All of Me

by Lori Wilde

  “You settle.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You settle for what’s in front of you, because you don’t want to tolerate the discomfort of desire.”

  “Now you sound exactly like Evie.”

  “Your sister has said something similar?” Jillian arched her eyebrows.

  He moved to run the steamer over a different section of wallpaper. “Maybe.”

  “You remind me of an F. Scott Fitzgerald quote I read once.”

  “And what’s that?” Warm steam rose up between them.

  “ ‘The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in the mind at the same time and still retain the ability to function.’ ”

  He turned and grinned at her as that irresistible lock of hair fell over his forehead again, making him look completely adorable. “Ah, Queenie, you’re saying I’m smart?”

  “I’m saying you straddle the fence.”

  “Not so.”

  “Please.” She snorted. “Democrat or Republican?”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “Just answer the question.”

  He shrugged. “I’m not married to either party. Depends on the candidate.”

  “My point exactly. You sway whichever way the wind blows.” She peeled off a long strip of mallards.

  “That’s unfair.”

  “Paper or plastic?”

  “No preference.”

  “Baseball or football?”

  “I like them equally.”

  “Stem cell research—for or against?”

  “I don’t have all the facts. I can’t make an informed decision without studying both sides of the issue.”

  “Aha!” Jillian crowed. “Beautifully proving F. Scott Fitzgerald’s point.”

  “You’re pretty competitive, aren’t you?”

  “You’re the one who said you could take it.”

  “I might have been a bit hasty with that.”

  “You know why I think you quit being the Magic Man?”

  “Um … because my wife got diagnosed with advanced ovarian cancer?”

  “Aimee was just an excuse. I think you stopped being the Magic Man because you didn’t know how to deal with being special,” Jillian said, sliding the putty knife underneath a section of wallpaper and then peeling off the chunk. She dumped it in the big cardboard box they had sitting in the middle of the floor. “It was too much pressure. Being a star happened to you accidentally, right? You designed these classrooms and because of your designs, people learned better in your buildings. So there was this mystique about you and you weren’t secure in your …”

  Jillian stopped talking when she realized Tuck was frozen in place beside her and that he hadn’t spoke or moved since she’d mentioned Aimee’s name. And she knew then that somewhere, she’d crossed the line.

  Nervously, her eyes flicked to his face.

  His expression was pure stone.

  “Tuck?”

  “How dare you,” he accused. “How dare you insinuate that I used my wife’s illness to run out on my career. You don’t know me. You have no idea how much I loved her or what I would have done for her. She was my life, my soul, my heart. I didn’t give a damn about my fucking career. All I cared about was Aimee. And you dare to stand here and blather about—” Tuck broke off abruptly, clenching his fists at his sides.

  Jillian felt as if she’d been kicked in the gut by a horse. She’d been too glib, too insensitive. What in the hell was wrong with her? She’d known better than to bring up Aimee’s name and yet she’d done it anyway.

  “Tuck … I …” She reached out to him.

  He raised his palms, took a step back. “You know what? I can’t do this. I can’t have this conversation with you.”

  She backed up, hurt by his pain, disturbed that she’d caused it. Saddened that no one had ever loved her the way he had loved his wife and convinced that no one ever would. Why would they when she had it in her to say such inconsiderate things?

  Tuck threw down the steamer, picked up his car keys from the hook by the back door, hunched his shoulders, and limped out.

  Leaving Jillian feeling utterly abandoned.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Tuck tracked Ridley down at the Rusty Nail.

  “I flipped out on Jillian,” he said morosely, and peered into the beer he hadn’t touched. “I flipped out and now I don’t know how to go back and undo it.”

  “Do what I do—act like it never happened.”

  Tuck leaned back and gave his brother-in-law a long appraising glance. “And that works?”

  “No, but it’s my defense mechanism and I’m sticking to it.”

  “Even though it doesn’t work.”

  Ridley took a slug off his longneck beer. “Yep.”

  “How long have you been sleeping on the couch?” Tuck asked.

  “How did you know?”

  “You’ve got that I-ain’t-getting-any look about you.”

  “You should know.”

  “Point taken.”

  “Evie told you, huh?”

  “Yep.” Tuck took a sip of beer. “Why don’t you just let her do this vision quest thing?”

  “Yeah, because it turned out so well when you did it.”

  “Hey, you were right about Jillian. She is a jinx.”

  “No, I was wrong about that. She’s not a jinx. I didn’t know your psyche well enough to interpret your vision. Honestly,” Ridley said. “I think Jillian is the best thing that could have ever happened to you. Since she’s been in Salvation, you’ve come alive again.”

  Tuck made a dismissive noise.

  “You have.”

  “This arrangement isn’t working. I gotta find a new place to live,” Tuck said. “I feel like I’ve been backed into a corner with no way out. I’m choking.”

  “You’re going to give up the house? Aimee’s house?”

  Tuck briefly closed his eyes, fighting off the barrage of emotions like a bullfighter dancing around the bull. He’d never experienced such a mix of feelings—anger, sadness, hope, regret, shame, denial, expectancy, loss, fear. He pressed his lips together, then said, “That deed’s never going to turn up. For all I know, Sutter’s previous assistant ran it through the shredder.”

  “Or Jillian did.”

  He shook his head. “She wouldn’t do that. She wants the house, but she’s a straight shooter.”

  “I’d invite you to stay with us, but I have no idea how long I’ll be needing the couch.”

  “It’s all right. I can find somewhere else. I shouldn’t abuse your hospitality,” Tuck said.

  “You oughta call Jefferson Baines. He might know who’s got a place to rent on this side of the mountain.”

  Tuck snorted and took another swallow of beer. “That pinhead?”

  “He’s a pinhead, yes, but he does know the real estate market around here.”

  “All the high-priced places.”

  “You can afford it.”

  “Hello? I’m no longer pulling down high six figures. Self-employed, remember? Lousy health insurance. Aimee’s illness put a huge dent in my savings.”

  “Still, I know you’ve got some tucked back.”

  Tuck tightened his jaw. “That’s earmarked for renovating the house.”

  “You know … ,” Ridley started.

  Tuck held up a hand to halt him. “Stop right there. I know what you’re going to say, and I don’t want to hear it.”

  “Okay.”

  They sat there not talking, just drinking. Tuck found himself thinking about what Jillian had said. She’d been right about everything, and that was why he’d overreacted. A guy didn’t really like having a mirror held up to his face so he could see his flaws. Plus, he’d asked for it and then hadn’t been able to take it. He had pulled in his head like a turtle; he had turned his back on life.

  Still, something had been made abundantly clear to him. He had to get out of there, and the sooner
the better. Because if he stayed at the lake house, he feared he might not be able to keep his hands off her.

  And that would be such a bad thing?

  Yes, yes it would, because he was coming to treasure the friendship they were forging, and he didn’t want to do anything to screw it up. Staying in that house with her, when they were so clearly attracted to each other, well, it was just plain stupid.

  Come Monday, he’d go see Baines and ask him to be on the lookout for a place for him to rent.

  In the meantime, Tuck had to make sure to keep his mouth shut and his hands to himself.

  JILLIAN WENT TO THE BLUEBIRD for dinner after spending the remainder of the day peeling off the kitchen wallpaper with only Mutt for company. Partially because there wasn’t anything else to eat in the house besides lamb-flavored Eukanuba and partially because she was hoping to run into Tuck.

  Disappointment washed over her when she discovered he wasn’t there. She seated herself at the counter and was busy studying the menu when she felt someone come up behind her.

  Tuck? His name immediately leapt into her mind.

  Jillian turned, but it wasn’t Tuck.

  “Hello, we haven’t met yet. My name’s Jefferson Baines and you are …” The real estate agent extended his hand.

  Jillian shook it. “Nice to meet you Jefferson. I’m Jillian Samuels.”

  “Jillian.” He said her name like a used-car salesman and held it in his mouth for too long.

  “Does anyone ever call you Jeff?”

  “Only if they don’t like breathing.” He laughed heartily.

  “Jefferson it is, then.”

  He leaned one elbow against the counter, slouching insouciantly, trying to look casual in spite of his Armani suit and Gucci loafers. “I’ve been seeing you around town.”

  “I just moved here a few weeks ago.”

  “I live halfway between Salvation and Thunder Mountain,” he said. “Thunder Mountain is where all the action is, but Salvation does have its charms.”

  “It does.”

  “Word around town is that you’re a lawyer.”

  “I am.”

  “You and I have something in common.”

  “We do?” He was the kind of guy the old Jillian might have been interested in once upon a time. Tall, handsome, career-focused, ambitious, well dressed.

  “We’re fellow Texans,” he said. “I’m from Dallas. I hear you’re from Houston.”

  She tilted her head so that her hair swung over her face. Not to be coy but to study him from behind her cloak of hair. He had cover-model good looks. You had to be careful of guys that gorgeous. Alex had taught her the truth of that lesson. “You heard correctly.”

  “It’s quite a change,” Jefferson went on. “From the big city to Salvation.”

  The guy couldn’t claim scintillating conversationalist on his résumé. “Yes.”

  He leaned closer. “How are you adjusting to small-town life?”

  “Just fine, thanks for asking.”

  “I also heard that you inherited the Townsend lake house.”

  “That’s still in question.”

  “I heard Tucker Manning’s laying claim to the place as well.”

  “You hear a lot.”

  “I keep my ear to the ground and my nose in the wind.”

  “You’re quite the contortionist.”

  He laughed.

  Jillian canted her head, trying to figure out his angle.

  “You know,” he said, “if it turns out the lake house really does belong to Tuck, I’ve got a gorgeous place I could show you up on Thunder Mountain.”

  Ah, so this was really why he’d come over to her. Somehow she immediately liked him better, because he was trying to sell her some property instead of getting into her pants.

  “That’s good to know. I’ll keep that in mind, Jefferson. Thanks for the information.” She sent him her friendliest, “you’re dismissed” expression.

  He gave her another thousand-watt smile. “There’s something else I was wondering about …”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “I’ve heard … I mean, it’s none of my business … but there’s a rumor going around …”

  Jillian straightened and met his eyes. “What do you want to ask me, Jefferson?”

  “Tucker’s living in the house with you?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “With you, with you?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I mean … . umm … uh … do you two have a thing going on?”

  “We’re roommates.”

  “That’s it?”

  “We’re friends.”

  “And … er … nothing else?”

  Jillian thought about the kiss Tuck had given her, and she plastered a smile on her face. It had been fourteen days since she and Tuck had walked home from the Rusty Nail together. Fourteen days since he’d kissed her in the foyer of the lake house. Fourteen days since he’d set her blood to boiling and her head to reeling. And nothing else had happened since then. Until today. Until their fight.

  She knew how many days it had been, because she’d counted every last one of them by the hour. “Nope, nothing else.”

  “Then the speculation around town that you two are an item is just speculation?”

  The last thing Jillian wanted was to add to the Salvation rumor mill. “Total fabrication.”

  “I thought so,” Jefferson said. “I mean, Tuck is so hung up on his late wife. Some say he’ll never get over her.”

  “Do tell.”

  “Yeah, he brought her to Salvation and became a carpenter even though he was making big bucks as an architect, just because she used to enjoy spending summers here as a kid. He gave up everything for her and then she died anyway. Stupid move, if you ask me, derailing your career like that.”

  “I think it sounds incredibly sweet and loving.”

  “That’s why they say he’ll never get over her. No one can take Aimee’s place.”

  “I see.”

  “So you’re unattached?” Jefferson leaned against the counter, and his eyes brightened.

  A twinge of emotion that she couldn’t identify knotted up tight against her rib cage. Jillian wasn’t much interested in going out with Jefferson Baines, but that emotion—whatever the hell it was—had her holding up her bare ring finger. “Free as a bird.”

  He let out an audible breath, and that was the first time Jillian realized Jefferson was nervous about chatting her up. She softened a bit toward him. She knew some men found her intimidating. Her height and what Tuck called her regal appearance were the culprits. She had donned her queenly armor when Jefferson approached. Giving him the silver-cool tone she used when offering plea-bargain deals to defense lawyers, and he’d managed to hold his ground.

  She felt a little sorry for him then and understood he wasn’t as slick and glossy as he wanted to appear. She asked him to sit down and join her for a cup of coffee. He readily agreed. Jillian tried to take the real estate agent seriously, but whenever she looked at him, all she could think was faux wood.

  And then she immediately thought of Tuck and envisioned smooth, hard, rich mahogany.

  “So, what do you say?” Jefferson asked.

  It was only then that she realized he’d asked her a question, and she had been so busy thinking about Tuck’s favorite hardwood she hadn’t heard. His head was cocked to one side, and he was looking at her earnestly, waiting for an answer to his question.

  “Sure,” Jillian said, pretending she knew what he was talking about.

  Jefferson beamed. “Great. That’s really great.”

  Crap, apparently she’d just agreed to something. But what?

  Jillian smiled so as not to hurt his feelings if he realized she hadn’t heard a word he said. “So, to recap …”

  “I’ll pick you up at seven Friday night.”

  She nodded, keeping the smile going. Apparently she’d just accepted a date with him. Well, fine. It was a good thing. Clearly nothing
was going to happen with Tuck, and that was fine. She didn’t want anything to happen with Tuck. She didn’t want anything to happen with Jefferson, either, for that matter, but it didn’t hurt to get out of the house. Especially since she and Tuck were around each other constantly.

  “Jillian?” Jefferson asked.

  “Right. Seven o’clock, Friday night. It’s a date.”

  NEITHER ONE OF THEM mentioned what had happened on Saturday. They kept things light. Jillian spent what little time she hung around the house upstairs, while Tuck stayed downstairs. They barely saw each other. Which was perfect. Or so she told herself.

  On Friday morning, Jillian got up earlier than usual, because Sutter actually had a new client coming into the office at seven-thirty to draft a will. She found Tuck at the bistro table eating scrambled eggs. He didn’t offer to make her any.

  She reached for a box of corn flakes from the cabinet, along with a spoon and a bowl, and came back to sit down across from him.

  “Good morning,” she said.

  “Good morning.” He didn’t look up from the copy of Sports Illustrated he was reading.

  She got up again to pour herself some coffee. “You want another cup?”

  “I’m good.”

  “How’s the ankle?” She sat back down, dismayed to see her corn flakes had already gone soggy.

  “Couldn’t be better.”

  “Did you let Mutt out?”

  “Fed him too.” He flipped the page of his magazine without ever looking up.

  He looked so damned complacent that she had an irresistible urge to rattle his cage. “I’m meeting Jefferson Baines for dinner, so I won’t be home until late.”

  Tuck’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth, but he acted only mildly interested. “Oh yeah?”

  “Yes.” She couldn’t quite meet his gaze. “He asked me out. We’re going on a date.”

  “Have fun.” He picked up his fork and went back to his eggs.

  Disappointment curled inside her. “That’s all you’re going to say?”

  “What? You want me to tell you not to go?”

  “No, I just figured that you’d have something smart-ass to say about faux wood.”

  “I’ve already told you my opinion on Jefferson Baines. No need to repeat myself.”

  “So you don’t care if I date him?” She left the bistro table to toss her soggy cornflakes into the sink.