Redwood Bend (Virgin River #18)(14)

“Yeah, but you’re not stupid anymore,” Stu said. “You’re older now.”

Dylan opened his mouth to speak, to explain that it was more complicated than that, that he had an entire family there in various levels of fame and infamy, from his half sister’s chronic problems with drugs to his half brother’s long running habit of trashing hotel rooms in which  p**n  stars or hookers always seemed to be present. One stepsister was in drug treatment and a stepbrother in jail for dealing. And that was not to mention his mother, who he considered the worst of all. But before he could say any more, Lang put a firm hand on his shoulder and, in the dark, gave his head the smallest shake.

Don’t bother, he was saying. “All Stu wants is a girl to spend the night with. He’s not going to understand any of this.”

“Right,” Dylan said. “So I’ll get in touch with Jay and find out if this is just a lot of talk or if there’s real interest with a contract and money attached. And if it’s a way to keep us afloat a couple of years, I’ll consider it.”

Stu grinned hugely and stood up. “Call if you need backup on that movie or at some Hollywood parties!”

“You’ll be the first,” Dylan said drily.

And Stu ambled off to his cabin.

It was quiet around the fire for a minute before Lang said, “You probably should’ve told him you’re not keeping the BBJ, even if you get an Oscar.”

Dylan laughed.

“Don’t do this unless it really feels right,” Lang said. “Don’t do it for me. I can always manage, you know that.”

“Yeah? You have a wife and five kids.”

“Five brilliant kids. I’ll rent ’em out. Sell ’em to the circus.”

Dylan laughed with a shaking of his head. Lang and Sue Ann were the most devoted and conscientious parents Dylan had ever known.

“Seriously.”

“Yeah, trust me—I’m not stupid anymore,” he said, echoing Stu. “I’m older now.” And then with a touch of solemnity he said, “Trust me. I take this very seriously. Jay Romney’s a decent guy or I wouldn’t even talk to him.”

Lang stood up. “Do what you want, I’ve always got your back. But I’m with Walt—it doesn’t take that much to keep me happy and working. I’d be happy to run that snowplow around town until Childress Aviation gets on its feet again. I’m better at driving a snowplow than running a company anyway.”

Dylan stood and put out his hand. “Thanks, Lang. Can you manage without me while I stay behind?”

“You have to ask?”

“This is your chance to file a complaint with management.”

Lang just gave a snort of laughter. “You going to bed?” Lang asked.

“I might sit here awhile.”

“Kill the fire,” Lang reminded him. “See you in the morning. I expect a good send-off.”

Four

Katie laughed at what seemed like a perfect life shaping up. She’d had a great dinner with her brother last night—burgers on the grill with Leslie. She took her boys to the new Virgin River school, introduced them to Miss Timm, the teacher, and signed them up for the summer camp program. They needed at least one program to keep them busy, and to keep them from becoming bear food. She couldn’t watch them every second. Then she went back to her enchanted cabin in the woods and installed the newly purchased TV in the loft, hooking it up to the satellite dish. Then she changed her oil.

How sexy, she thought. Well, after a major trip, that was a good idea, and these were the kinds of things it was always hard to find time for. When she’d finished and used a cone to pour the oil into an empty plastic milk container for discarding, she relaxed on her porch with a soda. She drank it out of the can and put her feet up on the porch rail. A small shaft of sunlight on the porch warmed her bare legs; it was nice to finally be in shorts again. Summer in the mountains would be so much more comfortable than the hot, steamy summers of Sacramento had been.

The hood of the SUV was still up, the jug of oil sitting next to the oil-coated pan on the ground and she thought, I am seriously demented, because I consider this a flawless life. Time for everything. No rush. Someone else watching the boys for a while. Isolated in the woods, surrounded by the beauty of nature. In fact, if it hadn’t been marred by the growl of an engine, she would think she was in the Garden of Eden.

And then he drove his motorcycle right into her yard.

She didn’t move a muscle, but took a drink of her cola as he, hidden behind the dark visor of his helmet, revved his engine a couple of times.

Then he shut down and got off the bike, dragging off the helmet. She gave herself a lot of credit for not sharply inhaling at the shock of his good looks. He swaggered toward her, peeling off his gloves. He had that swagger thing down; it was probably due to the constriction of the tight jeans around his hips. She took another slow slug of the soda. “Lost?” she finally asked.

“Just checking out the back roads,” he answered. “Car trouble?”

“Nope. Everything’s fine.”

“You usually park with the hood up like that?”

“I just changed the oil,” she informed him. “Lots of miles on that car in the last few months. I just moved here from Vermont.”

He grinned at her and touched his cheek, indicating the oil on hers. “You might’a got a little on you, there.”