Little Matchmakers

by Jennifer Greene

  Another low, sexy chuckle from him. “He’s a little overexuberant. Been on lockdown for quite a while.”

  “I can see that. At least he certainly seems to be expressing an extraordinary amount of enthusiasm.”

  He redirected his focus back on her. “Where’d you get that perfect body, Blondie?”

  “On sale at Walmart. Afraid I couldn’t find any boobs, though.”

  “Your boobs are beyond perfect. Delectable. Exquisite. Incomparable—”

  “You can go on. I hope you do. But I just need a teensy commercial break.… Um, Tucker, do you have protection?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry. I’d rather be a reckless, wild daredevil for you…but I’m afraid I’ve got some kind of genetic Boy Scout in me.”

  “That’s okay. Any minute now I’m going to turn shy and hypernervous. Then you’ll be stuck seeing the real me.”

  “Shy and hypernervous, huh?”

  “I’m just trying to tell you the whole truth, so you won’t be able to say that I didn’t warn you.”

  “Tell me some more,” he said, but he didn’t mean it. She was out of conversation, too. They’d crossed a threshold.

  He used a foot to close the door, freed a hand to reach behind and lock it. She got it: even if the boys somehow came home in the middle of the night, they wouldn’t find their parents in a compromising position. Knowing that, knowing he cared enough to protect the boys…well, it just wasn’t fair. A woman could fall in love with a man like that. A man who didn’t have to think to put a child first, didn’t have to discuss doing the right thing, just did what was right.

  “Whoa,” he murmured. “Let me catch up.”

  No. She wasn’t giving him any more chances to stop and think. There was no lamplight, but she knew they were in his bedroom. A three-quarter moon was just outside the curtainless French doors. There were shadows, smells, textures, all defining his domain. She glimpsed the light from a doorway—a bathroom beyond. But unlike her place, where clutter reproduced when the lights were off, Tucker was tidy. It was a straight, clean path to the old-fashioned four-poster. Especially if you were in a hurry.

  Which she was.

  This was different than she’d known. He was different than anyone she’d known. The sweep of passion carried her into touches, strokes, caresses that were new to her. He was so rich, her Tucker, so rich in warmth and need and strength.

  This wasn’t just good. The heat, the need, the honesty, the thrill—this was more than anything, more than everything, wrapped up in how he touched her, how he smiled in the dark…just before he pounced for another kiss, another little bite. He flipped her over as if she were cotton fluff, tongued the whole length of her spine…slowly. Then flipped her back and knelt between her legs. And went slowly. Slower than torture, slower than satin, he dipped his head down, took a lazy, luxurious taste of her, lifted his head with a grin.

  “That’s it,” she said, and quit messing around. It was time to show the man who was boss.

  She climbed on. Tummy to tummy, breast to chest, rubbing all of her against all of him, nestling her mouth in the hollow of his throat, under his chin…and that was all she could take of playing, even her way. She reared up, straddled him, bent forward so she could frame his face in her hands.

  “Hey, Tucker,” she whispered.

  “Yup, it’s me.”

  “We going to do this fast or slow?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are we going to take turns or just elect a boss for this time?”

  “Yes.”

  “You want to rest, maybe discuss politics or the weather for a little break?”

  “You are not a good woman. I don’t care what I told you before,” he hissed, and even though he was beneath her, just like that, he surged inside of her.

  The sensation of being filled, so completely, took her breath. She heard a yelp escape her throat, his coaxing murmur, and then his big hands framed her hips, started a rhythm. She knew the music, his music, the crescendo and drum rolls and heartbeat that sent her blood heating, racing. With him. The whole rock-and-roll ride was with him. Eyes open. Eyes blurry with emotion.

  Need sharpened inside her. It hurt. Ached like fire. She needed…

  Needed.

  Him.

  The crest-over stunned her. He let out a growl of a cry, and then just wrapped his long strong arms around her…both of them too spent to talk. Too spent to think.

  And for her, too filled with an impossible sense of joy and wonder.

  * * *

  “You have to drive me home.”

  Tucker turned his head. “I know. Don’t worry. I’ll get you home before daybreak, I promise.”

  “Hey!”

  “Hey what?”

  “That was another kiss!”

  “I’m trying to give myself motivation to move. Otherwise I’m almost sure I’ll never find the strength to get up and drive you home,” he said, defending himself.

  “Tucker. You’re bad to the bone.”

  He wasn’t. It was all her, inspiring him to be bad. All he had to do was kiss her—a serious kiss—and she was winding around him again, doing that Lorelei rub, breast to chest, her pelvis rocking against his. She was extraordinarily passionate. Extraordinarily responsive. Extraordinary at shaking his timbers.

  “You could say no,” he reminded her.

  “So could you!”

  “You could say you were tired or that you’d had enough.”

  “So could you.”

  So it was Round Three. This time, he tried a slow waltz instead of a fast rock and roll. This time he really wanted to savor, to take precious care, to respect every inch of her. This time…he really wanted to hear her moan. Now that was music.

  After that…well, he was more tired than a zombie. So was she. But under the circumstances, they both aimed for a shower, and ended up in the shower together, and in spite of impossible odds—for him—he somehow threw insanity to the winds and went for a fourth time.

  They were both giddy as kids, making silly comments, laughing at jokes that weren’t jokes, when they finally pulled on serious clothes and aimed for the truck. He really did need to drive her home before sunup…only the ride proved to be unexpectedly startling. The mountain road was asphalt, shiny with dew, trees glistening shadows, whispers coming off the mountain.

  He was starting to believe in those whispers.

  Which unfortunately made him want to talk about it. “Garnet…for me, this night changed everything.”

  She turned her head, but in the darkness of the cab, he couldn’t see her expression. “In what way?”

  “For a long time, I’d been hoping…that we’d find ourselves together. In more ways than just being parents of sons the same age. But I never expected everything that happened tonight. Everything that you were. Everything that we were together.”

  “You don’t have to say that, Tucker.”

  The road was too sharp, too challenging in the dark, to turn and look at her. So he couldn’t see her frown, but he sensed it. “I was hoping you felt the same way.”

  She didn’t immediately respond. The silence only lasted a millisecond, but a millisecond was too long just then. A couple of thudding heartbeats later she started a gentle monologue.

  “I felt more than the same way, Tucker. I never expected to feel anything…the way you made me feel tonight.”

  That was good, he thought. So damned if he knew why his pulse was still thudding.

  “I didn’t know. That it could be so different, making love with a man. I only knew Johnny, and he was a boy. I thought the sun rose and set with him at the time. And in that second and a half, I got pregnant, and we got married, and my world pretty much turned into an avalanche.”

  Her voice was as soft
as butter, yet he kept getting that itchy feeling—like waiting for a dentist or a tetanus shot or someone to punch him in the gut—that something was seriously wrong. Not right. He’d been so sure that everything was right between them.

  “It took me a long time,” she said honestly, “to figure things out. When Johnny died overseas…well, we’d never had a chance to talk things through. He never wanted to be married, not to me. So when he died…it really weighed on my heart. I didn’t feel responsible, exactly. In high school, he and I were both dumb as rocks. We both tried to do the right thing about the pregnancy…but truthfully, we did everything wrong. He was a runner. I can’t blame myself for that. But it hurt—that he’d rather risk danger, risk his life, go thousands of miles away, rather than even try making a life with me.”

  “Hey.” He’d tried not to interrupt, but there was a limit. He wasn’t going to call her Johnny a turnip. At some point she must have loved him. But a guy who’d go off and leave a young woman with a baby was less than a turnip. And a guy who’d make her feel that unwanted was lower than pond sludge. “Why he chose to go overseas, I don’t know. To me, it was the wrong thing to do. But right or wrong—it’s on him. Not on you.”

  She nodded, but she was facing front. “Maybe so. But here’s the thing. Once I was alone…I started building a life. A real life. Not just for Pete, but with Pete. A life I could be proud of, a life I am proud of.”

  “As you sure as hell should be.”

  “Thanks. But I wasn’t looking for an atta-girl or a compliment, Tucker. I was trying to say…tonight had no strings. I’m really happy we had these hours together. They were beyond wonderful for me. But I would never make an assumption that sex is binding, or that making love automatically forces us to put a label on our relationship. The truth is, in my life, in my heart, I seem to do best alone.”

  “Garnet…” He pulled into her drive.

  “Hmm?”

  “When you’re talking to me, you have to try dumbing it down. I’m not real good with subtle messages. And I don’t have a clue what you’re trying to tell me.”

  “Yes, you do,” she said gently. “We’re not headed for the altar or long-term. I knew that going in. And it’s okay. I’m just totally glad for what we had tonight.”

  She leaned over, smacked his cheek and then jumped out of his truck and skedaddled to her house. He wanted to go after her. Wanted to…shake her or something. They’d discovered a connection tonight like he’d never experienced before. She’d sure communicated under the sheets that she’d experienced the same rare connection.

  Yet now she was pushing him away. It didn’t make sense…except that he’d specifically been afraid of this. That Garnet didn’t want long-term with him, didn’t want the blended family of double sons they’d have together.

  He didn’t know why. Needed to know why. But there was no going after her to clear this up. The damned sun was peeking over the horizon. The boys could be coming home to his place any second.

  * * *

  All week, Garnet had been so crabby that her employees were threatening to fire her. Mary Lou claimed she was jumpier than a cat in the rain. Sally repeatedly told her to just go, git, go shopping or put her feet up or do whatever she wanted—except be underfoot in the shop. She couldn’t sleep. Wasn’t hungry. Couldn’t think.

  She’d never been moody. Ever.

  Until the night she’d made love with Tucker.

  Abruptly she noticed his truck pulling in. It was a trade-boys day. Pete couldn’t wait to gallop toward Tucker, and Will bounded from Tucker’s truck with the same enthusiasm. It was one of those days—the sun scalding down at nearly a hundred degrees, no breeze in sight or sound. She had a thousand things to do, but it was too hot to do any of them.

  Will streaked toward her like an energetic puppy. Impossible not to smile at him, although her eyes tracked Tucker as the white truck backed out of the drive. She could see he was talking to Petie, knew perfectly well there’d been no chance of a private conversation since the night they’d made love. Conversations with the boys present was easy enough—but trying to talk without the boys or work interrupting had just been impossible. She just kept feeling more and more uneasy…about what that night meant to him.

  About what that night meant to her.

  “It’s a vanilla day, isn’t it?” Will asked, but he already knew, judging from the way he was trotting straight toward the vanilla house. It was Will’s favorite thing, possibly because the only ones who worked in there were she and Will. Originally she’d thought sharing the secret with him would create a bond. Which it had.

  Today, though, she wasn’t really fit company for man or beast.

  “Man, it’s hot in here,” Will said conversationally.

  “I know. Have to remember to keep hydrating—there’s always water and Gatorade kept in the small fridge here.” She watched him put on gloves—as she did. Their hands didn’t need protection, but the plants did—from exposure to disease or insects or external factors that could hurt them. “You know,” she said, “I noticed you and Pete talking when your dad’s truck pulled up.”

  “Yeah.” Will’s gaze skidded from hers.

  “I noticed the same thing when I dropped Pete off last Tuesday. That you and he had some things to say that looked private. Because you hustled away from your dad and me.”

  “Yeah,” Will agreed again. Then changed the subject at the speed of light. “You know my Aunt Rosemary, and how she studies wild orchids? She shows me pictures sometimes. And none of those flowers look anything like your vanilla.”

  “Well, plants aren’t defined as orchids because of their looking similarly. Partly they’re defined by how they’re pollinated….” She went with the science talk. Like Tucker, she was sure the boys were up to something, but neither of them would talk about it. Even racking her brains, she couldn’t imagine the pair of them brewing up anything harmful.

  “Yeah, I know how they’re endangered plants and all,” Will agreed.

  “And like we talked about before, even though vanilla is in the orchid family…vanilla is the only orchid, at least that I know of, that produces edible fruit. Also, there are well over a hundred types of vanilla vine—but only a couple of those that can be used to make products from vanilla.”

  “When I have science next year, can I use some of the stuff you tell me?”

  “Sure.” She was the only one who pruned or touched the plants, but Will had learned to use the irrigation setup—to check for leaks, check the temperature and moisture level in the soil, start the lines.

  “I wouldn’t have to even look it up. I could just come here. And ask you.”

  “I think looking up stuff is a good thing. But learning by talking to people or seeing for yourself is a good thing, too, don’t you think?”

  “And it’s a lot easier than having to study. When you tell me something, it’s interesting. So…what’s the next thing we need to do?”

  “Don’t you want a break? Some water? Cookies?”

  “Nah. I’m tough.”

  Will was a darling. Even if he never stopped talking. But sometimes looking at him was a study in his father. Will was honest to a fault. A doer, not a sitter. He was interested in everything, the kind of kid who dove right in and gave 100 percent.

  He was even built like his dad, already tall and lean, shoulders already stretching his T-shirt. He had the same cowlick on the left side. The same full-of-the-devil eyes. He even walked with the same lanky stride.

  Still…he was very much a boy.

  It was the grown-up Tucker on her mind, the memories of their night together slivering into her consciousness, even when she was working. Even when she was talking to customers. Even, like now, when she was sin-hot and itchy and determined to baby every single vanilla vine even if she keeled over from the heat.

&
nbsp; “Uh-oh,” Will said suddenly.

  “What? What’s wrong?” She straightened immediately at the tone in Will’s voice. She whipped around with the clippers still in her hand. And immediately saw the problem.

  Anyone who lived in South Carolina knew what a copperhead snake looked like. Or they should. Copperheads were never particularly large, and some considered their copper-and-camouflage coloring to be downright beautiful. Not Garnet.

  Garnet didn’t consider anything in the pit-viper family to be beautiful. A poisonous snake was a poisonous snake.

  This one happened to be between her and the locked greenhouse door.

  It wasn’t young. Year-old copperheads had yellow tails. This one was almost three feet long—which made him about as big as a copperhead got.

  Garnet stopped breathing for a moment. And then did what any red-blooded American woman would do.

  Screamed her head off.

  Chapter Nine

  Tucker balanced on a crooked hunk of granite, waiting for the girls to catch up. There were around forty in the group, all between the ages of twelve and fifteen.

  The two-mile hike was expected to be a type of meditation walk. Every turn was unique, wildlife everywhere, some views darned spectacular. Of course, there’d been no sign of wildlife from the first footfall. Girls that age only spoke in shrieks, and likely never saw any of the views because they were too busy chattering nonstop with each other. Or complaining.

  He figured this was penance. For falling in love with the wrong woman. For not being able to stop thinking about her. For worrying that she’d told him—in a zillion ways—that she was content being alone, not looking for a relationship. She seemed to have no happy memories of family—outside of Petie—so he could understand why she had no reason to be excited about joining into a nuclear blending family like his own.

  Asking for more after all the things she’d said…well, it was like volunteering for heartache.

  The cell phone in his shirt pocket vibrated. He frowned. He and the staff tended to use walkie-talkies during the workday, because cell phone reception was iffy at best on the mountain. But when he pulled out the phone and recognized the number, he punched it on immediately.