The visual image was all too real. A blush threatened. She'd never dealt with a man as physical as Kason. He was all testosterone.
He also disliked her. His true desire was to kick her to the curb. “No sex.”
“No trailer.”
Stalemate. Dayne's mind went blank. She had no alternative plan. The man was a ticking time bomb.
Cimarron's sudden whining drew her to the couch. The big dog lay on his belly, pawing the worn shag carpet. Cim swiped his front paw near the short wooden leg in an attempt to retrieve something.
“What's under there, boy?” Curious, Dayne moved to the sofa and dropped to her knees. She lifted the leg, and the world according to Cimarron came clear.
Six toys resided beneath the couch. Cim sniffed out his favorite: a ten-inch wooden butcher's bone, heavily teeth-marked. Once it was retrieved, the dog turned toward Kason, his stubby tail wagging as he showed off his prize.
“So that's where you hid it.” Kason patted Cimarron's head. “Good score, buddy.”
Dayne's hand shook as she looked beyond the dust and slowly took in the remaining dog toys, all well chewed. The roped legs of a plaid octopus were nearly shredded. Two tennis balls had been bitten in half.
Cob webbed in one corner, a dirty pair of men's socks, a gnawed leather belt, and a jock strap had also gone missing. A torn scrap of paper from an electric bill showed Kason's first name, amount to be paid, and the date issued.
January 16.
The snowstorm had driven her down the road in February.
Realization stalled her breath and she grew lightheaded. The items beneath the couch were old, used, and proved Kason had lived in the double-wide long before her arrival. She'd trespassed in her takeover.
“You need to vacuum,” was all she could manage as she lowered the sofa and died a slow death.
“Cim likes to chase dust bunnies.” Kason's voice was barely audible over the onslaught of her headache.
The pounding at her temples forced her to press her palms against her eyes and push back the pain. Loose strands of hair swept her cheeks, hiding her face from him.
“How long have you lived here?” She kept her head low.
“Nine months, off and on.”
“I showed up when you were off.”
“I spent six weeks out of town.”
“And I took over your trailer.”
“I tried to tell you.” His tone was even, direct.
She tucked her hair behind her ears, cut him a glance. “But I wouldn't listen.”
“You're stubborn to a fault.”
In this case she had been. She'd needed to escape her past for a short time and regroup. The forsaken trailer had provided a safety net.
Kason's ownership pedaled her down the road.
She eased to her feet, in need of an aspirin. “I'm hungry,” she stated. She thought better on a full stomach.
His lip curled. “You've worked up quite an appetite hanging curtains, changing locks, kidnapping my dog, and smashing your cell phone.”
“All in a day's work.”
“Add packing and moving to your work list.”
She brushed passed him, her chin in the air. “It's at the bottom of my to-dos.”
Kason Rhodes studied Dayne closely. She should have looked dejected, even frightened, yet determination squared her shoulders as she went about fixing dinner.
“Breathe in; breathe out; move on.” The softly spoken mantra seemed to center her.
“You sharing food?” he asked as she opened a family-sized bottle of Tylenol and tapped out two tablets.
“Is the guest room open for another night?” She downed the medicine with a glass of water.
“Depends on what you're cooking.”
“Macaroni and cheese.”
A boyhood favorite. He scruffed his knuckles over his jaw. “I'll give it some thought.”
“Decide before you eat.”
His gaze hit on her belly as she stretched to retrieve an enormous box of mac and cheese from the top shelf in the cupboard. Her stomach was flat and tight, her navel now pierced with a tiny pink butterfly. He was disappointed when the white Alice Cooper tank top again settled over her sweats. Tomboy had a thing for rockers.
Resting one hip against the counter, he crossed his arms over his chest and contemplated how best to get his share without committing to another sleepover.
While the noodles boiled, Dayne heated the defrosted peas. She then went on to make dessert, a batch of butterscotch pudding.
Kason wasn't much of a sweet eater, but pudding took him back to the one good memory of his childhood. To the time he lived with his great-uncle Dave.
Dave had been a man of habit. He'd made the same dessert every Sunday for the two years Kason had lived with him. When Dave had worked overtime, they'd splurged and topped the pudding with whipped cream.
Kason remained standing until Dayne finished cooking. He felt a heartbeat of relief when she withdrew two paper plates from a packet of five hundred and piled each with dinner.
His relief was short-lived.
“Cimarron,” she called to the Dobie.
Cim left his butcher bone and went to her.
Kason stood, immobile and disbelieving, as Dayne set his dinner before his dog. Cimarron wolfed the macaroni and cheese in two big gulps. Son of a bitch.
“Seconds?” she asked Cimarron.
“He's full,” Kason stated.
“Maybe Cim would like some peas.”
“Not his favorite,” said Kason. “He spits them like a peashooter.”
“More for me.” She poured the peas into a large plastic bowl.
Kason wasn't a big fan of peas, but when a man was hungry, food was food. He'd yet to pick up his own groceries. He had no desire to drive to the restaurant at Tri-Corners. “What about me?”
“You eat, I sleep.” Tomboy played hardball.
Another night in his trailer? What the hell? Macaroni and cheese and butterscotch pudding mellowed his mood. “Agreed.”
Visible relief softened her features. She looked almost pretty. Until she scrunched up her nose, jabbed the bowl of peas into his chest, and commanded, “Make yourself useful.” Kason carried the bowl to the table.
At the counter, Dayne divided the remainder of the mac and cheese between them, then went as far as to give him the bigger portion of butterscotch pudding. Bribery was good. He might let Cimarron sleep on her bed again tonight.