Dalton Boys Box Set Books 1-5 (The Dalton Boys) Read online

  “I will, Hank.”

  After hanging up, she ran back outside in time to see Mr. Dalton carrying his wife out of the storm cellar. Charlotte rushed ahead, taking his order to open the truck door. She helped Mrs. Dalton position herself so her foot was propped, but the woman was still as white as snow and grimacing in pain.

  Standing back, Charlotte wrung her hands. “Is there anything else I can do?”

  Mrs. Dalton gave a short nod. “If you don’t mind throwing some feed at the chickens, I’d appreciate it.”

  They buzzed down the driveway in a cloud of dust, leaving Charlotte alone on a ranch in the middle of nowhere. And she’d never fed chickens in her life. Did she hand-feed them? Scatter grains?

  She thought back if she’d ever seen a TV show or even a cartoon where characters had fed chickens.

  First, she needed to find the chicken coop. Shielding her eyes from the sun, she gazed over the land that had been left in her care, even if only for an afternoon. While butterflies hatched in her stomach, she possessed a sense of ease that hadn’t come easy to her in months.

  She’d definitely found a new life.

  * * *

  Damn, what a long day. Up before dawn, and half the day spent waiting for his mother to come out of surgery. Hank still had evening chores too. The best part of the day had been hearing Charlotte’s voice on the phone.

  He climbed out of the truck, feeling about seventy years old. Thank God he didn’t have a desk job—sitting all day wasn’t for him.

  The front porch light was on, and Charlotte was on the porch, arms hugging her middle. His heart stuttered and seemed to restart with a huge lurch. In a few strides, he reached the steps. One more and he cleared the stairs. Charlotte stepped back, laughing, and he found her holding an afghan around her shoulders. Hell, she was even endearing wrapped in Aunt Diane’s ugly crocheted creation.

  “How’s your mom?”

  “She’s been through a rough day, that’s for sure. I called my brothers, and that was even worse than dealing with Pa. He was fit to be tied, pacing like a mountain lion while Momma was in surgery.” Suddenly the whole day caught up to him, and he wanted nothing more but to sink onto the old porch swing and push off with a toe.

  He twitched his head toward the swing. “Care to sit for a spell?”

  “Okay.”

  He waited for her to curl into the corner of the swing, and he crowded beside her. With a short laugh, he said, “I seem to take up a lot of space.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “Good thing you’re small.”

  She dipped her head, and he swore she was blushing, though the bluish light cast by the porch fixture didn’t make it clear. Her curls were tucked behind one ear, exposing the tender shell. So perfect for nibbling.

  “Thank you for being here. I don’t know what we would have done without you.”

  “I only fed the chickens.” Embarrassment sounded in her feminine voice.

  “And found Momma. Who knows how long she might have laid there. And feeding those chickens can be hell.” He raised the leg of his pants to expose his hairy leg above his boot. A silvery scar lived there. “Got spurred by a rooster when I was ten.”

  “I didn’t know they’d do that.”

  He laughed. “If you had, you might not have gone close, right? I deserved this wound. I was teasing the rooster, waving a stick at him, and he came after me.”

  Now she laughed. They pushed off and began to swing.

  For several minutes they rocked in silence. She smelled good and her toes were bare. Longing rose in him, closing off his throat. More than anything, he ached to turn and draw her into his arms. To taste those sweet rosebud lips.

  And learn what she was running from.

  “I got your car parts.”

  She groaned. “Do I want to know the damage?”

  He lifted a shoulder and let it fall. “Plenty of time for discussion. I was hoping to strike a deal with you.”

  She scraped her big toe on the wooden floor, slowing them. “What kind of deal?”

  “Well, Momma’s laid up for six to eight weeks. She has some screws in her leg now, and it will be some time before she can get into a walking cast. I was hoping you might stay on here and help while I fix your car.”

  She darted her tongue over her lips. He tracked the movement, aware of the pressure building inside him. “I don’t know, Hank.”

  Sweet Jesus, he was in trouble. Just hearing his name fall from those honeyed lips tied him in knots. “We could use your help. We’ll trade work.”

  “You don’t even know if I can cook!”

  “Won’t matter. Momma will want to oversee from a wheelchair if she has to. All you have to do is take direction. In exchange, I fix your car and you drive off, no payment necessary.” It hurt him a little to say those words, though it shouldn’t. He had no ties to her.

  She pushed off with her toe, setting them in motion again. Silence stretched. Nine swings, ten.

  “Okay, it’s a deal. But you have to promise that if it’s not working for you, our deal is dissolved.”

  He looked into her eyes. “Shake on it.” Really he wanted an excuse to touch her.

  With a smile, she placed her hand in his. Soft warmth enveloped his fingers, rocketing up his arm. Fighting rising need, he squeezed her fingers and pumped her hand once. “We’ve got a deal, little lady. Now I’d better get to work before I drop over. I’m bushed.”

  He stood and she jumped to her feet. “What do you mean get to work?”

  “Ranch duty calls. All the work I didn’t get to today needs doin’.”

  “It can’t wait until tomorrow? You’ve had a long day…” Was she worrying about him? Damn, that felt good.

  “Nah, having cattle is like having a pack of dogs. I’ve got to water them and check feed troughs.”

  “I—” She stared up at him, face light and shadows. “I’ll help if you’d like.”

  His stomach tingled with anticipation. “I’d love that. But you’d better have some shoes. Boots if you’ve got ‘em.”

  The next two hours were spent working close in the moonlight with only the occasional giggle from Charlotte and the lowing of cows upset by waiting for their dinner. That was the trouble with living so far from neighbors—no one could step in and help in a bind. Then again, the Daltons never got into binds, not with five brothers to pick up the slack.

  When Hank and Charlotte returned to the house, grubby and tired, his heart was near bursting. She fit so well here—fit with him. Sometimes words weren’t needed between them, and when they did speak, there was a spark.

  His body was growing impatient, but he couldn’t push her. The times she withdrew signaled to him that she might not welcome an advance.

  She used the bathroom and when she came out, he had a mug of hot chocolate prepared for her. Her mouth fell open, sweet and so damn kissable. He leaned close, and she wrapped her fingers around the mug. Their fingers brushed. Electricity zipped through his system, lighting up every corner of his lonely self.

  “I never knew a man who could make hot chocolate.”

  “This ain’t no packet mix either. It’s the real thing, milk and shaved chocolate.” Up close her eyes had blue flecks among the gray.

  “Thank you.” Was it his imagination, or was she a bit breathless?

  “I’m glad you’re here, Charlotte.”

  Slowly, she pulled away, as if finding her fingers glued, taking the mug with her. He followed her to the bottom of the stairs and watched her ass sway with every step. Not only was she tempting on the outside, she was as sweet as honey inside.

  “’Night.” His throat was dry and prickly. Maybe he should have fixed himself some hot chocolate.

  No, what he needed was a cold shower.

  * * *

  How was she supposed to work under these conditions? Charlotte could hardly think with six feet of muscled cowboy standing there watching her. Hank leaned against the counter in a beam of sunligh
t streaming through the kitchen window, arms folded, looking as if he might eat her up.

  Mrs. Dalton, or Maggie, as she’d told Charlotte to call her, had been made comfortable on a recliner her husband had dragged into the kitchen. From the depths of the cushions, she had guided Charlotte through a simple breakfast of oatmeal with fruit, a lunch of thick hamburgers on Texas toast and now an apple pie.

  Making a pie for the first time was nerve-racking enough without glancing up to find burning blue eyes on her.

  For two days since sitting on the porch swing with Hank, Charlotte had become too focused on him. She knew which line around his eyes crinkled first when he smiled and that he ate his food clockwise, finishing one whole dish before starting on the next.

  She also knew he liked looking at her.

  When had she last welcomed male attention? More than a year ago, when Stephen had picked her out at the club and asked her to dance. Within two months she’d been situated in his apartment and he was telling her who she could hang out with and which shoes to wear.

  She should have recognized how controlling he was before it was too late and he tried to dictate how many days were left of her life.

  The area on her upper thigh itched. Though the burn was healed, just thinking of Stephen made her skin crawl.

  “That’s right, Charlotte. Now lift the rolling pin carefully and set it on the edge of the pie dish.”

  With a little squeaking noise, Charlotte followed direction. She’d created a crust from scratch with flour and butter, mixing it until it was crumbling. Then she’d rolled it and now was trying to lift the delicate dough without it ripping.

  The crust started slipping, and she set the pin down so hard on the glass dish she was certain it’d chipped.

  To Hank’s credit, he didn’t laugh.

  “Just catch the edge there and shift the crust over the apples. Yes, you’ve got it. Now do this.” Maggie held her thumb and forefinger a half-inch apart and pointed at the space with her other index finger. She made a motion indicating how Charlotte should seal the edges of the crust.

  Her first attempt drew a wheeze from Hank, and she threw him the evil eye. “Don’t you dare make fun of me!”

  “I’m not. You’re doing well for a city girl.”

  She focused on two more pleats in the crust before considering his words. Since crash-landing in the middle of Nowhere, Texas, she’d learned how to gather eggs without getting pecked and how to drive a stick shift truck. Hank had not bothered to keep from laughing during her jerky attempts.

  She didn’t feel much like that girl from Phoenix who’d packed her few belongings and set out on her own. In a short time, she’d learned so much and come so far.

  One of the biggest things she’d learned was how strong her libido was. With a gorgeous cowboy nearby, she’d found her sex drive again.

  Raking her gaze from his dusty hat to the dark five o’clock shadow on his jaw, and down to the cotton T-shirt straining over his chest, she said, “I think I’m doing well for any girl, not just a city girl.”

  “You are, dear,” Maggie said.

  “Momma, you’re looking a bit tired. Can I help you to bed? Charlotte has the pie under control.”

  “All right. I don’t know why a broken ankle should sap the life from me, but it does. Give me a hand, Hank.” He mostly lifted her from the chair, planting an arm around her so she wasn’t bearing her weight. Then she hopped out of the room.

  By the time Hank returned, Charlotte had lost a little of that tingle in her belly she got when he was near.

  Then he leaned over her shoulder—warm man who smelled like soap and leather. “Momma says don’t forget to poke holes in the top crust with a fork to let the steam out.”

  She picked up a fork and jabbed it.

  “You look as if you’re trying to kill it.”

  “Kill what?” The unfamiliar voice made her jerk, and she tore a small hole in the crust.

  “Damn.”

  There was a stampede of boots, and Charlotte found four more sets of amazing blue eyes on her. She shrank against Hank, and he turned with a smile to the cowboys who were obviously his brothers.

  “I thought you guys weren’t coming back till tomorrow.”

  “Left early. The wife hu—er, thing we were doing, was slow. We thought we’d better get home to Momma. Who’s this?” The cowboy wearing a denim shirt with pearl buttons was Hank with a few less lines on his face.

  “Charlotte, these are my brothers, Cash, Kade, Witt, and Beck.” He pointed them out, and she followed, growing hotter by the second.

  “You all look alike.”

  As if he’d done it a dozen times, Hank caught her hand and placed it on his chest. The skin beneath her fingers was scorching, even with a layer of cloth between them. “I’m Hank, remember.”

  Dead silence filled the room, and Charlotte’s ears burned. She pulled her hand free and practically hid in the oven as she placed the pie inside.

  “One lousy pie? That’s it for our homecoming?” The man Hank had pointed out as Cash’s drawl sounded so much like Hank’s.

  “That’s our pie—meaning Pa, Momma, Charlotte and me. The rest of ya can go without.”

  “Aw c’mon.” Beck crowded close to Charlotte, peering into the oven at the apple pie she was extremely proud of. He had a thumb hitched in his pocket, the same gesture Hank had. “You’ll give me a slice, won’t you, Charlotte?”

  “Where’d you get her?”

  She turned from the stove. Naturally, she drifted closer to the man she was more familiar with.

  Hank almost closed the gap between them, his shoulder so close to hers that she felt his body heat. “Charlotte had car trouble. I’m working on rebuilding a transmission. In the meantime, she’s helping Momma.”

  “Where’re you sleeping?” Kade waggled his brows, and Hank’s knuckles caught his brother’s jaw lightly, whipping his head around with very little force. If he wanted to lay someone out, he had the muscle.

  “You leave off. Nothing’s going on here.”

  Wasn’t there? Could she discount toe-curling attraction that made her ache when she lay in bed at night?

  Yes, Hank was right. She was only fulfilling her side of the agreement, then she’d go on with her life. The thought of driving away from the ranch made her stomach clench. She didn’t like roaming, and she felt so comfortable here—and needed.

  “I did hear my boys’ voices.” Ted stood in the doorway, hand braced on the jamb. “Get out of your Sunday best, boys. Got work to do.”

  With a few grunts of annoyance, the guys filed out after their pa. All but Hank. He turned to her, eyes soft. The finger under her chin was softer. He tilted her face up. “You okay? They like to tease, but I won’t let them go too far.”

  “I’m fine.”

  He stared at her lips. “That’s good.”

  She waited, but he didn’t raise his gaze or remove his finger. Her belly was melted chocolate, running all over and turning her to mush. The bald desire in his gaze made her heart trip faster.

  “Actually,” his Adam’s apple worked up and down, “you’re more than fine.” He swooped in slowly, giving her time to duck. As his hard lips slanted across hers, she closed her eyes.

  Drowning in sensation and desire, she cooed. He answered with a groan, hands bracketing her face. He brushed his lips over hers harder. Again. Faster this time. With increasing pressure, he stole her mind.

  She didn’t realize she’d wound her arms around his neck until she felt the brim of his hat against her arm. He pivoted her to rest against the counter and parted her lips with his tongue.

  She gasped, giving him total access. In a blink he took advance, driving his tongue inside, curling and tasting. White-hot need pooled between her thighs, wetting her silky panties.

  He ravaged her, pulling her onto tiptoe and against his every hard inch. Through his jeans, those hard inches were quite apparent. Her nipples ached, and her pussy pulsated in rhythm to each pa
ss of his tongue.

  He planted a hand low on her back, molding her to fit his body. Her body screamed to get closer. He felt so good, tasted better. She loved the way he looked at her, and he knew how to treat a lady.

  He inched his hand down, snaking it around her hip.

  She froze.

  Feeling the change in her, he straightened. Yet he didn’t let her go. Lights burned in his eyes, but something else flickered there—uncertainty.

  “I...I’d best clean up this mess.” She darted under his arm and put distance between them. But damned if she could erase his touch. Her lips had been branded by his kisses and she felt as if honey flowed through her veins.

  That touch on her hip, so strong and sure—it was too much. He didn’t know why and she couldn’t say the words. She had to keep this from happening again.

  He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and forced her to look at him. “Charlotte, don’t pretend that didn’t happen.”

  “It shouldn’t have.”

  “It felt too good to be a ‘shouldn’t have.’”

  She loved the way he said that, but she was out of Paradise Valley Ranch as soon as Maggie was on her feet and Hank had her car fixed. Panic splashed over her. What if he refused to fix her car if she turned him away? What if he tried to throw her body into the deal?

  She met his gaze—the same gaze that had convinced her he wasn’t an ax murderer and climbing into his truck was a good idea. She still trusted him.

  “I just…need some space and time to think.”

  He released her but didn’t move away. His closeness felt so right, she longed to press her nose against his shirt and feel his arms around her again. “I understand that. I’ll be in the garage. You know where to find me.”

  As he left her alone in the kitchen with a mess of flour and mixing bowls, she couldn’t stop replaying his words. Did he mean he wasn’t going to pursue her again? If not, could she live without it?

  Chapter Four

  The crisp night air cooled the perspiration on Hank’s skin. He stretched out on his bedroll on the porch floor and stared at the stars set into a black velvet sky.

  While the universe intrigued, the butter yellow square of light cast on the yard was more interesting. His bedroom window, his light. Charlotte was still awake.