The morning had turned quickly, from balmy to sticky. Dean stripped off his t-shirt, using it to mop his forehead before tossing it to the ground. In Malibu he’d hired workers to mow his lawn, trim the edges, and keep his yard looking neat. Perhaps there were yard maintenance workers out here in Maine, too, but the fewer people trampling through his property the better. Scowling, Dean remembered the times he’d found reporters and photographers camped out in his bushes. The mile-high security gates hadn’t been an obstacle—and neither had their morals, apparently.
So he’d mowed his own lawn. It’d been a hell of a lot bigger than he had realized. And he had learned the hard way that his lawn mower didn’t come with the handy feature that collects the clippings. And so he had raked. Contemplating a visit to the nearest home improvement warehouse for the latest in time-saving lawn maintenance equipment, Dean attacked the weeds growing under the rose bushes.
Sitting back on his haunches, he surveyed the yard. Not bad for a first timer. His head guy in Malibu, Luis, would have cut the grass on the diagonal. He left nice, neat rows. Dean’s yard on this opposite coast had long, wobbly lines that looked mostly like he’d taken nearly as many beer breaks as he had lawn-cutting time. Practice. That’s all he needed.
A rustling sounded where he now knew the break in the hedge to be. Dean caught a flash of bright blue and an even brighter shade of brilliant copper. Shannon must have turned her back, for her little chicks were flying the coop. His upper lip curling in amusement, Dean turned his own back. They played this game nearly every day now. The triplets snuck into his yard and he pretended not to notice. Intensely curious, they followed him about, hiding wherever they could find cover. At some point, Shannon would call for the children and they would run scampering home.
Brushing his palms against well-worn denim, Dean strode off toward the shed. He had bought several flats of flowers, intending to brighten up the yard, make it seem more like home. The patter of little sneakers sounded behind him. Giving them enough time to duck out of sight, Dean turned with exaggerated slowness. He chuckled when he spied one of the boys scrunched down behind the lawnmower. Brenna posed, stiff as a statue, behind a skinny sapling. He couldn’t see the other one, but knew they traveled in threes.
“Boy, there sure are a lot of flowers to plant. I may have gotten in over my head here. I wish I had some help.”
As he’d predicted, the kids burst from their hiding places, eager smiles glued to their tiny faces. Everyone chattered at once. Brenna complimented him on his choice of colors. Brian offered suggestions on what tools they would need. Brady gestured, with huge sweeps of his arms, where he thought the flowers would look best. Dean shoved a hand through his hair, looking from one child to another and trying desperately to keep track of the conversation. What had he gotten himself into?
Taking the lead, before it could be taken from him, Dean hefted a bag of gardening soil to the maple tree at the back of the lawn. He ringed the tree with some healthy nutrients and then returned for some bright yellow marigolds. His little helpers dove right in, obviously no strangers to planting spring flowers. Dean looked at the brand new gardening gloves he’d left sitting with the rest of the supplies, tags still attached. Then he looked down at the triplets. They were elbow-deep in soil and dirt from around the tree. Each one of them had a smudge somewhere on their face.
Shrugging aside any reservations, Dean dropped to his knees, summoned his inner child, and dug his bare hands into the soil. Oh, it felt good. Digging the ground brought back memories he hadn’t thought about in years. Dean and his brother, Flynn, used to dig in the backyard for hours. One day, they would be searching for long-lost treasure. Another day, they could be burying something infinitely valuable. He grinned and swiped at his jaw, recalling the time they swore they had discovered a dinosaur. It turned out to be a beloved pet from some previous owner of their house. The morbidity of stumbling upon a grave had thrilled the young boys to no end.
Working alongside his pint-sized neighbors, Dean actually found himself having a good time. He’d never spent much time around young children. He assumed they always needed their noses wiped, whined at the tiniest thing, and needed help with absolutely everything. Color him surprised when the triplets were the ones to explain to him roughly how far apart to plant the marigold starts. Dean nearly ripped the first one in half as he struggled to pull it out of the plastic container. Brady laid a gentle hand on his arm and showed him how to tap the bottom of the pot to jiggle the plant loose.
Remembering something from the other day, Dean tried his hand at conversation.
“So, Brenna, how is Rosie doing?” He held his breath as he waited to see if this was a tear-inducing topic or if it was relatively safe.
She giggled and shook her head slowly, as if he were the small child and she the wise, mature adult. “She’s right here. Why don’t you ask her yourself?”
Uh oh. The pressure was on, too, as the boys had turned to see how Dean would handle this situation. Brian looked quite smug, clearly expecting him to fall on his face. Brady looked like he felt sorry for him, his own smile a little sad. Taking a deep breath and facing this challenge he’d brought on himself, Dean turned to face the empty space beside Brenna. Okay, it’s go time.
“Hello there, Rosie. How are you on this fine sunshiny day?”
“Mr. Dean? Rosie is watching us from the tree branch.” Brenna pointed right above his head. She wasn’t going to make this easy on him at all.
Expecting the boys to have a good laugh at his expense, Dean jumped when the laughter he heard came in melodic peals from behind him. He sprang to his feet, turning around and wiping his grimy hands on his jeans. He waited for a good ribbing from Shannon but it turned out he wasn’t the only one caught by surprise. She had stopped laughing and now stood staring, with her mouth forming an O.
“Um, hi. I found these trespassers and decided to use them for slave labor as punishment. Though Rosie, there, just isn’t pulling her weight.”
He had meant it to be funny, but caught the wince that pinched Shannon’s features for the briefest of moments. Her hands were on her hips and she looked tired. Her smiling cherubs, fortunately, didn’t notice the tension and continued to look as innocent as they surely felt.
“Hey, let’s try and remove a layer or two of this dirt and I’ll go get us a drink.”
Dean ushered the kids to the side of the house where the hose was kept reeled. Shannon ran ahead, let out a length of hose and turned on the water. She ordered all hands turned out for a spray down, including him in the lineup. She aimed the hose at Brenna’s dirty toes, peeking out of their sequined sandals. The boys howled in mock horror as their mother pretended to lose control of the hose and soaked them down good.
“Please, don’t shoot!” Dean held up his hands in surrender, waiting to be Shannon’s next target. Even minus one shirt, it was a hot afternoon and the spray would definitely be welcome.
Looking up at him through thick lashes, he caught a hint of pure feminine lust, before she swallowed hard and ducked her head. Instead of turning the hose on him, she handed Dean the nozzle and backed away. Apparently, playtime was over.
Muttering something about going in for some juice, Dean beat a hasty retreat for the kitchen. He refused to acknowledge the feeling of not being included in the playful repartee as disappointment. He wasn’t part of their family. It shouldn’t matter. He was living the solitary life. Sometimes the solitary life sucked.
• • •
Shannon stuffed her hands in her pockets and stared hungrily as Dean strode past her. His broad back glistened with sweat. Blond hair curled damply against his neck. Two dirty handprints, one on each cheek, decorated his tight jeans. Large handprints they were, too. The man had some seriously good genes.
Taking a deep breath, Shannon turned to face her children. She couldn’t yell at them for sneaking over here. She’d known darned well what they were up to. She had all but given the go ahead when she turned her focus to weeding out her vegetable garden. And it wasn’t just today. Yesterday, she had watched them sidle through the hedge while she was busy clipping coupons at the patio table. The day before, it had been while she was washing the windows.
If the triplets just happened to end up in Dean’s yard, then gosh darned it, it would be remiss of her not to go over and retrieve them. God, when had she turned into such a sex-starved stalker? She had to put a stop to this now.
“Hey, guys, we’ve talked about this. It might have been okay to come over and play in this yard when no one lived here. But the rules have changed now. Mr. Dean lives here and he deserves his privacy.”
“But we were helpin’ him, Mommy.” Brenna’s eyes were huge, her expression sincere.
“Yeah, he said he bought too much flowers and didn’t know what he was gonna do,” Brady added.
“And that was Mr. Dean’s very polite way of making the best out of a frustrating situation.” The kids just stared blankly.
“Actually, we were having fun. Really.” Dean had slipped up behind them. He gestured for the kids to head on up to the big cedar deck. Placing one of those magnificently large hands at the small of Shannon’s back and guided her up the steps.
“Uh, so I figured beer was out. I’m not sure what the younger crowds are drinking these days, so I poured them some orange juice. I hope that’s okay.”
Still getting over the shock of Dean touching her, instead of running for cover, Shannon could only nod. Her children were tearing through a bag of double-stuff Oreos. She made a mental note to buy him a replacement. She lowered herself into a patio chair and accepted the icy cold Corona that Dean handed her.
“We aren’t kids, right?” He winked.
Shannon returned his warm smile, while resisting the urge to crawl into his lap. Dear God, would the man please put on a shirt! Her poor, deprived (or was it depraved) body couldn’t take the torture. Breathe, Shannon. He’s just a man. And she was not in the market for one of those. But as long as he was going to sit in front of her, half-naked, she’d enjoy the show. She wasn’t a nun.
“This isn’t what you wanted, what you expected, when you moved up here. I’m sorry for that.”
“I’m learning to be flexible.”
“Yes, but you shouldn’t have to.” Shannon took a fortifying sip of beer and set the sweating bottle back on the table. “I promised to keep them out of your yard and I’ve broken my promise.”
“I’m not complaining, Shannon. Have you heard me tell them to get out?” The words came out in a deep rumble that sent shivers up her spine.
“What can I say? You are very kind.”
“Oh, just stuff it!” Shannon’s raised eyebrows reached her hairline. “Yeah, I was trying to hide at first. I’m still trying to hide.” Dean rubbed a thumb back and forth over the gold and blue Corona label. “But not from you guys.”
“You said you wanted peace and quiet. You wanted us to give you your space.” She found herself mesmerized by the motion of that thumb, wishing it were her hand he was stroking, instead of a beer bottle.
“I may have been wrong.” His bright green eyes focused on the glass bottle in front of him.
He looked nervous. Was he making a play? Oh, God! Did she even want him to? Shannon leaned forward in her chair, twisting her head to the side so he was forced to meet her gaze. They just sat, quietly studying each other. That thumb had stopped rubbing. Dean dropped his hand to the glass tabletop. Boldly, Shannon covered it with hers. She had expected him to yank his away and was happy to be mistaken.
Smiling shyly, Shannon sat back in her chair and raised her face to the sun. The heat warmed her limbs, made her want to curl up like a cat and take a nap. She hadn’t felt this relaxed in so long. A shrill scream rent the air, turning her blood to ice. Shannon whipped her head around. The triplets had abandoned their snack and juice and were no longer on the deck. Scrambling out of her chair, she saw Dean streaking across the lawn.
“Mommy! Brady’s hurt, Brady’s hurt,” Brenna choked out in breathless sobs.
Shannon raced to her son, fear giving her feet wings. Dean already cradled the injured boy in his lap, beneath the maple tree. Brian and Brenna made room for their mother to sink to the ground in front of Dean. Her assessing gaze studied her son, starting at his mussed hair and traveling down his body. When she got to his chest and saw him holding his left arm tight to his body with his right, she blew out a long breath and tried to put on a smile for Brady’s benefit.
“Aw, baby. Can you lift your arm?” They all waited, breath held, as Brady attempted to raise his arm, and failed.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Brady was crying and when Shannon tried to take him from Dean, he held on tight. “I’m so very sorry.” She realized Brady was trying to apologize to Dean.
“What’s to be sorry about, bud? I should be apologizing to you, leaving that dangerous tree here.” Dean’s attempt at humor earned a small, watery smile.
“Your flowers. I busted up your flowers.” Everyone looked down to see that roughly half the flowers they had planted were now trampled flat.
“Hey, if those flowers helped cushion your fall and kept you from breaking both arms, then it was well worth it.”
Shannon walked quickly beside Dean as he carried Brady up to the house. She silently cursed herself for being the worst mother ever. Way to pay attention! Her kid was off climbing trees, unbeknownst to her because she had been busy making goo-goo eyes at the neighbor.
How could she have been so selfish? The first time she let her guard down and one of her babies got hurt. Shannon swallowed back the sob that burned in her lungs. There would be time for crying later.