by Lori Wilde
Queenie, he thought. Mistress of all she surveys.
He realized this was the first lustful interest he’d seriously entertained about a woman since Aimee. His libido had come kicking back to life—and in big way.
Great, this was exactly what he did not need.
Then stupidly, Tuck raised his hand and waved at her. Dimwit.
She smiled then, and it felt like the sun coming out after a long winter storm.
Tuck slid across the bench, making room for her at the booth. Evie raised an eyebrow and exchanged a look with Ridley. He shrugged.
Jillian sauntered over.
“Have a seat,” Tuck patted the cushion beside him.
“Just for a second,” Jillian said, sliding in beside him. “I’m waiting for someone.”
A male someone? he wondered, then hated himself for wondering. What did he care if she had a date? It was nothing to him. He barely knew her.
“What’ll you have?” Brandi asked Jillian and Evie as she brought Tuck his beer.
“Cherry Coke for me,” Evie said.
“I’ll have a glass of the house Chardonnay.” Jillian folded her hands on the table and leaned forward, unwittingly exposing her cleavage.
Tuck ogled.
Jillian turned and caught him. She frowned and drew her shoulders back.
He grinned and lounged insouciantly against the booth. It felt good, feeling lusty again.
“Slow learner, huh?” she said.
“What?”
“Falling through the ceiling because you were paying more attention to my ass than what you were supposed to be doing didn’t teach you anything?”
Evie hooted. “I like her.” She reached across the table and shook Jillian’s hand. “I like you.”
Tuck scowled. “The women are ganging up on me, Rid. We guys gotta stick together. Help me out here.”
Ridley held up his palms. “Hey, you’re on your own, dude. I gotta go home with Evie.”
“Smart man.” Jillian grinned.
“I’ve got him trained.” Evie plucked the cherry from the glass of Coke the waitress deposited in front of her and popped it into her mouth.
“No, no,” Ridley disagreed. “I just let you think you have me trained.”
“What difference does it make?” Evie asked. “As long as things work out the way I want them to?”
Ridley rolled his eyes. “Do you hear your sister?”
“Hey,” Tuck said. “Don’t look at me. I was stuck with her from birth. You married her.”
“And it was the happiest day of my life.” Ridley smiled.
Evie patted her husband’s hand. “Did I mention he’s a very smart man?”
On the jukebox, Carrie Underwood gave way to Merle Haggard and Jillian covered her ears.
“You want me to go fix it?” Tuck offered. “I can find something to replace Merle, but I doubt I can scrounge up A Little Night Music.”
“You’ve been holding out on me,” Jillian teased accusingly. “You are familiar with Mozart.”
Tuck measured off an inch with his thumb and forefinger. “Never underestimate the Magic Man.”
Evie groaned, but in a good-natured way. “Watch out, my little brother is feeling cocky.”
“I for one am happy to see it,” Ridley commented. “His eyes haven’t had this much spark since …”
Ridley broke off as Tuck mentally filled in the blank. Since Aimee got sick.
Silence fell over the group.
“So this is the local watering hole.” Jillian rushed to fill the emptiness and swung her gaze about the place.
Tuck appreciated the rescue at the same time he felt resentful. It wasn’t her place to ease his emotional tension. Her hair flowed over her shoulders like water over rocks when she swiveled her hair. The cut was so stylish and artistic he had no doubt she’d forked over big bucks for it. For some reason, he resented that too. He shouldn’t have. Back in the days when he was the Magic Man, he’d splurged on haircuts as well.
“Looks like half the town is here,” she went on.
It was after five now, and people were stopping in for happy hour on their way home from work. It was the only saloon in town. Although the Rusty Nail also served sandwiches, hamburgers, and appetitzes, it was first and foremost a drinking establishment. Pool hall in the back. Video games, trivia tournaments, and eternal ESPN on the plasma-screen televisions throughout the front.
Tuck saw it through Jillian’s eyes. Peered into the past to remember how the Rusty Nail had looked the first time he’d come here with Aimee one summer before they were married. In happier times. Before the ovarian cancer diagnosis.
Men dressed in jeans and flannel and down vests and hunting caps perched on stools at the bar. Women sat at tables with their girlfriends drinking rum toddies. A laughing couple fed each other nachos. A fistful of older guys hunkered over the pool tables. The air smelled of cheese and beer and French fries. The décor was standard Colorado neighborhood pub fare with rawhide lampshades, a roaring fireplace in the center of the room, and trophy deer heads on the wall.
Tuck knew without having to ask that the Rusty Nail was a long way from Jillian’s Chardonnay-drinking, Mozart-listening, hundred-dollar-haircut world. Sooner or later, she was going to realize that as well and head back to the big city. Even if the deed Blake had signed over to him never turned up. All Tuck had to do was wait her out. The house meant nothing to her and yet it meant so much to him. It was his last connection to Aimee.
“Ooh,” she said, and nudged Tuck with her elbow. “Who’s that pretty blond woman with Bill?”
“That’s his fiancée, Lily Massey. She teaches high school math.”
“And the guy in the suit talking to Will?”
Tuck’s eyes followed her gaze. Trust Jillian to find the only man in the room dressed in a three-piece suit and carrying a briefcase. His flank felt odd where her elbow had dug into him, and he caught a whiff of her hair, which smelled like cucumbers. “That’s Jefferson Baines. Celebrity real estate agent.”
Jillian shot a look at Tuck. “I take that to mean he’s a real estate agent to celebrities looking for a mountain getaway and not a celebrity himself.”
“He kisses a lot of asses. You figure it out.”
Jillian glanced back at Jefferson, tilted her head, and studied his ass. “He looks like he’s good at it. That’s an Armani he’s wearing.”
“Jefferson is a legend in his own mind.” Tuck snorted. “He conned Sylvester Stallone into a ninety-nine-year lease on a lodge in Crystal Ridge. And rumor has it he sold Carmen Electra a ski condo in Estes Park and slept with her. But I’m betting he started that rumor himself. At least the last part.”
“Hmm, I don’t know about that,” she said. “The Rolex at his wrist looks real.”
“The guy’s a total poser. He lives in a one-bedroom apartment on Donner Avenue. The floors are made out of laminate. What kind of real estate agent worth his salt lives in a place with laminate flooring?” Tuck noticed Jillian was giving him the strangest look. “Laminate is an insult. Here he is a real estate agent and he’s got a place with faux wood that ain’t gonna last.”
“I’ve heard the opposite. I heard laminate was more durable than hardwood,” she said.
“Vicious lies spread by the makers of laminate flooring,” Tuck replied sagely.
“Let me get this straight. Jefferson Baines has weak wood.” Jillian nodded. “I see. That’s very enlightening. Good to know in case I’m ever in the market for strong wood.”
A Machiavellian smile lit up her face. This was how she looked in the courtroom, he realized. Manipulating language to suit her needs. He felt led on.
Jillian nodded at the twin CPAs. “So, what kind of wood do Bill and Will have?”
“They inherited their mother’s place on State Street. Soft wood in that area of town. Their floors are pine.” He eyed her, wondering what she was up to. “But Bill’s upgrading when he and Lily get married. They’re going for oak in
the home they’re having built.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve been commissioned to build their cabinets.”
“What about that guy?” She pointed to an effeminate-looking young man at the bar. “What kind of floor does he have?”
“Bamboo. Exotic but green. Why the sudden interest in flooring?”
“I’ve never given it much thought,” she said. “But you make it sound so fascinating.”
“You can tell a lot about someone by their flooring choices,” Tuck said.
“Ah, I see.” Jillian laughed and lowered her eyelashes. “So if you were building your own place, what kind of floors would you have, Tuck?”
He dropped his voice and met her eyes. “Mahogany all the way, Queenie. It’s thick and hard and lasts forever.”
“What about Sutter Godfrey?” She nodded toward the dapper old man as one of his cronies wheeled him through the door of the Rusty Nail. “He’s got mahogany in the Peabody Mansion.”
“Ah,” Tuck said. “But it’s very old wood. Termite riddled. Diseased wood can be very dangerous.”
“Just for the record,” Ridley said. “We’ve got tile throughout our entire house.”
“Poor us, we’ve got no wood at all,” Evie said in a mock mournful voice, and then grinned.
“Because you wore it out.” Ridley tickled her lightly in the ribs.
Evie giggled.
“I suspect we’re not talking about flooring anymore,” Jillian said.
“I’m up for a good flooring discussion. What’s on the table? Hardwood, laminate, tile, natural stone, granite, carpet?” Lexi Kilgore sidled up to their booth. “I’m sorry I’m late, Jillian. Customer came in at the last minute.”
“Granite’s good,” Tuck mused. “I’d forgotten about granite.”
Jillian sent him a chiding glance, making him feel like a laggard. “We’ve moved on, Tuck. Keep up.”
“Can I sit with you?” Lexi asked, wedging herself in next to Jillian, leaving her with no choice but to scoot closer to Tuck.
Her thigh settled against his, and he could feel her body heat radiating through the layer of their clothes, seeping into his skin. He liked the contact, and his body responded, stirring in a way it hadn’t stirred in a long time. It bothered the hell out of him that he liked it.
“How’s the ankle, Tuck?” Lexi asked. “You took a nasty spill. Your face was so white that when Bill and Will helped Jillian get you to the truck, I thought you were going to pass out.”
Tuck lifted his mug. “I’m cruising. Thanks for asking.”
Jillian frowned. “You shouldn’t mix painkillers and alcohol.”
“Nope, I stopped taking the Vicodin this morning.”
“It could still be in your system.”
“It’s only one beer, and look, it’s not even a third gone. I’m good to go.”
“Uh-huh.” She didn’t looked convinced.
“I am,” he said defensively. Damn, but the woman could set his back up quicker than anyone he’d ever met.
“When are you going to start renovating the lake house?” Lexi asked. “You know I have to special-order that particular carpet she wanted—”
“I’ll have to get back to you on that,” Tuck interrupted, wishing she hadn’t opened that can of worms.
“Carpet?” Jillian said. “You were planning on putting carpet in your own house?”
“That was before you showed up to contest my ownership.”
“No granite? No wood at all?”
He glared. “Aimee’s choice in flooring is off limits to you.”
Silence engulfed the table. In the next room, pool balls clacked. On the jukebox, Shania Twain sang about feeling like a woman. Tuck felt like an asswipe.
Jillian downed her wine.
Lexi and Evie and Ridley all rushed to speak at once.
“Let’s order,” Ridley said. “I’m starving.”
“You want another Chardonnay?” Evie asked Jillian. “I’m flagging down our waitress.”
“Are you guys ready for the autumn festival?” Lexi chirped, and plastered a bubbly smile on her round face. “I can’t believe it’s next Saturday already. Where did the time go?”
Brandi trotted over and took the drink and food orders. Tuck tried to rouse some interest in her, but compared to the sharp, sleek woman beside him, the barmaid looked like a schoolgirl.
He thought about apologizing to Jillian for being so touchy. She’d simply been teasing him, and he’d bit her head off. Yes, he was still grieving his wife, but that didn’t give him an excuse to be a rude jerk. He didn’t know how to begin, so he busied himself with polishing off his beer and staring down the cleavage of her awesome fluffy white sweater.
“I probably should be getting home,” Jillian said without looking at Tuck. “I’m still trying to plow my way through Sutter’s open cases. It is a mess. I don’t know how the man gets any business done.”
“But we’ve got nachos coming,” Ridley said. He could tell that his brother-in-law was trying to make up for Tuck’s assholishness. “The Rusty Nail makes the best nachos in town.”
Evie shot him a look and cleared her throat loudly.
“Besides the Bluebird, of course.” He tightened his arm around her, clearly not interested in joining Tuck in the doghouse. “No one’s a better cook than Evie.”
Suck up, Tuck mouthed silently.
“I saw that, Tucker Manning.” Evie shook a finger at him.
“Brandi.” Ridley motioned when the waitress brought them the drinks and nachos. “Bring Tuck another beer. He needs some loosening up.”
“No, no,” Tuck said, but Brandi was already zooming off.
“Consider it, man,” Ridley said. “She would wait on you hand and foot.”
“Who would?” Jillian asked.
“Brandi the barmaid,” Evie supplied. “Ridley’s determined to play matchmaker for Tuck.”
“Tuck’s back on the market?” Lexi’s eyes lit up. “I had no idea.”
“It’s been two years,” Evie said. “He’s only thirty. He needs to move on.”
“Oh agreed, agreed.” Lexi bounced in her seat.
Tuck groaned inwardly. He didn’t want it getting out all over town that he might start dipping his toe in the dating pool again. Lexi was a sweet woman, but he wasn’t the least bit interested in someone that damned bouncy. Was he really thinking about dipping his toe in the dating pool? He slid another glance at Jillian’s exceptional cleavage.
Jillian cocked her head and studied Brandi as she took drink orders from a neighboring table. “She’d be perfect for you if you don’t mind changing diapers.”
“Hmm.” Tuck sniffed the air. “Smells like jealousy in here to me.”
“Please.” Jillian laughed as if the idea was completely preposterous. “I have no romantic interest in you whatsoever.”
“Really?” Lexi sounded hopeful and clasped her hands in her lap.
“Really,” Jillian said emphatically.
God, how had he gotten himself into this conversation? Brandi came back and slid the beer across the table. She winked slyly at him. Tuck gulped and just dove right into the beer. Anything to keep from dealing with this.
Jillian crossed her leg underneath the table, and the tip of her shoe grazed his shin. He caught another whiff of her cucumber-scented hair and had the strangest urge for a garden salad. She smelled like lush, summer produce, and the thought of nibbling on her was making him hard.
“I think this is an exciting time,” Evie said, leaning across the table. “Ridley and I are working on a baby. Jillian’s just moved to town. Lexi’s expanding her business to include window treatments, and my little brother Tuck has decided to come out of the shadows and return to the land of the living.”
All eyes were on him. Tuck blew out his breath. It unnerved him. The thought of starting over, trying again. He wasn’t sure he was ready. Hell, he wasn’t sure he’d ever be ready.
“A toast.” E
vie lifted her glass and looked at Tuck pointedly. “To new beginnings.”
Everyone raised their glasses and echoed, “To new beginnings.”
“Hey,” Lexi said to Evie after they clinked glasses. “Have you thought about window treatments for the nursery?”
And they were off, Evie and Lexi talking about babies and curtains with circus animals on them that matched the receiving blankets Evie had already bought.
Clearly an outsider in the conversation, Jillian leaned back against the seat, and strands of her hair trailed along Tuck’s shoulder. To keep from yanking her into his arms and stealing a kiss, he made himself think about work. How was he going to finish the job Sutter had hired him to do with a broken ankle?
But no matter how hard he tired, Tuck couldn’t keep his mind, or his eyes, off Jillian. He was in serious trouble here. It wasn’t just her cleavage or the tickling strands of her hair against his skin or the cucumber scent of her invading his nostrils. It wasn’t the pucker of her rich raspberry lips when she took a sip of wine or the way her slender neck curved into her shoulders or the heat of her long, firm body radiating through his that clouded his brain.
Okay, so maybe it was all those things, but it was something more as well, and he had no idea what it was or what to do about it.
He squirmed in his seat.
She looked over at him. “Are you okay?”
“Um … I gotta move my legs. Kinda cramped up here.”
“Oh,” Jillian murmured, and leaned over to touch Lexi’s arm. “Could you let us out, please? Tuck wants to stretch his legs.”
Lexi let them out and Jillian got up, stumbling a little in the process. Tuck put out a hand to steady her. She’d had only two glasses of Chardonnay. He didn’t know if she was a lightweight in the booze department or if it was those high-heeled boots giving her the trouble. You had to admire a woman who stood five-foot-ten and still wore heels.
“Thanks,” she said breathlessly, and moved away from his hand. She reached for his crutches and passed them to him. “You know, I think I’m just going to call it a night.”
“So soon?” Lexi said.
“Are you sure you should be driving?” Tuck asked.
