Tessa couldn’t sleep. Whereas any other night the chorus of crickets outside her window would be a soothing and comforting refrain, tonight it was one more thing she couldn’t shut out. Like the memory of Dylan’s smile when she was trying to talk to Jasper, his brown, almost tawny eyes shining with a hint of curiosity and joy that had made her stomach twist and dance just like it did when she was a kid and had his attention, even if only momentarily.

Why was it that just standing one minute in his presence could so easily erase the past ten years of bitterness and pain? Her heart obviously hadn’t learned its lesson, but her head had and she wouldn’t let anything else below her neck sway her again. Not her heart. Not her stomach, and certainly not any parts farther south.

Gah! This is insanity.

She threw her covers off and squinted around the moonlit room for her slippers. A glass of milk and maybe a tiny slice of the apple cobbler she’d made for dessert were what she needed.

At the top of the stairs, she paused as she heard the murmur of male voices coming from the kitchen. Was that Dad and…Dylan?

She should just go right to bed. No sense inviting more of those lazy, crooked grins that would only make sleep harder to find. But curiosity kept her feet moving until she was standing in the kitchen doorway trying to figure what the two men could possibly be discussing in the middle of the night.

She spotted the checkered board laid out in front of them. “I should have known,” she said, and stepped toward the table, confirming her suspicions. “Chess. You do know what time it is, right?”

They looked up guiltily. Her dad spoke first. “Dylan’s been kind enough to keep me company these past few nights. Seeing as how sometimes I get restless with the pain and can’t sleep.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?” she asked, concern for his health making her forget about the bulk of the other man watching her carefully. “Do you need one of the pain pills? The doctor said you can take it as needed.”

He waved his hand. “Nah. I hate how that stuff makes me feel. I had some Tylenol, so that’s as good as anything.

She came over and studied the board. “Who’s winning?”

“Me. But only because I think your dad is setting me up for something I can’t see,” Dylan said.

Tess smiled and headed to the fridge. Good to hear she wasn’t the only one who her dad always seemed to stay ahead of in the game. “Anyone want me to dish them up some cobbler?” she asked, spooning a healthy serving onto a plate.

“Sure, since you’re offering,” Dylan said.

“None for me, hon. That physical therapy session took more out of me than I thought. Do you mind if I turn in early tonight, Dylan?”

“No complaints here. I prefer the game ending when I’m still ahead.”

“You’re getting the hang of it, don’t you worry,” her dad said and started to pick up the board.

Dylan put his hand out to stop him. “I got this. You get your rest.”

Tessa set a piece of the cobbler in front of Dylan just as her dad grabbed his crutches and started to stand. She rushed over to help him but he waved her away. “No, I’ve got it. I’ll see you two tomorrow.”

Tessa waited until his crutches were firmly gripped in his hands before leaning in to hug him. “Night, Dad,” she said, trying not to help him to bed since, as he’d firmly made clear last night, he wasn’t an invalid and he sure as hell could pull his own pants on and off without his daughter’s help.

Returning to the counter, she covered the cobbler and put it in the fridge. She hesitated as she reached for the milk. Come to think of it, tea sounded better. Shutting the door, she grabbed the kettle from its place on the stove and filled it up, ever mindful of the man sitting behind her.

“Care for a game?”

A game of chess with Dylan? No way. That would involve too much time in between moves, time that would leave her studying the most inane things about him, like the cadence of his breath or the way he might lick his lips as he considered his move. All of which would undoubtedly leave her heart thrumming in her chest. No chance. “Probably not if I want to be asleep before one in the morning.”

“Fair enough. But I’m guessing you’re down here because you weren’t able to sleep. Maybe needed a distraction?”

She looked sharply at him. He couldn’t possibly know what she’d been thinking about upstairs, the moments she’d been reliving. Keeping her voice even, she replied, “Just a lot on my mind. Nothing that a cup of tea won’t help.”

Dylan placed the cover over the game and moved it to the sideboard before grabbing the deck of cards. He started to shuffle. “Once upon a time, I remember you used to play a mean game of Speed. Even declared yourself the champion.”

Instead of joining him at the table, she dug into her cobbler standing at the counter, trying to tamp down the competitive spirit that had her biting at the bit to prove her worth. In law school, she’d managed to hold her own against her roommates, even when they were deep into a second bottle of wine.

“Not scared of a little competition, are you?” he taunted.

Her gaze was drawn to the deft way his fingers shuffled and maneuvered the cards as he talked, quick and sure. Another reminder of how, despite her best efforts, being around Dylan was like an aphrodisiac that she couldn’t resist.

And yet…she really did love that rush of adrenaline at whipping the cards down at lightning speed and leaving her competition in the dust, their frustration at being bested making her victory only sweeter. And it would be particularly satisfying if the person left in the dust were Dylan.

“All right. I guess a game or two won’t hurt.”

Grabbing her plate, she came to the table to join him as he dealt the cards. She took another bite, enjoying the sweet and fragrant taste of the fresh apples and cinnamon.

“You ready?” he asked, his first five cards drawn and ready to be played, his other hand, like hers, on the play cards waiting to be flipped over.

“Go,” she said, flicking her wrist at the same time.

Queen. Grabbing the jack in her hand, she played her card and the next one, pulling new ones from her pile as quickly as she could, aware of Dylan doing the same. When they couldn’t play more on the last displayed cards, they repeated it all, her blood racing as she did. His hand grazed hers more times than she could count, each touch making the action even headier.

She was down to just a handful of cards, and a glance at his hand showed the same, and the high stakes of winning this one had her ready to jump from her seat. The teakettle started to hiss, gradually increasing to a whistle, but there was no way she was stopping now. She met his gaze as they each placed their hand on the next card, ready to flip it.

An ace. Just what she needed, but she saw him move toward the same card, and she moved quickly, sliding hers under his, a moment she took to savor as she glanced up at him. Two seconds later, the piercing whistle from the kettle too loud to ignore, she’d won.

She threw her hands up in the air. “And that’s how it’s done.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Only because you shoved my hand out of the way at least three different times, you big cheater.”

She ran to the stove to take the kettle off. “Please. Your big man-paws were blocking me almost the entire game. But if you need another round to help you realize that I’m the master, then go ahead and deal again,” she said, dropping the tea bag into the cup and bringing it to the table.

Three rounds later, they were tied. This time she was shuffling the cards. Her high from before was still soaring as was her anxiety level.

“You sure you want to go down in flames like this, Tessa? We could call it a wash and you could return to your bed still under the delusion you’re the queen of the game.”

“Please. If you would stop hovering over the cards, I might be able to actually see them as they’re played.” She dealt the cards slowly this time, saving her energy for the final found. Taking the top five of her cards, she arranged them in her hand before glancing up at Dylan. He was watching her with that warm glint in his eyes that caused her breath to catch in her throat.

“You really are beautiful, you know.”

She nearly dropped her hand. No. This was what he wanted, to distract her. “Nice try, buddy. You’re not throwing me off my game at this point.”

He smiled, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

But he still hadn’t stopped staring at her, and she could feel her face growing warm. Dang it. She wouldn’t let him get to her. She breathed in and exhaled slowly. Focus.

She nodded slightly as they flipped the top cards over and the game was in motion. Meaty paws again kept her from getting her cards down first.

“Stop it,” she said, half-frustrated and half laughing as he seemed to know what he was doing. His hands were warm and slightly rough against her own skin, but she pushed back, not willing to let him take up all the space.

She leaned forward with two cards left in her hand as Dylan played down his last few cards. For a moment, he looked up and hesitated, giving her the opening she needed to push her cards down, playing off the run he’d started.

Victory.

Only, the look in his eyes was anything but defeated. No, they were bright and heated as he met her gaze after a long moment. She glanced down, horrified when she saw that her shirt had slipped down to reveal more skin than she’d intended. Hastily she yanked it up, even as another kind of fire altogether took hold of her, making her skin feel sensitive and heated.

His eyes held hers, and the very air seemed to crackle with an intensity that had her heart about to beat from her chest.

The slamming of the kitchen door sent her leaping nearly a foot in the air.

“You two are still up?” It was Rowan.

Heck. What time was it? He was usually off from his shift at the restaurant at two.

Sure enough, the clock on the microwave told her it was well past that hour. She scurried to her feet. “Not for long. I just had to beat Dylan in a few hands of Speed. And with my title still secure, I think I’ll retire for the night.”

“Yeah, I could have told you that would happen, bro. Tessa can be a tad over-competitive when it comes to cards.”

“You’re one to talk,” she scoffed, since, being the youngest brother of five, Rowan seemed to feel he had something to prove, much like her.

“It will certainly be my pleasure to topple her reign one of these times,” Dylan drawled. “She can’t stay on top forever.”

Her stomach seemed to be melting at the implication, even though she was almost certain she was imagining it. Just in case, she refused to look at him again, refused to see that boyish grin spread across his face at her expense. “There’s cobbler in the fridge if you want any,” she said to Rowan and raced out of the kitchen, calling over her shoulder, “See you guys in the morning.”

A few minutes later, she was back in her own bed, no closer to sleep than she had been when she left two hours before for a nightcap. If anything, sleep felt impossible, her treacherous body still warm and tingling as she relived the moments in the kitchen.

So much for mind over matter.

Her mind was definitely lost.

“Care for a topper?” the waitress asked Dylan, the pot of coffee already hovering midair.

He nodded, careful to push his cap farther down on his head, etiquette be damned. The last thing he wanted right now was to be identified, thus ending his covert operation here. “Thanks.”

The waitress left without any indication she knew who he was, leaving him to his surveillance. According to Jasper, Lana Buchnell, mom to the irrepressible Elle Jamison, had accepted the courier’s delivery with the test results the day before. So his arrival here shouldn’t be too much of a shock to her.

All the same, he’d wanted to observe her first. He tried to tell himself it was because he wanted to see what kind of a woman was raising his sister, but the fact was that he wanted to know what kind of woman it took to capture the heart of his old man.

Would she be a shadow of a woman, broken and dejected, like his own mom? Would she have the same slight build and soft blue eyes? Or would she be of sterner stock, not one to fall apart at his abandonment, staying strong if only to raise her young daughter?

He’d only been here twenty minutes, but in that space of time, he could see that Lana Buchnell wasn’t anything like his mom. From all appearances, Lana hadn’t let Brick Jamison’s abandonment break her. Of average height and weight, she bore no markers that made her stand out from everyone else save for the bright red of her hair. Her smile was as warm as one could expect from a woman who spent easily ten hours a day on her feet carrying heavy trays and filling endless cups of coffee. He had to give it to her, though. Beneath the fatigue and sadness that seemed to linger around her eyes, he sensed a woman who was stronger and more capable than people gave her credit for.

For the moment, Lana was in the kitchen and out of sight. Stifling a yawn, Dylan grabbed his coffee cup, needing the fortification. Usually he and Joe Montenegro would play chess until around midnight, when his mind would finally be too tired and spent to think about his problems. But last night, playing cards with Tessa had been anything but cathartic or relaxing.

It had been exhilarating.

Watching her face flush with either victory or frustration, her green eyes sparkling with excitement as she plowed through her hand, had been a joy. But it also had left him with a million thoughts—half of them which would leave his body bruised and pummeled if her brothers got any inkling of those thoughts—running through his head until the sound of the rooster outside his window told him he might as well just embrace the new day.

So after having an early breakfast with Finn and some of the crew and then lending a hand with the morning chores, he’d called Jasper to see if he’d heard anything from Lana and Elle, only to be told Lana had returned the check Dylan sent via the same courier. Dylan had headed directly here.

The table Lana had been covering finally left, and as if sensing the vacancy, she came out of the kitchen and busied herself cleaning it off, pocketing what looked like a lousy five bucks even though the bill had to be well over fifty dollars. It was only when she finished and stood upright that he was able to catch her gaze. He saw immediately the moment of recognition as the faint smile she’d worn slipped away and her eyes narrowed.

She headed over. “What are you doing here?” she hissed.

Dylan made his pitch as quickly and efficiently as he could. That he wanted to make sure that his sister had the things she needed since it wasn’t her fault she’d been stuck with such a loser of a father who’d bailed on her and his responsibilities.

If he’d hoped that lambasting his old man might glean her trust or at least a shared interest as it used to with his mom, he was mistaken, as her back stiffened and the woman, if anything, seemed more affronted than before.

“I know you think you mean well, but let me disavow you of any impression you might have of me or my daughter. I’m not looking for any handouts, never was and never will. Elle took it upon herself to go out to LA to see you, and I grounded her soundly for a month afterward. She’s not looking for a handout, either. She only wanted to know you, to feel a connection to you since, with Brick gone, you’re all she has left of her father. Something that you made clear to her you weren’t interested in. As to your father, well, that’s a story for another day, but you should know he did the best he could. We might not have been right together, but his leaving was as much my fault as it was his. And with his passing, I would hope you would find it in your heart to forgive him.”

“Lana? Order four is ready and table three needs to order still,” the heavyset guy called from behind the grill.

“Be right there,” she said and scurried over to take care of her customers.

When she approached him again, she seemed wary but resigned to finishing the meeting.

He tried again. “I’m only here because I care about Elle and want to help. I know you work fifty plus hours a week at this diner and you’re trying to raise a daughter and take night courses at the community college. I know that you’re barely making ends meet and that you’re two months behind in your rent and the old lady next door who you pay to watch Elle is almost eighty and nearly too old to take care of herself, let alone a twelve-year-old girl. I just want to help out because, well, she’s my blood. And if I can help her life be a little easier, I’d like to.”

“Well, I thank you for the offer, but I’m afraid I’m not interested. Elle and I have gotten along just fine over the years, and we’ll continue to without your help. Can I get your check for you?” she asked with a little more force.

“Sure.” He knew that he’d said about all he could today. Not that he was going to give up just yet. He pulled a twenty for his meal along with an envelope from his pocket that he left on the table. “It’s just a contract and outline of what I want to do,” he said when she eyed the envelope like it was a poisonous snake. “You don’t have to accept it, but could you at least look it over for me? Please?”

She nodded stiffly, not making a move to take the envelope that he left on the table. But at the door, he glanced back and saw with relief that she’d picked up the envelope and folded it before placing it in her pocket.

That would do. For now.