Tacker

by Sawyer Bennett

  I try to imagine her back then… maybe that dark hair in pigtails and struggling with the language a bit. Suffering unimaginable grief and trying to acclimate to a new country and home. Then stepping up to a big horse, determined to master it.

  Yeah… Nora’s special.

  “She’s the hardest-working person I’ve ever known,” Raul continues, by his tone a little lost in fond memories. “She was so determined to become an American. She wanted to speak fluently by the time her adoption with Helen became finalized, so every time we had a riding lesson, she would chatter the whole time, forcing me to talk with her so she could practice.”

  I chuckle, figuring it probably hadn’t taken long for Nora to worm her way into Raul’s heart. I know he considers her to be like a daughter.

  “What about your family?” I ask.

  Raul takes a long pull from his bottle, his eyes falling a little flat. “My wife, Guadalupe, died nine years ago. Our kids moved East years ago, though. Got a handful of grandkids I don’t see all that often because they never come back to visit. Sad to say, Nora’s more like a daughter to me than my own.”

  “You’re lucky to have her.” I lower my gaze, becoming reflective. “Hell, I’m lucky to have her.”

  Raul’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

  “You know… as my therapist,” I quickly correct.

  “Didn’t sound like you were thinking of her like a therapist,” he replies with challenge. But not in an offended way. He almost sounds fucking delighted by it.

  I furrow my brow, wondering what’s on his agenda. Is he being overprotective? Do I need to start some major backpedaling?

  “I wanted to kiss Nora last night,” I blurt out, then have to restrain myself not to clap my hand over my mouth in shock that I just admitted that to this man who may as well be Nora’s father.

  “Say what?” Raul asks with rounded eyes.

  “We were dancing, and talking, and well… I wanted to, but I didn’t. I know we can’t.”

  “She has ethical guidelines, Tacker,” Raul says quietly, and I’m slightly mollified by the empathy in his voice. “Her license is at stake. You don’t have those things holding you back.”

  “I know.” The frustration is heavy in my voice. “And I have no business thinking about her like that. I fucking lost my fiancée in a plane crash. I’ve been in such deep grief and guilt over that that I truly should not be thinking about another woman—”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Raul says, sitting up straight in his chair and holding a hand up. “Stop right there. Putting the ethical issues of Nora being your therapist aside for just a moment, you cannot let your past losses dictate who you can or can’t be interested in.”

  I pause, letting that sink in a moment. “I’m confused… are you telling me to be interested in Nora or not?”

  “I’m telling you if you’re ready to move on and have a relationship again, you do it. Whether that is Nora or someone else.”

  “Whether it’s Nora?” I press. “So you’re saying I can have an interest in her in particular?”

  “Are you always this dense?” Raul asks with a slight eye roll. “Let me break it down… you deserve happiness. If you are ready to take the step forward in finding it, take the biggest damn step you can. As for Nora, she is your therapist. She cannot be involved with you. If she’s not your therapist, then she can. Simple as that.”

  Simple as that, huh?

  An idea forms.

  “Does she want to be involved with you?” Raul asks hesitantly.

  “I think she wanted to kiss me last night, but I can’t be sure. It was just a moment… fleeting, but I think she was right there with me.”

  Shaking his head, he mutters, “Christ… I can’t believe I’m sitting here trying to give advice on your love life with Nora.”

  He doesn’t say anything else, even though it sounds like he was getting ready to unload on me. I lean forward, staring at him expectantly.

  Raul’s gaze lowers to his beer bottle where he seems to contemplate something a moment. When it returns to me, he sighs. “Like I said, if you’re ready to move forward to find happiness, might as well take the biggest damn step you can.”

  I wait for more, but nothing is forthcoming.

  It’s then I realize it’s about what he doesn’t say.

  No warning to stay away from Nora.

  No reminder her career could be put in jeopardy.

  Raul just stares, the gauntlet laid down at my feet.

  The question now is if I am ready to move forward.

  “Do you know where Nora is?” I ask as I push up from the chair.

  “Up at the house,” he replies with a nod of his head in that general direction.

  A grin comes to my face. “Okay. Thanks for the talk.”

  Raul nods and I spin from him, heading for the door.

  “Mijo,” he calls. While I’m not sure what that means, I know it’s an endearment of sorts.

  I pivot in question.

  “You hurt her, and I will kill you. Even though I like you, I will kill you very dead. Take your body out in the desert and dump it. No one will find you.”

  I don’t laugh. He’s quite serious, and I respect him for it. “I’ll do my best.”

  Raul nods, accepting my promise and taking another sip of his beer. I leave him, heading out of the barn and toward the main house.

  When I reach the door, I take a deep breath, giving myself a moment to ask myself if I am truly ready for this.

  I am.

  But only if the woman is Nora.

  I’m certain of that.

  I knock on the door. In moments, I hear her footsteps approaching. She’s not surprised to see me there, giving me a welcoming hello.

  “I saw your truck parked out by the barn earlier,” she says, stepping back from the threshold. “Raul told me you were cleaning stalls. That’s certainly a nice thing to do.”

  It’s now or never, I tell myself.

  Don’t overthink it.

  I step through the doorway, walk right into Nora, and put my hands to her face. The fucking cast—which comes off tomorrow—is bulky and only lets the tips of my fingers touch her. But it’s enough. Dipping my head down, I firmly press my mouth to hers.

  She gasps in surprise, jerking slightly, and I wait for her to pull away.

  But she doesn’t.

  Instead, she opens her mouth, tilts her head, and lets me kiss her just a bit deeper. She tastes like sunlight and dreams, and I’d known that’s exactly what I’d feel when our mouths touched.

  I take what she offers, but I don’t linger too long.

  Way too much to talk about.

  When I pull back, Nora wears a dazed expression. A mixture of delight and dismay. I can only imagine what’s running through her head.

  “Did you like that?” I ask hesitantly.

  She nods, her fingers brushing over her lips almost reflectively.

  “Good,” I say triumphantly. “You’re fired.”

  Now she gives a full-bodied jerk, her eyebrows shooting high. “I’m fired?”

  “Yeah,” I say with a grin. “No offense to your skills, which are mad by the way, but if you’re not my therapist, then you’re not at risk of losing your license.”

  “But Tacker,” she says with true concern in her voice. “You can’t just stop therapy.”

  “I won’t,” I assure her. Not even an option because it’s required of me. “I’ll go see Dr. Dumbfuck.”

  “But you didn’t like him,” she points out, her voice sounding slightly panicky. “It’s not wise to—”

  Cupping her cheeks, I touch my mouth to hers again. It’s just as soft as last time, but I linger longer. I continue to kiss her until I feel her entire body relent. Reluctantly, I pull back.

  Her eyes are closed, but they flutter open. I love that she’s even more dazed right now.

  “If that felt like it meant something to you,” I say, speaking slowly so she understands the surety beh
ind my words, “then let’s give this a chance.”

  “What is this?” she asks gently, and I can see the worry is for a bit more than just her license now. I’m damaged goods. A risk to her heart.

  “I don’t know, Nora. I just know that I feel very much alive when I’m near you or talking to you or kissing you. I know you’re the first person who has made me see the world in color again, and while you are an amazing therapist, that really has more to do with the person you are and not your counseling skills.”

  Her gaze moves off to the side, and she nibbles at her lower lip a moment.

  “That kiss meant something,” she admits, and my entire body relaxes in relief to hear her say that. “But I don’t know if this is a good idea, Tacker.”

  “If I see another therapist, you won’t get in any trouble—”

  Nora holds up her hand. “I’m not worried about me. I’m worried about you.”

  That gives me pause. Of course she’s worried about me. It’s her duty as my therapist. But I also know—because I can see it in the way she looks at me—that her worry extends to a deeper, more personal level.

  Perhaps I need to be worried, too.

  “Listen,” Nora says, taking a step back from me. “I have another session in about fifteen minutes, and I’m booked for the rest of the afternoon. But we have our regular counseling session tomorrow, so we’ll discuss this some more then.”

  “That’s not going to work for me,” I say softly.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I fired you,” I remind her. “And I’m calling Dr. Dumfuck on the way out of here to set up an appointment with him. But I will be back tonight to pick you up at seven PM for dinner. And we can talk about it then.”

  “I can’t go out on a date with you,” she says in exasperation.

  I take a long step toward her, slide my hand to the nape of her neck, and pull her to me for another kiss. She puts her hands on my chest, attempting to hold me at bay, but that lasts for about two seconds before she relents.

  Fuck, she tastes good. Her lips are so soft.

  When I pull back, I say, “Don’t call it a date if it makes you feel better. I’ll be back at seven.”

  And with that, I turn on my heel and walk out of her house.

  I have no clue what in the hell I’m doing.

  But, deep down inside, I know I’m on the right path.

  CHAPTER 21

  Nora

  My hands are sweating, and my stomach is flip-flopping. I don’t ever recall being this nervous for a date before, except—I remind myself—this isn’t a date.

  But it is something.

  In my entire adult life, I’ve never had a man make me feel the way Tacker does just by his mere presence. While we’ve talked about serious issues and shared immense grief, we’ve also laughed together.

  Talked as friends.

  Communicated outside of counseling sessions via phone and text, especially the week he was gone for away games.

  That in and of itself is a breach of my ethical duties to him, so the whole dating thing is probably moot. I not only can’t have an intimate relationship with him, but I also can’t have a friendship with him. Not really. There’s too much room for exploitation, which is why we have these rules.

  Regardless, tonight is not a date, no matter how he makes me feel.

  There’s a knock on my front door, and I swear my hands actually start dripping. I give a quick wipe of them on my butt, which is clad in a pair of nice jeans. Not the type I wear on the ranch, but skinny ones with frayed ends. I tell myself the fact I’m wearing a pretty blouse and a pair of flirty wedge espadrilles doesn’t mean this is a date.

  Taking a breath, I send up a silent prayer for guidance and open the door.

  There’s no other way to say it other than Tacker is a beautiful man. When I’d first seen him, I thought him handsome. But as I’ve watched his transformation—watched him start to find joy again—he’s simply beautiful.

  I don’t notice he’s got one hand behind his back before he whips it out, holding a bouquet of fresh flowers out to me.

  God.

  When was the last time a man brought me flowers before a date?

  Never, Nora. It’s never happened.

  And it’s not a date.

  “I can’t accept those,” I say, sadly eyeballing the beautiful blooms.

  Tacker just smiles. “They’re actually for Raul. Can you put them in a vase and hold them until he comes by tomorrow morning?”

  My heart flutters over his gallant attempt to give me a gift I should not accept. Smiling, I reach for the flowers. “Okay… sure.”

  Stepping back from the threshold, I invite him in with a sweep of my other hand. When I turn for the kitchen, he shuts the door behind himself before following me.

  “I can’t go out to dinner with you tonight,” I say as I walk, not daring to make eye contact. I don’t want him to see how disappointed I am to even have to say that.

  “Then what do you want to do?” he asks, his tone way too jovial and accommodating.

  I head to a cabinet, pull out a small vase, and bring it to the sink. As I fill it up with water, I say, “We need to talk. And figure out how to get back to where we were in our counseling sessions. In fact, we should probably head over to my office to discuss this so we’re in a more professional setting.”

  Startling, I jolt when Tacker’s arm comes around my side, reaches for the faucet, and twists it off. His hands then go to my shoulders, and he whirls me around to face him.

  “Just stop,” he says softly. “Stop with the counselor mode for just a moment, okay?”

  I just stare at him, knowing if I set aside my role as his counselor, I’m putting myself in danger. But I find myself giving a slight nod of acquiescence.

  “Put aside the fact that we have a professional relationship,” he says, his hands squeezing me slightly. “Pretend you and I met at a coffee shop, and we’ve continued to meet there for the last few weeks. And each time we’ve met, we’ve revealed a little more of ourselves to the other. Peeled back layers with each cup of coffee we shared. Then there came a time where I got up the nerve to ask you out on a date. Would you have said yes?”

  I don’t even need to give much thought to that scenario. Of course I’d say yes, so I nod.

  “Then I don’t see what the problem is, Nora,” Tacker says. “You would see me if we were just two people meeting casually. I’ve fired you. I already have an appointment to see Dr. Dumbfuck—”

  “Dumfries,” I interject with a look of censure. “If you’re going to see another therapist, you at least need to take him seriously.”

  “Dumfries,” he affirms with a smile. “I’m seeing him tomorrow, so you and I do not have a professional therapist/client relationship anymore. It’s just that simple. Why can’t you accept it?”

  My gaze drops a moment, trying to remember all the reasons I had gone over and over again in my head as to why we shouldn’t be doing this. There are too many to count, yet the real reason I’m hesitant doesn’t have so much to do with the fact I’m his therapist—or was before he fired me—and everything to do with the fact that I’m a woman falling for a guy who has suffered a terrible trauma.

  Tacker may be moving too fast. He may not be ready for this. At some point, he will figure that out and break things off.

  Quite simply… I could get hurt.

  I lay it out to him with resolve in my tone. “I’m worried you’re not ready for this.”

  He considers that, but merely shrugs. “What is ‘this’?”

  My jaw drops slightly. “What is this?” I repeat. “How do I know? You said you wanted to kiss me last night, then today you want to take me on a date and fire me, and now you’re asking me what this is? See, that’s exactly why I’m worried. Have you really thought this through, Tacker?”

  “I see your point,” he replies, his hands falling from my shoulders only to push down into the front pockets of his slacks. Dark gray a
nd paired with a blue button-down shirt. “But yes… I’ve thought this through. The last few weeks, I’ve experienced things that have been surprising to me. I’ve smiled and laughed. I’ve done acts of service for others, and I’ve baked cookies with my teammates’ partners while they were off playing hockey. I’ve shared jokes with my friends. I went back onto the ice, and it felt fucking amazing. I’ve definitely been on a high, and I had forgotten what it had felt like to actually feel good about things. Being angry and miserable had become so normal to me that I got comfortable with it, and I had just forgotten how to be happy.”

  He pauses, but I know he’s not done. Tacker takes in a deep breath, then lets it out. His expression is solemn but committed. “I went fifteen long months without considering there was a better life waiting for me out there, and now I’ve figured it out. It’s there… waiting for me.”

  It’s a beautiful speech. Clearly, he’s put quite a bit of thought into this and done some soul searching.

  But still, I have my worries. “What if you’re misinterpreting gratitude to me for sharing my story with you as attraction? Because that’s what helped you open up, and maybe you’re just grateful to me. And that’s translating into something more. I mean… you don’t even know me. I can be bitchy at times. Stubborn, too. I work too much, and I smell like horses most of the time. Let’s face it… I’m not that great of a catch.”

  Tacker chuckles, removes a hand from his pocket, and takes one of my own in it. He swings our arms playfully. “I’d like to sort of figure that out on my own, Nora. It’s the whole point of asking you out on a date.”

  My eyes cut to the flowers in the vase. The sweetest of gestures that made my heart flutter. I want to feel more of that. I want to take a chance.

  “Besides,” Tacker says, cutting into my thoughts. “I do know you.”

  My eyebrows rise in reaction to the surety in his voice. “You do?”

  “You’re kind, brave, strong, resilient, funny, and gentle. You have the respect of people, and you’re brilliant. Accomplished. A true wonder. Add in the fact you’re super hot—which makes up for you smelling like horses some of the time—and I think you’re a pretty damn good catch.”