by Emily March
“I’m not a recluse, and you’re not a businessman. You’re a damned lawyer.”
“I’m both a damned lawyer and a businessman. Luckily for you, I’m willing to share my expertise in both areas.” Boone folded his arms and made a slow inspection of the room. “This is gonna be great. Even better than I expected. Have you tackled anything upstairs in the classroom area yet?”
“No,” Jackson drawled. “You can help us haul the benches upstairs after lunch.”
Boone’s brows arched. “The delivery guys didn’t do that?” Jackson and Tucker shook their heads. “Why the hell not?”
“The guy who arranged for delivery didn’t spring for the upcharge,” Tucker explained with a smirk. “Tightfisted S.O.B.”
“Damn. Sorry.” Boone winced, then shrugged it off. “Oh well. We’re manly men. We can handle it.”
Jackson checked his watch. “After lunch. It’s almost time to head over to the bank.”
“Excellent,” Boone said. “Before we go, I have one little task to accomplish. Have you noticed the flagpole brackets on the canopy out front?”
“No,” Jackson said, glancing toward the Main Street entrance.
“Not that front,” Tucker corrected. “The other front. The courtyard entrance. I noticed them. There are three of them.”
Boone nodded. “I noticed them on the real estate photos. Flagpole brackets need to hold flags. I got us an American flag, a Texas flag, and…” He strode toward the front of the shop, where he picked up one of three flagpoles. He unfurled the flag with a flourish. “This!”
Tucker read it and snickered. “Seriously?”
“We need a slogan. It’s perfect. You say it all the time.”
Jackson nodded. “He’s right. You even have Haley saying it. Grab the ladder, Tucker, and let’s do this thing.”
Ten minutes later, the three McBride cousins stood shoulder to shoulder, hands on their hips, staring at the flags fluttering in the gentle January breeze. Tucker grinned. Something told him Gillian was gonna love this.
* * *
“Thank you so much, Shannon. We enjoy doing business with you.” Upstairs in the cramped, second-floor room that she used as an office, Gillian ended the call with one of their suppliers. She set her phone onto her desk beside the twenty-year-old Princess Bride lamp she kept burning while she worked because the converted storage room had no window or natural light. The Christmas gift from Aunt Cathy, along with the foul ball Gillian had caught at an Astros game when she was eleven and the bowling trophy she’d won last year, were the only personal items she kept here. The rest of the space was filled from floor to ceiling with files and folders and fabric swatches.
Luckily, Gillian was organized by nature, so she managed to work in such a confined setting. However, she did look forward to having a real office once she and Jeremy worked past this rough spot, married, and launched Blissful Events from the mercantile building across the courtyard. She had her office space already picked out. It had four windows and plenty of room for a desk and filing cabinets and the personal touches that would make it hers. She had her eye on a cabinet over at Anderson Antiques that was perfect for displaying some of the hand-painted teacups she collected but had no room for here at Bliss.
She crossed the supplier call off her to-do list and went to the next item. She managed to keep her mind on business and off her personal concerns until she finished up just before noon. She headed downstairs whistling one of Jackson McBride’s songs and broke off mid-note upon finding her mother sweeping up broken glass in the shop’s entry. “What happened?”
“Just clumsy me,” Barbara replied, disgust lacing her voice. “I was digging for my sunglasses in my purse and didn’t watch where I was going. I tripped over my own two feet.”
Gillian gave her mother a quick once-over as she took an automatic step forward. She didn’t see any sign of injury, thank goodness. “Did you fall?”
“No. The yoga classes are paying off. I managed to keep my balance, but unfortunately, I bumped the entry and broke the crystal vase I scored at the garage sale last week.”
“Thank goodness.”
Barbara scowled at Gillian. “It was Waterford!”
“Thank goodness that you didn’t fall,” Gillian clarified. Her mother had a history of taking tumbles. “I’m glad the vase was the only thing broken.”
Barbara wrinkled her nose. “Well, I murdered the poor daffodils too, I’m afraid. Broke their delicate little necks. That’s what I get for bragging about scooping a piece of Waterford out from beneath Belinda Parson’s nose.”
Gillian stifled a smile. Her mother and Mrs. Parson had been Friday morning garage sale shopping partners for more than a decade. The competition to snag the good stuff was serious business. “Hand me the broom and dustpan, Mom. I see some pieces you missed.”
As Gillian swept up the last of the glass shards, Barbara stood with her hands on her hips and made a slow circle, studying the salon’s greeting area. “I hate not having flowers to greet our clients. The room isn’t nearly as warm.”
“I can stop by Blooms on my way back from lunch and pick an arrangement up from Maisy. She always keeps a few made up. Or, if you have another vase, she told me a few minutes ago that she’d got some gorgeous calla lilies in this morning.”
“Callas?” Barbara brightened at the thought. “I love callas. Mini or standard?”
“Minis. Pinks and whites.”
“Oh, beautiful. Get some of both. A dozen. They’ll look lovely in your grandmother’s trumpet vase. I have it tucked away in the back. Tell Maisy I said hello, and don’t forget the flower food!”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Now, I’d better run. You know how my sister gets when she has to wait on me.” Barbara picked up her handbag and headed out the door, calling over her shoulder as she went, “No need to rush your lunch, dear. Our MOB called, and they’re running about twenty minutes late. There’s a road closed in Austin.”
“There’s always a road closed in Austin,” Gillian replied as the door closed behind her mother.
She put away the broom and dustpan, made one final adjustment to the bustle of the gown in the front display window, and then grabbed her purse, flipped the OPEN sign to CLOSED, and stepped out into the bright sunshine of a beautiful winter day.
The weather forecast called for temperatures in the mid-seventies this afternoon, with a partly cloudy sky and a slight chance of rain in the early evening. Poor weather certainly wouldn’t prevent anyone from enjoying outdoor activities today.
The mouthwatering aroma of grilling meat seasoned with Mexican spices perfumed the air and reminded Gillian that today was Taco Tuesday. The Miguelitos’ food truck parked in the Marktplatz at lunchtime on Tuesdays. Ordinarily, she ate a salad at home during the week, but on Tuesdays, she treated herself to Miguelitos’ fish tacos with hot peach salsa and a side of guacamole.
After locking Bliss’s front door, she turned and walked at a brisk pace across the courtyard, headed for the passageway at the back of the U, which offered a shortcut to the market square. She had a smile on her face and joy in her heart—until fluttering off to her left attracted her attention.
Fluttering, where there wasn’t supposed to be fluttering.
She halted abruptly. Across the courtyard that Bliss shared with the empty mercantile building, three flags flew from the canopy above the front doors—the Stars and Stripes, the Lone Star, and a third with brown lettering on a field of forest green that read GET GRUBBY.
Gillian blinked, then looked again. Why was her building flying a flag that said GET GRUBBY?
A bad feeling washed over her. Her heart began to pound, and her mouth went dry. Gillian’s gaze zoomed to the lower right-hand corner of the display window next to the entrance. It was empty. Bare! Bare, but for the rectangular residue of tape that for years—literally, for years—had fastened a black-and-red sign to the window. A sign that read FOR SALE.
The sign was gone.
<
br /> Chapter Seven
Tucker sauntered back toward Enchanted Canyon Wilderness School a happy man. He’d eaten tacos, or a variation of tacos, in cities and towns and villages all over the world, and nothing tasted as good as Tex-Mex, in Texas, on a warm and sunny winter afternoon.
He’d managed to beg off the business lunch with Jones too, which added to his enjoyment of the day. Not only had he thwarted Boone’s plans for him—always a positive—he’d also avoided having to spend at least another hour with Gillian’s banker over German food. Exceptional German food, admittedly, but the quality of the cuisine couldn’t overcome the sour taste that being in Jeremy’s company put in Tucker’s mouth.
He didn’t like his male model handsomeness or his charming, confident manner or the fact that he wore Italian loafers and French sunglasses and drove a German car. He especially didn’t like the fact that ol’ Jeremy would get to have breakfast with Gillian every day for the rest of his life.
So after listening to the banker’s spiel while he and his cousins signed papers for almost an hour, Tucker had had his fill of the man long before Jeremy suggested they walk on over to Otto’s for lunch. He’d prepared an excuse about an expected delivery that required a signature and abandoned his cousins to the wurst in favor of Marktplatz and Miguelitos’ Taco Tuesday.
Damn, but those carnitas had been delicious.
As he sauntered back toward their new building, his thoughts turned to this change of course upon which he’d embarked. During the weeks he had spent alone and exploring Enchanted Canyon, he’d come to terms with the loss of his career, and he’d dealt with his disillusionment in his dreams and ideals. Bottom line—he’d been an excellent warrior. A bureaucrat, not so much. A politician, not worth a damned lick. His army career going forward would have required that from him. He’d had no choice but to make the change.
He’d quit, but he wasn’t a quitter. He didn’t need to rag on himself about that. His time in Enchanted Canyon had helped him to accept that the job, the mission, had evolved over time. Recognizing his limitations and acting on them wasn’t quitting if, bottom line, the army and his country were better off with another man in the position. Tucker could hold his head up knowing he’d made the right choice. He’d done the right thing.
And now, change, here I come.
So what kind of teacher would he make? That was the question before him, wasn’t it?
He had a fair amount of experience instructing soldiers. He spoke with authority, and people listened to him. People who attended his classes would be there to learn, having paid a significant fee for the opportunity. The kids would be the wild card, but based on his afternoons with Haley, he thought he’d be good with them.
He strode back toward the shop in no real hurry since he figured Boone and Jackson would be at the very least another half an hour. No sense tackling the work all by himself when he had cousins to help. Besides, unloading boxes was the perfect time to chew Boone’s ass about some of the inventory choices he’d made.
Since he wasn’t in a hurry, Tucker detoured to the ice cream store for a mint chocolate chip. “Cone or cup?” asked the matronly woman behind the counter with a smile.
“Cone, please.”
He’d also decided the time had come for him to put away the reserved, unfriendly attitude he’d adopted over the past decade or so. It worked okay for a recluse hiding away in the Hill Country, but as of today, he was officially out of the canyon. He needed to dust off his charming and put on his friendly. So while the server finished fitting the ice cream into the cone, he pulled out a rusty, flirtatious wink and rascal grin. “Pretty skin like yours makes me think of peaches ’n cream. Why don’t you add a dip of that flavor too? I’m in the mood to splurge.”
“Go on with you now,” she said with a laugh, her cheeks coloring prettily. “That line may work on the young’uns, but I have your number.”
Yet, when she handed over his cone, Tucker couldn’t help but note that the second scoop was bigger than the first. Catch more flies with honey …
Stepping out onto the street, he turned toward the mercantile building, his stride long, and his thoughts on the afternoon ahead. With three sets of hands, they should be able to knock out most of the unpacking. Maybe he’d let Boone and Jackson stock the shelves while he set up his office on the second floor. It was a great space with lots of windows, which he liked. He could do most of what needed doing for the business side of the wilderness school on his laptop and phone, but if he had to be stuck indoors in an office, he’d be glad to have windows. The windowless cubicles of his special assignment time had drained his soul.
Tucker took a lick of his cone and added his office’s proximity to the ice cream parlor to the list of things that made him happy. He liked ice cream even better than Tex-Mex.
When his gaze snagged on the swaying hips of the woman in front of him, he admitted he liked eye candy best of all.
Gillian Thacker had just exited Bliss Bridal Salon and turned to walk away from him. It gave him the perfect opportunity to ogle her ass without getting caught.
She had the sultry sexiness of a WWII pinup girl, tall and curvy with an unconscious way of walking—a hippy, come-hither sway—that absolutely did it for him. Today, she wore her long mahogany hair loose. The wavy curls bounced to and fro with her every step in a way that called to a man saying, “Touch me. Touch me.”
A glance around showed he wasn’t the only man watching her walk either. Of the six guys within line of sight of Gillian, four of them had their eyes peeled. She shouldn’t be allowed out in public.
Tucker wondered if Jones realized just how lucky he was. The banker talked plenty this morning, but his only mention of Gillian had been as an aside while yammering on about golf. Somehow, Tucker and Jackson had gotten roped into playing a round with the bridegroom-to-be next weekend. Never mind that Tucker hadn’t played golf once since leaving DC. He’d have to find time before Saturday to visit the driving range. It was bad enough that Tucker had to surrender the field where Gillian was concerned. It absolutely would not do for good ol’ Jeremy to kick his butt on the golf course too.
Tucker was jealous of the man. He could admit it. Jeremy had what Tucker wanted.
Gillian ticked off a number of Tucker’s boxes. He liked her spunk, her style, her honesty, and her humor. And of course, there was that physical appeal—the supermodel body, smoky voice, and sexy smile. And the walk. That luscious, provocative, glorious walk that could lure a man into trouble.
The walk that twenty yards in front of him abruptly stopped.
Gillian’s purse slipped out of her hand and thudded onto the courtyard’s winter-dead grass. She stood frozen like a new tub of peaches ’n cream fresh from the freezer. Then she began to weave.
Damn. Hope there’s nothing wrong with her. Tucker picked up his pace, and in a dozen strides, he’d caught up to her. “Gillian, you okay?”
Her head whipped around. Her big blue eyes looked a little wild. “Tucker?”
“Can I help you, honey?” He took her elbow in support. “Are you ill? You look pale. Did you catch Jeremy’s flu?”
“No. I’m not ill. Well, maybe I am. Maybe I’m hallucinating. This can’t be right. There must be a mistake.”
“What can’t be right?” Tucker frowned and followed the path of her gaze. She was focused on his flags, so he gave them a quick study. US, Texas, and Boone’s slogan. “You have something against our slogan?”
“Your slogan,” she repeated. Her eyes widened, and then narrowed. “Your slogan?”
Tucker nodded. “Boone thought the school needed a slogan. Get grubby is a little saying Haley and I use when we’re doing our wilderness thing.”
“The school.” She blinked and gave her head a shake. “What school? I don’t understand. Caroline mentioned something about you becoming a teacher. I thought you’d be at Redemption High.”
“Me? Teach at a high school?” Tucker scoffed. “I might have spent more than a
decade in the military, but I’m not near brave enough to teach at a high school. No, we’re opening a wilderness school.”
“A wilderness school,” Gillian repeated. “For like, preppers? Survivalists? People who eat bugs and grubs and grasshoppers?”
Tucker rolled his eyes. “We are going to teach wilderness skills and preparedness to people who are interested in the outdoors. Preppers is a pejorative term. I don’t use it, and before you climb too high on your horse, maybe you should ask the people in Houston if they were glad they had basic supplies on hand after Harvey hit, or even the people of Austin who owned five-dollar water purification filters last summer when the city told them to boil water for two weeks.”
“Okay. Okay. You’re right. That’s snotty of me. So, the slogan for your school is: Get Grubby?”
“Yes.”
“All right, then.” She dragged a hand down her face, then asked, “Tucker, why is your slogan on a flag that is flying from my building?”
“Your building?” He turned his head and looked toward Bliss. He didn’t see any flags flying from the salon’s canopy. That left the McBride family’s latest purchase. “You mean the mercantile building?”
“Yes.”
“Well, Gillian, the mercantile is our mercantile—the McBride family’s. We bought it earlier this week. Wrapped up all the paperwork this morning.”
“No.” She let out a soft little moan. “Why? You own an entire canyon. And an inn and a dance hall and a ghost town. Why did you buy my building?”
Tucker was a little confused himself. He didn’t think she’d owned the building. The former owner’s name was Ayers if he recalled correctly. “Because Boone decided that Enchanted Canyon Wilderness School needed a presence in town, so we’re now your new neighbor.”
Tucker found the fact that she looked so appalled about it more than a little insulting. He hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans and observed, “Kind of appropriate, don’t you think? A survival school across from a bridal salon? Heaven knows surviving marriage takes skills. Maybe we could do a cross-promotion sometime.”