I knew what Dylan was thanking me for. When my uncle had swallowed a bottle of pills, Natalie and I had felt helpless as to how to help our mother and grandparents deal with their grief. In our need to do something, to learn the right things to say, we’d devoured books on the stages of grief and how to cope. We’d learned that all you could do for someone was to be there for them, to listen without offering all the clichés such as time heals, blah, blah, blah.

In one book, something about laughter had caught our attention. A woman the author had interviewed said that she started to come out of her depression from losing her husband when her best friend had managed to get her to laugh again. I’d remembered reading that and wondered if it would work with Dylan.

While he was showering, I’d come up with the idea of milk and cookies and stupid jokes. Fortunately he’d had the bag of chocolate chip cookies, so I went with it, and now he was thanking me. He’d scared me there for a while, and he’d also left me with more questions than he’d answered.

As I listened to his breathing relax into that of sleep, I placed my hand over the one he had against my stomach. It was a big hand. A strong one. I was getting to know him, and I had no doubt that his mind was strong enough to get him through what had happened.

He cared—too much, maybe—about those under his protection. I couldn’t guess what had brought his wife to believe she couldn’t face another day, and hoped someday he’d tell me. But I did know one thing. Dylan was a good man, not one who would drive a woman to take her life. I just knew that in my heart. Maybe she had a chemical imbalance or maybe suffered from chronic depression.

Or I could be totally fooling myself, seeing only what I wanted to see where Dylan Conrad was concerned. Men were good at hiding their dark side. Take Chad. Who knew those puppy-dog brown eyes hid a total jerkface? With Dylan, his eyes said this is me, take me with all my faults or don’t. I decided I’d take him.

His big body was curled around mine, and as he held me in his arms, I whispered, “I’m ready, Dylan.” He was asleep and didn’t hear me, but I’d said the words for me. Everything about this man called to me, and I suddenly wondered what I was waiting for. He wanted me, and I wanted him, and I couldn’t think of a single reason to wait any longer.

My being with him wouldn’t change my plans. He wasn’t that important to me. I wouldn’t let him be. But as long as he wanted to be with me, I was his. Until I left. I drifted off, wishing he’d stayed awake long enough to make love to me.

The aroma of coffee and bacon drifted into my nose, and I rolled over, yawning widely. When I opened my eyes, my gaze settled on the window and a view of the mountains that I didn’t have from my bedroom. It took a few seconds before I remembered I was in Dylan’s bed. I stretched, wishing he were still next to me so I could tell him I was ready. We’d have morning sex, which I loved because joining my body with a man’s when sleep still held us both in its thrall was dreamy good, like a scene seen through a hazy camera lens. Soft and magical.

The sheet where he’d lain was cool when I put my hand on it, so he’d left some time ago. The bed was so snuggly, though, that instead of getting up like I should have, I curled my body into a ball and drifted back to sleep.

“Wake up, Red.”

“Mm?” I stretched like a lazy cat. Not a morning person, the one thing that could get me out of bed was the smell of bacon. I opened my eyes to see a piece held under my nose.

“Oh no you don’t,” Dylan said when I snapped at it, trying to get it in my mouth. He pulled it away. “Up with you. Breakfast is ready.”

“Meanie,” I grumbled when he pulled off the covers. But bacon. Yeah, I’d get up for that. I brushed my teeth, combed my hair, slipped on the jeans and T-shirt I’d brought, and then headed for the kitchen.

“Morning, Jenny.”

Dylan put an omelet, bacon, and toast in front of me. I might marry this man, after all. Never had any guy I’d dated made me breakfast, even after we’d had sex. What kind of creature was this man?

“Got one for you,” he said.

“One what?”

“A dumb joke that will beat yours. What happens when a frog’s car breaks down?”

“It gets toad away.”

“No fair.” He grinned, and I saw a wholly different man from the one who’d broken down last night.

“All’s fair in a bad joke war.” I wanted to tell him I loved the light in his eyes I was seeing, but that would only remind him of last night.

“So no rules? I like it.”

“Uh-oh, I think I’ve created a bad joke monster.”

“Entirely possible. Listen, about our waterfall plans for Saturday. I’ve been issued an invitation with the implication that I couldn’t refuse to attend that barbeque the mayor’s daughter mentioned Monday morning.”

Did I say that I didn’t like Stephanie? She was making a play for Dylan, just like she’d gone after my high school boyfriend, he of the cheating heart. “The mayor speaks, people listen.” I hated how snarky that came out, especially when Dylan raised a brow.

“Of course you have to go.” I smiled to show him I meant it.

“It’s at four. Are you ever able to get a weekend night off? I’d like you to come with me.”

“I wasn’t invited.” That would really get Stephanie’s goat if I showed up on Dylan’s arm.

“I’m inviting you.”

It was tempting just to see the look on Stephanie’s face. “Let me see what I can do.”

He reached over and put his hand on mine. “Try hard. I need you to protect me from man-eaters.”

Who could resist that lopsided smile? Not me, obviously. “I’ll let you know tomorrow.” I never asked for time off, so Angelo should give me the day, although he wouldn’t be happy about it. No one sold as much behind the bar as me.

“Good. Now give me your phone number so I can call you.”

The talk at the bar Wednesday night was nothing but Billy Jansen and his wife. Some claimed knowledge that he hit Gertie regularly. Others said that wasn’t true, that it was losing his job that set him off. One jerkface blamed Dylan.

“If that new big-city cop hadn’t a fired him, he wouldn’t a done what he did. No man likes not being able to support his family. That’s what drove him to beat on Gertie.”

I wanted to throw a mug of beer in his face. Normally I kept my mouth shut when customers talked, no matter what they said, but I couldn’t let that go.

“Freddie Barnes, you and the whole town knows Billy Jansen was a hothead. If the new chief fired him, then he had a good reason.” I slid his beer to him instead of dumping it on him like I wanted to. Freddie was one of the councilmen, and in his position he should keep his mouth shut.

A few people nodded in agreement, sharing stories of times Billy’s temper had gotten out of hand. Some I’d heard, but many I hadn’t, and none of them were good. Maybe Gertie did the world a favor. I felt sorry for her and hoped she didn’t end up going to prison. She was a nice woman.

I had my back to the bar, ringing up a meal ticket, when it got real quiet. A glance in the mirror behind the shelves holding liquor bottles had me holding my breath. Dylan had just walked in, and the only empty seat was next to Freddie. He slid onto the bar stool, gave me a wink when I glanced at him—which made my heart merrily beat—then glanced around at the people who were silently staring at him.

Dylan held out his hand to Freddie. “Dylan Conrad. I’m Blue Ridge Valley’s new police chief.”

“I know who you are.” Freddie glared at Dylan’s hand.

I think everyone at the bar held their breath along with me, waiting to see how Dylan would react to the snub. Any other man would have dropped his hand by now, but Dylan, holding his smile, kept his stretched out toward Freddie.

“Freddie Barnes.” A collective exhale of breaths—including mine—sounded when Freddie finally shook Dylan’s hand.

“I hear those boiled peanuts of yours are addicting,” Dylan said. “Never had ’em boiled.”

“You come by my peanut stand tomorrow, city boy, I’ll show ya what you been missing.”

I put a bottle of Green Man beer in front of Dylan while he listened for the next ten minutes to Freddie give a detailed account of how much salt went in the peanuts, how long they needed to boil, and how much wood it took to keep the boiling pot going at just the right temperature.

God bless Dylan. He didn’t yawn once. When Freddie’s meat-loaded pizza arrived, interrupting his discourse on how to make perfectly boiled peanuts, Dylan caught my attention. “Could I get an antipasto plate, Red?”

“You bet.” I wanted to crawl across the bar and kiss him silly, but settled for giving him a smile, which he returned.

Even though I was busy filling drink orders and delivering meals, I listened as Dylan charmed every person at the bar, including Freddie. He took his time eating his antipasto, waving good-bye as people left. Was he hanging around, waiting for me to get off?

Turned out he was. “Are you really going to eat boiled peanuts?” I asked as I wiped down the bar.

“Well, I was until you made a face asking that question. They’re not good?”

“My mother loves them. You boil them in salted water until they get soft and mushy. They’re one of those things you either hate or love.”

“I’m committed to giving them a try, it seems. I’ll let you know what I think. Were you able to get Saturday off?”

“I’m all yours.”

A wicked grin curved his lips. “Promise?”

I put my elbows on the bar and leaned toward him. “How about I’m yours for the whole weekend? We’ll go to the”—I glanced around to make sure no one was nearby—“mayor’s stupid barbeque, then Sunday morning you can make me breakfast, and then we’ll go on our waterfall adventure.”

“Now there’s an offer I can’t refuse.” He trailed a finger along my arm, raising goose bumps. “How long do these barbeques last? I’m asking because the whole time we’re there, all I’m going to be thinking about is how soon we can leave so I can be alone with you.”

“How fast can you eat a plate of ribs?”

“Pretty damn fast if you’re the reward.”

“I like how you think, Mr. Policeman.”

“Angelo wants to know if you’ve closed out the register yet,” Brandy said, coming up next to me. Her gaze darted between Dylan and me.

“Brandy, this is Dylan Conrad, our new police chief. Dylan, Brandy Morrison, waitress extraordinaire.” Brandy was a tiny thing, maybe five foot, long brown hair she always wore in a single braid down her back, and soulful brown eyes. She was as shy as a mouse except when waiting tables, then look out. She was born to be a waitress, and if you asked her, she’d tell you that was all she ever wanted to do.

“A pleasure, Brandy,” Dylan said, holding out his hand.

Her cheeks turned pink as she shook his hand. “Me, too,” she mumbled.

Dylan and I exchanged an amused glance. Brandy was a sweetheart, and I loved her. Taking pity on her, I said, “Go tell Angelo I’ll be closed out in five.”

She took off like her little butt was on fire.

Dylan watched her go. “What just happened?”

“Put a hot guy in front of her and she gets tongue-tied unless she’s taking your food order.”

His eyes shifted to mine. “You think I’m hot?”

I snorted. “Hotter than a firecracker lit at both ends.” I walked away to his laughter.

“Red?”

“Yeah?” I kept going but glanced at him over my shoulder.

“Bet I can make you go boom.” He winked, then walked out.

There wasn’t any doubt in my mind, and Saturday night I was going to test that claim firsthand.