“Guess I’ll see you later,” he said, looking disappointed.
“Sure. Later.” She nodded then hurried away. She really didn’t want to be rude, but she wished he’d take her rejection more seriously. As she helped set up and organize the dessert table, Chelsea questioned her about Brandon.
“I saw him trailing you over here.” Chelsea set a piece of chocolate cake on a paper plate. “And, don’t look now, but he seems to be keeping a close eye on you.”
“I don’t know why he doesn’t give up. I’ve made it perfectly clear.”
“Apparently he’s smitten.”
“Or he just wants what he can’t have.” Dillon cut into a pie. “I’m pretty sure that’s what it is. He’s very competitive. I’m guessing if I’d played hard-to-get a year ago, we’d have been married by now.”
“Maybe you need to try some reverse psychology.” Chelsea chuckled. “Act like you’re really into him and can’t wait to tie the knot—maybe he’ll take off running.”
Dillon actually considered this. “Interesting idea. But I don’t know . . .” She handed a piece of apple pie to an elderly gentleman. “Enjoy,” she told him. “Sure smells good.”
As they continued serving dessert, Dillon considered Chelsea’s suggestion. Perhaps it would work, but Dillon did not want to play games. Not with Brandon any more than she wanted to with Jordan.
“Looks like most people have been served,” Chelsea told her. “Feel free to go grab some food—if there’s anything left.”
“How about if I get us both some,” Dillon offered. “We can take turns eating.”
“Great.”
Dillon headed for the chicken first, but trying to balance two plates and get food and drinks for two was tricky. And that’s when Brandon appeared. “Could you use a spare hand?” He reached for a plate. “Looks like you’re hungry.”
She smirked at him. “One of these is for Chelsea.”
“That’s a relief. I’d hate to think you’ve turned into such a porker.” He chuckled like this was clever.
“No worries.” She scooped some potato salad onto both plates. “But, as you know, I’ve always had a healthy appetite.”
“Something I’ve always admired.”
“Right.” She set a roll on both plates. “I can remember you teasing me before, Brandon. Don’t pretend you didn’t.”
His lower lip jutted out. “That was then, Dillon. This is now.”
She was just putting green salad on her plate when she felt someone watching her. She looked up to see Jordan less than twenty feet away. Smiling, she wanted to wave, but her hands were full. And then, just like that, he turned and walked away. Great. Had she managed to alienate him again? Or maybe Brandon had sent him a signal. Although Brandon was so focused on salad dressing, he appeared oblivious. Maybe that was a good thing. She didn’t want him to think he was winning.
Brandon carried the plate for Chelsea back to the dessert tent. But instead of going on his merry way while they ate, he continued to hang around. And when people came for desserts, seeing that Chelsea and Dillon were eating, he stepped in to help. Naturally, Chelsea thought that was charming and didn’t mind saying so.
“I hear you’re going to meet us at the dance tonight,” she told Brandon as they were cleaning up. “And that you’re a good dancer.”
“Now who said that?” Brandon winked at Dillon.
“I promised Chelsea that we’d share you,” Dillon told him. “I hope you don’t mind.”
He looked uncertain, but nodded. “That sounds like fun.”
Dillon turned to Chelsea. “Looks like things are under control here. Especially with Brandon to help. Do you mind if I take off? I have some things I need to take care of on the farm.”
“No problem. Take off. I’ll see you later tonight.” Chelsea grinned at Dillon. “And I’ll keep Brandon busy packing this stuff up.”
Dillon patted Brandon on the back. “So glad you offered to help.” And not giving him a chance to back out of his forced volunteerism, she hurried away. But instead of feeling pleased with herself, she felt discouraged. Jordan probably thought she was totally flaky. One moment she was telling him that Brandon was history, the next moment she appeared to be sharing lunch with him—again. Would she ever get this right?
CHAPTER
22
Back at the farm, with several hours to kill before tonight’s dance and fireworks show, Dillon decided to set up her outdoor space. She put her bargain purchases into place, arranging the chairs and table just so. But somehow it just didn’t look quite right—the concrete pad and metal building wasn’t a very pretty backdrop. She looked over to what used to be one of her favorite spots. Not far from the barn, a grove of aspen trees and the irrigation pond looked temptingly perfect. She wondered if Grandpa would mind if she moved her “camp” over there.
Spotting Grandpa’s pickup just pulling up to the farm, she went over to meet him. “So how’d you like that picnic?” she asked as they went into the kitchen.
“Not bad. But I think the chicken was a little overdone this year.”
“Better than underdone.”
“That’s true,” he agreed. As he filled a glass with water, she told him about her idea to relocate her trailer. “Can’t see any problem with that.” He swigged the water. “I think we can even stretch an extension cord and hose that far.”
“That’d be fantastic.”
“Need any help moving it over there?” Grandpa’s expression suggested he knew she would.
“Well, being that I don’t have a clue as to how to hook the trailer to the pickup . . . although I could probably go online and find a tutorial—”
“I think you could use a human for this. And I’m happy to help.”
As they walked to the barn, Grandpa mentioned Brandon. “I noticed he was hovering pretty close to the dessert table, but I’ll bet he wasn’t just there for the apple pie.”
She sighed. “Yeah, he hasn’t given up yet. The weird thing is that he’s being awfully nice. It almost makes me wonder if he’s really turned over a new leaf.”
“Stranger things happen.”
“Fortunately he should be on his way back to Colorado soon.”
“Uh-huh.” Grandpa nodded. “Think you’ll still feel the same once he’s gone? You know what they say, absence makes the heart grow fonder.”
She shrugged. “I’m pretty sure of my feelings.”
“I saw Jordan at the picnic . . . We chatted a bit.”
“Yeah. I saw him too. But I was with Brandon.” She shook her head. “I think Jordan got the wrong message.”
Grandpa chuckled. “Or maybe he got the right message, Dillon. Maybe he’s getting the jealous bug after all.”
Before Dillon could think of a response, Grandpa told her to get the pickup. “Back it up to the hitch, but keep your eyes on me.” He explained how he’d use his hands to show her how far to back up when it got down to inches. And before long, she was backing up, stepping on the brakes as his hands clapped together. She hopped out and went to watch as he showed her how to adjust the hitch height and then drop it onto the trailer ball. “This is how you clamp it,” he explained.