn’t have anything on this level to connect with before, Super Chief.
He shook his head and got out of the truck.
When she opened the front door, he paused, staring. Her hair was wavy all over instead of straight, and tossed back like she’d just run her fingers through it. And whatever she’d done to her eyes . . . and her lips . . .
She looked great. Better than great.
She smirked. “You want to stand on my porch all night, or are you bringing those inside?”
He moved abruptly, stepping through the doorway, careful with the nativity boards. He’d wrapped them in a tarp before coming over so they wouldn’t get wet in the short distance between his truck and her porch.
“Sorry,” he said. “I just—” Wow, she smelled great, too. “I just wasn’t sure you wanted these dripping through your house.”
“Don’t worry about it.” She walked toward the bedrooms wearing a skirt and high-heeled boots. That was not what she’d been wearing at school that morning. She turned and put her hands on her hips. “You coming?”
“Yeah. Of course.” He rolled his eyes. Smooth as ever.
He followed her to the bedroom on the right, trying to keep his focus off her skirt and the way it hugged her curves. Caylin had curves, but she’d been all legs and shoulders. Riley was more—
She flipped on a light, and he blinked, his senses overwhelmed by the smells of an active art studio. He gathered himself and looked for a place to set the boards down.
“Put them over here against the closet.”
He followed her instructions, glancing around as he unwrapped the tarp. His eye landed on some canvases leaning next to a metal desk. He nodded toward them. “Are those yours?”
“Why would they be mine?”
He heard the play in her voice. “See, there’s that attitude I’ve missed since, oh, three minutes ago.” He finished with the tarp and stood to fold it up.
“Oh, please.”
He ignored her protest and went over to the canvases, lifting the top one with the care he knew was required. He studied it quietly. She’d painted a high cliff in orange and red, cut vertically with purple and blue shadows, a wedge of turquoise sky at the top. In the top right corner at about two o’clock stood a small, brilliant-white mountain goat. You almost missed it, but you
