All of Me

by Lori Wilde

  Tuck leaned over to whisper, “Most people go to Boulder for their legal needs.”

  She shot him a why-the-hell-didn’t-you? look, at the same time Sutter cleared his throat. Jillian glanced back to see the elderly lawyer was dangling a set of keys from his index finger. “If you plan on riffling through my office, you’ll be needing these.”

  “Thank you, Sutter,” Tuck said as he pushed to his feet. “We’ll be back in a bit.”

  “I’ll be here.” He gave a wave of his hand.

  Carl and Bonner resumed their seats while Sam broke out the dominoes. Yep, Andy, Barney, Bee, and Opie had to be around here somewhere.

  The Peabody Mansion turned out to be the large turn-of-the-twentieth-century Victorian in the town square. Before they left the diner, Tuck got Evie to make them a sack lunch while Jillian retrieved Mutt from where he’d been attracting the attention of passersby on the sidewalk. He was eating up the strokes and scratches behind the ears with his usual extroverted glee.

  They didn’t bother taking Tuck’s truck. It was a short walk from the Bluebird to the Peabody. The wind was brisk, and Jillian found herself wishing for a thicker sweater. She suppressed a shiver, but the next thing she knew, Tuck’s flannel jacket was around her shoulders.

  It smelled of him. Manly, comfortable.

  “What—”

  “You looked cold.”

  Disconcerted by Tuck’s gentlemanly manners and the way his masculine scent disturbed her senses, she wanted to shrug off the jacket and give it back to him, but she was cold, so she drew it closer around her and managed a grudging, “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  An awkwardness settled between them as they mounted the steps of the Peabody. The once-stately manor had been converted into office space. Besides Sutter’s office, the sign out front told her the place also housed the offices of two certified public accountants, a used bookstore, and a business specializing in flooring and window treatments.

  She also noticed there were no parking meters. A town where you didn’t have to pay to park? Too damned charming.

  Tuck unlocked the front door and they stepped inside.

  The house smelled nostalgically of old boards, old books, old wallpaper, and lavender potpourri. It was a get-comfy-snuggle-up kind of smell. Like rain on a winter’s day. Like cedar chests and autumn leaves and thick cable sweaters. Between that and the lack of parking meters and the feel of Tuck’s jacket on her shoulders, Jillian was about to overdose on quaint.

  “Wanna have lunch down here before we tackle Sutter’s office?” Tuck asked, pointing to seating in the bay window between the flooring store and the CPA’s offices that overlooked the town square.

  She wanted to get this over with, but her stomach rumbled. She was hungry. “Sure,” she said, slipping off his jacket and handing it back to him.

  Tuck pulled sandwiches from the white paper sack. “Tuna on rye or turkey on whole wheat?”

  “Whichever one you don’t want.”

  “Evie cut them in half; why don’t we mix and match?”

  It sounded too damn cozy, but he didn’t wait for an answer, just started taking out the sandwiches. Mutt sat on the floor at their feet, thumping his tail and licking his lips.

  “Okay,” Tuck said. “I can see the sandwiches have got to be divided three ways. He broke off a chunk of his tuna on rye and passed it to Mutt.

  Jillian didn’t know why she found the gesture touching, but she did. This town is making you feel sappy. Snap out of it.

  “Sit.” Tuck patted the cushion beside him, then held out a wax-paper-wrapped section of turkey on wheat.

  She sat beside him on the seat. “Just to be clear, I’m not sitting because you told me to.”

  “Gotcha. Independent, strong-minded, you don’t need no stinkin’ man telling you what to do.”

  When he said it like that, it made her sound like a stone-cold bitch. Did she really come off that way?

  “As long as that’s settled,” she said, trying to act like she’d been teasing. “Are there any chips in that bag to go with the sandwich? I like the crunch.”

  “Yep, we’ve got the barbecued variety or salt and vinegar.”

  “Ooh, salt and vinegar, my favorite.”

  “Tart, I should have figured.” He tossed her the bag of chips.

  “Is there something you want to say to me?”

  “Nope. Evie stuck some colas in the sack as well. You want one?”

  She nodded and he popped open a Coke for her. Avoiding his gaze, Jillian unwrapped the sandwich, took a bite, swallowed. The turkey was succulent, roasted, hand carved. “Honestly, Tuck, I know we got off on the wrong foot, but thanks for lunch.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Silence fell and it wasn’t the good kind.

  Hurriedly, she ate the sandwich, giving Mutt the last few bites; then she dusted her fingers with a napkin and sipped her soda while she waited for Tuck to finish his meal. He seemed to be taking an extraordinary amount of time eating. Did he normally eat so slow, or was he trying to aggravate her?

  “Look,” she said, “I’m sorry about all this.”

  “Nothing to be sorry about,” he said, dabbing mayonnaise from his bottom lip with a napkin. For some unfathomable reason, her gaze hung on his mouth, and she couldn’t tear her eyes away. “It’s my house, and we’re going to find the document that proves it. You’re the one who’s going to be inconvenienced.”

  “If Sutter didn’t file the deed, it’s murky legal territory. The vague testimony of a doddering old man will not hold up in court. You need a proper legal document to lay claim to the lake house.”

  “I’ve got them.”

  “Do you?”

  “I’ll fight you on this,” he said, his voice taking on a steely edge she’d never heard before.

  She met his gaze. “I fully expect you to. But I have to tell you, back in Houston, I’m known as the Bulldog, because when I sink my teeth in, I never let go. I never give up. I never surrender.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “No,” she said, alarmed by the sudden rapid pounding of her pulse. “It’s a fact.”

  He held her gaze, turned it into a stare, didn’t even blink. “You want a battle, I’ll give you a battle. Just know before you get into this, Bulldog, that I’ve got the home-field advantage.”

  TUCK COULDN’T SAY WHY he’d challenged Jillian. The confrontation hadn’t been a conscious decision. It had just come pouring out of him on an emotional current so strong it took his breath away. As if all the pent-up anger that had been lying dormant underneath his grief couldn’t be stomped down any longer. He needed a target for his resentment and Jillian was it.

  “Let’s get this over with,” he said, picking up the remains of their lunch and tossing it in the trashcan positioned inside the front door. “The sooner we find that deed, the sooner I’ll get rid of you.”

  Jillian inhaled audibly.

  Tuck turned to glance at her, and for the briefest of moments, he spied utter hurt in her eyes. Instantly, she wiped the emotion away, but he saw it and felt like a complete shit for having said what he did. Jillian Samuels was more vulnerable than she wanted anyone to know.

  He should have realized that. Should have been more attuned to her feelings and what was going on with her. Aimee would have been ashamed of his behavior. Not only had Jillian’s mentor just died, but she’d also packed up her belongings and moved to a place she’d never even visited. A lawyer, picking up lock, stock, and barrel when Blake’s will hadn’t been probated?

  Something wasn’t right. She did not seem the kind of woman who acted on whims. Something was driving her. She was running away, and the lake house had been her refuge.

  “I’m sorry,” Tuck apologized. “I shouldn’t have spoken so rudely to you.”

  “Never apologize for being honest,” she said lightly, but he heard the brittle edge in her voice. She was in emotional pain.

  Damn it all.


  He couldn’t deal with his own feelings, much less hers. Tuck pivoted on his heel and started up the carpet-lined staircase to Sutter’s second-floor offices. Jillian and her dog followed.

  The key fumbled in the lock, giving her time to catch up with him. Mutt was running the halls, entirely too cheerful. He tried not to be pissed off at the dog. It wasn’t his fault Tuck’s life was so screwed up.

  He shoved the door inward. The hinges shrieked. The minute they stepped over the threshold, they both stopped in their tracks, mouths agape.

  The phrase “looks like it’s been hit by a tornado” was a serious cliché, but in all truthfulness, it was the only phrase that fit. Papers were strewn about the room; piles of manila folders lay in haphazard stacks. Musty old law tomes were spilling off the bookcase and shelved in the oddest places—cluttering the floor, the sofa, the top of the radiator. The drawers of the file cabinets were open, briefs and deeds and accident reports hanging from them willy-nilly.

  But that wasn’t the worst of it. In the middle of the floor was a murky puddle of foul-smelling water. Directly above the puddle was a serious water stain on the ceiling that also ran down one wall, and there were telltale signs of mold. No telling how long Sutter’s roof had been leaking.

  A sigh seeped out of Jillian.

  “I hope you weren’t in a hurry,” Tuck said.

  She laughed. A short, humorless sound full of weariness, disappointment, and defeat. “Sutter has no idea the place looks like this, does he?”

  “I’m guessing not.”

  Jillian chuffed out her breath and crossed the room to sink into the leather desk chair. Dust rose up around her. She sneezed.

  “Bless you,” Tuck said automatically, before he remembered she was the enemy intent on kicking him out of his home.

  “Thanks. I need all the blessings I can get.”

  “You’re not the only one.”

  Her eyes met his. “We are in something of a pickle, aren’t we?”

  “It’s not a good day,” he agreed.

  “This was supposed to be my fresh start,” she said, her shoulders sagging in a dejected slump. She looked like a prizefighter going down for the last count.

  Why did he have a sudden compulsion to make her feel better? It was a good thing she was feeling overwhelmed. She’d be all the more likely to get into her Sebring and head that U-Haul back to Houston. The thought made him feel a bit sad. He wanted her to stay and fight.

  But why? Why would he feel that way?

  “Look,” he said. “You’ve had a long day. Let’s just call it quits until tomorrow.”

  Another one of those rueful nonlaughs escaped her. “I don’t even have anywhere to stay, and from the look of it, at this time of year, Salvation isn’t exactly flush with lodging options.”

  She was right. In the summer, Salvation did a big tourist trade. But come the end of September, the motels and B and Bs closed for the winter and didn’t reopen until May. There was ski season, yes, but people preferred to stay on the slopes rather than an hour’s drive down the mountain to Salvation.

  He didn’t know why he said it. He didn’t mean to say it. But the next thing he knew, Tuck opened his mouth, and the words simply tumbled out. “You can stay at the lake house until we get this thing sorted out.”

  THEY WENT BACK TO THE LAKE HOUSE, Tuck built a fire, then quickly left her alone after mumbling something under his breath about meeting some friends of his. He didn’t offer to let her tag along, but why would he? Just because she was alone in town and didn’t know anyone. She’d usurped his home. He was bound to be upset.

  Jillian sat on the couch staring into the fire, Mutt sleeping at her feet. She felt out of place and offtrack. What the hell was she doing here? She didn’t belong in Colorado. She belonged …

  Where did she belong?

  That was the thing. She didn’t belong anywhere, but Salvation was supposed to have been her new beginning. Her chance to find her place. To fit in. To finally achieve the love and belonging that had been so elusive for most of her life. She’d found it temporarily, in college, with her three friends. Then again, in Blake. But while she’d had their love, she’d never had that sense of community or permanence. Never lived in a place where everyone knew you and accepted you anyway.

  Until this very moment, Jillian hadn’t realized how much she wanted that. She shivered, even though she wasn’t cold. Mutt raised his head from his place on the floor and looked up as if sensing her vulnerable mood. He sighed and rested his chin on her foot.

  “Okay.” She laughed, reaching down to scratch him behind the ears. “I’m not completely alone. I have you. We’re in this together, Muttster. It’s you and me, kid. Homeless wanderers.”

  He made a whining noise in the back of his throat.

  “What’s the matter, boy?” She kept scratching his ears. “I just took you outside, and it’s too early for your supper.”

  He looked sad.

  “You want me to stay and fight?”

  His eyebrows went up. Who knew dogs had such expressive faces?

  “You like it here, don’t you? Much nicer than the city. Woods to run through. A lake to play in. Rabbits to chase.”

  He thumped his tail. His fur was soft beneath her fingers.

  “I like it here too.”

  So fight for it.

  “Do we have mental telepathy going on here, Muttster? Or am I cracking up?”

  Another thump of his tail.

  This was a damnable situation. She’d found out Blake had left her paradise, then in the same breath taken it away. Why would he do something like that? If he deeded the land to Tuck, why not change his will as well?

  He wasn’t thinking straight. He had a brain tumor.

  Or …

  An elusive thought chased through the back of her mind. It made her sit up straight, but before she could fully wrap her head around the notion nudging around, it was gone.

  Oh well, perhaps it would occur to her later. In the meantime, she knew what she had to do next.

  First thing tomorrow morning, she was calling Hamilton Green and getting to the bottom of the property dispute.

  AFTER BUILDING A FIRE in the fireplace to warm the house for Jillian, Tuck had taken off. He felt agitated, confused, guilty, sad, and aggravated with himself. He didn’t know where to go, and he wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone about what he was feeling. The only person whose opinion mattered to him at the moment had been dead for two years, her ashes scattered over Salvation Lake.

  He hadn’t been on the water since the anniversary of Aimee’s death, the night he’d fallen in, and he shouldn’t be out on it now, but here he was, bobbing in the little red rowboat, wrapped in a parka, a wool blanket across his lap, his cheeks numb from the cold damp wind, staring listlessly at pine trees lining the dock and wondering where in the hell his life had gone.

  It was just beginning to sink in that Blake was dead. Even though he’d never really known his father-in-law, he couldn’t help feeling a deep, underlying sense of loss and regret. For what could have been. For what would never be. Fences would never been mended. Past hurts would never be forgiven. Misunderstandings would never be resolved.

  It made his gut ache. More death, more sorrow.

  And then there was Jillian.

  Being around Jillian unsettled him, and it wasn’t due to any of Ridley’s bad-luck-temptress stuff. Well, all right, maybe it was a little, but there was more to his unexpected emotions than that.

  He was attracted to Jillian, and that disturbed him because he hadn’t been attracted to a woman since his wife. And then he’d gone and told her she could stay with him at the lake house.

  How stupid was that?

  Why?

  He didn’t really know why. Maybe it was because Jillian didn’t look at him as if he was one of the walking wounded. Everyone else in town treated him as if he was an amputee. No one in Salvation—except for Evie—had known him before Aimee. It was nice, at least
for a little while, not to be defined by his status as a widower. It felt good to flirt. To feel like his old self again. And that made him guiltier than ever.

  Maybe it was because Jillian seemed to understand, being close to Blake and losing him. She had an underlying sadness in her eyes that tugged at something inside him.

  Maybe it was because on some level he felt sorry for her. Apparently, she didn’t have anyone else in her life. If she did, why would she have moved up here with all her worldly possessions without first coming to check the place out? Why didn’t she have anyone with her, helping her move?

  But maybe—and this is the one he really didn’t want to admit—just maybe, a part of him wanted to explore the attraction.

  Tuck studied the lake house. It was starting to look its age. It needed renovating, updating. On her deathbed, he promised his wife that he would rebuild it. He’d also promised her he would marry again and have the kids the two of them would never have together, but he’d lied about that too. For the life of him, Tuck couldn’t imagine getting married again. No one could ever take Aimee’s place in his heart.

  “I can’t believe your father left the lake house to that woman,” he spoke out loud to Aimee. “And then he turned around and deeded it to me. Why would he do it? Why would he mess with our heads that way?”

  If Aimee were here, she’d probably say, “That proves he’s an asshole.”

  But if Aimee were here, this whole mess wouldn’t be an issue. If she hadn’t gotten sick …

  If Aimee hadn’t gotten sick, he wouldn’t be in Salvation. He’d still be the Magic Man living their Manhattan lifestyle. It was only Aimee’s illness that had brought him here. And it was his devotion to her and the small peace he’d found in this odd little town that rooted him.

  Now everything was changing. Blake Townsend was dead, and Jillian Samuels had arrived laying claim to Aimee’s beloved lake house.

  What did it all mean for his future?