His Country Girl
Page 13
This was definitely unexpected. “Tucker, I don’t know what to say.”
“Then don’t say a thing. I’ve got dinner covered. Owen, Puddles and I are going to hang outside together for a while. Tea is steeping, so put up your feet and relax for a few minutes.” He cupped her chin in one calloused, working man’s hand. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
“I can’t be your valentine, Tucker. This isn’t real. We both know it.” Not that she didn’t want it to be something that could last, but she had to keep her defenses up. She could not tumble any further for this man. She had more than Owen’s heart to protect.
“For today, it’s real. Today is all I’m asking for. It’s all anyone has.” He brushed a kiss to her forehead, the lightest of touches before granting her a dazzling grin, dimples and all, and loped out the door.
I will not fall in love with him, she vowed as she unzipped her coat and slipped it over a hanger in the tiny entry closet. There were a hundred reasons why she had to be strong. She had to stop those unbidden wishes from turning into dreams of a happily-ever-after with Tucker.
Owen’s laughter, muffled by the insulated walls, drew her to the window. Her son tossed a snowball at Tucker, who inched a bit into the path of the flying icy ball and took a hit directly in the chest. Tucker’s baritone rumbled with humor and Owen punched the air, rejoicing in his hit. Puddles jumped and dashed, full of youthful energy.
Her defenses shattered. Every rationale silenced. Watching her son dodge a snowball obviously poorly aimed by Tucker and seeing the happiness on her child’s dear face was the last blow. The man had done so much for the boy and, by extension, so much for her.
I’m in love with Tucker. She could no longer deny it. Worse, she feared Owen was in love with him, too.
Chapter Twelve
“One more chapter, Tucker. Please?”
It sure was tough to say no to the little guy. Tucker turned the page, the book a pleasant weight in his hand. Not that he would mind, but a glance at the bedside clock told him it was well after nine. Sitting at the foot of the bed, he shifted his weight, considering.
“No way.” Sierra breezed through the doorway, never lovelier in his view than she was now in her pink sweatshirt and worn jeans. The look of censure in her gaze was only for show as she plucked the book out of his hands. “It’s already past your bedtime as it is, Owen. The story can continue tomorrow.”
“But Tucker won’t be here tomorrow.” Owen’s eyes widened in a silent plea. He looked like he was putting all the might of his soul into that request. Those big, Bambi eyes sure would have moved him, Tucker reckoned.
“Yes, but you have school tomorrow.” Sierra closed the book and laid it on the nightstand next to the plastic replica of Jack. “It’s been a big day and it’s time for Tucker to go home. Look how you’ve tired him out.”
“Me, tired? I have only yawned a time or two,” Tucker argued in his defense, enjoying the way Sierra turned her attention to him with the love for her son still glowing. She had a lot of responsibilities to shoulder alone. He liked knowing he’d lifted that burden for her, at least for tonight. He pushed off the twin bed. Puddles, at the foot of the mattress, stirred in his sleep. “Owen, I guess we have to do with your mom says.”
“But you don’t gotta finish the story.” True concern dug into the boy’s forehead. “I can tell you what happens.”
“Sounds good, buddy.” He jammed his hands into his pockets, wanting to ruffle the kid’s hair or give him some other gesture of affection, but Sierra bent over him tucking the sheets tight. He took a step toward the door. “I’d like that.”
“When?” Owen went up on one elbow.
“We’ll let your mom decide. She’s in charge.” He paused at the doorway, on the periphery of the domestic scene as mother kissed her child on the forehead, tucked Slayer beside Owen and wished him sweet dreams. A soul-deep need to be in the middle of that circle overtook him, a longing too huge to measure. It was endless. Infinite. Never had he wanted anything as much.
“Good night,” Owen murmured, sleep already claiming him as Tucker ambled down the hallway. He left Sierra to close the door softly and follow him.
The evening was at an end, the dishes were done. There was nothing left to do but leave. He knew Sierra started work early in the morning, but his boots dragged so he didn’t head straight to the door. The evening had been fun—dinner conversation over spaghetti and garlic bread, Owen helping him with the dishes while they both did their best to charm Sierra, and the three of them on the couch watching a kid’s movie. A mighty fine time. He wouldn’t mind having more evenings just like this.
She emerged from the shadowed hallway, moving into the warm lamplight. He forgot to breathe. Oh, she was beautiful.
“So, the verdict?” He wanted to keep things light. She might shove him out the door if she knew what he was thinking. She saw a man who couldn’t settle down—not a man who’d never had a reason to before. He’d never known how to open himself up enough.
He’d woken up in the ICU knowing he had a second chance to make things right. He’d learned that you never knew where life was about to take you—for good or bad. If God presented an opportunity for a blessing, then a smart man did not turn it down.
He had no doubt he was staring at a great blessing as Sierra eased onto the couch, luminous with a quiet beauty that captured him more with every look.
“The verdict for what?” She arched her brows, as if she had no clue what he was talking about.
“My kitchen skills.” He moseyed over to the couch and sat next to her, not so close she would shy away and not so far he couldn’t hold her hand if he got the chance. “Admit it. My spaghetti was superlative.”
“Barely passable.” A corner of her mouth hooked upward and her gray eyes, the same color as winter storm clouds, hinted that there was more to the story.
Call him curious. He wanted to know more. “Barely? It was a great deal more than that. One of the best recipes in the state.”
“Oh, the state? An outrageous claim. There’s no way to verify it.”
“Then tell me this.” He leaned in. “Did you like the meal I cooked for you?”
“More than you can imagine.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder and relaxed into the corner of the couch.
“I can imagine a lot.”
“In our seven years of marriage, Ricky didn’t make one meal.” The humor fell away, leaving only the sadness of memories she didn’t like to unearth. “Not once did he carry a single plate from the table to the sink. It didn’t matter if I was sick, if I was pregnant or if I was exhausted from being up all night with a colicky baby. So, yes, I liked it very much.”
“Good. That was the idea.” Tucker’s good humor dazzled, but it was his seriousness that could steal every last piece of her admiration. He had sincerity that radiated through every part of him.
What was she going to do about her growing love for him? Somehow she had to stop it. She set her chin, determined to find some way to put a much-needed barrier between them. But could she?
No. Her neurons refused to think of a single plan to drive him away.
“I’m not afraid of hard work. Housework, barn work or something else.” He didn’t blink, he didn’t balk as his hand covered hers with the strength and heat of a brand. Never had he appeared so strong. He could be a western legend, a hero in a story too good to be true. “I see something that needs doing, and I do it. It’s the way I was raised. It’s who I am.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Worse, why was her pulse flatlining? Why did it feel as if she were falling into a whirlpool, spinning around and down without escape.
“Because I want you to see that in me.” His jaw hardened into granite, resolute. “I want to come courting.”
“Courting?” Her throat spasmed, closing shut momentarily, making it impossible to breathe or speak.
“You know, when a man is serious about a woman, they go out on dates.” Dimples etched
into his stone features, softening the rough edges. “He brings her flowers. You’ve heard of this social custom before?”
Somehow her stunned neurons managed to work together well enough. She bobbed her head in a semblance of a nod.
“Good. Because I like spending time with you.” The layers of his voice vibrated with feeling she could not help but respond to. He leaned in near enough to brush the tip of his nose with hers. So fathomless, those eyes, and as blue as dreams. His mouth slanted over hers. “I want to spend more time together. Okay?”
Yes. The single word rose up like a solemn prayer, full of need and respect. If her mind was working properly, she would have been able to hold back that foolish yes, to tamp it down and let reason prevail. His lips brushed hers softly like the lightest notes in a song. His kiss was over too soon to savor as he searched her eyes for his answer.
An answer that could be yes.
When she wanted nothing more than to ask him to stay for a bit longer, she pushed to her feet. She could not allow herself to wonder what it would be like to lay her cheek against the marble expanse of his chest. She could not wonder how safe it might feel to be sweetly enfolded in his arms.
“The thing is…” she began, searching for the right words. She didn’t want to hurt him. “I have Owen to consider.”
“Sure, I know that.” The room seemed to shrink as Tucker rose from the couch. All six feet three inches of vital, larger-than-life man overshadowed her. As if he were vulnerable and his heart on the line, he winced. “Owen and I get along pretty good, don’t you think?”
“Very much. Maybe too good.”
“That’s a bad thing?”
No, she wanted to say. Tenderness welled up, making it hard to find her voice. Even if she wanted to discover where a relationship with Tucker would take her, she didn’t have that luxury. Panic ripped through her veins, a fear she could safely ignore because Owen was her primary concern, her first responsibility. “You have made my son so happy, but he’s getting attached.”
“He’s not the only one. I care for him, too.” A muscle worked in his jaw. “You are a package deal. I care for you both.”
“That’s not a good idea.” That was the understatement of the century. She fisted her hands to keep from reaching out and soothing the crinkles digging into brackets around his sad mouth. She did not want to hurt him, although it was too late. She took a shaky breath. “Owen is going to miss you when you go back to rodeo life.”
“And I’ll miss him. Maybe you’ve heard of the telephone? I could use it to call and talk to him. I might even use it to talk to you.” Humor enriched the deep notes of his voice, but it could not hide the pain. “I’m not cutting off all ties just because I’m going back to work. I can fly in for visits. Exchange email. Use chat rooms. Send text messages.”
It was the silent plea in his compelling blue irises that touched her most. She loved this side of Tucker, a part of him that had been there all along, buried beneath the easygoing charm. But was he a man she could count on? She did not have the strength to find out. Seven long years of a disappointing marriage had taken their toll on her, and Owen had been hurt too much.
She took a breath, struggling for the right words. “I’m certain you will continue to be kind to my son, but it can’t be anything more than friendship. Don’t you see? I can’t open him up to that kind of uncertainty. He needs his world to be secure, especially after the way his father treated him.”
“Sure, I understand.” Agony flashed in his eyes. In the next blink, it was gone. “I’ve always intended to buy up some land around here, preferably something near the family ranch, and raise a herd, maybe even sheep.”
“One day, you should.” She bowed her head, slipping away into the shadows near the kitchen. A closet door opened and when he looked next, she held his coat in her hand. “I’m going to miss you, Tucker.”
“This is good-bye? We can’t even be friends?”
“Why? There would be no point. I would always look at you and want—” She fell silent, her blond hair curtaining her face, shielding her emotions. When she finished her sentence, her voice had strengthened, full of resolve, all traces of vulnerability gone. “Let’s just say I’m busy. Owen is my life. Providing for him, caring for him, being a mother to him, it’s all I have time for.”
“Sure. I get that.” He was crushed. Saying anything different would be a lie. He took the coat from her and headed for the door. No night had ever seemed as dark or a winter’s snow as bleak. He headed into the storm, leaving Sierra and his heart behind.
She stood at the window, the drape in hand, watching the pickup’s taillights disappear in the dark. Tucker was gone, and she’d hurt him. After every kind thing he’d done for her and Owen. Her stomach bunched up tight and she wrapped her arms around her middle to contain the knot of sorrow. The curtain fell back into place. Reminders of Tucker were everywhere. The flowers scented the air as the heater clicked on, the scent of tomato, basil and garlic lingered in the kitchen, the chair at the table he’d sat in, empty now.
I did the right thing, Lord. She had to find comfort in that, although solace was hard to find. It eluded her as she sat on the couch where Tucker had been. It evaded her as she turned on the TV to the movie in the DVD player Owen had picked out and the three of them had watched together. It was one of the movies Tucker had brought Owen during his hospital stay.
The phone shattered the silence. She snatched it up, her pulse fast and erratic. A part of her hoped Tucker would be on the line. “Hello?”
“Hi, dear.” Jeri Lynn sounded more chipper than ever. “I had to call and check how your evening went. The wait is killing me.”
“Oh, Mom.” She sank onto the cushion and covered her forehead with her free hand. The rush of emotions overwhelmed her. Love was terrible. The horrible downs, the inconsistent ups, the roller coaster ride that had left her abandoned and devastated. Why had she ever let her affections build for Tucker? “It wasn’t my evening, not really. Tucker cooked for Owen, played in the snow with him and watched a movie with him.”
“With you, too.” Jeri Lynn was smart enough to read between the lines.
Sierra sighed, hating to admit the truth. “Yes, with me, too.”
“It’s a serious man who cooks a meal for a woman, especially on Valentine’s Day.” Mom sounded as if she were having a grand time. It was easy to picture her in her favorite chair by the fireplace, the hearth roaring and crackling, with Dad watching a sports show in the opposite chair. “I had just pulled into your driveway after picking up Owen from day care. I couldn’t believe my eyes when this black pickup rambled up behind me. Owen shouting, ‘It’s Tucker! It’s Tucker!’ gave me a clue who it was.”
So easy to picture. She tried to pretend she didn’t care. “It’s been a real thrill for him to befriend his rodeo hero.”
“Oh, it seems like a good deal more than befriending. I have eyes. I saw the look on that young man’s face. He’s smitten.”
“Tucker’s returning to the rodeo circuit once his doctor clears it. End of discussion. Mom, how was Cady’s open house?”
“I’ll let you change the subject because I love you and you’re my favorite daughter.”
“I’m your only daughter.” There were hundreds of reasons not to be pining after Tucker, not to be upset at how she’d ended things with him. She had Owen. She had a wonderful mom and dad, she had friends and extended family she wouldn’t trade for anything. She had a comfortable home she’d bought a year ago on three acres of land. She had more reasons than that, but none came to mind. This house had never felt lonely like this, empty, as if something vitally important was gone.
“I’ll let you change the subject, but I reserve the right to come back to it. Cady’s open house was a raving success. What a beautiful inn. She is such a sweetheart. Hard to believe she was a tough, successful big-city lawyer.” Mom paused. “I heard something about the diner having problems. That’s just a rumor, isn’t it?”
She wasn’t too happy with herself. She wanted to forget the look of hurt on Tucker’s face, but she couldn’t. She was too afraid to open her heart and she’d never told him. She hadn’t let him know it was her fault—not his. She hit the remote, the TV screen blinked off and she hung her head. The wind picked up, driving cold into the room and into the chambers of her soul.
It was a hard ride home. Behind the wheel Tucker turned up the CD player so the cheerful twang of country music could drown out the fact that he was alone. He slowed down at the edge of town, although he doubted Ford, the town’s only lawman, would be set up with his radar in the library parking lot. Ford had better things to do, such as giving Autumn a memorable Valentine’s Day, as a good prospective husband should. Tucker didn’t doubt Ford was up to the challenge.
Town was dark and quiet, the streetlights glowing in the white of the storm, and his were the only tire tracks on the main street. As the wipers swished and flakes flew at the glass in a ghostly dance, he did his best to keep his mind on the road. It didn’t stay there. He sped up on the edge of town, leaving the light behind. Country darkness closed in around him.
She may have rejected him romantically, but he’d caught the look on her face. Hesitation and sadness permeated her with a force she couldn’t hide. He felt the aftereffects of it like a shadow in the night. She had her reasons why she couldn’t see him again all laid out and prepared—rational, sensible and selfless. Owen was the reason. Owen needed stability and security. Owen’s heart needed protecting.