Dylan Read Online Free PDF Page A

she’d married.
    She wouldn’t have run off with the same man again and left Jesse twisting in the wind, would she? Dylan started to think about it, but knew it was useless; women operated on their own plane of existence sometimes, leaving men without a clue as to their thoughts.
    â€œNot my worry, not my problem.” That was Dylan’s motto since his girlfriend had left him to make her mark on the archaeological community.
    He poured water and measured scoops of coffee into the drip pot. Banging open cabinet doors, prowling over to the refrigerator, he opened up the meat drawer and found a ham steak, snagged three eggs and the margarine, and finally had everything he needed to fix his breakfast except bread.
    â€œMaybe I could ask Emily if she knows how to make Irish soda bread,” he mused, hunting up and finding two clean frying pans. “There’s just something about it toasted, slathered with sweet cream butter.”
    While the meat was heating in one frying pan, he cracked the eggs against the side of another one-handed. He’d inherited his big hands from his grandfather; all three brothers had. Good thing. They needed them to work the ranch and keep the place from falling down around their ears.
    With his hands busy, his mind wandered, replaying events from the night before with a twist. The image of the blindfolded brunette got stuck in it. As he lassoed and reeled her in, the desire in her eyes beckoned to him. He knew without asking that she’d wait for him, ready to run her hands up and over his shoulders, sliding them down to grab him by his ass—
    Grease from the pan spattered the bare skin below his navel. “Shit!” Grabbing the dishcloth, he ran it under cold water and tried to cool the heat of the burn. “Damn, it’s a good thing I’m not as tall as Jesse, or that’d have burned something important.” Still grumbling he added, “That woman’s trouble and she’s not even here!”
    You should have put your pants on. You’re burning daylight, Son.
    â€œGee, thanks for the advice, but you always said we only had to dress if a woman was in the house.”
    His grandfather had always reminded them that dungarees were made of tough material that would save their legs riding the range—and would have saved his skin from grease burns. They were always trying to beat the clock, getting their chores done before they ran out of daylight. The old man had taught them that putting their pants on before breakfast would save time if they didn’t have to go back upstairs to get dressed before going outside.
    Irritated that he was seeing visions of the beauty from last night who’d turned him down and imagining that he was hearing voices in his head, he bit out, “Maybe I should saddle up wearing my damned boxers, like that time I was eight years old and hell-bent on riding out in my underwear.”
    He shook his head, remembering the beating his legs had taken after riding a few short miles before he turned back to doctor the scratches on his legs and put on his jeans. His mind wandered back to last night and the dark-haired woman who’d captured his eye and then stomped on his heart when she refused to wait for him, ignoring the sensual pull they both felt when their lips met. Sizzling and the scent of meat about to burn brought him back to the present. “Damn. I’m gonna have to work hard to keep my mind focused today until I can get my hands on that female.” He grinned. “Just because she turned me down is no reason to back off.”
    By the time he’d fried the ham and eggs and ate them, he’d used up half an hour’s time. “At this rate, I’ll never get to the repairs on the barn roof, which I can’t start until after I help round up those strays.” His never-ending list of chores dwindled by the end of each day, but seemed to grow by leaps and bounds overnight. Tyler