Tucker

by Lori Wilde

  Dang.

  The obstinate Stravanos brothers were still standing by the gate, arguing. Tucker wondered how they ever managed to pull off the complex crimes they’d committed. They didn’t seem to be all that bright and fought constantly.

  He wished they would move on so that he could escape this place before he overdosed on cheerfulness.

  2

  July’s instincts were spot on.

  Tucker was much more than he seemed. He had a calm dignity most down-and-outers did not possess. It was in the set of his shoulders, the thrust of his jaw, and the way he made direct eye contact.

  She had volunteered at the local homeless shelter long enough to spot the ravages of low self-esteem, and this man did not carry any of those traits. In fact, he was self-contained. Cool and aloof as if he had never depended on anyone and never would.

  “Would you like orange juice?” she asked.

  Tucker lounged against the doorjamb after returning from the bathroom. “Okay.”

  July opened the refrigerator, poured juice for them both, and handed him a glass. “Are you unemployed?”

  His brown eyes glistened. “Yeah.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” she murmured in her most professional voice. “What line of work were you in?”

  “This and that.”

  His answer worried her. An unstable job history could mean that he has substance abuse issues. Did that account for his problems?

  “So…you’ve...er...had a variety of work experience?”

  “Yeah, but I’d rather not talk about it.”

  She held up her palms. “I know. Stop being so nosy. It’s my major flaw, or so my family tells me. I can’t seem to help myself. People fascinate me.”

  “‘Fascinating’ isn’t a word that springs to my mind,” Tucker drawled.

  July noticed he crossed his arms in front of his chest, placing a physical barrier between them, unconsciously warning her not to come closer.

  “Calculated, shallow, mercenary, deceitful, dishonest, cruel. Those words apply much more often,” he said.

  “Surely you don’t really believe that.”

  “When you’ve been where I’ve been, seen what I’ve seen, it colors your perspective.” His face hardened into a stone-slab expression.

  “Maybe you could try looking at the world through loving eyes,” July murmured, offering him her secret to happiness. She wanted so badly to show him that not everyone acted like those people he described.

  “You’re naive. You think it’s that easy? That all you need is love?”

  She notched up her chin. “I do.”

  “You haven’t been out there on the streets. You have no idea.”

  “Yes, I do,” she said, anger flaring inside her. Tucker might have suffered a great deal, but he wasn’t the only one. She’d suffered as well, and yet, she didn’t let a pessimist outlook weigh her down and keep her from thriving. “I may not live on the streets, but I’m a social worker. Yes, there is poverty, and yes, there is despair. But there’s also hope, Tucker. Hope for those who never give up believing in the power of love, forgiveness, and redemption.”

  She hadn’t meant to climb up on her soapbox, but Tucker had punched her hot button.

  “It’s not that easy for most of us.” He slowly sipped his orange juice, his brown eyes narrowing, watching her sharply.

  “What isn’t?” she asked, still irritated with him.

  “Being able to love so freely. Some of us don’t know how.”

  “That’s because you’ve never been shown,” she replied, her anger dissipating.

  Hadn’t anyone ever loved Tucker? The thought ate a dark hole through her chest. Is that what colored his world? Loneliness, abandonment, rejection.

  July gulped. She understood. She had been there once as well.

  He did not reply.

  Tying an apron around her waist, July took a skillet from the cabinet and set it on the stove, then filled a pot with water to boil for oatmeal. She wasn’t afraid of him. July expected the best from people and usually got it. No one had ever truly disappointed her yet.

  Besides, although she might be trusting, July wasn’t stupid. Before going downstairs to invite Tucker in, she’d called Mrs. O’Brien and asked her over for breakfast, too, so that she would not be alone with a total stranger. No point being reckless.

  As if on cue, the doorbell rang.

  “Could you get that?” July asked.

  “Me?” Tucker sounded uncertain.

  “Please.”

  “Uh, okay.”

  She heard the door open, and Tucker mumbled a greeting to Mrs. O’Brien.

  “Good morning!” July sang out, peeking around the corner of the kitchen wall at her neighbor.

  “Hello, dear,” Mrs. O’Brien said, sweeping into the kitchen with Tucker trailing behind her. “I brought sweet rolls.”

  “Yummy,” July declared. “Tucker, could you make the coffee, please?”

  “Me?” He pointed to himself. He seemed surprised to be included.

  “Yes, you.” She smiled and waved at the coffeemaker. She noticed, not for the first time, what beautiful brown eyes he had. They were the color of dark chocolate, her favorite decadent treat.

  He appeared uncomfortable, but that was understandable. He was probably embarrassed about his circumstances. Determined to let him know he was welcome in her home, no matter what his situation, she purposefully widened her smile.

  Tucker scooted past her to wash his hands at the sink. He kept his eyes focused on the floor. When he didn’t return her smile, July didn’t take it personally. Her job as a social worker and the ordeal with her own mother had taught her patience.

  Mrs. O’Brien settled in at the kitchen table, chatting breezily about her grandchildren. July tried to listen, but her attention kept straying to the man beside her.

  He towered almost a foot over her own five-two height. Up close, Tucker was even more handsome than she’d first thought. Tilting her head, July sneaked a quick sideways glance at the man.

  His features were almost perfect. Although cloaked by the beginnings of a beard, his jaw was strong, angular, his cheekbones high, chiseled. His nose fit his face, not too big, not too small. His hands were broad, his fingers long and tapered.

  How did such a gorgeous man land in such dire straits? Questions built, layer upon layer. She wanted to know everything about him.

  “Where do you keep the coffee?” he asked.

  “Here.” She reached into the cabinet over her head and stood on tiptoes. Her fingers touched the can, but she only managed to push it back farther on the shelf.

  “Let me.”

  He moved directly behind her, his jacket brushing against her back. He smelled of leather and spearmint gum.

  Their fingertips touched briefly.

  Blazing tingles of awareness swamped her. July’s heart fluttered. Discombobulated, she quickly turned away and concentrated on cracking eggs into the skillet.

  “So, Tucker,” Mrs. O’Brien said, unwrapping the basket of homemade sweet rolls. The yeasty scent filled the kitchen. “How did you meet our July?”

  “Uh,” Tucker grunted, pouring water into the coffeemaker. “Well...er...”

  “We met in the courtyard this morning,” July said.

  “Oh,” Mrs. O’Brien said. “How interesting.” Her neighbor telegraphed her a look that asked, What have you done now?

  July lifted her shoulders. She knew her friends and family worried about her tendency to champion those in need, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. A person in trouble drew July like a kid to an amusement park. She’d always been that way. As if by centering on someone else’s problems, she could erase her own.

  Silence stretched. Tucker did not attempt to make conversation.

  The coffee pot gurgled.

  “Tucker looked like he could use a good breakfast,” July chirped. “So I invited him up.”

  “And I appreciate it.” He held her gaze.r />
  The man sent mixed signals. One minute she was sure he was a nervous, homeless man ready to bolt back to the alley, the next he seemed bold and authoritative. She’d never run across anyone quite like him. He was multi-layered and complicated.

  “That’s our July.” Mrs. O’Brien beamed. “Always thinking of others.”

  Blushing, July ducked her head and vigorously scrambled the eggs with a wire whisk.

  “Would you like a sweet roll, Tucker?” Mrs. O’Brien extended the basket to him.

  “Thank you,” he said, reaching for a pastry and seating himself beside the elderly lady. “July is an exceptional woman.”

  His praise surprised her. Did he really consider her exceptional? Heck, he didn’t even know her. But for some odd reason, her hands shook as she dished up eggs and oatmeal on three dishes. Why should one innocent statement from a stranger send her into a tailspin?

  She looked over to find him staring at her, those brown eyes locked on her. Eyes that seemed to say so much.

  Suddenly, July felt as if she were falling into an inescapable abyss. Gulping, she wrenched her gaze away.

  “There’s certainly no one else like her,” Mrs. O’Brien agreed, bobbing her head, oblivious to the sexual tension snapping between July and Tucker. “She does so much for our little community.”

  “Here we go,” July said, trying to disguise her feelings.

  In all her twenty-five years, she’d never experienced such instant attraction to anyone. What was it about Tucker that stirred her?

  “Breakfast looks delicious, dear,” Mrs. O’Brien commented.

  “Thank you for the food,” Tucker mumbled, dropping his bold stare.

  “You’re welcome,” July replied. “Shall we say grace?” She reached out to take Mrs. O’Brien’s hand and held her other hand out to Tucker.

  He stared at her hand as if it were a snake.

  She nodded, smiling.

  Finally, he sank his palm into hers and ducked his head as she said a quick prayer of thanks. But he dropped her hand the second she said, “Amen.”

  “So, tell us, Tucker,” Mrs. O’Brien said, digging into her eggs with gusto. “Do you live near here?”

  He ran a finger along his collar as if he were hot. Why hadn’t he hung up his jacket? “Uh, I’m new to Rascal.”

  “You don’t have a place to stay?” The elderly lady asked her questions, feeding July’s curiosity.

  “Umm, not yet.”

  “Where have you been living?”

  “Here and there.”

  “Then we’ll be seeing more of you.” Mrs. O’Brien clapped her hands and beamed a radiant smile. “Excellent news.”

  “Um…I won’t be in town long.”

  “Oh. That is a shame.”

  July’s stomach dropped to her feet. Why did it bother her that he wouldn’t be in town for long? If he was leaving soon, then she didn’t need to worry about him. Heavens, she had enough work without looking out for another hard-luck case.

  The girl was off her cracker, Tucker decided, his gaze lingering on the sweet, heart-shaped face sitting across from him.

  What a flaky little do-gooder. Still, something about her and her cozy home stirred him, generating a strange warmness he didn’t like because Tucker had grown far too comfortable in the cold.

  He winced. Usually, he didn’t fret about his empty personal life. Work was enough. He didn’t need anything more.

  Given his childhood, he’d never understood what people found so necessary about spending time with family and friends. To Tucker, family spelled nothing but grief. And friends...well, they always seemed to let you down when you needed them the most.

  Being a red-blooded male, he occasionally hungered for female companionship. When those needs arose, there were a couple of lady friends he visited, and those infrequent liaisons satisfied him. Why would anyone choose the twin straitjackets of marriage and family?

  Tucker suppressed a shudder. There wasn’t a woman alive who could trap him like that.

  Yet something about July tugged at him. Something he couldn’t explain. The feelings scared Tucker, and it bothered him to let her believe he was a homeless bum.

  Why should he care what she thought of him?

  Much as he might wish to deny it, everything about the woman captured his attention. She smelled heavenly, like lemon and summertime—fresh, hopeful, new—and it made him wonder what she tasted like. Her hair, short and sassy, begged to be mussed. She possessed the body of a gymnast—firm, compact, flexible.

  And the way that fuzzy, red sweater stretched across her perky breasts, well, whew!

  Sexual attraction, he told himself. That’s all. He could not afford the luxury of liking her too much. He was undercover, for the love of Pete. Not on a blind date. He’d do well to remember that.

  “More coffee?” July’s lyrical voice yanked him back to the moment. She had risen from the table and stood beside him, the coffeepot clutched in her small hand.

  “I gotta go.” He pushed back his chair.

  Her mouth tipped down. Was she disappointed?

  Don’t be ridiculous, Haynes. Why would she care if you left or not? She’s probably damn grateful to get rid of your sorry hide.

  “Oh,” she said, “okay.”

  “Thanks for breakfast. It was great.”

  “You’re more than welcome.”

  She settled the coffeepot on the table and slanted him a sidelong glance from beneath long eyelashes.

  Tucker scrambled to his feet. He told himself not to meet her gaze, but somehow, he couldn’t seem to follow his own advice.

  Compelled, he cocked his head to the right. One look into those wide green eyes and the world tilted on its axis. Bewildered, he took a step backward and stumbled over a ceramic calico cat doorstop.

  “Watch out!” July cautioned, leaping to place a hand on his shoulder. Her touch, her sexy voice, her nearness had him aching to escape.

  “Are you all right, young man?” Mrs. O’Brien readjusted her glasses on the end of her nose and peered at Tucker.

  “Fine, fine,” he mumbled. Feeling like an idiot, he spun on his heels and ended up knocking over a laundry basket that was tucked in the corner behind the kitchen door.

  A plethora of panties, bras, slips, and sheer nightgowns spilled across the floor. Red, black, white, green, purple. Silk, satin, lace. Tucker hadn’t seen so much lingerie outside of a Victoria’s Secret catalog.

  His face flamed hot as he dropped to his knees, scooped up the delicate garments, and stuffed them back into the basket.

  A bra strap hooked itself around the toe of his boot. Alarmed, Tucker shook his leg as if the bra were a vicious badger.

  “Hold still.” July giggled, getting down on her knees beside him.

  Good gosh almighty, the last thing he wanted was to be on the floor with this bewitching pixie in a pile of ladies’ underwear. Tucker broke out in a cold sweat.

  “Sorry to ambush you with my lingerie.” July chuckled and tugged the bra from the toe of his boot. “I was going to do a load of laundry before work this morning, so I set the basket out.”

  “Uh,” he uttered, inarticulate as a caveman. He had to get out of her apartment. Now. At this point, he didn’t even care if he ran straight into the Stravanos brothers and blew his cover. “I gotta go.”

  “It’s nice to have met you, Tucker,” she said.

  How could one person smile so damn much, he wondered, scrambling to his feet and edging toward the door.

  “You’re welcome to drop by anytime.” She followed after him.

  Yeah. Sure. When the Democrats and Republicans work together to balance the national debt.

  “It’s been swell,” he said inanely, his hand closing over the doorknob. He was almost free from her.

  “Yes, it has.”

  He wrenched open the door and stepped outside in the cool morning breeze. Taking a deep breath, Tucker plunged down the steps, his heart tattooing out a rapid rhythm.
>
  What was happening to him? He couldn’t remember feeling so panicky, not even that time he’d been in a shootout with drug dealers.

  It wasn’t until he had trotted two blocks in the direction of where he’d parked his pickup truck that Tucker realized he was clutching a pair of tiny black lace panties.

  3

  Invigorated, July whistled a cheerful tune as she scrubbed scrambled egg residue from the iron skillet. She chuckled under her breath thinking about the embarrassed expression on Tucker’s face when he’d upended her laundry basket.

  “That young man of yours is a little odd, my dear,” Mrs. O’Brien said. She stacked dirty dishes from the table and handed them to July.

  “He’s not my young man,” July corrected. “I felt sorry for him, so I invited him to breakfast. That’s all.”

  Mrs. O’Brien pursed her lips. “Is that why you kept admiring his big brown eyes?”

  “I did not,” July protested, but her heart wasn’t in it.

  “My dear, I’ve been on this earth for seventy-five years; you’re not fooling me. I saw those glances you kept sending him.”

  “Edna, he’s homeless. I saw him digging in the dumpster for food. I’m only interested in helping him get back on his feet.”

  Her neighbor shook her head. “I don’t care what you saw. That man is no transient.”

  “How do you know?” July asked.

  Part of her agreed with Edna that Tucker was most definitely an enigma. Something about him did not ring true. He was too intelligent, too worldly.

  Still, who knew? Bad luck could happen to anyone, but if he wasn’t a man down on his luck, who was he and why had he been hanging around the apartment complex for the past several days?

  Maybe he’s a criminal, a voice in the back of her mind goaded, but July rejected the idea. She didn’t want to believe that.

  “It’s in the way he carries himself,” Edna elaborated. “Proud and regal. He’s a nice enough fella, but I get the feeling he’s hiding something. He’s not what he seems. But why would someone pretend to be down on their luck when they’re not?”