Snow Baby

“It’s you. It’s me. It’s us. We just don’t work. I wish I’d seen it years ago.”

A knock at the door interrupted them. Grateful for the reprieve, Chantel ducked around Wade to answer it.

“Hi.” Dillon stood on her front stoop, wearing a pair of faded jeans and a chambray shirt, the wind ruffling his hair. The sight of him made Chantel’s heart skip a beat and then go into triple time, even though her head warned her he was as dangerous to her peace of mind as Wade.

“Dillon.”

He slanted her a crooked smile. “Can we talk?”

Chantel threw a glance over her shoulder, wondering what to do. Wade, always the jealous type, might say something to embarrass her, even though private punishment was more his style. When they were a couple, he’d withhold his affection and pout if he thought she’d paid too much attention to another man. Or, more times than not, he’d just get back at her by being obvious about the petite dark-haired groupies he sometimes slept with.

But none of that mattered anymore, she reminded herself. Opening the door, she let Dillon in.

“Dillon, this is…an old friend, Wade Bennett. He just got here from New York and stopped by to say hello.”

Dillon’s face grew shuttered, speculative, telling her he recognized Wade’s name, but he nodded.

“Wade, this is Dillon Broderick.”

Wade didn’t bother to smile. Instead, he eyed Dillon from the top of his dark head down to his leather Top-Siders. Just over six feet, Wade wasn’t exactly a small man, but Dillon had a few inches on him, broader shoulders and a more powerful build. He also looked far less groomed. While Wade had no doubt checked the mirror only moments before to make sure every hair was in place, Dillon had probably come after a long day at work without bothering to fuss about his appearance. His hair was unruly, as though he’d been running his fingers through it, and a five-o’clock shadow covered his jaw. His “take me as I am” air made him all the more appealing, in Chantel’s opinion.

“What’s he doing here?” Wade demanded.

“Wade, don’t,” Chantel said, placing a hand on the doorknob. “You were on your way out. Don’t let Dillon stop you.”

“I just want to know what’s going on. Is this guy trying to move in on my turf?”

“You have no turf, at least not here,” she responded.

“So what? You think he just wants to be friends?” Wade chuckled. “Then you don’t know guys. He’s just trying to get in your pants.” Wade spoke to Chantel, but his stare was a challenge, directed at Dillon. And Dillon seemed more than ready to answer it. His jaw tightened and his right hand curled into a fist.

Chantel stepped between them. The crudeness of Wade’s words brought a heated blush to her cheeks, but she wasn’t about to let the two of them start fighting. “That kind of talk’s not going to help anything,” she said. “And you have no right. Now, please go.”

Wade looked from her to Dillon and back again.

Dillon put one hand on the door, opening it wider. “You heard her, buddy. Out.”

“Who the hell do you think you—”

Without even waiting for him to finish, Dillon grabbed Wade by the shoulders and tossed him outside. Chantel gasped, expecting her ex-boyfriend to come up swinging, but Wade merely scrambled to his feet, called them both a few choice names once he was out of range, and took off.

CHAPTER SIX

DILLON TOOK a deep breath, waiting for the adrenaline pumping through his body to subside. “Are you okay?” he asked, watching Chantel make her way over to the sofa and sink into it.

“I’m fine. I just thought…I didn’t think he’d go without a fight.”

“Guys like him never fight. They talk tough, but when someone calls their bluff, they run.”

“Not Wade, at least not if he thinks he can win.”

Dillon tried a smile, hoping to calm Chantel down. She’d lived with Wade for something like ten years, if he remembered correctly. “A man who’s that concerned about what he sees in the mirror is going to be pretty careful,” he said. “Gives whole new meaning to saving face.”

Chantel blinked up at him, then laughed. “Can you always tell so much about someone you’ve just met?”