Tucker (In Safe Hands Book 4)

by S. M. Shade

  There’s so much wrong with that statement I don’t know where to begin. First, there is no we and at no point did I ask for company, but when she looks up at me all bright eyed and excited, I can’t make the word no pass my lips. I led a squad of men into combat and barked orders for a living, but I can’t tell one perky, annoying girl no.

  She takes my silence for consent, and before I know it, we’re in my truck, headed to town. Fortunately, the supermarket is in the same strip mall as the furniture store.

  “I’ll meet you back here,” I grumble, getting out of the truck.

  “Oh…okay,” she replies, like she expected me to follow her around the supermarket pushing the cart. Not going to happen. I need to keep this…roommate relationship as distant as possible.

  After I see her disappear through the automatic doors, I walk down to Keith’s Furniture. “Tucker!” Mona calls. “Thought we’d seen the back of you until spring.”

  Mona took over the business years ago after her husband Keith died. She’s blunt, brash, and a smart ass. I liked her from the beginning. “Change of plans. You still have orders for me?”

  “Do strippers have tits? Course I do.”

  Chuckling, I approach the counter. “My buddy Justus strips and he doesn’t have tits.”

  Mona cackles. “Yeah? Bring his fine little ass in here sometime.” I may have failed to mention Mona is pushing seventy.

  “I’ll do that.”

  She hands me a few order slips. “People really love those porch gliders. I may have to buy one myself.”

  I add another glider to my mental checklist. “I’m glad to hear it. I’ll be in touch when I’m ready to deliver.”

  “Who was that pretty little thing in your truck? You finally settle down with a woman?”

  “Just babysitting for a friend.”

  “Didn’t look like no baby to me.”

  Shaking my head, I make my way toward the door. “Compared to me she is. Thanks, Mona.”

  “You’re welcome, tell that baby I said hi.” She winks and turns back to her work.

  Through the supermarket window, I can see Leah talking and laughing with the young man ringing up her groceries. When she walks away, pushing the cart, his eyes follow her all the way to the door and she’s completely oblivious. My blood heats at the thought of how many guys must eye fuck her without her knowledge.

  She must get hit on constantly. I’m suddenly glad she came with me instead of on her own. What if the asshole followed her out to her car? Harassed her or something? Has Dare taught her how to be careful and watch her surroundings?

  Blond hair whips around her face as she approaches me with the cart. “Is it okay if I just throw them in the back?”

  “I’ll get it,” I reply, and she shrugs, watching as I shift the bags into the bed of the pickup. Before I can do it, she grabs the cart and returns it to the corral.

  “So,” she chirps, hopping into the truck. “Where do you want to eat?”

  Damn. I did say I’d grab something in town, but that wasn’t a dinner invitation. “Have you tried that little Mexican place? I love tacos,” she goes on. “But if you’d rather have—

  “Tacos are good.” I park at the small restaurant, and she hops out of the truck again.

  “Are you laughing at me?” she asks, noticing the smirk on my face. I can’t help it. She’s like a sugared up toddler.

  “Just admiring your energy level,” I tease. “Come on, kid.”

  “I’m not a kid!”

  “Uh-huh.” Seconds after we’re seated in a booth, a waitress takes our order, and we’re left alone. I try to ignore the awkward silence by playing with my phone, but she’s having none of it.

  “So, you work for Striking Back now?” she asks, sitting back and sipping her drink.

  “Sometimes. When they need me.”

  “And you build stuff?”

  “Yep.” Still looking at my phone, and not really paying attention.

  “And whore yourself out on the weekends?”

  “Uh-hu—what?” My head jerks up, and she dissolves into giggles.

  “Hi, welcome to the conversation. I’m Leah, the human seated across from you, and you are?”

  My lips twitch up. “In for a long six months it seems.”

  Chapter Three

  Leah

  The last two weeks living out in the country have been relaxing and wonderful. Tucker is a moody ass but at least he sometimes answers me with an actual sentence instead of a grunt or an uh-huh. He hasn’t made it any secret he’d prefer it if I weren’t here, but a deal is a deal. Besides, I think I’m growing on him.

  “Do you always have to be so…happy?” he grumbles, shoving on his work boots. I’m not sure how to respond to that. I know I’m a little excitable and optimistic, but what’s wrong with that? Before I can think of anything, he’s out the back door and on his way to his workshop.

  It’s a beautiful day and it’d be a shame to spend it cooped up inside so I grab my laptop and drink and head out to the porch to write. The air has cooled and the trees are glowing with color. It has nothing to do with the fact I can see Tucker without a shirt, sanding down a picnic table. Nope, total coincidence. Sawdust clings to his sweaty muscles, and dirty has never looked so good.

  Laughter from behind me pulls me from my little fantasy and Ayda takes a seat beside me. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt the show.”

  “No worries. It’s pretty much a daily showing.”

  “No wonder you like it here.” She places the baby’s seat on the ground beside her. Ollie doesn’t even stir.

  “He’s out like a light,” I remark.

  “Of course, it’s daylight. Midnight tonight he’ll be screaming his lungs out.”

  “Is Derek here?”

  “No, I wanted to get out of the house, so I thought I’d come visit. How is the writing going?”

  My plan was to write about my past, but somehow I’ve written a sex scene between a young college drop out and her brother’s friend. There’s no way I’d admit to that, though.

  “Good. I’m trying to get my daily word count up so it doesn’t take a year, but sometimes I hit a wall.” A big sweaty forbidden wall.

  She smiles at me. “Dare is proud of you, you know. I know he gives you shit, but he’s so proud of how you’ve handled everything.”

  “I owe him a lot.”

  “He doesn’t see it that way.” She shifts in her seat and watches as Tucker bends over, still sanding the wood. Nodding toward him, she changes the subject. “That man has an ass from heaven. I hadn’t really noticed before. He was so thin.”

  “You met when he was homeless, didn’t you?” I ask. There are so many things I want to know about Tucker, but I can’t be obvious about it.

  “Yes, he lived on the street near my apartment. I always tried to get him help, but he wouldn’t hear it. I don’t know what Dare said to him, but I’m so glad he did.” Her gaze meets mine, a knowing look in her eye. “He’s a good guy, you know.”

  “I’m not…I mean, we’re not…he calls me kid,” I sigh, frustrated, and Ayda laughs.

  “Trust me, he doesn’t look at you like a kid. Just, whatever happens, be careful. I know him pretty well, maybe better than most, but I think there’s a lot he keeps to himself. Something eats at him that I don’t think he’s shared with anyone.”

  Ollie starts to whine, and I rock his seat with my toe. “Don’t worry. I’m just here to write and get away.”

  Ayda grins when he waves at her. “Doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy the view though.”

  “Exactly,” I reply, and we both giggle.

  Ayda and Ollie hang out for an hour or so before she heads home, and I go inside to make lunch. Even though Tucker never remarked on my offer to make all the meals and keep the house clean as a thank you for letting me stay, I’ve still been doing it.

  He comes in and washes his hands when I yell to tell him lunch is ready.

  “Ayda leave?” he asks
.

  “Yeah, she stopped by to give me some of her old workout clothes. I need to start running again.”

  Tucker runs in the evenings sometimes, but I’m not sure where. I just see him leave in shorts and come back winded and sweaty an hour later.

  “There’s a pretty good trail around the lake. It should be quiet in the mornings.”

  Swallowing a bite of his BLT, he shakes his head at me. “It’s dangerous. Any psycho could be out there in the woods, waiting for you.”

  Rolling my eyes, I sit back and cross my arms. “You’re worse than Derek sometimes, you know that?”

  All I get in response is a grunt. Fine, if he wants to give me grief over running alone, I’ll just go with him.

  When he walks out the front door in his running shorts and white tee, I’m waiting for him on the porch. He takes one look at my workout clothes and the earbuds in my ears and shakes his head. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “I wouldn’t want to worry you by traversing the dangers of the forest alone, so I’m running with you. I prefer mornings, but I can adapt.”

  He gives a long suffering sigh, as if I’m the most frustrating person he’s ever met, but I see a glint of amusement in his eyes. Without a word, he jogs down the steps and across the yard. I catch up with him and we jog in comfortable silence until we get to the lake.

  When we turn onto the trail, I pick up speed and he does the same, moving a few paces ahead of me.

  Nope. Not happening.

  I speed up to pass him again and I hear him grunt as he catches up. “You don’t have to keep up with me,” I chirp. “I’ll wait for you back at home.”

  I’m met with a glare before our little run turns into a full-fledged sprint. He may be in great shape, but all that muscle weighs more than my thin frame and I beat him back to the house by only a few feet.

  “Yes! I’m the champion. All bow before my Olympic greatness!” I cry, and fall onto my back on the porch to catch my breath. “See, if some creeper is in the woods, I’ll just outrun him…like I did you.”

  “You got lucky.” He stalks inside and returns with two bottles of water, tossing one to me. “I want a rematch.”

  “Tomorrow night,” I agree.

  “Not tomorrow. I won’t be here.”

  He doesn’t say where he’s going, and I don’t bother to ask. This is the third Saturday in a row he has plans and if he’s meeting a woman somewhere I really don’t want to know. I have no right to be jealous, but that doesn’t change the way it makes me feel.

  He leaves on Saturday mornings and doesn’t return until after dark. I’d assume he’s partying or something, but he’s always sober and in a really shitty mood when he returns. It’s none of my business anyway, so I just don’t ask.

  “Sunday it is. Better rest up old man.”

  Tucker has already left when I wake the next day. Every muscle in my body screams in torment as I roll out of bed and make my way to the bathroom. Apparently, sprinting for six miles after a couple of weeks of no running is not a good idea. I’m glad he isn’t home to see my agony as I run a hot bath and sink below the bubbles.

  An hour later, the bath and a couple of Ibuprofen have me feeling a little less like I was stomped on by an elephant, so I curl up with my laptop to write. My original semi-biographical outline has fallen by the wayside as this story pours out of me. It’s still cathartic, since the girl suffers long term abuse as a child, but I love that I get to control her outcome and give her a happily ever after with the man of her dreams. I didn’t set out to write a romance book, but I’m tired of fighting it. Romance it is.

  It’s funny since I know the first advice a writer is generally given is write what you know. I know nothing about romance. My last relationship ended in a screaming argument because the guy didn’t trust me. He kept track of my every move, kept me from my friends, and tried to tell me what to do.

  Once I decided I was finished with school, I didn’t tell him, just packed up my stuff and left while he was at work. He still tries to message or call occasionally, but not as often since I never pick up or respond. I won’t be controlled.

  I’m shocked when I look up from my computer to see more than four hours have passed. I guess I was in the zone. Stretching my stiff muscles, I wander into the kitchen to figure out what to make for dinner tonight.

  A rumble of thunder rolls across the darkening sky as I’m sliding a chicken and rice casserole into the oven. I set a timer on my phone and take it and my tablet out to the front porch to read. It’s been a warmer than usual night and the lightning is impressive, branching its way across the sky in arcs that leave an imprint on my vision.

  Tucking my legs beneath me, I watch as the rain starts to sweep over the house in sheets. I love Tucker’s porch, the way I can just snuggle back and watch it pour, closing me in. I’ve always loved the rain.

  Headlights beam across the road and Tucker’s truck pulls in. He makes a dash for the house, stopping short when he sees me on the porch. “Don’t you have enough sense to come in out of the rain?”

  What crawled up his ass? “Are you too blind to see I’m not wet? I wasn’t exactly out playing in it.”

  He glowers at me and heads inside without another word. I’m starting to detect a pattern. He’s way more of a dick on Saturdays. Is he seeing someone who pisses him off? Or is he pissed because I’m here and he feels like he can’t bring her home?

  The timer on my phone beeps and I go inside to remove the casserole from the oven. I can hear the shower running upstairs, so he’ll probably come down to eat after. I’ve had a nice relaxing day and I’m in no mood to deal with his attitude, so I make myself a plate and settle in front of the television to eat.

  We’ve had a very warm autumn, but according to the local weather report, that’s about to change. I guess it’s time to break out my hoodies and fuzzy socks because it’s going to get cold. I wonder if Tucker will work more in his workshop instead of the yard once it’s chilly. That’d be a shame. I’ve grown fond of watching him in the afternoons.

  I’ll just have to find another way to entertain myself.

  * * * *

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  Tucker’s irate voice pulls me from a daydream and I glare down at him. “Thinking.”

  “Thinking,” he states, running a hand through his hair. He always does that when he’s frustrated with me, which seems to be about twice a day. “And you have to climb a damn tree to think?”

  A grin breaks over my face as I look around again. I am pretty high up, but once I saw how perfectly arranged the branches are on this tree, I couldn’t help myself. It’s gorgeous up here.

  “It’s peaceful.”

  “Get your ass down here.”

  Yeah, there’s no way I’m coming down now. “Or what?” I taunt.

  “Seriously? Are you twelve? You’re going to fall and hurt yourself, then Dare is going to dismember me and bury me on my own property.”

  “I won’t fall,” I scoff. The wind picks up, rattling the branches and chilling my skin.

  “Leah.” His voice bears a warning.

  “Fine. I’m coming down because I need a sweater, not because you’re channeling Derek.”

  Muttering, he shakes his head and watches as I climb down the tree. Before I can make the last little hop to the ground, he grabs my waist and lowers me, placing me on my feet. “I swear, you’re like a toddler. I can’t take my eye off of you for a second.”

  Ignoring his little tantrum, I run my hand over the bark, glancing at the tree beside it as well. “You know what would be great out here? A hammock. Why don’t you have a hammock?”

  Starting back toward the house, he replies, “Because I work. I don’t lie around or scale trees like a kid.”

  “You should lighten up and try to have more fun. Really, what do you do for fun? I’ll bet you can’t name one thing.”

  He takes a seat on the picnic table and I sit across from him. He’s quiet fo
r so long I think he’s gone back to pretending I don’t exist when he says, “Pool.”

  “You swim?” I ask. I’ve never seen him go swimming anywhere.

  “No, pool, billiards. I like to play pool.”

  “Oh, I like it too. Our common room at school had a pool table.”

  “I have one in the garage,” he admits.

  Leaping to my feet, I grin at him. “Well, come on. Show me what you got.”

  “Are you always this impulsive?”

  “Are you always this moody? You need to plan ahead to play a game at your own house? Should I schedule it for Thursday, maybe?” I tease.

  His lips twitch, despite his best efforts not to smile. “Fine. I’ll teach you a lesson.”

  “Like you did when we ran?” I suddenly remember he wanted a rematch. “Are we still running tonight?”

  This time a chuckle does escape as we head toward the garage. “One thing at a time, kid. I swear you’re exhausting.”

  “Nah, you’re just getting old.”

  Tucker disappears through the side door of the garage, and I watch as the garage door slides up revealing a clean space with a pool table in the center. He reaches into a small refrigerator and produces two soft drinks, tossing me one.

  “I should’ve known there was a man cave around here somewhere. Where are the video games?”

  “I live alone. My whole house is a man cave. And I don’t play video games.”

  “You lived alone,” I correct, grabbing a pool cue. “I’m breaking. Rack them up.”

  Tucker shakes his head. “Yes, my liege,” he mutters, arranging the balls in the rack.

  Grinning, I line up my shot and hit the cue ball which smashes into the others, scattering them. Two striped balls fall in and I do a little dance while Tucker watches me like I’m a bug under a microscope.

  Whatever. He’s no fun.

  I don’t have a good clear shot, and I may have overestimated my ability at this game. I could hold my own with the other students, but none of them were really good either. Plus, we were trashed most of the time we played. My next shot misses, and I step back.