Garnet, always out of breath after a conversation with her mother, turned to find Will, hot red from his forehead to his neck, standing still as a statue and saying nothing.
“Garnet? Who is this young man? And, dear, I need to go into the house and freshen up….”
Garnet introduced Will, swooping an arm across his shoulder to give him something to lean against. Will was actually bigger than her—both in weight and height. But he had that gobsmacked look she knew well.
She felt gobsmacked after even short conversations with her mother.
“This is Will, Mom. Will MacKinnon. He’s been working with me two or three afternoons a week.” She gently put a little pressure on his right shoulder, trying to hint that he needed to extend a hand.
Which he did. Tucker had apparently taught him manners—even if he was overwhelmed by the company.
Her mom accepted the hand, shook it warmly. “Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Will. Is your daddy of the Walker MacKinnons?”
“No, ma’am. I’m of the Tucker MacKinnons. Walker is just my grandpa’s name.”
“Oh, my…” Her mom looked from Garnet to Will, back to Garnet, back to Will, speculation and calculation and questions in her eyes.
“No,” Garnet said.
“Did I say something?”
“You were thinking about a question. And the answer is no.”
“I was only thinking that Will comes from a lovely family. How nice that you—”
“No, Mom. No.” She wasn’t going to tear out her hair. She was just tempted to. Her mom only had to hear the landed-gentry MacKinnon name to picture weddings and stature and photos in the society columns and major jealousy at the country club. If Tucker had a clue what matchmaking devilment her mother could come up with, she’d be embarrassed out of her tree.
And that was when she heard the white pickup wheel into the drive.
* * *
Tucker was lost in thought when he turned into the Plain Vanilla parking lot. Next to him, Pete was happy as a clam, playing some game on a little machine and talking pretty much nonstop. “So I can change that on the website tomorrow, right?”
“Sure,” Tucker said, not knowing what Pete wanted to do, but already dead sure the kid would be right.
Tucker wasn’t used to being a failure around kids, didn’t like the taste. All his life, he’d gone for challenges other people wouldn’t even think of taking on. But getting Peter outside was harder than getting a Democrat to vote for tax cuts. He didn’t say no. The kid was too polite for his own good. He was just like a miniature, quiet bulldozer, continuing on the path he wanted, and finding some way to duck anywhere Tucker tried coaxing him to go.
He had to have a sit-down with Garnet. Find some way to explain his failure without looking like either a failure or a slave driver. And he had another plan he’d like to put to her. The plan was totally about the boys, of course.
But—just by accident—it was a way to test how she really felt about family.
“So,” Pete said, “there’s no reason you couldn’t show me your tax stuff. I like it. I know Mom’s taxes. I know her tax program. That’s not work, Mr. Tucker.… Uh-oh.”
Tucker glanced at Peter, suddenly paying attention again. Two cars were leaving the Plain Vanilla parking area, leaving one still there. A bullet-silver Mercedes.
“What’s the uh-oh?”
“That’s my grandma’s car.” Pete let out an old-man sigh. “I love her okay. She really gives me neat stuff. And usually I go for two weeks with her and Grandpa. They take me all over the place. We have a great time. She says I can make her laugh like nobody else.”
“So what’s the uh-oh factor?”
“She’s not nice to my mom.” Pete looked out the truck window again. “This is not gonna be good. Hurry and park, okay? I gotta help her.”
“I’ll help her.” Tucker didn’t believe he was having this nature of discussion with a ten-year-old, but Pete suddenly studied him seriously.
“Yeah, maybe you could. Grandma’s nice, you know. But she makes my mom cry. I mean later. Not when she’s there. But later my mom will be really bad upset. Hey, there’s Will.” Pete reached for the door handle. “Hey, Mr. Tucker, don’t tell my mom I told about her crying.” And the instant he was out the door, he yelled, “Hey, Will! We got a heap of burgers and fries! You hungry?”
Chaos ensued—Tucker’s favorite kind of chaos. Garnet charged out of the shop, trailed by her mother—it had to be her mother; she had the same slight build and elegant bones her daughter had, even the same glossy hair, although the mom had dyed hers a pale blond. Introductions were made—Patricia Cattrell readily agreed to stay for dinner, even if it was nothing more than fast food. The boys somehow made more noise than a rock band just carrying paper plates and drinks from Garnet’s kitchen, everyone settling at the picnic table outside in the shade. The cat jumped on the table…the pregnant cat, the one Garnet was never going to own.
Garnet’s mom seemed to blend right in—especially considering she was hardly dressed to sit outside at a picnic table, between the precarious sandals and fancy white outfit. Still, she laughed with Pete, made conversation with his Will, didn’t blink when the first of two drinks spilled and lifted the cat to the ground, but without comment.
She made a point of sitting next to him, but then Tucker figured a mom would likely do that, want to know the details of why a guy was showing up on her daughter’s doorstep. So he was grilled, in the usual Southern way, a delicate reference to his last name and family…then a delicate reference to her family’s pedigree…then some bless-her-hearts and oh-mys and where did you say you went to school? That’s such a fine son you have, why, honey, you must have gotten married before you were out of college….
He knew the patter. A long time back, he figured Southern women descended from native cannibals. They looked cuter. But they’d saw off your head and boil it, if you went after their young without proper credentials.
Garnet’s cell phone rang twice, calls she clearly had to take, because she took the phone to the side of her house, away from the noise. One call concerned her, because Tucker could see her frown, see her rub the back of her neck.
The chaotic dinner abruptly petered out. The second spill had been orange juice, and some of it had spilled on Garnet, who promised to be back in less than ten, but it was so sticky she really needed to shower it off. Patricia gracefully got to her feet, said she had to go, but she needed a minute with Petie. Tucker and Will scooped up the debris from dinner…at least until Pete charged back in the door and said Will “and him” were going on a treasure hunt, and “it’d only take a couple of minutes, okay, Mr. Tucker?”
And yeah, it was okay with Tucker. In three minutes flat, the dinner messes were cleaned up. Garnet hadn’t returned yet—no surprise, she was never going to shower and change in ten minutes, no woman could—so Tucker had a few minutes to test out the couch in her living room.
It was the first chance he’d really had to get a look at her place. The couch was a lot of years from new, but it was thick and cushy. She’d painted the walls a pale ocean-green, the trim white. The long east windowsill was luxuriously crammed with plants. A floor-to-ceiling bookcase was packed helter-skelter, lots of nonfiction on plants and herbs and horticulture, all dog-eared and well used, with a couple shelves of romances and suspense. The hardwood floors were dusty, but an area rug—a swirl of vanilla and teal—was soft and plush. One wall had photos of Pete from the time he was a baby.
She hadn’t decorated with money. Just color and comfort. The only item of real financial value was an odd table at the far corner. Semicircular. Rich veneers. Six-legged. An antique, Tucker thought. Unlike everything else, it was dusted and hand waxed and nothing cluttered the top. So it was something she loved, he mused. Everything else was something she could give up or r
eplace, but that table mattered to her somehow, someway.
The boys suddenly surged from a back room, both of them all excited, chattering nonstop.
“So…what was the treasure hunt about?” Tucker asked.
“Money.” Petie plopped onto the carpet, crossing his legs. Will sprawled next to him.
“Wait until you see this, Dad,” Will said.
“What?” Only his jaw dropped when he did see what was in Pete’s hands.
Not just money. But hundred-dollar bills. At least ten of them.
“Wait until my mom sees this,” Pete said. “She’ll be so upset, she’ll be throwing things, I’m warning you. It’s not gonna be pretty. So if you guys want to get out while you still can—”
Right. Like Tucker was going to leave without figuring this out.
Chapter Six
Tucker was still talking to the boys when he heard Garnet’s bedroom door open.
“Hey, guys, I’m sorry I took so long! But between the orange juice spill and the day’s dirt, I really needed a scrubbing from head to toe.… Uh-oh. What? What’s wrong?”
Tucker sucked in the look of her. She’d obviously hurried through a shower, not wanting to keep anyone waiting. Her face and feet were bare. She’d pulled on shorts and an oversized sweatshirt with the sleeves long torn off, the neckline droopy-loose, revealing delicate collarbones and the hollow in her throat. Somewhere inside had to be breasts, but whether she wore a bra or not was a tantalizing question.
The boys were standing next to him. Tucker wasn’t supposed to be thinking about tantalizing questions.
But she was so naturally…earthy. Not put-on. She was just sensuous to the bone, from her luminous eyes to her wildly exuberant hair, to that pulse, so delicate and vulnerable in her throat.
“Hey,” she said, worry thick as honey in her throat now. “Something happened, I can see it in your face, Petie, what…? Oh.”
The healthy color in her cheeks faded to chalk-white. He could see her gaze shoot to Petie’s hands…to the splay of hundred-dollar bills. She surged forward, clasped the bills in a quick fist, at the same instant her posture straightened.
“I should have guessed what happened,” she said cheerily to Pete, then smiled at him and Tucker both—but it wasn’t a normal Garnet smile. It was an I’m-tougher-than-stone smile. “Well, now. Is anyone still hungry or need anything else to drink? I don’t know how long Tucker and Will can stay—”
Tucker was ready with an answer. “I’m guessing we’ve all had a long day, but the boys were hoping to play just one game of Wilderness. Right, guys?”
Will glanced at him with a question in his eyes, but Petie said immediately, “Yeah. It won’t take us more than an hour, I promise. Come on, Will.”
“Yeah,” Will echoed. The two boys thundered back to the computer room/den, making conceivably the same noise as a herd of elephants.
For the first time in a long time, they were alone. Garnet realized that even faster than he did…since she was looking as stubborn as a goat and as proud as a princess. She was still wearing that tinsel smile. “Well, are you still thirsty? I could probably scare up a beer if you—”
“Sure. What’s the story about the money?”
“Hmm?” She’d already zipped across the room and was bending into the fridge, rooting behind various fresh foods. “I’ve got a light or a regular. Only one can of each, though. I can’t remember when I bought this. It had to be quite a while ago. I don’t know if beer spoils. I mean, it could even be a year old or more—”
He wasn’t buying the nonstop chatter. “Garnet. Pete said you’d be upset.” A massive understatement, he thought now. Her voice was low and jittery. She was still frantically searching for that beer. And she’d put the hundred-dollar bills on the top shelf with the milk. Offhand, yeah, Tucker’d call that way upset.
“My son is such a tattletale.” She gave up searching and brought out both cans, lifting one and then the other for his vote.
He stepped forward, removed both cans from her hands and elbowed the refrigerator door closed.
“You don’t like either kind?”
“It’s pretty unusual. Your son said he was going on a ‘treasure hunt.’ Then he comes back with Will holding a pretty amazing amount of money.”
“I know, I know. I don’t blame you for being curious. And I’ll tell you, okay? But not when the kids are close or could hear. Petie thinks he knows everything. But there are some things—”
“Uh-huh.” He set the beer cans on the counter, wrapped a cold hand around Garnet’s wrist and herded her toward the door. It wasn’t hard. She didn’t have a lot of defenses right then. He could see that, which meant—by his guy code of right and wrong—that he couldn’t and wouldn’t take advantage.
But the instant he had her outside and the door closed…well. The evening heat seemed to go straight to his brain.
He happened to kind of lay her up against the door. Then happened to kind of trap her with his arms, sealing her between him and the door. Then he looked at her, at her eyes, at her mouth. She opened her mouth to say something. Maybe.
Who knew what her intent was?
He’d covered her mouth by then.
Right off, right that second, that first kiss was exactly what he’d hoped for. Exactly what he’d been afraid of.
If she had defenses, she left them at the closed door. Inside the lady was a firestorm. Her lips were softer than butter, the hitch in her breath almost a hum, and before their tongues touched, she’d suddenly clutched his shoulders, as if afraid of falling.
He understood the fear, because he felt exactly the same. He could fall. She could fall. Maybe he was still the only one who knew it, but the grip on his shoulders turned into a slow slide around his neck. The deeper the kiss, the more she sank into him.
The more she sank into him, the more of her slim, lithe body touched his. Pushed his. Molded to his like puzzle pieces that wouldn’t fit anywhere else, not like this, not this tight, this soft, this perfect.
When he lifted his mouth, she murmured something…maybe a silvery, whispery whoa…but unless she clarified that she wanted him to stop, he sure as hell wasn’t.
The night had turned nightmare-black, not because it was so late, but because clouds were rolling in, dark and low, thrumming an uneasy atmosphere, sparking worry. In his pulse. In hers. Ah, yeah, this was danger. His hands took a slow, moody slide under the hemless bottom of her sweatshirt, found warm, damp skin.
Gradually his hand found the side of her breast, then sneaked over just enough to cup. Her nipple hardened in the heart of his palm, and her responsiveness went straight to his groin. He rubbed against her, feeling hotter and harder than a teenage boy. He’d forgotten how much it hurt.
There never was, never could be, a hurt this good, but he’d forgotten.
He’d done the celibate thing so long that his brain was only holding together by shaky threads. Or maybe it wasn’t celibacy or hormones or lust rising hard and fast from the back closet. Maybe it was just Garnet. The textures and scents and tastes of her. Especially the textures. The endlessly soft slope of her breasts, then the slide-glide down her ribs, slipping just fingertips inside her shorts. He didn’t feel panties. Didn’t feel anything but the firmness of her fanny.
An amazement. How perfect her butt was. The slope. The shape. When he pressed, and her pelvis rocked against the hot steel trapped in his jeans, another switch short-circuited in his brain. He had to contort his whole body to make maximum contact. She was too darned short. It wouldn’t matter in bed. It just mattered now, trying to make love to her against the rough side of a building. But right then, he wasn’t about to change anything…except to shiver another kiss on her.
This kiss evolved, started out sweet and then turned into something deep and dark, the pressur
e of satin lips and the taste of longing. His whole life, he’d tried to be a good man, a damn good man, but right then…he’d had enough. The only thing that mattered was achingly simple. He wanted her. Period. Now. Fast. Hard. Any way. All ways.
“Tucker.”
He heard her. But she was calling him, not stopping him. Her lips traced the side of his neck, up to the razor line. She kissed a spot that suddenly developed a pulse, a throbbing pulse, because her lips lingered and treasured and enticed. She talked to him with her kisses, with her touch. She…
Hell, he didn’t know what he was saying. What he was thinking. There was no explaining his response to her.
There was nothing in his world like her. No one was like her.
A nasty thought tore to the surface…a cautionary thought that he did his best to ignore. This was too soon. Of course he knew that, of course it mattered. He needed to know what family meant to her, what a family could mean to her. He had to know what she wanted in the long run. If there was any chance her needs and wants could mesh with his own.
That stuff was important.
And he’d had a serious plan to be careful—to hold off on any physical shenanigans until they both had a clearer understanding of each other. It was a plan that made good sense. It was upright, clearly thought out. Protective of her. Of their boys. Of all of them.
He remembered that part. That his plan was excellent.
Only just then, he wasn’t thinking with his brain. He never wanted to see his brain or experience a rational thought ever again. The smell of her hair was so lush, so silky. Everything about her smelled just a little like vanilla. Nothing quite like vanilla. It was both a taste and a smell, an aroma you could inhale and wished you could keep on breathing in.
Like her. He just kept wanting to breathe her in. His palms slid deeper into her shorts, encountered…thong. There was no better underwear concept ever made. Whoever talked women into wearing thongs was brilliant. They were no impediment at all. Just a lusty teaser.
“Tucker.”
Little Matchmakers Page 7
