by Addison Fox
He’d be damned, but if he wasn’t mistaken those large brown eyes had a twinkle of a smile that dared him to keep Cassidy Tate out of his thoughts.
* * *
With images of his mocking housemate dogging his steps, Tucker pulled into the street parking in front of Dragon Designs. Heat filled his lungs the moment he stepped from his vehicle’s air-conditioning, and he glanced over to see Max’s silhouette in the doorway, a mug in hand. “You’re late.”
Tucker shrugged and slammed their office door closed, amused despite himself at his friend’s perpetual scowl. “Thanks, Mom.”
“You’re never late.”
“So I was today. Got caught up in a design problem and did some drafting at home. I live three blocks away. If it was that important you could have called me.”
“I’m just curious is all. You’re never late.”
“I was today.”
Tucker brushed past Max and headed straight for the coffee. Heat be damned, there was no way he was skipping caffeine. After selecting his usual, he hit the button on the Keurig machine and settled in for whatever had Max extra surly this morning.
He didn’t have to wait long.
“How the hell did we manage to get involved in what is happening down the street?”
“Define involved.”
“Come on, Buck. You know as well as I do those girls are in a ton of trouble.”
His nickname always reminded him of his time in the service—Buck an amalgamation of Tucker and Buchanan—and Tucker tamped down on the corresponding memories. He and Max had known each other for a long time, and there were few people—hell, there wasn’t anyone—he trusted more.
But he didn’t like the frustration roiling in his friend’s tone.
“For the record, I think there’s something going on, too. And I also think they need our help.”
“This wouldn’t have anything to do with your attraction to Red.”
Tucker watched Max over the rim of his mug, curious at the very real frustration he saw lining his friend’s jaw. “If we’re going to start giving them nicknames, I didn’t miss you eyeing Killer Heels every chance you got.”
Max backed off at the pointed reference to Violet, his tone ratcheting down a few notches. “We don’t need this. It’s a distraction and a hassle. We’re trying to get a business off the ground, not play protector-slash-detective for our neighbors.”
“I’d say it’s more than off the ground. We put in three new bids last week and won two others. The hard work’s starting to pay off.”
“So we can’t put it at risk.”
“I’m not putting anything at risk. And I’m not interested in playing detective.”
“Could have fooled me.”
Tucker fought the slight itch that settled in the dead center of his back. Max Baldwin was a straight arrow. He liked things his own way in his own time and the man had the role of curmudgeon down to a T.
But he was also as honest as Abe Lincoln, so whatever had his eyes darting away had Tucker’s senses on high alert.
“What the hell’s really going on here, Max?”
“Nothing.”
“You started it, man.”
“I just think you need to watch your step. We both do.”
“What aren’t you saying?”
Max settled his cup on his drafting station, his attention drawn to the messy surface before taking a deep breath. “This whole area—the Design District. It’s got ghosts.”
“Oh, come the hell on.” Tucker fought back a laugh by sheer force of will, the misery stamped on his friend’s face the only reason he didn’t let go with a series of mocking insults. “Don’t tell me you believe in that.”
“Hell, no. I’m not talking literal ghosts. I mean remnants of bad things. My grandfather’s had property down here for more than half a century and some bad stuff’s run through here. These warehouses have hid a lot of things in their time.”
“So you’re talking ghosts. Worse, you believe them. Yet you chose to set up shop here. Build a business. Become a freaking pillar of the community.”
“Pop’s been cagey about it all, but when he gave us the space for the business I figured it was a sign he finally believed the neighborhood was turning a corner.”
“And now?”
Max ran a hand through his hair, tugging on the still-military-short ends. “Now I’m starting to wonder if he put us here to keep watch.”
* * *
By midmorning Cassidy had made a significant dent in the cleanup. Although by no means done, she could now see an end in sight, with the majority of her studio set to rights. She’d intended to make a quick visit to Mrs. B. but Violet called a team meeting to discuss the upcoming Baker-Sullivan nuptials.
“What happened here?” Gabriella Sanchez stepped through the front door, her gaze sweeping over the space. Although Gabby owned her own business, Elegance and Lace had formed a loose partnership with her catering firm and they had three weddings they were working on together.
Cassidy caught her up on the events of the past day and in moments found herself pulled into a tight hug. “You could have been hurt.”
“I keep going over it in my head, doing my best to ignore that part.”
Gabby gave her another tight squeeze before standing back. “Then we won’t talk about that part. But we will talk about why.”
“That’s just it, Gab. What would anyone want with us? We create weddings. We don’t even sell bridal jewelry except for some nicer rhinestones and crystals. We’re hardly a high-dollar smash-and-grab.”
Gabby shrugged, her long, dark hair curling around her shoulders in an oversize, gorgeous mass that Cassidy had admittedly envied from the first day they’d met. “Because weddings are expensive, others often think we’re flush with cash. I fought off a cousin about that very fact two weeks ago.”
Despite the hair envy—which Cassidy was still working on getting over—she knew her friend had borne her fair share of struggle as she worked to build her business. Family criticism from one corner and unrealistic demands when she’d begun to see some success from another.
“This is why we drink wine.”
Gabby patted her arm. “You’re not kidding. And I have a new vineyard I’ve been sampling from up in the Panhandle. Wait until you taste this guy’s Malbec. He’s really got something.”
“Let’s get through this wedding and then we’ll dive into a case.”
The click of Violet’s heels interrupted the mostly casual conversation and in minutes, they’d moved into a business meeting, each of them itemizing the status of their responsibilities for the upcoming event. They moved through the details quickly, each of them well versed in their roles.
Gabby finally had an approved menu and had confirmed her staff for prep and on-site. She and Lilah would work to bring in the cake and the same team Gabby had hired would assist in plating and distributing the cake to guests. Cassidy was on the final stages of the dress and would shift to run point on coordination with Violet since the wedding attendance numbered over three hundred.
Violet closed her laptop, a subtle satisfaction humming around her in the air. “Last bit of business. Rumor has it Sullivan’s got cold feet.”
“He’s a dog.” Gabby frowned, her gaze knowing. “We went to school together.”
“And?”
“And he’s had a roving eye since puberty.”
“Lovely.” Cassidy fought the groan. “Guess I know how I’ll be assisting Violet. Checks of the bride’s and groom’s suites every fifteen minutes for a rogue groom.”
“That’s what backup to Vi usually entails anyway.” Lilah patted Cassidy’s hand, her grin broad. “What is it about a wedding?”
“I told Tucker it was the scent of tulle. He—” Cas
sidy broke off as Gabby leaned over the table.
“Tucker who?”
“The guy down the street who found me yesterday outside the shop.”
“Wait. Wait.” Gabby waved a hand. “Is this the other half of the duo Violet complains about every time she comes back from a District business-owners’ meeting?”
“I don’t complain.” Violet took a sip of her tea, her gaze focused on the small cup. “Although Tucker’s considerably nicer than Max.”
“You do complain,” Gabby pressed her, “but that’s beside the point. Is he hot?”
“You’ve seen Max at the same meetings I have.”
Gabby rolled her eyes but no one missed her sly grin at Violet’s protests. “I meant Tucker, the neighborhood hero.”
“Hot. Definitely.” Lilah added a sigh. “And he’s got a dog.”
Cassidy felt three pairs of eyes settle on her, the weight of those expectant gazes suddenly oppressive in the airy space. “He’s a nice guy. And he helped when I needed it.”
“And?” Lilah pressed.
“And what?”
Cassidy knew she was being stubborn—and in her obstinacy she was making this more than it needed to be—but what did they want her to say? Tucker Buchanan was a nice guy. And he’d definitely shown up at the right time.
But—
But what?
Had she stopped believing she didn’t deserve a nice guy? Or worse, had she stopped believing they existed altogether?
“He drove you home last night,” Violet pointed out. “Made sure you were safe.”
Gabby sighed. “Who does that?”
“No one I’ve been able to find.” Lilah stood, the memories that normally stayed buried hovering like specters around her. “And on that note, I’ve got a cake to finish up. Gabs, I’ll see you at the blessed event.”
“You got it, chica.”
The three of them watched Lilah go, and it was Violet who finally spoke. “When did the concept of finding a nice guy become a fairy tale?”
“I have no idea.” Cassidy shook her head.
“Me, either,” Gabby added.
Violet’s gaze drifted to the doorway to Lilah’s kitchen before she spoke. “Does it make me nuts for still believing in them anyway?”
Gabby laid her hand on the center of the table, palm up. “I’m right there with you.”
Cassidy laid her hand in hers and Violet followed. “Look at us. Sappy wedding planners.”
Cassidy couldn’t hold back the smile—the first real one she’d had since the morning before. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
* * *
Since Lilah was neck-deep in a cake and Violet was out on appointments, Cassidy opted to move up her visit to see Mrs. B. from after work to lunch. Their morning business meeting had been productive and she’d made a good dent in a new design she had in development.
All in all, a break was in order.
With a bright bouquet of Stargazer lilies in hand, Cassidy navigated her way along the sterile hospital corridor, ignoring the paintings of pastel-hued abstract art that were somehow meant to soothe and calm hospital visitors and patients alike.
And walked straight into a wall of testosterone when she turned into Room 482.
Any sense of calm the paintings may have imparted vanished as she caught sight of Tucker, seated at the head of Mrs. Beauregard’s bed like a sentinel. Max flanked the door, further adding to the image of the two of them as guards, and Cassidy suddenly wished there had been far more to clean up at the office.
“Cassidy, dear. Come in.” The deep lines of Mrs. B.’s face creased in welcome as she waved her in, and Cassidy knew there was no easy escape. And when she realized how delighted Mrs. B. seemed by all the attention, she didn’t have the heart to go.
“How are you feeling today?” She kissed the older woman’s cheek, concerned when she saw the dark circles marking the tissue-thin skin.
“Right as rain, my dear. I should be out of here in no time.”
Cassidy didn’t miss Tucker’s sharp gaze or the subtle shake of his head so she allowed Mrs. B. her illusions. “Can’t keep a good woman down, you know.”
“Of course not.”
They made small talk over the flowers, and Cassidy couldn’t quite hide her smile as Max and Tucker fought to stay interested. She did see a small yawn from Max as he shifted from foot to foot at his post.
Although her initial observation had been somewhat in jest, it did dawn on Cassidy there was a protective nature to how Tucker and Max manned the room, one at the bed and one at the door. Taking pity on them, she gave a small wave. “You guys look starved. Why don’t you run and grab something to eat? I’m taking an extralong lunch hour today and would love to play hooky catching up with Mrs. B.”
“The benefits of being the boss.” Her landlady patted her hand.
“Exactly.”
“If you’re sure.” Max’s relief was palpable. “Can I bring you anything?”
“Nope. Go on.” Cassidy waved them away before shooting a pointed glance at Tucker. “Go ahead, Aramis. Join your fellow Musketeer.”
A small spark lit the depths of his eyes, nearly imperceptible in the dark brown.
Nearly.
“First it’s Lancelot, now Aramis. Who’s next?”
“Since you look ravenous, I’d say Cookie Monster.”
“Porthos will do just fine on his own. I’ll stay here, if you don’t mind.”
Reluctantly impressed he could conjure up the name of another Musketeer so quickly—especially since she only knew Aramis because of the men’s cologne— Cassidy also didn’t miss the look of clear interest stamped across Mrs. B.’s face.
Unwilling to let that scrutiny stay too long on her and Tucker, Cassidy focused the conversation on the older woman. “What did the doctor say?”
“You know doctors. They say I have a concussion.” Mrs. B. snorted. “Like that kept Troy Aikman down.”
Their former Dallas Cowboys quarterback might have had his share of concussions, but he’d also been about sixty years younger when he’d sustained them. Ignoring that simple biological fact, Cassidy used the man’s near-legendary status in Dallas to her advantage. “Well, Troy also took care of himself and followed doctor’s orders.”
Mrs. B. snorted again, but this time the sound was a bit more delicate and far less emphatic. “I suppose.”
“You’re in good hands here and I didn’t miss snagging another glance at your doctor when I spoke to him in the hallway. I’d stay firmly put, if I were you, and enjoy his attentions.”
Cassidy smiled to herself as she caught sight of Tucker’s grimace from the corner of her eye and laid it on a bit thicker. “He certainly enjoyed being the center of our attentions yesterday.”
The discussion of an attractive young man of marriageable age did the trick and Cassidy was able to entice Mrs. Beauregard into a conversation that lasted until the woman’s eyelids fluttered in exhaustion about twenty minutes later.
“You should get your rest, Mrs. B. I’ll come back tomorrow for lunch.”
When her departure was met with a small smile and nod of acknowledgment, Cassidy pressed soft kisses to the woman’s cheeks and backed out of the room, Tucker at her side.
“How’d you manage that? No matter how we shifted the conversation we couldn’t get her to take a nap.”
Cassidy took in the solid form beside her and marveled yet again that she’d only met him the morning before. It seemed as if she’d known him far longer.
She supposed it was the fact that the neighborhood grapevine had abounded with chatter about the eligible bachelors—ex-military—who had taken up residence in the Design District.
But if she were honest with herself, she knew it was something mo
re.
Knew that he was something more.
Despite her repeated self-assurances the night before that she did not need to get involved with her very attractive neighbor, the bright light of morning had shifted her wayward thoughts. Yes sirree, she’d left the Land of Determination and Self-Reliance and headed straight back to the true north that was Tucker Buchanan.
He fascinated her, with his chivalrous streak and his adorable dog and his willingness to step in and help.
They stepped into the elevators, and Cassidy fought the little voice in her head that noticed he hadn’t shaved this morning and how that added a decided sense of danger to his smile. “You missed your chance to escape with Max.”
That smile widened before growing the tiniest bit wicked. “He’s an amateur.”
“Amateurs. Didn’t he get out of listening to girl talk while the getting was good?”
“He’ll be back. He’s got a few questions for his grandfather and he hasn’t been able to get him alone.” He settled a hand at her back and guided her into the waiting elevator. “I say he’s a moron for walking away from two beautiful women.
In spite of herself, her heart softened another notch at the fact he’d added a woman old enough to be his grandmother into his assessment.
But it melted at the obvious sincerity in his voice.
“Be that as it may, you all didn’t need to give up so much time. Between yesterday and now today I can’t imagine you’ve gotten much done.”
“We do okay.”
“But I’ve been an awful imposition. We all have.”
His gaze roamed over her face. “You giving me the bum’s rush?”
“No. But—” The door slid open and Cassidy realized her purse was still in Mrs. B.’s room. “I need to go back up. I left my purse.”
Tucker stabbed at the button for Jo’s floor, and Cassidy couldn’t help but think she’d overstepped in some way. “Problem?”
“We may be men, but we’re certainly capable of helping out a neighbor. That’s not solely up to you and your friends.”
“That’s not what I meant.” When he said nothing, his penetrating, deep brown gaze the only indication he was listening, she pressed on. “You’ve been so helpful and we don’t know each other and I’ve taken up so much of your time. You even came to check on Mrs. B. and she’s got a great team of doctors watching her. I just spoke with her doctor before I came in, and he said she’s going to be fine. A bit rumpled, but a full recovery.”
