by Lori Wilde
“Tuck …” She stopped, swallowed, tasted salt. “I’m the one who’s been stubborn. This is your home; you lived here with your wife. I’m the interloper. The outsider. I should be the one to leave.”
He shook his head. “You need this place, Jillian. It’s given you a new start. Soon you’ll take the bar exam, and I know you’ll pass it. Then you’ll eventually take over Sutter’s law practice. Me?” He shrugged. “This house, the past, has been holding me back, keeping me from moving on with my life, and I wasn’t able to see that until you showed up.”
Sorrow jolted her straight to her soul. He was telling her that she’d given him the strength to leave. It served her right for daring to hope.
She’d known better. People always betrayed you or left you. Her mother had dumped her on her father’s doorstep and run away. Then her father had died, leaving her to a bitter woman who resented having to raise her husband’s illegitimate daughter. And, of course, there was Alex Fredericks, who’d betrayed her as well. Even her best friends had moved on with their lives, leaving her behind.
“I’m catching an early morning flight to New York.”
“What’s the rush?” she asked, cringing inwardly, terrified he could hear the sadness in her voice. Purposefully she shrugged, acting as if she didn’t care. “I mean, it’s trivia night at the Rusty Nail. We’re supposed to play against Lexi and Jefferson, remember?”
“If I don’t make it to New York by tomorrow, the woman’s going to sublet her place to someone else. She’s leaving for Europe and has to have the place rented before she takes off.”
She hitched in a breath. “So this is good-bye?”
He nodded. “I just took Mutt out for a walk. He loves the snow.”
“That he does.”
Silence stretched between them.
“Mutt’s another reason for you to keep the lake house.” His eyes were all over her face, and she realized she hadn’t broken his gaze either.
“So you already said good-bye to Mutt?”
“Yeah.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Brought him a juicy soup bone from the Bluebird. He’s in the living room in front of the fire gnawing it up.” His smile was slight.
“Thanks,” she said, because she didn’t know what else to say.
Finally, Tuck tore his gaze from hers and bent to pick up his suitcases, then paused. “For what it’s worth?”
“Yes?” Her heart quickened. What was he going to say?
“The town pool betting on when you’d leave?”
“Yes?”
“I had today’s date in the pot. Ironic, huh?”
“There goes your ten bucks.” She struggled hard to keep her face neutral. She wasn’t about to let him know how much she was hurting.
A horn honked outside.
“That’s Ridley. He’s driving me to the airport in Denver.”
She nodded.
“Take care of yourself, Jillian.” He looked wistful, but she refused to let it get to her.
“You too, Tuck.”
“We still friends, Sally?”
“Friends,” she echoed, but she knew it was a lie. They could never go back to being just friends.
Tuck stepped toward her and gave her a quick kiss on her cheek. A nice kiss. A friendly kiss. She wanted to slug him for it.
“Take care of yourself.” Then without another word, he turned and walked out the door.
Jillian let him go. What else could she do? She stumbled to the living room and plunked down on the couch. The room was cold, but she was too depressed to get up and poke the embers, to add wood to the fire. Mutt, sensing her mood, came over and stuck his head in her lap. She reached out to scratch his ears. He whined his sympathy and she just broke.
The woman who never cried sat on the couch, thick tears rolling down her cheeks. She’d never had a feeling like this. Her friends had told her it was a good feeling, a wonderful feeling, but to Jillian it was pure torture.
She’d been denying it, avoiding it, pretending they were just friends, but after last night, she knew she was lying to herself. She was stone cold in love with Tuck Manning, and he wasn’t able to love her back.
TWO WEEKS AFTER TUCK MOVED to Manhattan, Jillian sat on a barstool at the Bluebird, elbows on the counter, her chin propped morosely in her palms, trying her best not to think about how empty her life was now that he’d gone or how much she missed him. But it was particularly difficult when she kept picturing him totally naked, stretched out on the bed, head propped in his hand and him winking provocatively at her.
Why couldn’t she get that damned man out of her head?
She clenched her teeth and pushed the cold scrambled eggs she’d ordered but didn’t possess the enthusiasm to eat around on her plate. The Bluebird was decorated for Christmas, tree in the corner, lights strung around the room, pine boughs and holly and mistletoe above the door.
Hands down, Tuck was the best lover she’d ever had, bar none. She doubted there was a better lover on the planet. At least for her. It seemed he’d known without her having to tell him exactly what she needed and when she needed it. Until the unpleasant part where he’d abandoned her in the middle.
And even as they were digging out of the snow and purposefully not discussing how they were feeling, Jillian had quelled an overwhelming urge to throw herself into his arms and tell him she wanted so much more than either sex or friendship.
She wanted the kind of love he’d had with Aimee. And then he’d just packed up and moved to New York without any notice after they’d made love. Every time she thought about it, she got a painful catch in the dead center of her chest.
“You can’t ever replace Aimee in his eyes,” she muttered under her breath. “There’s no point in trying.”
So many people had abandoned her in one way or another. She’d learned that she could not depend on anyone. There was no guide, no teacher, no authority that could save her. There was only herself.
She’d spent her life holding her feelings in reserve, afraid to trust, terrified that she’d be abandoned again if she dared to give away her heart. She realized now that she’d displaced her emotions into her career. She’d used her loyalty to law as a way to avoid false starts and stops in her personal life.
But when she lost Blake and quit her job, she found something else. Salvation. That’s what she had to remember. The lake house, the town, the people. She’d survive without Tuck.
Now if only she could stop thinking about him.
Snap out of it. Focus on something else. Think about studying for the bar.
But the test seemed so far away. The lonely winter loomed long.
Evie came over. “Mind if I sit down?”
“Not at all.”
Evie came around from the other side of the counter and plunked down on the barstool next to her. “Eggs that bad?”
Jillian shook her head. “It’s not the food. It’s me.”
“I’m sorry about Tuck moving to Manhattan. I miss him too. I thought you guys were working on something.”
She shrugged. “Hey, it wasn’t meant to be.”
Evie patted her hand.
“How are you and Ridley doing?” Jillian asked, eager to get the subject off her and Tuck. “Any news on the baby front?”
To her alarm, Evie’s eyes misted with tears.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
Evie clenched her jaw. “I’ve been putting on a brave face, but”—she swallowed—“during the storm, I went and did this vision quest thing, and I got a bad omen. Ridley says it’s a good omen, but I don’t believe him. I think he was just trying to placate me.”
“Vision quest? What are you talking about?”
Evie explained what a vision quest was and detailed what she’d seen.
“You know, I really don’t believe in that sort of thing, Evie.”
“I didn’t either, but when Tuck …” Evie bit down on her bottom lip.
“When Tuck what?”
“On the
second anniversary of Aimee’s death, Ridley stuck Tuck in the sweat lodge and he had a vision.”
“Good vision or bad vision?”
“It was about you.”
“Really? What did he see?”
“You’ll have to ask Tuck; he didn’t talk to me about it. I got all this secondhand from Ridley.”
“So this vision you had,” Jillian said, switching the focus back to Evie. “What was the omen?”
“I’ll probably never have kids, and I want them so badly. The thing is, it’s affecting our marriage. Ridley tries and he’s Mr. Optimistic, but, Jillian, I’m scared we won’t survive this.” A tear slipped down her cheek.
“Come on, you guys really love each other. You can work this out. Can’t you?”
“I don’t know if love is enough. I’ve tried to keep the faith but …” Evie swallowed visibly as the tears streamed faster down her face. “I got my period. I was so hoping that this month—this time—after all the love we made during the blizzard … but it’s just not going to happen. Faith isn’t going to change reality. Babies just aren’t in the cards for us.”
Evie’s distress stilled Jillian’s heart. She wasn’t a big believer in the power of love in the first place, but to think that a couple as strong as Evie and Ridley couldn’t overcome their problems confirmed every negative thing she’d ever believed about love.
“I’m sorry. So there’s no hope left?”
Evie wiped at her eyes, tried to smile but failed miserably. “We’re going to New York to spend Christmas with my sister Desiree and her family. I have an appointment with a celebrity fertility specialist. He helps movie stars in their fifties have babies. It’s gonna cost us a big chunk of our savings, but I’m desperate. If this doesn’t work …” She let her words trail off again.
“I wish you the best of luck.”
At that moment, the bell over the door jangled. Bill Chambers and his fiancée Lily Massey came in, bundled in snowsuits and gazing romantically into each other’s eyes. Jillian felt a twinge—part jealousy, part longing, part concern for Lily, who’d torn up her prenup agreement for this man. She had no legal protection now; she was banking her future on love.
“Jillian, hi!” Lily called out, and scurried across the room toward her, Bill following in her wake. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
“What’s up?”
“We just wanted to give you this.” Lily placed a white linen card in her hand. “An official invitation to our wedding on Christmas Eve. You’re still planning on coming, right?”
Why not? It wasn’t like she had anywhere else to go. “Sure.”
“Evie and Ridley are bailing on us.” Lily gave a pretend pout.
“Family thing,” Evie said.
“We understand,” Bill interjected.
“But we’re sooo going to miss you,” Lily said with her native California inflection.
The door opened again. Lexi and Jefferson came in laughing over some shared joke. Jillian had to admit they were a good-looking couple. Over the past few weeks, Lexi had been giving her daily updates on their romance. Apparently, things were hot and heavy.
She was in the midst of a love-a-thon.
Lexi and Jefferson came over and started chatting with Lily and Bill about the wedding. Evie got up and went back to work. Jillian felt like a fifth wheel. She was about to leave when Lexi leaned over to whispered, “How you holding up?”
“Fine, fine, why wouldn’t I be?”
“I know how much you’re missing Tuck. I can imagine how I’d feel if Jefferson was in New York and I was stuck here.”
Jillian waved a hand. “Please, I’m fine.”
Lexi looked skeptical. “Are you sure? ’Cause if you want a girls night out, just you and me closing down the Rusty Nail, say the word. I’m there for you.”
Jillian shook her head.
The bell over the door jangled a third time. Everyone looked over to see Sutter Godfrey cross the threshold, leaning heavily on his cane but out of his wheelchair. The entire café clapped. “Way to walk it, Sutter,” Dutch called from the kitchen.
Sutter waved away the accolades. His eyes met Jillian’s.
“Ah,” he said. “Just the lady I wanted to see.”
WHILE SUTTER was dragging Jillian into the back room for a private conversation, Tuck was walking up 42nd Street. He’d been in Manhattan for two weeks and he’d yet to pick up a carving tool. He hadn’t been able to work. The city noises kept him up at night. In the day, he’d stare out the window at the building across from him, seeing in his mind’s eye Salvation Lake surrounded by the Rocky Mountains.
He tried to work, but his creativity fled. The wood felt cold, dead in his hands. He’d stare at the wood, willing inspiration, but nothing happened.
Stella Bagby’s apartment was spacious by New York standards and was only three blocks from the hustle and bustle of Time’s Square. The city was alive, dusted with snow, Christmas lights winking, people carrying brightly colored shopping bags. He used to love it here. The energy, the urgency, the audacity of the best city in the world.
But the Big Apple was no longer in his blood. His pulse didn’t skip, his breathing didn’t quicken, his mind didn’t rev as he took it all in. His heart was still in Colorado.
He knew he looked out of place in his flannel, jeans, and work boots, but he didn’t care. He walked at a Colorado pace, people zipping around him. He turned up Broadway, entered the throng of Times Square. He looked up at a theater marquis and saw to his surprise there was a revival of Les Miserables. Immediately he thought of Jillian.
It was their favorite musical.
His chest tightened. He glanced at his watch. The matinee started in fifteen minutes.
He imagined Jillian with him. He pictured them snuggled together in the balcony seating, whispering the lines to each other; they both knew the story so well. He wished he could share this with her.
“For old time’s sake,” he murmured, then walked up to the booth and bought a ticket.
WHILE TUCK WAS WALKING into Les Miserables, Jillian was sitting down across from Sutter in the back room of the Bluebird.
“What did you want to see me about?” she asked.
“I found this in a desk drawer at my home office,” he said, pulling a manila envelope from the inside of his jacket and sliding it across the table to Jillian.
“You have a home office?”
“Didn’t I mention that?” His eyes twinkled.
“No, you didn’t.”
“You’ve been doing a good job, and I thought it was time to give you this,” he said as she removed the rubber band he’d wrapped around the envelope.
A bonus? she wondered. Or maybe he’d drawn up papers to make her his partner. Her pulse accelerated.
“I’ve been getting community reports. Everyone likes you. Business has picked up, which I’m sure you know. Smart of me to hire you.”
She didn’t mention that it had been her idea. She slit open the envelope with her finger, slid out the paper inside. Her breath hung in her lungs when she saw what it was.
The deed to the lake house. Made out to Tuck.
She looked up to meet his gaze. “You found it.”
“I never lost it.” His eyes were sharp. The old man was not a fool.
“You had it all along. But why—”
“There’s a letter inside that envelope too.” He nodded. “I think you should read it now.”
She found the letter and opened it with trembling fingers. Even before she saw the familiar handwriting, she knew who it was from, and hot tears caught in the back of her throat.
My dearest Jillian,
I write this letter to you after having just received news that I have an inoperable brain tumor. At most, I have six months to live. You won’t be reading this until after my death, but I ask you, my dear friend, please don’t grieve. I’m with my darling Aimee now. I couldn’t do right by her in life, but I feel with all my heart that in death we wil
l be reunited.
You and I never talked about faith, and until I lost my daughter, I’m not sure I had much. I made many mistakes, hurt many people. But you were the one shining star in my screwed up world. I turned you into my surrogate daughter, and I loved you like a father.
I worry about you, Jillian. You’ve got such an emotional wall up. It’s necessary in our profession to detach, to distance ourselves from the ugly world we deal in, but you’ve carried it too far. Whenever you do get involved with men, it’s those wretched types like Alex Fredericks. I know you’re afraid to take a chance on an honest, kind man you could really love. I don’t want you to make the same mistakes I made. I want you to be able to love freely, wholeheartedly, without reservation or hesitation. To that end, I must confess to a bit of subterfuge, and my old friend Sutter has agreed to play along.
Right after Aimee died, I had Hamilton Green draw up a will giving you the lake house. It was always my intention for you to have the place, but I figured that day would be a long time off. Today, the oncologist told me differently.
Even though you didn’t bring your problems to me, I knew you were having a crisis of conscience over your affair with Fredericks. I also knew Tuck was grieving too hard and too long for Aimee. Maybe I shouldn’t have let him stay in the lake house. Maybe if I’d pushed him, he would have started healing faster.
It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that I realized you two were perfect for each other if you could only see it. Tuck is a good and honest man. You are a smart, strong woman who deserves to be loved.
Therefore, I’m deeding the house to Tuck, but I’m having Sutter “forget” to file the deed and then “lose” it. My hope with this little beyond-the-grave matchmaking is that Tuck will fight to stay in the house because of his ties to Aimee and you’ll fight to keep it because you have nowhere else to go.
Yes, I knew Newsom was going to appoint Fredericks to take my place, and I knew the egotistical bastard would accept. I also knew he’d try to force you to knuckle under and that you had too much integrity to take it. I hope you can forgive me if I’ve caused you any distress. That was never my intention. The lake house is your life preserver, and Tuck can be your anchor if you can learn to see your way clear to each other.
