Page 8 of Protected By the Mountain Man

His head shot up, a slight hint of a smile on his face. He was happy. Was I about to destroy his happiness? What if he got up and stormed out?

“I didn’t know I’d be attracted to you when I walked into your business tonight,” I began, wiping my palms on my shorts.

Trying to summon some more courage, I stared out the window. Dylan parked at the end of a row of motorbikes, but there was something about one in the center of the row that caught my eye.

“I knew there was an age difference.” I returned my attention to his face. “Normally, it wouldn’t be a big deal, but?—”

“May I take your order?”

A man was standing at the end of our table, notepad in hand, sombrero on his head. He looked like he hadn’t a care in the world, while my internal organs seemed to be twisting and turning. I stared down at the menu, trying to quickly put together an order.

But suddenly, an image flashed in front of my eyes. That motorcycle parked in the center of the row outside. I knew that motorcycle. It sat in my dad’s driveway. I’d parked behind it for two days. It was a distinctive electric blue color with silver stripes.

I gulped around the lump that had formed in my throat as I turned back to the server. Someone had appeared behind him, and that someone was tall. Much taller than the server. Bulkier, too. In fact, he towered over the server like a wrestler about to take on his opponent.

“Delaney?” my father’s voice said. “What the hell’s going on here?”

The server seemed to wisely realize shit was about to go down. He backed away from the table and said, “I’ll give you more time.”

And then it was just my father standing at the end of the table. He looked from his friend to his daughter like he couldn’t believe his own eyes.

“Hi, Dad,” I said.

May as well get it out in the open. But I felt Dylan’s stunned gaze shift to my face.

“Exactly what’s going on here?” my father asked.

When I looked back at him, my dad had shifted his harsh stare to Dylan, who was clearly confused. “This is your daughter?” he asked.

“Delaney,” Dad said. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know she’s my daughter. Her pictures are all over my cabin. You’ve met her.”

Dylan’s eyes narrowed, and I could see things clicking into place. “You’re Delaney?” he asked. “The fourteen-year-old girl with pigtails?”

I never wore pigtails, but I did have braces the last time he saw me. Not to mention a baby face and long, stringy hair that I’d eventually learned to tame.

“I was just about to tell you,” I said.

Now Dylan’s stare was incredulous. “You mean to tell me you knew all along I was your dad’s friend?”

“Yes, but…” I hesitated. What was the best way to describe this in front of my dad? “I just wanted a tattoo.”

“Tattoo?” Dad asked.

Uh-oh. Although my dad had always been more lenient than my mom, he’d made it clear he didn’t want me to get a tattoo. Funny, considering he had a tattoo on his left upper arm. But he loved to say it was a lifelong commitment to a design you chose when you were “young and dumb.”

“Yes,” I said, sitting up a little straighter. “I got a tattoo.”

Please don’t ask where. Please don’t ask where. Please don’t?—

“Where?” Dad crossed his arms over his chest and waited for an answer.

“In the chair in the booth at my parlor,” Dylan said.

I met his gaze then, and I felt it. He had my back. My dad always had my back too, but that would shift once I found a life partner—a man I could marry and have a family of my own with.

I wanted that man to be the one seated across from me.

That thought hit me like a bullet. I actually blinked in surprise at it. This was the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with? How was it possible, in such a short time, that I’d fallen hard for this guy?

---