by Jillian Hart
“I think I hear someone coming up the driveway.” Autumn spun away, abandoning her teacup and cookie. “Do you know who that is, Owen?”
“No. Who?” He clasped his hands together.
“The town sheriff. You know Ford, don’t you?” Autumn held out her hand for the boy to take.
He did. “You mean Sheriff Sherman? He comes into the diner lots. He gave me and Mom a ride to the hospital, when I was real sick. He’s our friend, too.”
“So I heard. Let’s go greet him at the door. Okay? He might let you play with his lights and siren.”
“Oh, wow. Okay.” Owen took two steps before he froze and glanced over his shoulder at his hero. “Can Tucker come, too?”
“Let me sit this one out, buddy.” Tucker ruffled the boy’s hair. “You can come find me in a bit. I’ve volunteered for grill duty.”
“Cool.” Owen tripped away with Autumn. The cheerful beat of his gait echoed in the expansive room.
“Speaking of men, I’ve got to go find mine.” Rori sweetly excused herself, weaving around the furniture. “Tucker, I trust you can keep Sierra company.”
“I wouldn’t trust me with anything,” he quipped and raked one hand through his thick, dark locks, standing them up on end.
Had he always been that tall? He dominated her view, overshadowed the room and made the rest of the world fade away. Mrs. Gunderson working away in the kitchen vanished from Sierra’s vision, along with everything and everyone else, leaving Tucker in the center. He gave his belt a hitch.
“I’m proud of you.” Kindness rang in the low notes of his voice. “You didn’t wince once when Owen hit the dirt.”
“I promised myself I wouldn’t be overprotective.”
“After what you went through with him, that has to be tough.” He must have polished those dimples just for her. She’d never seen them so dazzling.
She was about to lose her guard and defenses against him at any moment. She steeled her spine and dug deep for strength, determined to hold on. “I find myself hovering over him, worrying about every little thing.”
“You don’t want him to look at your behavior and think he should worry, too.”
“Yes.” It touched her that he understood. That a man like Tucker, a carefree bachelor with a rambling lifestyle, could empathize. Then again, she was sure he wasn’t as footloose as he liked to seem. “Thanks to you, I now have to worry about him growing up to ride broncs and bulls.”
“You’re welcome.”
Why was she laughing? Because he was. His infectious, thunder-like chuckle was irresistible. “I wasn’t thanking you.”
“I know, but I couldn’t resist.” He nodded toward the door in a silent invitation and when she nodded, he settled his hand on her shoulder, guiding her along. His touch was light, a man who made no claim. “I had a blast hanging out with Owen. I learned a thing or two.”
“About what?”
“It’s about you.” He grabbed two packages of hot dogs the housekeeper had left on the kitchen island for him. “Thanks, Mrs. Gunderson.”
“You make sure and heat them clear through.” The older lady looked up from dicing tomatoes with a motherly air. “I’ve got the coals ready. Don’t burn the hot dogs.”
“Relax. I am the grill master.”
Sierra grabbed her coat from the row of hooks by the back door. “Does your ego know any bounds?”
“Why would you say something like that?” Spoken innocently, as if he didn’t have the slightest clue.
Amusing. “First you’re the best rodeo champion there is. Now you’re master of the grills.”
“I don’t remember saying that exactly. I believe the problem is your interpretation. That tells me something about you.”
“It does?” She gasped when he stole her coat from her. He seemed ten feet tall as he sidled up and held her left sleeve for her. Her stomach flipped over at his nearness, at the scents of winter wind and alfalfa clinging to his clothes. His knuckles grazed her nape as she fit her other arm into the sleeve, and tiny tingles danced all the way down to her toes. The innocent sensation filled her up until it hurt to breathe.
He didn’t move away, but stayed close, gathering her long hair in his hands and gently tugging it out of the coat’s collar. It cascaded free over her shoulders and he swept a wayward lock from her eyes. The brush of his fingertips against her temple shocked her because it didn’t feel wrong. It was the gentlest touch she’d known.
“You don’t dislike me anymore.” He moved away to snare his jacket off a hook and throw it on. “Admit it.”
“Impossible, since it’s not true. I dislike you very much. More than ever.”
“Good. I feel exactly the same way about you.” With a grin hooking the corners of his mouth, he grabbed the packages of hot dogs and opened the door.
Her defenses tumbled. She stumbled outdoors as the last dregs of daylight wrestled bold colors from the sky. “I guess there’s no way to stop it now.”
“I’ve thought about it long and hard and you’re right.” His boots knelled slow and steady on the porch boards. “I have run out of excuses. How about you?”
“Yes. Every one.”
“Then I guess we have to admit it. We’re friends.”
“I never thought I would see the day.” She leaned against the porch rail, gazing out at the dusky shadows painting the hillsides. “Remember how you used to tug on my ponytails?”
“I remember.” The barbecue lid clunked as he set it aside. The fire licked upward, sending smoke and heat into his face. He popped the first pack of franks on the grill and spread them out with a pair of tongs.
“Nearly every day for all of first grade. By third grade it was once a week. By sixth—”
“Once a month or so. I got better at controlling myself.” He remembered the bounce and pitch of the bus as it rolled down country roads. Sierra had been such a quiet girl, neat and tidy, doing her homework or, more often than not, reading a library book.
“It drove me crazy.” Her alto strengthened. “I would keep watch out of the corner of my eye for you.”
“I know. I was watching you. The minute you went into your book or a math problem, my hand would reach out. I was a menace.” More like a boy who wanted her attention, not that he would ever have admitted it at the time. Or now. “You have no idea how many times I held back.”
“I don’t know how you ever turned out as well as you did.” She leaned the small of her back against the porch rail, making a pretty picture with the background of rose-kissed fields and mauve-bellied clouds hovering in a twilight sky. She looked nothing like that introverted girl, as quiet as a mouse, and yet she was the same gentle spirit.
His heart cinched up hard. He ripped open the second pack of meat and tipped the franks onto the grill. “How did you wind up married to Ricky anyway? When Dad told me about the wedding announcement, I nearly fell off my chair.”
“As you fall off things for a living, that’s not saying much.” Her mirth dropped away and her brightness dimmed. The shadows around her lengthened as she dipped her head, staring at the toes of her shoes instead of at him. Her long hair curtained her face. “After graduation, Ricky started being more active in the church. He became more serious. He had to ask me out at least six times before I said yes. He had never been the serious kind of guy in high school, but he was a few years older than me and he seemed ready to settle down.”
“So you finally said yes.” He grabbed the tongs and began rolling the franks. Sierra might have thought he wasn’t watching her, but he was. He caught her small intake of breath and the way she tensed. Her hands closed into fists.
“He was very charming and I believed him. I believed in him.” No trace of pain showed in her voice, but it had to be there. She blew a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Looking back, I think he wanted to grow up and take on responsibility. But wanting something and actually doing it are two different things.”
“He let you down.” It didn’t take a
rocket scientist to figure that out, but he had to say the words. He had to hear them because he knew what she was thinking. A leopard doesn’t change his spots. A man looking for the easy road would always take the fastest way out when things got tough. Tucker hated to think she might be comparing him to Ricky Baker. He moved the tongs to the second row of hot dogs and kept turning. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
“It was partly my doing, too. I have to take responsibility.” She sounded strong, like a woman who could take any wound, any catastrophe, any disappointment and let it glance right off her.
But the sun chose that moment to lose its battle with the night, and the shadows claimed her. There was nothing but her silence, nothing except her shadow lost in the dark, and in that moment of stillness he felt the whole of her. As if his heart were no longer his own, he knew how deeply she’d been hurt and how hard she’d tried to make it work. Without a single word, he knew.
“I chose poorly. Maybe I had stars in my eyes. Maybe love makes you blind and that’s excuse enough. I don’t know.” She shrugged, a single movement in the darkness. “But if I hadn’t married Ricky, then I wouldn’t have Owen. And that little boy is worth everything.”
He saw that, too. He’d done his best all afternoon to keep his distance from her. After the mutton busting, Cotton had retired to a comfortable stall and Tucker had taken Owen out on the afternoon rounds far away from Sierra. Bless his sister for hauling the woman back to the house where they talked about who-knew-what—probably wedding plans. It was Autumn’s favorite topic of conversation lately, and rightly so. But the separation had given him a reprieve from the overwhelming pressure building in his chest, a pressure renewing in strength as Sierra gave a little sigh, an endearing sound that drew him one step closer.
“What about you?” Her words surprised him. “Why haven’t you charmed some woman into marrying you and doing all your cooking?”
“Because I can cook for myself.” Another step.
“I would have to see it to believe it.” Mesmerizing humor dazzled in her words along with a hint of challenge, a pitch of an unspoken wish.
He took one more step nearer. “Are you trying to get me to cook dinner for you?”
“No. I would never want to risk food poisoning.” Laughter lilted like a beacon in the dark, pulling him closer to her against his will.
“You’re doubting me. My ego is fragile—”
“Sure it is,” she scoffed.
He laughed, too. “Fine, my ego isn’t frail but I can’t have my reputation tarnished like this. I’m a rodeo champion. When someone throws down the gauntlet I rise to the occasion and prove myself.”
“I didn’t throw down a gauntlet.”
“Sure you did.” Humor bound them together, lifting on the wind like spring come early, chasing away every hint of cold and easing the dark.
He could see her silhouette, the willowy shape of her, the cut of her cheek, the tangle of her hair. He didn’t know what made him reach out and cross the few feet separating them, but the distance was no longer safe, no longer a barrier to keep them apart. It felt as if nothing was powerful enough to do that. He reached out and her hair rasped against his fingers like fine satin, fragrant with the fruity scent of shampoo.
Tenderness seized him. He’d never felt anything like it before, powerful enough to drown him. His hand trembled as he folded a lock of hair behind her ear. Nothing he had faced in his life was as terrifying as this moment. Charging bulls or bucking broncs had never triggered this kind of terror, but he didn’t back down. This woman was one hundred percent hazard to his heart.
“You can’t say no now.” He kept it breezy, although it took effort to produce a dimple or two. He didn’t want to reveal his feelings. “I have to come over and fix dinner for Owen.”
“For Owen?” She arched one delicate brow, too smart to be taken in by his charm.
But a man had to try anyway. He chuckled, the rumble intimate and nothing like the light note he was trying to strike. “Yep, for Owen. You don’t want to let him down, do you?”
“He knows nothing about this offer of yours, so he can’t be disappointed if I say no.” She hiked up her chin. Mystery glittered in her luminous eyes.
“I don’t back down from a challenge.” He leaned in, closing the gap between them. The tip of his nose nearly bumped hers as his gaze intensified. “I feel an obligation to cook for Owen. I make the best spaghetti and meatballs this side of the county.”
“The county?” She couldn’t seem to catch her breath. Her voice came out airless and strangely affected. Could he tell? She swallowed hard and tried again. “Now you are back to bragging.”
“How do you know? Maybe I’m telling the truth.” Pure trouble flickered in his lapis-blue irises. “You have to let me into your kitchen to find out.”
“No, I don’t. Like I want a man in my kitchen.” She rolled her eyes, desperately clutching humor to drive away the serious emotions rising up against her will. What had happened to her willpower? He’d shattered every last defense, forcing her to stand before him with her heart exposed. Could he see?
“Hey, I’m not any man.” His humor fell short, and seriousness settled between them.
Her midsection twisted up. She wasn’t comfortable with seriousness, so she had no choice but to fight it. She cleared her throat, pitched her voice up a note and did her best to smile wide. “There you go with the ego again.”
“It’s not ego. It’s fact.” He tilted in, his mouth hovering over hers.
“Fact?” A chuckle escaped her—it was her only resort. She was trapped between the wooden porch railing and Tucker’s unyielding frame. He towered over her; he was all she could see. Her vision had adjusted to the deepening twilight and she could make out the solemn gleam in his gaze, the fierce set of his granite face, the shape of his lips as they hovered over hers. Every detail etched into her mind, a moment in time forever frozen and impossible to forget.
“I broke my collarbone trying to ride a green horse when I was fourteen.”
Her pulse screeched to a stop. They were kissing-close, but he did not move in to claim her. His bottom lip whispered against hers every time he formed a word. Did she move away? Did she give him a shove to escape?
Not a chance. She stood rooted to the ground, her hands glued to the wooden banister. Every neuron in her brain refused to fire.
“Aunt Opal was none too pleased with me,” he explained in hushed, intimate tones. “She could see the way of things. I had the rodeo bug and she didn’t approve.”
“A wise woman wouldn’t.”
“Exactly. She said if I was fool enough to hurt myself, I deserved to help out in the house since I couldn’t do my barn chores. She put me to work in the kitchen.” Tantalizing, the way his mouth nudged against hers.
The contact was sensational, like the joyful hues at sunset. The sensations rushing through her were quiet and reverent, like the tints of low light at dawn. She leaned into the sweetness and illumination of her feelings, realizing that she was also physically leaning toward him, and the brush of his lips to hers became a gentle pressure that did not fade. The joy within her brightened and the reverence crescendoed like a hymn’s chorus.
At the back of her head, her thoughts raced. I’m kissing Tucker Granger. That can’t be a good thing. Have I lost my mind? But at the forefront was his tender kiss, so chaste and respectful, he captured her.
The porch light flipped on, chasing away the disguising dark. Regret shadowed Tucker’s gaze as he broke away. The screen door swung open with a squeak.
“How are the hot dogs coming along?” Frank Granger stood in the doorway grinning widely, as if he’d witnessed the whole thing. “I’ve got a houseful of hungry folks waiting.”
“They’re probably done by now,” Tucker answered, and not even the flash of his dimples could chase away the ardent tenderness that rose within her like a song.
Chapter Ten
What a disaster. It was all
she could think about during supper, seated at the big oval table in the Granger’s dining room. It was all she could think about any time Tucker spoke or when her gaze drifted his way. Her mind played cruel tricks on her, replaying the innocent glory of his kiss in full, vivid Technicolor.
The kiss plagued her as she hurried into the kitchen to take charge of the dishes—no way was she giving in to everyone’s insistence that a guest not help with cleanup. If not for the sanctuary of the kitchen, then she would have had to sit in the living room with Tucker and try to keep her eyes from finding him or her heart from leaping every time she heard the familiar, treasured tone of his voice.
Something is seriously wrong with you, Sierra Lynn Baker, if you can’t stop thinking about that man’s kiss. She wrung soapy water from a dishcloth and scrubbed the pristine granite counter.
“Easy, lass.” Mrs. Gunderson straightened up after putting soap into the dishwasher. “You don’t want to rub off the finish.”
“Sorry.” She was upset at herself, wondering what on earth Tucker had been thinking to kiss her like that. He’d kissed her! Out of the blue. Unbelievable. She really ought to be mad at him, so why wasn’t she?
That was a question she was afraid to answer. She turned her attention to scrubbing a bit of dried cheese sauce from the counter, but not even cleaning could distract her. The rise and fall of Tucker’s voice mumbled from the neighboring room. The roar of a crowd, the boom of commentators and Owen’s excited shout told her they must be watching a rodeo—what else? She shook her head, returned to the sink and dowsed the cloth in sudsy water.
“If you want my opinion,” Mrs. Gunderson said, untying her apron, “you should go for it.”
