A Husband In Wyoming. Lynnette Kent
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When she spun around, though, she found the worst of her fears unfounded. The other side of the giant bed lay undisturbed, the covers still pulled over most of the pillow. She’d slept alone.
Blowing out a relieved breath, she ignored the regret lurking in her mind. She reminded herself that spending the night—actually having sex—with the subject of her interview violated her standards of professional behavior. Of course, she’d never been tempted before, but that didn’t matter. Rules were rules.
All she could see of Dylan, in fact, was a single sock-covered foot sticking out from underneath a blanket draped over what appeared to be a recliner facing the television. Talk about standards—he’d let her have the bed all by herself, even though there was plenty of room for two people to lie down and never touch. She didn’t know many guys with that kind of personal code—these days, everyone seemed to be looking out for their own good at the expense of everyone else.
And why not? Who takes care of you if you don’t?
Dylan would, the treacherous part of her whispered. She ignored it. She had to.
Carrying her shoes, Jess hurried quietly down the stairs, resisting the impulse to stop and make a cup of coffee. She glanced at her watch as she pulled on her sneakers and slipped out the blue door. Five fifteen. The sun had yet to rise into the sky, but there was plenty of light, a sort of golden glow that promised a beautiful day. Soft breezes rustled the tree leaves, and she could hear birds. Real birds, not just pigeons clucking on the sidewalk. Her sneakers and her ankles got damp as she brushed through the grass—when had she last experienced dew? How long since she’d walked on anything but a sidewalk?
Only when she stepped onto the porch of the house did she consider that the door might be locked. Then she’d be trapped outside, sitting in a rocking chair in her pajamas, until somebody inside woke up and emerged from the house—which was just one of the more embarrassing situations she could imagine. Especially if that person was Wyatt Marshall, the most intimidating of the four. She had a feeling he disapproved of her enough already.
But the knob turned easily in her hand. This wasn’t Manhattan, after all. Who needed to lock up in the middle of nowhere?
Slipping into the living room, Jess gently closed the front door. There was a little squeak, but surely not enough to wake anyone. Most people slept with their bedroom door shut, right?
As she crossed to the hallway, the aroma of coffee permeated the air. The Marshalls must have their pot on a timer, so the brew would be prepared when they got up. She had one on her coffeemaker at home. Of course, she usually got up about eight...
“Good morning.” Through the opening to the kitchen, she saw Garrett Marshall leaning against the counter. He gave her one of his handsome smiles and lifted his mug. “Coffee?”
“Um...thanks.” Pulling her sweater around her, Jess sat on a stool at the breakfast bar. Now she regretted not having put clothes on before going to the studio last night.
“It’s a glorious day.” He brought milk and sugar to the bar. “Been out for a walk?”
She wanted to lie. Or just run away. “Not exactly.” A sip of coffee fortified her resolve. “I couldn’t sleep last night, so I went over to watch Dylan work.”
Garrett paused in the act of drinking. He didn’t move, his face didn’t change—he just stared at her.
“I fell asleep in the chair. And didn’t wake up until a few minutes ago.”
“In the chair?”
“Um...no.”
He nodded. “I’m guessing Dylan slept in his recliner.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“He prefers his women conscious.”
Jess sputtered her coffee through a laugh. “And you know this because...?”
“Because Dylan doesn’t take advantage of people. Well...” Garrett chuckled. “He might be a little lazy when it comes to chores. You won’t catch him making a meal. But he isn’t deceptive. What he says or does is the truth.”
“The whole truth?”
“Ah. That’s different.”
Might as well do some work, since the opportunity had presented itself. “Did you and your brothers follow his career, before he returned home?”
Forearms on the counter, Garrett palmed his coffee mug back and forth. “For the record? I did. Ford was in San Francisco building his law practice, so I’m not sure if he realized what was going on. Wyatt uses computers because they’re fast at calculations, but anything he reads on the internet probably contains the word cattle.”
“What did you think of Dylan’s work? His life?”
“His abstract work wasn’t anything I’d ever have associated with my little brother. And as far as I could tell, his life was pretty much what you’d expect from a kid given too much attention and not enough responsibility.”
“Why did he come home?”
“Because he missed us?” He shook his head and took a sip of coffee. “Although that was part of it, something else happened. Something that shook him to the very foundation of his soul.”
“But he hasn’t shared what it was?”
“No. And I wouldn’t get my hopes up, if I were you.” His stern blue gaze focused on her face. “Dylan keeps his secrets. He seems easygoing, accessible. But underneath, he’s got some solid shields. Nobody gets all the way inside.”
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