“I’m sure he is.”
“It’s okay that you like my dad. Pete and I both know you do. Uh-oh.”
“I was never going to hit that guardrail, Will.” She shot him a baleful glance, and immediately slowed down. Tried to calm down. Tucker had already hinted that the boys had expectations or hopes regarding the two of them. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that the comment came out of Will’s mouth.
But it was definitely a surprise—and a shock—that Will seemed to realize before she did that she was in love with his dad.
She was.
Hook, line and that whole shebang.
And she had only one instinct if Tucker had been hurt. To get there. Be there for him. Immediately. An hour ago. Before whatever even happened. Which should have given her a teensy clue that he was no friend to her, no comrade, no fellow single parent, but a guy she cared about deeply, instinctively, and straight from the heart.
She zoomed up the drive to Whisper Mountain, paused at Tucker’s place, saw that neither the Gator nor the truck were there, and listened to Will’s directions on how to get to the office. En route—it wasn’t far—she started a careful conversation with Will.
“I have to tell you something,” she began.
“What?”
“You’re really reassuring and calming in a tense situation. Anyone ever tell you that before?”
“No. Not sure what you mean.”
“Well…like just now. And with the snake last week. You’re the kind of person—just like your dad—who steps up. Does the right thing.”
He turned, as she expected, bright red.
“I’m not trying to embarrass you. Or even to give you a compliment. I just thought you might want to be aware… I’m a strong female, Will. I don’t get shaken easily. But some situations push my buttons.”
“Like snakes.”
“Yeah, exactly like snakes. And I have to tell you, if I’m in trouble or some big problematic situation, you’re exactly the kind of guy I’d like to have close by.”
“Okay.” If he turned any redder, he was likely going to explode. He clearly wanted her to stop talking about him.
“I just want you to know that. To think about it. Maybe you feel you’re shy around girls. Or that you don’t know what to say around certain females. But every girl doesn’t want you to talk nonstop, Will. They’re drawn to a guy who makes them feel safe. And comfortable. And you do that just plain naturally. You don’t have to think about it or worry about it. It’s just part of you.”
“There’s the office,” Will said.
Yeah. She knew he wanted her to shut up. She just figured that was the whole point of their spending time together, for Will to find a way to be comfortable with female people. He needed a comfort zone. A feeling of confidence with female people.
And of course he felt comfortable with her. They dug in the dirt together. Used shovels and water. Discussed bugs. It was no wonder Will’d never felt shy around her. She was probably almost as good as being around a guy.
For the same reason, she’d been pretty positive any feelings Tucker had for her were either propinquity or the ease both genders felt when they could talk to each other without baggage or scars hanging over their heads. He didn’t see her as the kind of woman who could hurt him. She was too ordinary to be of importance to him that way.
“Take it easy, Mrs. G. You don’t have to run!”
Yeah, well. As much as she wanted to think about Tucker’s son, her heart was concentrated on nothing but Tucker. The office was a one-structure affair, with a wide, roofed porch and benches. The door was half-glass, and four open doors could be seen from the entrance—but only one person.
The main room was a mélange of everything—trail and topography maps covered the walls; an aquarium of local spiders sat on a squat table; cases of bottled water stood ready for anyone to take; and one long mural showed Whisper Mountain’s array of natural snakes and wildlife.
The man, sitting behind a massive table, was dressed in white canvas, with a netted hat beside him and gloves thick enough for winter. He glanced up when she walked in, smiled at her, but came through with a toothy grin for Will.
“Hey, youngster. How’s it hanging?”
“Pretty good, Mr. Willis. This is Mrs. G. Mrs. Cattrell. Pete’s mom—”
“I guessed that. I’m Raeburn Willis. Local beekeeper. But I make models for Tucker now and then. Lots of different bees in the woods, different seasons. Knowing how their nests look, where and how they live, that’s the best way I know to prevent people from tromping on their territory.”
“It’s wonderful to meet you, Mr. Willis. I’d love to hear more—it’s really interesting—but we need to find Tucker. You know where he is?”
“Shore. He left a note.” Raeburn turned a squint on Will. “You know the curve in White Creek, up high, past the stand of hawthorn trees?”
“Oh, yeah. But…” He looked up at Garnet. “I’m going to try the walkie-talkie first. In case they’re already on their way, okay?”
It would have been a great idea, if Tucker had only answered—but when he didn’t, Garnet’s anxiety scaled the stratosphere. No Gators were available for transportation. Will knew the location, but it’d be a tough haul on foot—and then how would they get Tucker home if he was in trouble? Her van wasn’t likely to handle the rough-cut paths.
Will kept trying to help. “I just can’t think of anything else around. I mean there’s a digger. And a brush chopper. And—”
“There’s a tractor for brush chopping?”
Will blinked. “You can drive that?”
“Are you kidding? I can drive anything with an engine. Show me where it is.”
First she grabbed a backpack with first-aid supplies from the back of the van, and then they were off. It only took two shakes to unhitch the chopper, check the machine for fuel and oil, turn it on. The Massey was relatively new—ten years? A mere child on tractor terms. And a honey, from the way she started up. Obviously there was no extra seating, but she took a look at Will’s face, and reached down a hand.
“Climb on. But we’re going slow. And if anyone asks, I never let you do this.”
“Cross my heart, hope to die,” he assured her. “I’ll never tell. No matter if someone tortures me. No matter if I had to eat brussels sprouts every day for the rest of my life. No matter—”
“I get the picture. Just come through with the directions, and we have a deal.”
The camp roads were all well maintained. The hiking trails were rougher, but no challenge for the tractor. After that, though, they hit snarls and bumps, skinny wedges between pines, rocks that weren’t just going to step aside to help them. On foot, they could have made fast time, but the tractor was occasionally like an elephant negotiating narrow halls.
Will kept laughing. “This is really fun, Mrs. G.!”
“If you think we can walk from here—”
“Well, it’s another mile or so.”
Garnet figured she could find some way to carry Tucker out, if need be. She had a tarp that would work as a stretcher, two boys and herself. And yeah, Petie had told her Tucker was all right…but he’d also said “all that blood.” And “all that blood” kept ringing in her ears like the thrum of drums.
She saw a streak of silver just ahead through the brush, cut the tractor engine and immediately heard the creek and birdsong…and voices. Pete’s high-pitched tone. Tucker’s lower tenor. Felt a heave of a relieved sigh.
Will leaped down first, but she wasn’t more than a blink behind.
She hitched the first-aid kit and supplies onto her shoulder, started down a rough scrabble through rhododendron to the creek bank. Stones, all sizes, made a hopscotch path across the creek, and in the middle, on a huge white stone, were the two of them. Tucker and P
ete. Laughing.
“What are you two doing here?”
Both looked up and saw her. “We can’t tell you, Mom,” Pete said cheerfully.
Rhododendron plants were busy and thick and scratched at her arms and legs. “And you’re laughing. And you’re both soaked. Damn it, Tucker. There’s blood all over the place!”
“Your son’s a fine doc. I’m totally okay. The blood’s only because it was a head bump. Heads bleed like crazy. And then your son—that’s Mr. Bossy himself—insisted I sit still for a while. Have a snack. He happened to have some Oreos, because your son is always prepared for serious emergencies. Perfect for sugar. That rhubarb pie you sent, by the way, was gone completely about an hour after arrival.”
“Good,” she snapped.
“If you’re feeling sorry for me, you could make another.”
She was still negotiating the tangled, steep bank. “I’m not feeling sorry for you. I’m ticked at you both. You’re both laughing and we were worried half to death.”
“I wasn’t worried,” Will reminded her.
“This is no time to split hairs!”
“Huh? What does that mean?”
“It means, you boys, get together any gear or whatever’s around here that needs to go home. I’m going to take a look at Mr. Tucker.”
The boys took off faster than buckshot. She unwound her backpack of first-aid supplies and, muttering under her breath, took the first stone step. Immediately, cold, clear water gushed over her sandals, making the next step even more precarious. Tucker didn’t say a word—possibly because he was a smarter man than most, possibly because he was afraid. He should be good and scared. When she was in a snit, most men, women, children and all wildlife knew to give her a wide berth.
Finally she reached the big flat rock, knelt down and opened her pack to find the hand sterilizer. She rubbed it on her hands as she studied Tucker—but didn’t look at him. She studied him for injuries, determined not to make eye-to-eye contact. Or any other kind of man-woman contact.
The gash was above his right ear, on the side of his head. She peeled off Petie’s handiwork—as far as she could tell her son had done his best to clean the wound, then had unearthed a box of Band-Aids and pretty much used half the box to cover the injury.
The gash wasn’t long—an inch or so—but the area around it was swollen and red. It had to hurt like a banshee, but thankfully it was mostly clean, just some fine-grained grit around the edges.
She dug out a bottle of betaine, tore through a sterile wrap to get a large square of gauze. “This shouldn’t hurt, but I can’t promise,” she said. The problem was his hair. The injury was in the middle of it, the sandy color dyed dark red in splotches. She leaned up, closer, pressing against his arm for balance. It wasn’t that easy to maneuver on the slick rock, much less while keeping her hands and supplies as sterile as possible.
“I don’t think you’ll need stitches, but I’m not sure if you’ll need a run to the E.R. Where it’s grazed, it looks like a raw carpet burn. It’s already swelled up. Not as bad as it could be. But definitely not pretty. When we get you back to the house, we’ll do ice first. See if we can get the swelling down. Then I think you should try a careful shower, after which we smother the spot with antibiotic cream. Then we relook, decide if we think there’s a concussion risk.
“I don’t see any sign, but I’m guessing you’ve had more first-aid training than I have. Not that I’m a slouch at this—I’ve had all the basic courses. But in your job, I’m sure…”
She turned around, burrowed into her kit again, found a butterfly bandage. By that time she’d lost her place, forgotten what she was talking about. She’d been so busy caring for the head gash that she’d belatedly noticed the scratch just over his eye. Too close to his eye. It looked small, but deep, as if a small, sharp stone had dug in there when he’d fallen. It had to be cleaned and treated and pulled together with the butterfly bandage.
A strand of hair spilled into her eyes; she blew it back, cocked her face so the sun wasn’t blazing straight into her eyes, kept studying the scratch. She just wanted to be sure it was absolutely clean before closing it up.
“I don’t know what you and Petie were doing. Don’t want to know. Don’t care. That you got him doing something outdoorsy—you get a medal. And he told you about the dinner idea, didn’t he? Will and I versus you and Pete. Who makes the best burger over a fire. What I was thinking was that your son and I—well, we’re getting along like a house afire. But it’s because I’m like another guy, you know? We play in the dirt. We talk about bugs. We do physical stuff outside. So I’m not really that much of a female influence, which was what this was all supposed to be about…. Hey, buster. Don’t move. For two more shakes, okay?”
She didn’t wait for him to behave. Just assumed it. And yeah, she could feel the stare of his eyes on hers. That there were only inches separating their faces, their eyes. Their lips.
But she was paying attention to his sore. Not him.
She was only looking at his sore. Not him.
She botched the first Band-Aid just trying to get it out of the dad-blamed paper. It scrunched and then half of it came off, and her finger touched it, so it wasn’t close to sterile. She scrabbled for another.
“The thing is…making dinner is sort of a girl thing. I mean, it shouldn’t be. But the point is that, for Will, he’s not used to doing girl things. So if we did that together, I thought maybe…well, otherwise, all we’ve been doing this summer so far is having fun together. I really like your son, you know. Even if he did tattletale about the snake. Now. I think that looks—”
“Garnet?”
“What?”
“You’re in love with me.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You’re totally. Completely. In love with me.”
Her heart suffered failure. Recovered. Thumped hard and fast. “Now where did you get that?” she asked lightly.
“The way you flew here when you thought I was hurt. The way you’re taking care of me. The way you’re not looking at me. You’re not looking at me really hard.”
“Well, if that isn’t the craziest reasoning I’ve ever heard,” she said crisply. “Let me give you the real picture. I think you haven’t been close to a woman in a while. That we’ve been doing a pretty good job at being friends. We’re really good at talking parenting issues together. And then there’s chemistry. A couple mountains of it. When you’ve been celibate for a while—which I’ve sure been…and maybe you’ve been—maybe just about anything could look like love.”
“What a bunch of nonsense. Let’s go back to the beginning. You’re in love with me.”
“No.”
“Well, damn. I don’t like to argue with a woman, but you’re forcing me to prove it to you.” He leaned up, touched her lips.
Just touched them, yet she suddenly seemed to melt from the inside out. The sky blurred. She heard the rush of water, the whisper of rustling leaves, yet all she really noticed was the luring pull of his mouth, that silk-smooth drugging texture and taste of him.
Her hand shot up to his shoulder—not because she wanted to touch him, but because she would have fallen. The problem seemed to be vertigo. A terrible dizziness. Caused by him.
She sank back down, her rump finding a seat on his thigh. Until that instant, she wasn’t aware of straddling his leg—her whole mind had concentrated on getting him bandaged and cared for. But now…her senses seemed on fire. She could feel the grit on her shins, the loamy smell of the creek banks. She could feel heat and wonder and craziness.
Slowly he pulled back. Not far. He looked straight into her eyes, with no smile, his voice as husky as a night wind. “Yeah, Garnet. You’re in love with me. And believe it, I feel exactly the same.”
She’d have answered him, if she could have just found
her voice. He didn’t move and she didn’t move, and seconds ticked by, moments. Finally she managed to swallow. “Tucker, I’m not hurting anyone else. Especially not you. I’ve tried my damnedest not to screw up again, but I’ve got a long record of terrible judgment. You need to believe me.”
“I get it. You already sang that song before. You’re wrong for me.”
“Good boy. You were listening.”
“Want to sleep with me tonight?”
“Tucker!”
From the corner of her eye, she saw Will and Pete galloping toward them, carrying heaps of strange things, shovels and pans and what all. She looked straight at Tucker with a scowl, but now he’d started smiling. He had the wrong look in his eyes. Anticipation. Intent. A waiting look, like a fox waiting for the henhouse door to open up. He didn’t just eat her up with his gaze. He hungered for her. It showed.
And so did the damn man’s wicked grin.
“Hey,” Pete said. “We’re all ready.”
Will asked, “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Garnet answered, and tried to scramble off Tucker before the boys noticed anything, but she nearly fell—Tucker hooked an arm around her shoulder to protect her from a tumble.
Both boys stopped sharply, and suddenly exhibited identical bland expressions at finding their parents so close.
She stood up on wobbly legs. “You did a good job with Mr. Tucker’s wound,” she told Pete in her best business tone.
“Well, yeah. Of course I did.”
“But now we need to organize how to get home. Who’s going home on the Gator, and who’s going on the tractor?”
“You drove the tractor here?” Tucker’s eyes shot up in surprise.
“We had to get here. Quickly.” She turned toward the boys. “Tucker needs to ride on the Gator for the trek home—it’s the smoothest way—so both you boys go with him. I’ll drive the tractor back.”
Little Matchmakers Page 14
