Dylan's Last Dare. Patricia Thayer
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do my part.”
He smiled, enjoying the easiness between them. “Just how far will you go, Ms. Brenna?”
Even under the porch light, he could see she was flustered, but before she could give a retort the door opened and Kelly appeared. The child looked a little apprehensive, then relaxed seeing Brenna. “Hi, Unca Dylan,” she said. “Hi, Brenna.”
“Hello, Kelly,” Brenna said, and she pulled open the screen door allowing Dylan to go in first. Then she followed.
Dylan’s gaze swept around the huge sunny-yellow kitchen. There were pine cabinets and white-tiled countertops. At the stainless-steel stove, his sister-in-law stood cooking. His brother had always talked about having a home. It looked as if he’d gotten his wish.
Maura turned and smiled. “Dylan and Brenna, I’m so glad you both came.”
“Thank you for inviting us,” Brenna said.
Maura walked over to greet them, surprising Dylan with a hug. Then she stood back and gave him the once-over. “Well, look at you, Dylan, getting around so well.” She turned to Brenna. “Thank you for helping him.”
“Oh, Dylan is the one who did the work,” she insisted. “I only gave him a little push now and then.”
“Using a bulldozer,” Dylan said, and they all laughed.
The sound of voices drew their attention to the doorway where Wyatt and seven-year-old Jeff walked into the room. He and Wyatt weren’t identical twins, Dylan thought, struck once again by their differences, but they were pretty close, with the same height and build. Their hair color was the same, but their eyes were different—his brother’s were blue while his were more gray. Wyatt was the more sensible one. Dylan had always been attracted to trouble.
The young boy’s face lit up. “Wow, Dad, Uncle Dylan came.”
Wyatt smiled. “Yes, son, I’d say he did.” He walked up to Dylan. “Glad you could make it, bro.”
“I didn’t have much choice,” Dylan lied as he leaned on his crutches. “This was the only way to get a taste of Maura’s meat loaf. You’ve certainly bragged about it enough.”
“Well, come and sit down,” Wyatt coaxed. “Dinner shouldn’t be too long. Would you like something to drink? Soda? Iced tea? Milk?”
“Iced tea sounds good.”
“I’ll get it.” Jeff ran to the refrigerator, then came back with a full glass. “Uncle Dylan, Dad said you’re the best bull rider in the world.”
A sadness moved through him, but he pushed it aside and smiled at his nephew. “Well, I had won the national championship, but someone else won the title this year.”
“I told Benny Roberts you did, but he said that I’m lyin’ ‘cause you aren’t really my uncle.”
A strange protectiveness came over Dylan. “I guess you just have to prove him wrong. As soon as I locate my things, I’ll dig up one of my championship buckles and you can show him.”
“Oh, wow!” His eyes rounded. “Can I, really?”
Dylan ruffled the boy’s hair. “Yes, you really can.”
A smiling Jeff went to his seat across the table, next to Kelly. The little girl looked like her mother, pretty as a picture. When he winked at her, her face lit up with a smile, and a funny feeling circled Dylan’s heart.
Brenna leaned toward him. “I think you got yourself a couple of new fans here.” She looked him in the eye and whispered, “You’ve still got it, Dylan ‘The Devil’ Gentry.”
Chapter Three
Two hours later, Wyatt walked Brenna and Dylan out to the porch. She noticed he was careful not to hover too close to his brother, letting him move by himself. Although tired, Dylan seemed to want to show off and made easy work of getting down the steps and into the golf cart.
“Thank Maura again for the great meal,” Dylan said.
“Anytime,” Wyatt said. “And if you’ll let me know where your national championship buckle is, I could get it.”
“Impossible. It’s in my trailer and that’s parked in Arizona.”
Wyatt shook his head. “No, it’s here,” he said. “So is Cheyenne Gold.”
Dylan tensed. “You brought my trailer and horse here?”
Wyatt glanced at Brenna, then back at his brother, and nodded. “Yeah. You spent so much time in the hospital, and since you were coming here anyway… I thought you might need your things close by. No sense you paying a fortune to store your trailer and board your horse. Here it’s free.”
Brenna got in the cart, feeling more than the January chill. There was new tension between the brothers.
“We should get back,” she suggested. “You two can hash this out when it’s warmer. Wyatt, thank Maura again.” She pressed her foot on the pedal and they shot off down the path.
Once at the cottage, Dylan got out without her help and went up the single step with ease. Inside, he started toward the bedroom, but Brenna caught up with him.
“Dylan, why don’t you watch television out here? The screen is bigger. We could put a movie in the VCR.”
“I don’t feel like a movie.”
“Then stay and talk?” She should keep out of this situation, but this situation could interfere with her patient’s recovery. “I can fix some coffee.”
“I know what you’re trying to do, Brenna, but it isn’t going to work. I’m mad as hell. So let me be.”
She took hold of his arm and got a fierce look as his silver-blue eyes locked on her.
Somehow she managed to find her voice. “No. Not until you tell me what was so bad that it ruined the end of an enjoyable evening with your family.”
“I didn’t ruin it, my brother did.”
Brenna watched as he started to pace a path to the door then back again. “Tell me what he did that was so terrible.”
“What Wyatt has always done for the past thirty-one years—try to run my life. He’s older than me by five minutes, and believe me, he has let me know it all our lives. He’s always felt he knows what’s best for me. Just like my coming to the ranch. I agreed to stay here, only until I recovered from my injuries. But he still couldn’t leave things alone. It was his idea to get a therapist. I never wanted one. I just wanted to be left alone.
“Now he thinks he had the right to drag my trailer and horse here. Without asking me, I might add. He’s just looking for a way to keep me here permanently.”
Why did Dylan’s words hurt so much? Brenna had known from the beginning that he didn’t want a therapist. Over the past week, he’d gotten past that and had accepted her, but hearing the bitterness in his voice now she wasn’t so sure. Her own anger flared. She’d be damned if she’d stay where she wasn’t wanted.
“You’re right, Dylan,” she agreed. “Your brother had no right to push you into anything you didn’t want. At least one of your problems can be easily solved.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Which one’s that?”
Her chest was tight. “Your therapist. I’ll have my bags packed and be gone in thirty minutes.”
He had blown it big-time.
Dylan knocked on Brenna’s bedroom door, but she didn’t answer. He knocked again. “Brenna, can we talk?”
No answer.
“Please, Bren. You misunderstood. Open the door and let me explain.”
No