by Emily March
“You declined. You decided. You decided our future all on your own.” A white-hot storm of rage blew through her. “How dare you. How dare you! This isn’t the 1950s, Jeremy. I’m not a little woman who you get to pat on the head and say, Make me a sandwich and bring me a beer. Marriages today are partnerships. You don’t get to make unilateral decisions that affect both of us. If you felt this way about my dreams, then you should have manned up and been honest and started a conversation about it.”
“Maybe so, but that’s water under the bridge now. I’d do it differently if I could. If I could go back in time, I’d do a lot of things differently. But I can’t.” The fight seemed to go out of him then as he added, “What’s done is done.”
He gripped the back of one of Gillian’s patio chairs. His knuckles were white. He wouldn’t meet her gaze. A long silence stretched between them before he nervously licked his lips and said, “Gillian, I can’t marry you. We need to call this thing off.”
Never mind that she had been working her own way to this same realization, hearing him say it was a fist to her solar plexus. “Wh-wh-what? Y-y-you what? You want to … to…”
“Cancel the wedding.”
Gillian swayed. She stared at the man she’d loved, so handsome in his favorite suit and the tie that matched his eyes, eyes now staring back at her with misery in their depths. She locked her knees to keep from sinking to the ground. “Wait. Just wait. I don’t understand. Why do this now? Tucker bought the building. My design center dream isn’t happening. You won.”
“No, I didn’t. Not really.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked away. Long seconds passed before he straightened his spine and looked at her. The misery was gone. He’d made a decision. “I’ve had time to do a lot of thinking these past two weeks. Seeing your reaction to the news today crystallized things for me. This business of yours is more important to you than I realized. It’s more important to you than I am.”
“That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?” he challenged. “Look, Gillian, if our basic goals and dreams are incompatible, that makes us incompatible. Oh, it probably would have worked between us for a few years, but the entire time, resentments would be bubbling beneath the surface. Eventually, they’d blow us apart. Better it happens now before we have a kid or two who’d get caught in the explosion.”
“So, you decide to make a preemptive strike,” she said bitterly. “You make this decision today all on your own based on an expression on my face.”
“No, I’m making it now because I finally have the guts to do something I’ve known needed doing for at least the past four months. Marriage between us wouldn’t work, Gillian, and I think deep down, you know it too.”
Bridal jitters. She’d told herself it was bridal jitters. “We have that counseling—”
He cut her off. “It’s too late for that.”
“Why? Shouldn’t we at least try?”
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Our problem isn’t fixable, Gillian. I tried. I loved you. I didn’t want to hurt you. But then New Year’s Eve…”
When he didn’t finish his sentence, Gillian narrowed her eyes. “What about New Year’s Eve?”
He dragged his hand down his face. His voice was tight as he said, “I knew I couldn’t fix it. I knew this had to happen.”
“And rather than talk to me, rather than be honest with me, you decided to act by letting Tucker McBride buy my building? Did you even have the flu, Jeremy?”
“No.”
I knew it. Gillian closed her eyes. “You need to leave.”
“I wish…” He let the sentence trail off and then sighed heavily. “It’s better this way.”
Then Jeremy turned around and left through the backyard gate.
She was glad to see him go, she realized. Except, he took her dreams with him.
Gillian sank to her knees on the brittle grass. Sensing her turmoil, Peaches bounded toward her. She wrapped her arms around her puppy and held on as if the pup were a life preserver flung from a sinking ship. As Peaches’ rough pink tongue covered her cheeks in kisses, Gillian broke.
* * *
For Tucker, growing up in a small town west of Fort Worth in a ranching family meant a yearly trip to the Fort Worth Stock Show and Rodeo, a three-week-long event held annually at the end of January and first part of February. Invariably, the Stock Show ushered in the coldest weather of the year, often accompanied by an ice storm that all but shut the city down. When Jackson told him yesterday they had “Stock Show” weather on the way, he’d decided to revisit another McBride tradition. He’d pulled deer meat from the freezer and whipped up a big old pot of venison chili, his dad’s recipe. He took it to the shop and invited friends and family to drop by for a bowl of red. Now, it simmered on the stove in the break room and filled the air with a spicy aroma that made him nostalgic for home.
Sorting through the morning’s UPS deliveries in the Enchanted Canyon Wilderness School headquarters stockroom, he decided he might just make a run up to Fort Worth this weekend. Check out the rodeo.
Tucker was thinking about reconnecting with his roots when he heard his soon-to-be cousin-in-law say, “I’m so worried about Gillian.”
His head came up, and he went as still as a guard dog on alert, listening intently. Caroline and Maisy had stopped by for chili and to pick up Maisy’s special order that had arrived yesterday.
“It’s been two weeks since the breakup, and she’s hardly left her house,” Caroline continued.
Curiosity guided Tucker’s footsteps closer to the stockroom door as Maisy replied, “She’s a mess, for sure, and I’m afraid it won’t get any better until her wedding day has passed.”
“Yep. It will be a painful weekend for Gillian.”
“We’d better plan on spending it with her—whether she wants us there or not.”
“I know. I haven’t known Gillian nearly as long as you have, Maisy, but still, this is worrisome. I saw her last night at the twenty-four-hour drugstore. At midnight.”
“Midnight?”
“Uh-huh. I had to run in to pick up some hydrogen peroxide because River tangled with a skunk and we had none in the house.”
“That stinks,” Maisy said.
“Tell me about it. It was loads of fun. Anyway, I’m walking up to the counter, and I see Gillian standing in front of the freezer section. Wearing pajamas and a robe and house slippers.”
Tucker almost dropped the box in his hand. Maisy made a scandalized gasp. “Gillian? Our Gillian?”
“Yes!”
“No. Oh, no. Gillian Thacker did not go out in public wearing pajamas and house shoes.”
“She did. It’s true. I saw her standing in front of the freezer case staring at the ice cream. She had a coat on over the robe, at least, but I don’t think she’d combed her hair all day, much less put on makeup.”
“I can’t believe it.”
Tucker couldn’t believe it either. Gillian Thacker was the most put-together woman he’d seen this side of a North Dallas trophy wife. Even that first time they’d met, after hiking in heels across cotton fields, she’d taken care to touch up her lipstick.
Maisy continued, “In that case, this situation is even worse than I thought. Did you talk to her?”
“I tried,” Caroline replied with frustration in her voice. “I called her name as I walked toward her. She startled, then waved and muttered something about needing to buy cat food and sort of scurried away.”
“She doesn’t own a cat.”
“I didn’t think she did, and she didn’t have any cat food in her basket that I could see—just toilet paper, tissues, tampons, and dog food. And three bags of Cheetos.”
“The necessities. Cheetos and ice cream are Gillian’s stress eating go-to. She doesn’t keep them in the house. She had three bags, you say?”
“Yes, and she might have doubled back for ice cream. I didn’t stay around and watch her check out. It was obvious she wasn’t happy that I’d
spotted her.” Caroline hesitated a moment, then added, “Depression can be a serious condition.”
“I don’t think she’s had time to become seriously depressed yet,” Maisy replied, her voice strained with concern. “She’s still in shock. She’s mourning. You know Gillian, she does everything in a big way. She’s going to mourn with a capital M for a little while.”
Tucker slid his box onto a shelf and then moved closer to the storeroom door as Maisy added, “I think she needs to get angry. That’s the next step in the mourning process, isn’t it? Anger?”
“Depends on which model you use,” Caroline replied. “But yes, anger is part of the process.”
“Hmm.” Following a few moments of thoughtful silence, Maisy continued, “Remember at the soft opening weekend for the Fallen Angel Inn last summer when Celeste and the Eternity Springs’ wives talked about their interventions? It’s something they do when someone in their circle has a romantic crisis and they believe she needs some straight talk?”
“I do.”
“Well, I don’t know that Gillian’s at the point of needing the big guns of an Eternity Springs level intervention, but I think she could use a little girlfriend support. Barbara told me yesterday that Gillian had promised to come into work today. If she didn’t show, Barbara was prepared to go to her place and pile on the guilt.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
“She’ll need to eat something other than Cheetos and ice cream or she’ll be the one who is sick. We should drag her over here for a bowl of chili. We don’t need to mention Jeremy or the wedding or grill her about how she’s feeling. Just give her a distraction.”
“That’s a great idea,” Caroline agreed. “Tucker’s chili is fabulous, and a bowl of Texas comfort food on a cold winter’s day would be good medicine for Gillian. However, I doubt she’ll agree to come over here. I don’t think she’d be comfortable around Tucker or any guy right now.”
“True.”
At that point, having located Maisy’s special order of a knife for her father’s upcoming birthday, he snagged the package and sauntered into the kitchen. “I’ve been eavesdropping. Tell her I’m not here and I left you in charge, Caroline. Since you are family now and all. I’ll make myself scarce.”
“You sure?” Caroline asked. “You don’t mind?”
“Not at all. What are neighbors for if not to offer the comfort of a good bowl of chili?”
“You’re a good man, Tucker McBride.” Maisy kissed him on the cheek.
He handed over her order and completed the sale. A few minutes later, having donned his coat and grabbed a go pack, he took up a sentry position behind the cigar store Indian in front of the antiques store across the street and watched Caroline and Maisy march into battle in Bliss.
Almost fifteen minutes passed before they emerged from the salon with Gillian in tow. Seeing her, Tucker did a double take. He almost didn’t recognize her.
Wanting a closer look, he fished his field glasses from his pack and focused on her face. Gillian was a ghost of her former self. Her complexion was wan, her long brown hair had lost its bounce and sheen, and the spark of life in her eyes had been extinguished.
If Jones were to cross his path right now, Tucker would whip his ass.
He watched the trio disappear into his shop. For a long few minutes, Tucker stared at the GET GRUBBY flag fluttering in the bitter breeze and brooded.
He tried to be honest with himself as a rule. However, until now, he had avoided self-analysis of his reaction upon hearing the news about Gillian’s broken engagement.
He’d felt a rush of elation, but on its heels came a wave of reality. It was one thing to get all yearny when the woman was out of reach, but something else entirely when she was no longer off-limits.
Was he ready for this? Did he really want to make a play for Gillian Thacker?
It’s true that she was as hot as the Rio Grande Valley in August, but he’d outgrown the looks-matter-more-than-character stage before he’d finished college. Yes, she checked his boxes, but that was definitely a preliminary survey. He didn’t know Gillian well enough yet to judge her character.
Don’t you?
He pondered the question for a bit. Actually, he did know quite a lot about her. He knew that she’d returned to her hometown after college and built a business with her mother. She had a good friend she’d known since childhood, Maisy, and one who she’d welcomed into her life fairly recently in Caroline. She’d dreamed big, and when thwarted, refused to abandon her dreams. She taught Sunday school at her church and volunteered her time reading to the elderly at a local nursing home. She was partial to bright nail polish and dangling earrings, and she wore heels when other women wore flats. She’d been wearing a red bra the day he rescued her from the road. What did those things say about her character?
Gillian was kind, generous, loyal, and loving. She was faithful to her promises and persistent in her goals. She was confident and proud, often practical, but also a bit daring and adventurous.
She was the kind of woman he wanted to be with. The kind of woman he would fall hard for. She was the kind of woman he wouldn’t allow himself to reach for when he lived a military life.
Well, that was then, this was now. He was a civilian. And Gillian was single.
Tucker’s gaze drifted away from the school’s front door and across the courtyard that separated his shop from hers, lingering on the pots of purple pansies and rustic bent-willow benches and chairs that were arranged around a garden fountain and birdbath at its center. Finally, he fastened his stare on Bliss’s front door.
Tucker knew what he wanted. He wanted the chance to change Gillian’s relationship status. He wanted Gillian for his own.
He would need to give her time for her broken heart to heal, of course. Gillian wasn’t the sort of woman to jump from one relationship directly into another. He was in no rush. He could bide his time and when the moment was right, make his move.
But in the meantime, he hated to see her so blue. He wished he could do something to help her. Maisy thought she needed to get angry. Maybe so. She definitely needed something to take her mind off her troubles, something to get excited about. But what?
He drummed his fingers against the wooden figure’s shoulder and thought about it. Gillian’s friends were probably right that nothing was going to get her mind completely off her canceled wedding until after the dreaded day came and went. He could understand that. It didn’t help matters that her career revolved around brides and weddings. He wondered how the breakup affected her plans to expand Bliss to an event planning business? He’d been certain that she would overcome the challenge of losing her chosen location, but would the loss of her partner be one blow too many?
Tucker recalled the spitfire she’d been the day she’d seen his flags. Such fire and anger and passion. That’s what he wanted to see in her again. She needed her fire back.
His gaze shifted to the fanciful wedding gown display in the window at Bliss. He recalled her reaction to his slogan flag. She’d been pretty fiery then. Adamant that GET GRUBBY didn’t fit in the neighborhood.
His mouth lifted in a slow, wicked smile. Gillian needed her fire back. Luckily, fire starting was an elemental life skill, and he was an expert at it. Tucker knew just what tinder this situation required.
After checking traffic, he crossed Main Street and ambled toward Bliss’s front door.
Chapter Nine
A week before what was to have been her wedding day, Gillian couldn’t drag herself from bed. Her alarm had been buzzing for the past ten minutes, but she’d pulled her pillow over her head and ignored it. Five minutes ago, her phone had started to ring at one-minute intervals. She decided she needed to switch her mother’s ring tone from Abba’s “Mama Mia” to something more soothing. Maybe a lullaby. Or, better yet, the Miss Gulch/Wicked Witch of the West leitmotif from the Wizard of Oz.
At minute number six, Gillian’s phone played her father’s ringtone, and she cl
osed her eyes. She might as well face the music, face the day. Face her mother. The woman wouldn’t give up.
Barbara had been the perfect compassionate, caring mother when Gillian first told her about the breakup. She’d said all the right things and acted exactly the way Gillian had needed. Then about a week ago, something had changed. Her mother had quit coddling and started prodding. She had some secret, special project she’d commenced in her sewing room at home, and she wanted Gillian to run the shop.
Gillian doubted there really was a project. More likely, Barbara had concluded that she had allowed Gillian sufficient time to wallow in her misery and the time had come for Gillian to get over it, to get over Jeremy.
What her mother didn’t understand, what Gillian couldn’t really understand herself, was that she was over Jeremy.
What she mourned was the life she’d planned to have with Jeremy. Losing her dreams hurt worse than losing the man.
That had to mean that she hadn’t loved him, not the way she should have loved the man she’d been about to marry. The fact that she’d ignored that truth shook her to her core. She should be devastated over this breakup. Instead, she was relieved. She’d almost married a man she didn’t love. How could she have been so blind?
Gillian didn’t know where to go from here. Did she want to pursue Blissful Events by herself? Or would she take a pass on that now that the McBrides owned the building and she was solo? Would she find a new dream? Maybe she’d sell her share of Bliss Bridal to her mom and move off to Paris and learn to paint. Except she’d never wanted to learn to paint.
What did she want? Who am I now?
She didn’t know. She’d been with Jeremy for three years. Three weeks was not enough time to come up with a new plan. A new me.
She threw off the pillow and glared at her nightstand and the offensively ringing phone. “Hello.”
“So, you’ll speak to your father and not to me?” Barbara said with a slighted tone in her voice.
“I knew it was you, Mom. Today is Thursday. Dad’s playing golf.” Her father believed that phones didn’t belong on the course. “It’s early for you to be calling.”
