started ranching. Cattlemen needed a place for supplies and rest when they were driving their herds to New Mexico. The first structure built was the saloon.” She looked out the window and gestured across the street.
“Important things first,” Dylan said with a grin.
“Exactly.” She smiled back. “The town boomed for twenty-five years, until railroads took over. Mining kept it going a few more years, but that dwindled, too. A few diehards stayed on and took care of the place, but they’ve been gone since the forties. When my father, J. T. Stone, died earlier this year, we found out he’d divided Stone Creek into four parcels, one for each of my brothers and half sister, and one—Makeshift—for me.”
Dylan looked around the small hotel room. A patchwork quilt covered a large brass bed, and two antique oak nightstands held matching stained-glass oil lamps. Several framed paintings covered the freshly painted walls, and a large cherry armoire stood open, revealing several gowns of an era long past.
Dylan shook his head in amazement. The room had obviously been restored to its original condition with care. The only thing out of place here was the telephone sitting on the floor beside three cardboard boxes of books and a radio on a nightstand. Otherwise, he might have thought he’d stepped over some invisible time line and been transported into the previous century.
He gestured at the bed. “Are you living out here by yourself?”
She glanced away, but not before he saw the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. “I’m not alone. I have Hannibal, and one of my two brothers is usually close by. They aren’t crazy about my living out here, so they stop by often.”
He stood close enough to catch the light scent of jasmine that drifted from her skin. He resisted the urge to lean even closer and pull the fragrance more deeply into his lungs. “I don’t see anyone here now.”
She brought her gaze back to his with an intensity that surprised him. “What you see—or don’t see—can be very deceiving, Mr. Grant.”
As she continued to stare at him, Dylan felt as if a weight were pressing on his chest. The air in the room seemed to grow heavy and he found it difficult to breathe. Hannibal stood suddenly, his ears pricked, and started to bark.
The sensation eased, then disappeared. The Texas heat was definitely getting to him, Dylan thought as he drew in a deep breath and stepped to the armoire. “Interesting wardrobe.”
Jessica moved beside him. “They were my great-great-grandmother’s. My mother kept them and everything else here in storage. I still have more furniture, plus several large trunks in my brother’s attic that I haven’t had time to bring here and go through.”
A smile curved Jessica’s lips as she reached out and touched one black silk evening gown. Dylan felt a jolt of electricity move up and down his arm as she stroked the lace sleeve of the dress with her long slender fingers.
Jessica Stone was certainly a surprise. And he didn’t like surprises. He realized that if he was going to be working with this woman, he was going to have to keep his distance.
The hardwood floor creaked beneath his boots as he stepped away from her and glanced around the room. “Is this the only room you’ve restored?”
She shook her head. “The bedroom next door, also, and the connecting bathroom has modern conveniences, plus there’s electricity in the kitchen for the refrigerator. But the only thing I get credit for is the paint. My brothers fought my moving out here every step of the way, but once they knew I couldn’t be swayed, they reluctantly gave in and took over. At least I have indoor plumbing and electricity now.”
Dylan moved to the window and stared down at the empty street. The buildings themselves, though worn and faded with the years, appeared structurally sound. “Exactly what kind of camp are you intending to build here?”
“Maybe youth center is a better description,” Jessica said as she closed the armoire doors. “A place for kids to get away from the problems of modern-day life.”
Frowning, he turned to look at her. “You mean you want to turn this place into a playground for juvenile delinquents?”
Jessica realized that not everyone could understand what she was trying to do here, but she still couldn’t help the irritation that shot through her at this man’s ignorance. She could explain to him how Makeshift had turned her own life around, but she doubted he would understand. It was also none of his business.
“Teenagers need all the help they can get these days. I want to give them a place they can come to if things get rough. Let them know that someone cares. If you have a problem with that concept, I suggest you apply for another job.”
He shrugged. “You can build a bridge here if it makes you happy. One job is like any other to me. It would just seem more practical to sell this land and build something closer to town.”
“This is Stone Creek, Mr. Grant. I wouldn’t consider selling even one acre of what my father has left me, practical or not. Once the review board approves my construction progress in early January, I’ll have my license, and Makeshift will be a legitimate state-approved youth center.”
“And if they don’t approve the progress?” he asked.
“They have to approve it,” she said firmly. Her chest tightened at the very thought that they might not. As if sensing her tension, Hannibal slipped his head under Jessica’s hand.
Dylan folded his arms and leaned against the windowsill. “So when do we start?”
We? Jessica bit back the first answer that came to mind and went with the second, more polite one. “I’m interviewing for the position tomorrow in town. One o’clock at the Bronco Diner in Cactus Flat.” She moved to a nightstand and opened the top drawer. “Fill out this application and we’ll talk then.”
His gaze held hers, and even though he took the form from her, he never once glanced at it. “Shall I get there early to avoid the rush?”
“I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” she said dryly, annoyed that he was making fun of her. “Just take a number and be seated.”
He held out his hand. “Until tomorrow, then, Miss Stone.”
Jessica hesitated, then placed her fingers in his palm. The texture of his skin was rough, and she felt a shiver run up her arm. His scent was masculine, the warmth of his touch disarming.
Quickly she pulled her hand away. “Tomorrow, Mr. Grant.”
He pushed away from the windowsill, then bent and rubbed Hannibal’s head. The animal seemed to smile at him. “See ya later, pal.”
Jessica struggled to compose herself as Dylan crossed the room. When he turned abruptly at the doorway, her breath caught.
“I think your brothers are right, Jessica,” he said. “You shouldn’t be out here alone.”
He turned and left then, whistling a Bob Seger tune. She moved to the window and watched as he walked to his motorcycle and pulled on his helmet. When he glanced up at her, she didn’t even pretend not to be looking. He grinned, then got on his bike and left.
Jessica exhaled sharply. Her knees felt shaky as she sat on the edge of her bed. Hannibal laid his head on her lap.
