Honey Pie (Cupcake Club) - By Donna Kauffman Page 0,49

changed swiftly to pleasure, as it was clear she welcomed the chance to talk up one of her favorite people. “Well, we had such a mild winter, things weren’t as bad off in the early season as they usually are, so it’s been going fine. Could do without this heat so early on, of course,” she added, then smiled, “but men have to complain about something or it wouldn’t feel right.”

Dylan nodded. “Mr. Hughes helping out like he did last season?”

“You know, his hip has been bothering him something fierce of late, but will he let that slow him down? Of course not.” Barbara harrumphed. “I’ve been trying to get him to see Doc Sievers about it, but he’s a stubborn one.”

“Probably good to keep him off the boat then, till he’s a bit steadier. Wouldn’t do John John any good to have him fall and hurt something when the boat takes a hard rock.”

“I’ve made that same argument till I’m blue in the face, trust me. Turns a deaf ear when he doesn’t want to hear something.”

Dylan nodded, paused, then said, “You want me to mention it to him when I bring the lawnmower part back? Maybe comin’ from someone other than—”

“A nagging wife?” Barbara laughed when Dylan’s neck got a little red. “Might as well call it like it is. And I’ll take any help I can get. Don’t be surprised though, if he acts like he hasn’t a clue what you’re talking about.”

Dylan nodded. “I won’t.” He tipped his head and lifted the basket. “Thanks for the supply rations. We should probably get on the road.”

“Happy to do it.” Barbara beamed and started to turn to help Honey up, but Dylan deftly shifted between the two as Honey stood on her own.

“You all have a safe trip, now. I’ll save some cobbler for you. Oh! I left water on to boil!”

“You best get to that then,” Dylan said, already following Honey down the steps.

“Thank you, Mrs. Hughes,” Honey called out.

The older woman merely tossed a quick wave over her head as she hustled back inside.

Honey turned to Dylan. “Thank you for doing that. I’m sure the last thing you want to be doing is talking to Mr. Hughes about his bum hip. But if we can keep him off that boat—”

Dylan glanced at her. “Don’t worry, all right?”

Honey met his gaze, her mouth curving in a dry smile. “Easy for you to say.”

He stowed the basket in a bin container in the bed of his truck, gave Lolly a head scratch, and opened the passenger door for Honey so she could climb inside.

He closed the door after she was settled, then surprised her by leaning in the open window. His smile was slow, sexy as all hell, and made her heart pound all over again . . . for entirely different reasons.

“Sugar . . . nothin’ about you is easy.”

Chapter 9

Somehow, in the span of a short forty-eight hours, Dylan’s life had been tossed up in the air, twisted inside out, and had come flopping back down in a completely unrecognizable form. At least, that’s how it felt.

He’d been perfectly happy to work in his garage, fixing what was broken, then head home, work on his boat, have a glass of something cold, maybe a steak, and a decent view of the sunset. It was a peaceful, contented life, and one he was damn grateful for. Hell, adding a dog to that equation had been enough of an adjustment. More than enough.

Between the fire last year, starting over with the new garage location, and taking on the care and feeding of a four-legged companion, he’d had about all the upheaval and change he could stand. He was all set to keep things status quo well into the foreseeable future.

Then Honey D’Amourvell had shown up and shot his peaceful, easy existence all to hell and back. And he wasn’t happy about it. Not one bit.

So why on God’s green earth was he whistling—whistling, for Godsake—as he drove back to the county courthouse complex to pick her up for the drive back to Sugarberry? It certainly wasn’t because he was looking forward to the torture that surely awaited when she climbed in next to him with that odd exotic scent of hers, and those soul-exposing eyes. He’d be perfectly willing to keep his hands to himself if that’s all it was, but then she’d say something or he’d see that look on her face, and his protective instincts would