Leverage

Shelby sighed. Remarks about her hair weren’t uncommon. It was red. Not a sweet, gentle auburn, but full-on red: garnet, poppies, wisps-of-fire red—Shelby had heard all the analogies. If she’d been born a few centuries earlier, she would’ve been burned at the stake as a witch just for her coloring.

Shelby tended to forget how much it grabbed people’s attention when they first met her. “Um, yeah. It’s really red, I know. I was wondering—”

“You couldn’t get that color out of a bottle, I imagine. Especially not with your skin coloring. Your hair must be natural.”

See? This was case and point why Shelby tended not to want to talk to people. Because really, did she have to go into her natural coloring with someone she’d known for less than ten seconds? Shelby didn’t want to be rude, but neither did she want to talk about which side of the family her coloring was from.

And Shelby was sure that question, or something very similar, would be the next inquiry from the cash register lady.

“Yeah.” Shelby remained noncommittal about the hair. “I’m looking for somebody. A pilot. His name is Dylan Branson. He was supposed to meet me here.”

“Oh, yeah, honey, he’s right over there.” The lady gestured toward the corner, and Shelby looked over. Great, it was the balding guy in the bad polo shirt. Shelby thanked her and headed that way before the woman could ask any more questions about her hair.

Dylan Branson was eating what looked like meat loaf at his table and had just put a huge forkful into his mouth when Shelby walked up to him.

“Hi, Dylan Branson, right? I’m Shelby Keelan.”

The man looked over at Shelby and his eyes bulged. He held his hand up in front of his mouth, rapidly chewing, and began standing up.

“No, don’t get up. I didn’t mean to interrupt your meal.”

Shelby sat down across from him. Of course, the polite thing for Branson to do would’ve been to wait until she got there and then eat together, rather than shoveling food in right when he was supposed to meet her. But whatever. Shelby just hoped Megan’s husband was a little more considerate than his brother.

And for the sake of her friend, Shelby hoped he was a little more handsome, too. Not balding and portly, like Dylan here. But maybe follically challenged didn’t run in the Branson family, just this one brother.

And he was still chewing. How big of a bite could he have taken, for goodness’ sake? The look he was giving her over his moving jaw was clearly confused.

“Take your time.” Shelby smiled. She didn’t want him to choke or anything. That wouldn’t get her to DC very quickly.

“Oh, honey, not Tucker,” the lady called out from behind the cash register, pointing to the man eating. Then she looked past Shelby to the booth beyond her in the corner. “Dylan Branson, shame on you. You knew this young lady was looking for you. You should’ve said something.”

“I would’ve, Sally. But I wanted to see if Tucker would actually choke on the meat loaf while trying to talk to her first.”

The deep voice came from the booth behind Shelby. She didn’t need to look up to see who it was. She knew. The dark-haired, sexy-as-sin Calvin Klein model.

Chapter Three (#ulink_94bb06a0-784a-5116-b1de-fa342a344c55)

The attraction punched him in the gut. Dylan had been punched enough times to know clear and well what it felt like: it stole your breath, caused you to wonder which end was up, made your whole body tingle.

Of course, it was usually followed by agony. But in this case it might be worth it.

Striking was the only word for Shelby Keelan. Her red hair fell around her face and shoulders in long wisps and curls that had escaped from the loose braid she seemed to have attempted at some point. Her eyes —now looking at him rather than Tucker—were a clear emerald green with a hint of gold in them.

But, for the love of all things holy, it was her freckles that were killing him. Scattered across her nose, her cheeks, her forehead. They were quite possibly the most alluring thing he had ever seen.

Shelby Keelan wasn’t a traditional beauty, but she was striking.

From his corner booth where he could see the main entrance, kitchen entrance and emergency exit—old habits died hard—Dylan had seen her come in. He’d been almost positive who she was from that moment, and then her brief conversation with Sally had confirmed it.

He should’ve said something when she sat down at the table near his booth and started talking to Tucker, but he couldn’t resist seeing how that played out. Poor Tucker still looked as if he was going to have a heart attack.

Shelby Keelan sat in her seat at Tucker’s table, her green eyes zeroed in on Dylan. She did not look amused.

“Confused strangers are the top entertainment around here, I take it?”

Uh-oh. Dylan stood, giving Shelby his most charming smile. “Not usually, I promise. I just couldn’t resist seeing how Tucker was going to react.”

Tucker was still staring at Shelby. “I, uh, I mean, I’m not Dylan Branson.” He finally got the words out, much too late to be helpful.

Dylan walked over and slapped Tucker on the back good-naturedly. “I think she caught that much, Tuck. Ms. Keelan is dropping off some items for me to deliver.” Dylan looked over at Shelby and held out his hand for her to shake. “I’m Dylan Branson. A pleasure to meet you.”

Shelby stood and grasped Dylan’s hand. Dylan shook it, then kept it, glad when she didn’t snatch it away, and led her over to his booth. “Let’s leave Tucker to finish his meat loaf.”

A huge crash of thunder shook the windows in Sally’s diner. “I can’t take off in this anyway. I’ll need to let Megan and Sawyer know I’ll be delayed for a few hours.”

Shelby looked out the window at the rain now pouring down and nodded. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”

“Maybe you’ll let me buy you dinner to make up for my rude behavior. Since we have some extra time before I can fly in this.”

Shelby didn’t look convinced, but Dylan wasn’t going to let it go. The way he saw it, this situation was the best of all worlds: a chance to spend some time with a gorgeous woman, but one who would only be around for a couple of hours. Once the weather cleared and she gave him the codes, they’d go their separate ways. No complications.

But for now he could just enjoy her; her company and her beauty.

“Unless you’re in a hurry and just need to drop everything off and run.” Dylan gave her another smile. “But I hope that’s not the case and you’ll have dinner with me.”

She gave him a confused look, but then nodded. “Okay, dinner. A chance to redeem yourself.” One of her eyebrows arched as she looked at him.

“Deal. Let me contact Megan and Sawyer to tell them about the storm.” Afraid he might yell at Megan for not preparing him for how beautiful Shelby was, Dylan just sent a text to Sawyer.

Shelby in pocket, but storm will delay flight. Will contact with updated ETA soon.

Dylan received a reply just moments later from Sawyer.

Roger that. I’ll inform Burgamy.

Good, let Sawyer handle Burgamy. Dylan wanted as little communication time with his ex-boss as possible. He caught the attention of the young waitress who brought them both menus. Shelby began looking through it, but Dylan didn’t even need to.

“Already know what you want?” Shelby asked him.

“Yeah. Sally’s chicken pot pie is my favorite. I usually get that.”

“That sounds good. Perfect for a rainy night and to recover from my near-death experience a little while ago.”

As far as Dylan knew, most people didn’t have near-death experiences around Falls Run. He hoped she wasn’t talking about poor Tucker. He wasn’t that bad. “What happened?”

They both ordered pot pie and sweet tea then Shelby told him about the car that had driven her partially off the side of the road. It sounded as if the driver never even saw her.

“Wow, first almost being run off the road, then almost having to have dinner with Tucker. That’s a double whammy.”