order. As well, the dining room’s family-style tables and picnic benches were due for delivery soon. D.J. had even secured a staff, thanks to the guidance of Grant Clifton, and some of them were in back, experimenting with cooking gadgets and listening to the expertise of current employees brought over from already existing Rib Shacks. D.J. had known he could depend on Grant for anything, especially since his high school pal had played a major part in bringing this restaurant to Thunder Canyon.
Now, D.J. stood at the long bar lining the left side of the room across from where the mural would lord it over the diners. He was tinkering with the frame of one of the sepia ranch photos that would decorate the rough-pine walls. Yet, even though he was at work, he couldn’t help glancing at Allaire every few seconds as she immersed herself in her art.
It was something to behold, although D.J. knew the poetry of her motion wouldn’t speak to everyone. Certainly her beauty—even hidden beneath roomy overalls and a gray thermal shirt—would enthrall most. But the mere sight of Allaire tilting her head as she considered where to use a certain color was pure magic to D.J. Maybe it was because he could sense the deep thoughts going into every brushstroke… or maybe it was because he’d never been able to keep his eyes off of her anyway.
Damn it, with each of her visits, he couldn’t help but to admit the truth: he’d never stopped loving her.
So, what was he going to do about it? Stand back, just as he’d done when they were younger? Was that the best choice when all he wanted to do was make her happy?
She was over Dax—he was becoming surer of that each day. From chatting with his friends while taking care to hide his true feelings, D.J. had discerned that Dax and Allaire’s marriage had gradually waned. Actually, the boys said that the only reason the couple had stayed together for as long as they had was that neither person had wanted to give up. D.J. could understand this coming from both Allaire, a woman ultrasensitive to what others thought, and his brother. D.J. knew competitive Dax was stubborn, and a divorce would mean he hadn’t won.
Or maybe there was more to it—if only D.J. were to hear Dax’s side, he wouldn’t have to listen to what others were saying about him.
But neither brother had contacted the other, and that spoke louder than any chatter.
Done with the frame, D.J. went back into the kitchen, where he gave himself a break from being around Allaire. Seeing her was enough to recall Open-School Night, when she’d reminded him that they were just buddies after he’d asked her to the Shack’s grand opening. That was one of the reasons he had never gotten up enough guts to ask her out pre-Dax, and the reminder hadn’t exactly been encouraging.
Needing a distraction, D.J. whipped up a batch of ribs for dinner as the new line cooks gathered round.
Eventually he emerged from the back, finding Allaire on her knees, texturing a horse’s hoof. The mural surrounded her with like images: cowboys, miners, even The Hitching Post—the town’s old, so-called brothel-turned-bar-and-grill. The ironic parallel to the state of today’s Thunder Canyon didn’t escape D.J.; upon his return, it’d been a shock to see how commercial everything had become. Then again, a gold strike and a multimillion-dollar resort could do that to a place.
A few minutes later, when Allaire paused in her task, D.J. shuffled around, not wanting to sneak up on her. She jumped anyway, hand to her heart as she turned around and laughed.
“I get so caught up,” she said.
“It looks perfect.”
He bent to a knee, handing her a plate filled with ribs, coleslaw, home-fried potatoes and a slab of corn bread.
Allaire ran to the washroom to clean up. In the meantime, D.J. settled himself on the floor since there wasn’t any furniture yet. The aroma of his sauce, slathered over the meat, made his mouth water; he hadn’t eaten since an early lunch meeting with Grant.
However, when Allaire returned and made herself cozy on the plastic covering the carpet, D.J. saw that she picked right over the ribs and preferred the coleslaw. Hmmm. People generally went face-first into his main course.
She noticed his reaction and smiled. “Hate to break it you, but I’m a vegetarian.”
He almost choked on his meal. “Since when?”
Allaire raised her gaze in thought. It was cute enough to make him forget everything and scoop her right against him.
But…he knew better. He’d been trained well.
“I believe it’s been a little over a month now.” Allaire made a sorry-about-that expression and nibbled on the slaw. “This is great, though.”
“A month? Allaire, when we used to go to that drive-in burger joint off Main Street, weren’t you the girl who wolfed down the Monster Special?”
“At Digger’s?” Now she looked dreamy, as if recalling the taste of those meals they’d grabbed on the weekends. “That was me, all right.” Then she seemed to remember her resolve. “But those days are over. I read Fast Food Nation. Do you know what goes into mass-produced beef?”
“Whoa, whoa.” D.J. held up his sauce-coated hand. “I deal directly with private ranchers who have standards. That’s why I serve modest food that’s just upscale enough for the Thunder Canyon Resort.”
He sent her a cocky grin.
“Oh, you’re so cool.” She took a bite of the corn bread, then closed her eyes and dramatically fell to her side. “The bread. The bread. I’m in heaven.”
At pleasing her, D.J.’s chest swelled. However, his body swelled in another region altogether as she lay on the floor, smiling as if he’d just satisfied her deepest craving.
He calmed himself. Right. Dream on.
“Feel free to catch a wink or two while you’re at it,” he said.
“Maybe I will. Working these hours has been getting to me, but you know what? I wouldn’t want to be doing anything else.”
He knew it—art was Allaire’s escape. And, from what he’d pieced together about her divorce, he realized she yearned for the freedom to fly away, even mentally.
From the floor, she grinned at him again, and he couldn’t help doing the same. Yet then he realized he probably had a face full of sauce, and the moment dissolved as he reached for a packet of moistened towelettes and used one.
When he was done, Allaire pushed herself to a sitting position. “You missed a spot.”
She took another towelette and moved toward him, close enough for him to breathe in her soft perfume, the lotion she used on her skin.
God…
With care, she ran the cloth under his bottom lip, and D.J.’s eyes fluttered shut in primal response. His chest throbbed, the cadence echoing low in his belly as he imagined Allaire in their house, at their dinner table taking care of him.
It should’ve been that way, D.J. thought. He should’ve been the one who’d courted her. He should’ve been the one asking Dax to be his best man, because by then, with Allaire at D.J.’s side, it would’ve been so much easier to find peace with his brother.
But in the next heartbeat, D.J.’s eyes had opened, and what he saw was the reality.
Allaire was watching him with wide eyes. He could see her questions, the fear that D.J. would once more step over the line of their friendship. He’d done it last week, too, at Open-School Night, when he’d told her that there’d never been anyone else like her in his life.
Yeah, he’d spun that into a joke—one he doubted Allaire bought—but it’d been the truth. And, for the first time ever, being honest about his feelings had been liberating…until he realized that Allaire probably didn’t want to hear what he had to offer.
He would always be her pal.
As if to prove that, she patted his face