“You didn’t have to do anything—”
He stood up to his full height and stared me down. “Accept the help, Diana.”
I blew out a breath and kept watching him, still trying to see why he looked different.
He crossed his arms over his chest, and it took every single ounce of strength I had to not glance at the eagle head. “Is it everyone or just from me?”
Pinching my lips together, I brought my hand to my chest and watched as he glanced at it. I’d swear a tendon in his neck popped. But I told him the truth. “You, mostly. I don’t want to take advantage of you. I’m not shy about asking for things.”
“I didn’t think you knew how to be shy.” He raised an eyebrow. “You’re not taking advantage of me. We talked about this already.”
“Fine, but I don’t want to make you feel weird either.”
His reply was low and steady. “I’ve seen you in your underwear and combed nits out of your hair, baby. I think we’re past that.”
I focused on one thing and one thing only.
Baby?
Me?
I was still thinking about his word choice when he asked, “How’s your hand?”
What hand? There was something wrong with my hand?
“Your burned hand,” he said, raising both his eyebrows, a slight smile playing at his lips.
Jesus Christ. I’d lost it. I swallowed. “Same old. It hurts. I’m taking some pain medication when it gets really bad, but not a lot. I have to rubber band a bag around my hand to shower. I cut myself shaving. I haven’t shampooed my hair in five days. It takes me longer to do everything with this thing, but I’ll live.” Poor and in pain, but it could be worse. “Can I help you with anything?”
“Nope.”
“Really. I can help. I have one good hand, and I’m bored out of my mind. It’s only been a few days, but I don’t know how I’m going to make it being stuck at home.” That was putting it lightly. I’d gone to help my mom at the store she worked at, but only made it three hours before her comments about my intelligence—because who goes into a burning house?—got to be too much and I left.
Those hazel eyes were on me for a couple of seconds before his mouth twitched. His hands went to his hips and I told myself, Don’t fucking look, Diana. Don’t look down.
The question was out of my mouth before I could stop myself. “Are you really patriotic or do you just like eagles?”
His eyebrows went up and with a straight face, he glanced down at his chest before focusing back on me. “My dad had this tattoo on his arm.” Then, like what I’d asked was no big deal, he asked, “You need something to do?”
I nodded, telling myself to let the tattoo go.
“You sure? You’ll only use one hand?”
Why was the first thought that popped into my head a dirty one?
And why did my face turn red as I thought that over?
“Cross my heart.”
Dallas tipped his head to the side. “You didn’t start on Louie’s quarterpipe while I was gone, did you?”
There it was. Another reminder he’d gone somewhere. Hmm. “Nope.”
“Then you can help me build it.”
The “shit” came out of my mouth before I could stop it and he smiled.
“Or I can do it alone.” He paused for all of a second before saying, “If you tell me you can do it by yourself—”
I rolled my eyes. “No,” I mumbled. “If you insist on helping, we can do it together, and by together, I mean you’re going to be stuck doing most of it because I only have one hand, but I’ll try my best.” I shrugged. “It would be nice to surprise him tomorrow. He’s spending the night with the Larsens today. You think we can get it done?”
The small smile that came over Dallas’s mouth was like a roman candle straight to my heart. “We can try our best,” he offered with all that patience and easygoing nature that cried out to me.
What I wouldn’t do for the best of Dallas Walker. But all I said was, “Okay. I’m ready when you are.”
“Give me fifteen so I can finish up here and get this thing across the street,” he compromised.
I nodded. “I’ll meet you in the backyard.”
It didn’t take him the full fifteen minutes to make his way over. I’d grabbed my gardening gloves from the shed while I waited and slipped one on, and after thinking about it for a moment, got my toolbox out again too. I still didn’t understand what had come over him that other night, but he hadn’t brought it up, and I wasn’t going to either. The only thing I wanted to talk about was where he had gone to, but I made a promise to myself I wasn’t going to ask. I wasn’t.
Dallas had come prepared too from the looks of it as he opened the gate and closed it behind him, giving Mac—who was outside with me—a rub on the head. Unfortunately, or I guessed fortunately, he’d put on a T-shirt. It was one of his threadbare shirts that he usually worked in from the stains all over random places on it.
“I know they’re old.”
I raised my eyes to his and frowned. “What?”
“My clothes,” he said, giving me his back as he went straight toward one of the crates, his hammer in his hand. He went ahead and pried the lid off with the claw side of the hammer. “I hate shopping.”
Straightening up, I kept frowning at him, suddenly embarrassed that he’d caught me looking at what he was wearing. “They’re fine,” I told him slowly. “The whole purpose is not to be naked, isn’t it?”
He “hmmed” as he moved to the corner of the box furthest away from me.
“I don’t buy new clothes that often either,” I tried to offer him. “If I didn’t have to dress up for work, I wouldn’t, and I’ve had all those for years now. The boys grow so fast and tear up their stuff so easily, they’re the only ones who get new things regularly in our house.”
“Nana’s always giving me grief over them,” he said, quietly or maybe he was just distracted, I wasn’t sure. “She says the ladies like a well-put-together man.”
That made me laugh. “Maybe for an idiot. I went on a few dates with this one guy a few years ago who dressed better than I did, and you know what? He lived with his parents and they still paid his car insurance. I know I’m not one to talk because it took me forever to get my shit together—and even now, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing half the time—but everyone should have some priorities in life. Trust me when I tell you, clothing isn’t everything.”
Dallas briefly glanced up at me as he moved to another corner with his hammer. “One of the only things I remember about my dad is that he never matched unless he was in his uniform. Ever. My mom laughed at how much effort he didn’t put into his clothes.” I could see the corner of his mouth tip into a smile at the memory, and just as quickly as it appeared, it disappeared. “When I tried living with my ex for those two months after I got back on land, she wouldn’t let me go anywhere with her unless I changed. She said I made her feel poor.”
Now I wasn’t just going to have to kill his future wife, I was going to have to kill his ex, too. God. My question came out more gritted than I’d intended. “And did you? Change?”