by Lori Wilde
She nodded. “What about you?”
“I’ve got to go after Petruski and the Stravanos brothers,” Tucker said.
“When will you be back?”
“I don’t know.”
“But you will be back?” she asked, her bottom lip trembling.
“July,” he said, planting another quick kiss on her lips. “Wild horses couldn’t keep me away from you.”
16
Tucker zipped along Interstate 35 in his pickup truck, oblivious to the ice still clinging to the roadway. It was well after dark and over two hours since he’d left July.
The snow-covered scenery of the Davis Mountain range flashed by his windshield. Every few miles, he’d spot an abandoned car lying in the ditch. Vapor lamps created an eerie glow through the heavy clouds. The world seemed a cold, dark, silent place.
The police band radio crackled and sputtered sporadically. He was hot on the trail of Petruski and the Stravanos brothers. The Stravanos brothers’ van had been spotted thirty minutes earlier by one of Sheriff Forrester’s deputies in a truck stop on their way south, headed for the Mexican border.
One way or the other, Tucker was determined to bring Petruski and his cohorts to justice. The main thing he had in his favor? Petruski had left him for dead. He wouldn’t expect Tucker on his tail.
Yet his usual single-minded purpose was shot. No matter how hard he tried to stoke up enthusiasm for the pursuit, he could not stop thinking about July.
He’d fallen in love with her. He didn’t know how or when, but he couldn’t deny the feelings welling up inside his heart. And those feelings scared the hell out of him.
What if she didn’t love him back?
Who are you kidding? July is crazy about you, whispered the part of himself that dared to hope for a bright future.
Who could mistake that heavenly light shining from those eyes whenever she gazed at him? What about the way she put his wants and needs before her own? No one had ever put him first.
No. The problem wasn’t with her. He couldn’t deny July’s feelings. What he did question was his own response. How did he know he loved her? Could the tightness in his chest whenever he thought of her be more than anxiety?
He was sexually attracted to her, no doubt. But was he mistaking that for love?
What was love really?
Tucker didn’t know. He’d fought so hard to remain alone, aloof, distant from others for so long, he feared he didn’t know the meaning of the word.
And July deserved much better than that. She deserved a man who knew how to express his feelings freely. A man who could whisper, “I love you,” to her a hundred times a day. She deserved someone with a positive attitude who saw the world with the same eager eyes she did. She deserved the best.
And that wasn’t him.
If he really loved her, he’d never go back to Rascal.
Tucker pressed harder on the accelerator. Nothing had ever hurt as much as leaving her standing on the landing, her cute little chin raised in the air, her lips puckered, her emerald-green eyes shuttered closed—waiting for that parting kiss he hadn’t given her.
The urge to take her into his arms one last time had been so strong, so intense, Tucker knew if he had allowed his lips to descend upon hers one last time, it would not have ended there.
He would have forgotten all about Petruski and justice. His desire for her was so great, he’d have swept her off her feet, carried her into that apartment, taken her into her sweet, frilly bedroom and made love to her until sunrise. And once he’d done that, he would have been hooked forever.
“You did the right thing,” he told himself, going after Petruski and the Stravanos brothers, rather than staying with her and letting the sheriff handle it. Gritting his teeth, Tucker buzzed around a slow-moving eighteen-wheeler. The speedometer needle bounced to eighty-five.
If he’d done the right thing, how come he felt so lousy?
Think about getting your hands on Petruski.
But somehow, revenge felt empty, unfulfilling. He was tired of living with negative emotions like vengeance, betrayal, and mistrust. He was sick to death of crime, mayhem, destruction, and sorrow. He wanted instead to live in that magical world July inhabited where kindness reigned, and concern for others was supreme.
She’d gotten to him. No doubt about it. But could he really change? Had thirty-two years of living on the seamy side of life ruined him for the things that were good, honest, sincere, and loving?
Anyone can change.
July’s words haunted him, ringing in his ears like a divine promise. Could even Tucker Haynes, spawn of thieves, cheats, and liars, turn over a new leaf?
A shimmering sensation started in his gut and slowly spread outward until it engulfed his entire body in a warm sense of security. Hope surged through him, beating back despair. Could he possibly have a real future with July? Did he dare take her up on her offer to change, put
her faith to the ultimate test?
Tucker squeezed the steering wheel, excitement strumming through his veins. He stared out the windshield at the yellow highway stripes disappearing beneath his tires.
July, July, July.
Even her name evoked the happy, hopeful thoughts of summer. Ice cream, watermelon, fireworks, weddings.
Weddings?
Hold your horses, Haynes. You’ve got a long road to travel before you’re ready for commitment.
Still, even the option was a reason for celebration. Tucker had been convinced he was doomed to spend his life alone, that once his past was known, any woman would drop him as Karen had.
But not July. She didn’t label him white trash like people in Kovena did. She did not prejudge or assume. She accepted him even when she’d believed him to be homeless.
Completely. Absolutely. Unconditionally.
That was love.
He swallowed against the acid scaling his throat. How stupid could one hardheaded man be?
For the love of Pete, why was he here in the middle of the night? He was out of his jurisdiction. He should just go home and let Matt Forrester handle this collar.
But he couldn’t do that.
For one thing, this was personal between him and Petruski. And secondly, the thought of his empty apartment held no appeal.
The place wasn’t a home. He’d lived there over three years, and he still slept on a mattress on the floor. He possessed few personal effects. When he thought of home, the picture of July’s dainty little apartment kept popping into his head.
Hell, Haynes, go back to her! Forget driving in this ice. Forget Petruski. Forget everything but that tender woman. Go to her!
For the first time since Karen, Tucker found himself listening to his heart. He made the decision to turn the truck around at the same time his headlights caught the rear reflectors of a van nose down in the ditch under an overpass.
A plain white van. Just like the one the Stravanos brothers drove.
Tucker slowed down, and squinted against the glare. Someone lumbered from the darkness, stumbling across the highway.
A man. Waving his arms. Walking straight into the path of Tucker’s vehicle.
Lieutenant Petruski.
Operating on instinct, forgetting the consequences, Tucker trod heavily on the brakes.
The car fishtailed wildly. Ice fingers gripped the tires.
Tucker’s car careened like a drunken skater, flailing, whirling, dancing across the slick asphalt. He thought inanely of the game Spin the Bottle and let go of the wheel. There was nothing he could do now.
His truck made a sickening thud when it hit the embankment, but his mind hardly registered the sound.
Tucker’s head smacked the steering wheel, and his last thought before he lost consciousness was of July.
July sat on the wooden bench at the Presidio County Sheriff’s Department, nursing her third cup of coffee and waiting to be summoned for an interview. Edna napped at July’s elbow, gray curls still wrapped around pink sponge rollers.
July had called 911, and Sheriff Forrester and his deputies had arrived to secure the scene and evacuate the residents of the small apartment complex until the fire department said it was safe to return.
The sheriff brought July in to give her statement, and Edna had insisted on coming along for moral support.
July stared down at her raw wrists. The zip tie marks looked like vivid red bracelets. She wondered if Tucker’s wrists hurt as much as hers.
Where was he? Sheriff Forrester hadn’t told her about Tucker’s whereabouts or the investigation.
She took a deep breath and prayed for his safety. Not only was Petruski and his henchmen dangerous, but the roads were treacherous as well. She had been waiting for over an hour to give her statement.
In the background, she heard a dispatcher fielding calls. Some drunk scuffled with two deputies down the hallway. The sound of office equipment clacked and wheezed in another room.
The scuffle woke Edna. Yawning, she sat up and peered down the hall. “Goodness,” she said, “this is an active place.”
July nodded. An active place that brought back unpleasant memories. Recollections of coming down to this same station with her father and sisters in the middle of the night to retrieve her mother arrested for DUI. July even remembered the frilly pink nightgown and matching housecoat Mom had been wearing that night.
She and Tucker were not so very different. They had both dealt with the ravages of addiction, each in their own fashion. Tucker had turned his back on his family, isolating himself, shielding his heart from people while she’d done the exact opposite.
July had thrust herself into the problems. Taking responsibility for her mother’s substance abuse as something July needed to fix.
Gulping, she remembered how her mother had looked, straggling through the door on the arm of a law enforcement officer. July had gone to her instantly, shaking off her father’s restraining hand.
She’d brushed her mother’s matted hair from her face and patted her shoulder. She’d ignored her awful smell. She’d cooed to her and soothed her and gently led her to the car.
Even at thirteen years old, she’d taken responsibility for something that was not her fault. She had ignored the ache in her own heart to take care of her mother’s needs. No one had ever asked how she was doing. Her father had let her take over. Had submersed himself in his work.
The hushed whispers, the guarded looks in Rascal had been about her mother. Hiding her needs, pushing them to the side, shoving back her anger and her pain, July had assumed the role of caretaker.
Usually, when anyone had acknowledged her, it had been to tell July what a dutiful daughter she was. She’d been praised and lauded by her father and her relatives for taking on responsibilities far beyond her years.
The praise had fueled her natural nurturer tendencies until July had forgotten that she had wants and needs of her own. She became a lightning rod for people in need, subjugating herself to help others.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Edna said.
“I was thinking about my mother,” July murmured.
Edna patted her knee. “Would you like to talk about it?”
July started to shake her head, to hold in her feelings. She stopped short.
Hadn’t her need to be needed interfered in her relationship with Tucker? Hadn’t her tendency to butt in often placed her at cross purposes with her friends and relatives? Hadn’t her urge to help a sick kitten gotten her lured into the Stravanos apartment?
What if, for once, instead of trying to find a way to ignore her own desires, she just owned them?
“Yes,” July said, feeling as if a giant weight had rolled from her shoulders. “Yes, Edna, I would like to talk.”
Tucker heard a siren’s wail, the crackling of the police scanner. Someone shouted—what, he didn’t know. Something warm and sticky trickled down his forehead. He coughed, and instant pain racked his right side.
Groaning, Tucker tried to open his eyes but couldn’t. He felt cold. Very, very cold. Weak and formless.
This is it. I’m going to die alone without ever being loved.
That desperate thought was sobering. Why should anyone love him? He’d never gone out of his way to form friendships. Afraid of being judged, he’d kept to himself. He’d spent a lifetime avoiding commitment because he was too scared to deal with the past.
But I love, he whispered. I love July Johnson.
Why couldn’t he have said that to her?
Now the chance was gone forever as his life ebbed away on the icy asphalt somewhere in the Davis Mountains. Dying alone was much scarier than he thought.
The ambulance screeched to a halt. He heard the sound of running footsteps, felt snow falling on his face.
“Over here. Quick!” someone said.
“Can you hear me, Tucker?”
The voice sounded familiar. Tucker frowned and tried again to open his eyes but failed. “Matt?”
“Yeah. It’s me.”
Bleary-eyed, he peered up at his friend. The friend he didn’t see often enough.
“You’re going to make it, buddy; you’re going to pull through. You hear me?” Matt commanded.
“Petruski,” Tucker croaked.
“We caught him. The Stravanos brothers too. They wrecked their van and started out on foot. A van full of evidence. Petruski is going away for a long time.”
“I…” Tucker coughed and spat up blood.
“Don’t try to talk.” Matt crouched beside him as paramedics loaded him on a backboard.
“July…”
“She’s fine. She’s safe. She’s at the station.”
Tucker’s eyes rolled back in his head. All he could see was stark white sky. But how was that possible when it was pitch-black out.
“Hang on, buddy.” Matt’s voice was urgent. “Don’t die on me. We need you at the Sheriff’s Department. We need you in Rascal. July needs you too.”
And those were the last words Tucker heard.
“I’m afraid I have some bad news,” the deputy said.
Immediately, July’s hand went to her throat, and Edna sat up a little taller on the hard bench.
“Give it to us straight, young man.”
July would have laughed at the sincerity in Edna’s voice if the expression on the policeman’s face hadn’t been so serious.
“What’s happened?” July asked.
“While in pursuit of the suspects, Officer Haynes was involved in a motor vehicle collision.”
“Oh my!” July exclaimed. “How is he?”
“We don’t know yet. His vehicle has been totaled. He’s currently en route to Presidio County Hospital.”
July leaped to her feet and got dizzy. The room spun, blurred. No! This couldn’t be happening. Tucker hurt, possibly dying before she ever had the chance to tell him how much she loved him.
“July.” Edna touched her arm.
“I’ve got to go to him!”
“The drive will take forever in the snow.”
“I don’t care.”
“Be realistic, dear. You won’t do him any good by having an accident yourself.”
“I have to go. He needs me.”
He needs me.
The words echoed down the corridor of the station. How many times had she uttered similar words about people in need? What was the truth? Did Tucker need her, or did she need to be needed? Or, and this was a startling thought, was it actually her who needed him?
Sudden, intense feelings swept through her. Feelings she’d suppressed for years. Feelings she’d pushed aside, denied, pretended didn’t exist. Feelings of abject helplessness.
She was not in control.
Her hands folded into fists as if she could hang on to some small measure of power, but it was like grasping smoke. There was nothing she could do. No amount of subjugation, no dose of martyrdom, no quantity of self-sacrifice could rescue her from this terrible sensation.
The truth was, she could not save any
one except herself.
Edna’s hand curled around July’s shoulder. “The doctors and nurses know what they’re doing. They’ll take good care of him.”
July took a deep breath, looked her friend square in the eye, and admitted her darkest torment. “You don’t understand, Edna. I’ve got to go to Presidio. It’s not Tucker who needs me. I need him!”
17
Weeping. Someone was crying.
Tucker tried to move his head, to see who was in distress, but it hurt too much to move. What had happened?
He lay there trying to orient himself, but the soft sobbing somewhere near his right ear captured all his attention.
Open your eyes, Haynes, he commanded himself.
Easy to think the thought, harder to execute. His whole body was one big ache, and he wanted nothing more than to drift back to sleep.
He must be dreaming. That had to be it.
Then a delicate hand reached out from somewhere and wrapped around his own. He felt a tender squeeze.
“Oh, Tucker.”
That sweet voice, that soft sigh.
July.
His eyelids fluttered as he struggled to open them. He wanted to call her name, but his throat was parched, his tongue stiff.
Her fingers entwined with his. “Please, Tucker, don’t die. What would I do without you?”
July was crying for him, begging him not to die. Pain had turned his world topsy-turvy. What had happened? He must be pretty bad off.
“Tucker, please don’t die. You’re my heart, my soul, my everything.”
His pulse quickened. A strange sensation rippled through his body. She was here for him. Something twisted in Tucker. Like the tightening of a screw.
“You can’t leave me.” Her tears dampened his skin as she lifted his hand to her mouth and gently kissed it. “Tucker, you were right about me. So right.”
What had he been right about?
His thinking was foggy, but he knew one thing. The achy feeling deep inside his chest had nothing to do with his accident and everything to do with the petite woman beside him.
