getting increasingly more complicated by the moment, Dylan thought with annoyance. Hell, before long, this woman would probably have him paying her for the privilege of working here. If he had an ounce of sense or a lick of pride, heâd get back on his bike and keep riding.
But this job had nothing to do with sense or pride, he reminded himself. With a sigh, he ran his hands through his hair and faced Jessica.
And the instant he looked at her, he knew heâd never ride on out. Her eyes, a soft deep blue, were wide as she stared back at him. A man could drown in those eyes. There was passion there. Determination. The combination of the two was deadly. Heâd never met anyone like her before. Two days ago heâd have laughed at the idea that anyone like her even existed.
But here she was, standing in front of him, her chin tilted upward, her eyes bright. She was a dreamer. An idealist. She hadnât learned yet that people couldnât be trusted. That they were only out to get what they wanted for themselves.
Sheâd learn soon enough.
He stepped closer to her. âAll right. Iâll do it. But with all this extra work and no pay, Iâm going to need a little incentive.â He lowered his voice as he searched her face. âSomething to make it worth my while.â
Her body stiffened at his suggestive tone, and when her gaze locked with his, anger darkened her eyes. âAnd what exactly would you consider worth your while, Mr. Grant?â
He leaned closer still, bringing his face within inches of hers. âYou have to cook for me.â
Dylan struggled not to laugh when Jessicaâs lips parted in surprise, and when he found himself staring at that enticing mouth longer than good sense dictated, he straightened and backed away.
âYou want me to cook for you?â
He nodded. âYou do know how to cook, donât you?â
âOf course I know how to cook.â She frowned. âBut thereâs no usable kitchen in Makeshift. Unless I go to town or to one of my brothersâ places, itâs sandwiches and raw vegetables.â
âSandwiches are fine for lunch, but I want a hot meal at night and a big breakfast every morning.â He took malicious delight in the gasp Jessica uttered. âAnd if I see so much as one raw vegetable, Iâm out of here.â
She folded her arms and faced him. âAnd just how do you expect me to cook without a stove or oven?â
âWellââ Dylan scratched at his chin thoughtfully ââpeople ate hot food here before, didnât they?â
âYes,â she answered carefully.
âSo I guess if you were going to figure out how to rebuild this town without blueprints, you can figure out how to cook without electricity.â
Cook without electricity? Jessica stared at him. She was still reeling from his first assault on her senses, when sheâd thought he was about to proposition her. Sheâd been furious, of course, and ready to tell him where he could go. And yet, at the same time, sheâd felt an excitement course through her. Then when heâd told her he wanted her to cook for him, heâd caught her completely off guard again. Sheâd always been so sure of herself. Of who she was and what she wanted. For the first time, she felt off-key and out of balance.
She didnât like it one bit.
This project, like the man standing in front of her, was getting more complicated by the minute. But what choice did she have? She had no idea where to begin, but as heâd said, sheâd figure it out.
She sighed heavily and shook her head. âAll right, Dylan. But letâs hope it wonât be your words you eat, instead of my food. Either one is going to be hard to chew.â
* * *
âHeâs staying, Lucas! Heâs staying!â
Lucas smiled as Meggie floated upward toward the saloon ceiling and spun. Heâd never tire of watching her. One hundred and