Page 31 of No Kind of Hero
“Well, that’s true,” Beth said with a sigh. “And if you go to law school, youreallyget stupid.”
Dakota laughed out loud. “All right. So now that we have all the family skeletons out of their closets and rattling around—let’s get down to it. You’re sleeping with Evan, and you get nothing but a big fat ‘yay’ from me for that. But you’re doing it like you’re stuck in the past. Still at your parents’. Still sneaking out.”
“No, I’m not. Sleeping with him, I mean. We’re not going out until tomorrow night. Never mind,” Beth went on hastily, because the thing with Evan was too precious and fragile to share. She’d never been one of those girls who spilled her heart, even to her friends. Which made this conversation harder, but maybe that was another change she needed to make. Gradually. “That’s not the point. Or it is, but I need to be . . . moved on in other ways. I’ve been stuck, and maybe I’m coming unstuck, but I’d do it better someplace else. I could stay at Blake’s resort,” she realized, “but that’s not right either. Do you know anybody who’d have a . . . an in-law apartment, maybe? Something normal? Something in town, that I could pay rent for? Or maybe if there was something I could do in exchange for a person on vacation. Pet-sitting? Yardwork?”
She’d like to do yardwork. She pictured herself in a baseball cap pulling weeds, harvesting vegetables. Possibly canning something. If she knew how to can. You could get botulism if you did it wrong, though. Scratch the canning.
“You are possibly the only person in the world,” Dakota said, “who’d move out of a primo guesthouse on the lake so you could do pet-sitting.”
“Yes, and I just explained why. I’m also helping Evan paint. Although I’m not sure how much I’m helping. He seemed to think I was distracting him yesterday.”
“Ah,” Dakota said, sounding even more satisfied. “Oh! Wait. Wait.”
“What?” Beth asked in alarm. Dakota sounded like she’d stepped on a bee.
“I’ve got it. Right. This isit.Again, a major step down, but there you go. That’s the point. You’d be necessary. Back surgery. Not there. Place needs care. I don’t want to do it. Blah blah. You get the picture.”
“Uh, Dakota. You’re not making sense.”
“Butterflies,” Dakota said, sounding distracted. “On flowers. How do you do it so it isn’t cheesy, like some scenic postcard? There are blue butterflies, right? That pale, bright blue? On deep purple orchids? Maybe. I have to go. I need to take a walk.”
“Glass,” Beth realized.
“What? Yeah. Thanks. Good idea. Oh, the house. Russell’s. He’s not there, and I only go there for the workroom. When I do glass, I won’t do anything else. Inconvenient. Also dirty. Also weeds. There’s a key under the mat.”
“That’s secure.”
“Yeah, well,” Dakota said, “if there’s anything worth stealing, alert the media. It’ll be a first.”
“I’ll do it,” Beth decided, that unfamiliar recklessness taking her over once more. “I’ll do whatever needs to be done. House, yard. I’ll getbusy.”
“Five-oh-four Cedar,” Dakota said. “Behind Bonner Building Supply. If you don’t want fancy, that’s your spot. Oh, and wear some of my clothes, too, while you’re at it. Evan will like it a whole lot better. I’ll say one thing about Wild Horse. You’re the only woman in it with an everyday wardrobe worse than mine. At least than it used to be.”
“You sure?” Beth asked dubiously. “Wouldn’t wearing your clothes make him feel like he was sleeping with his sister?”
“This is Evan we’re talking about. He’ll notice you look hot. He won’t notice it’s my shirt. Trust me. I’m losing my butterflies,” Dakota added abruptly. “I have to go. You go on, though. Move. Now. It’ll help.”
And she hung up.
At ten o’clock Tuesday morning, Evan still hadn’t seen Beth. But that definitely wasn’t a sinking at his heart when he got her text.
Be there a little later.
Because he wasn’t going there.
It was eleven-thirty by the time she showed up. When he heard her soft “Hey” from below, he turned on the scaffolding with entirely different emotions than he’d had the other day.
She wasn’t wearing her overalls, and she wasn’t wearing her khaki shorts, either. She had on short black shorts and a pale yellow skinny-ribbed tank top that showed double ribbons of ice-blue bra strap. And her flat sandals, but who cared with those legs? Those shorts wereshort.Her hair wasn’t in its braid, either, or the twist he’d seen when she was dressed up. It was in a messy knot at the nape of her neck with tendrils falling around her face. A knot that looked like it was held up with about two pins.
When he got his tongue unstuck, he said, “If you paint in that, I’ll mess you up.”
“Promise?”
He was already down from the scaffolding, and he’d been right to wear jeans today. She liked him in jeans, and she liked his chest, and he wanted to show her absolutely everything she liked.
He didn’t kiss her, because José and Danny and Mike were all watching. Beth said, sounding demure and sweet and looking anything but, “I decided I wasn’t that helpful yesterday.”
“Maybe not at painting.” He tried not to look down her shirt at that hint of cleavage. Or at all that thigh. Or at that place that wasn’t quite shoulder and wasn’t quite breast, that tender skin that, if you kissed it just right, could make a woman arch her back and moan.
