Tucker

by Emily March

  “But you still play. You played with your cousin and Jeremy and an insurance agent.”

  “Yeah.” Tucker rolled his tongue around his cheek and debated taking the next step. He hadn’t intended to move this fast, but what would it hurt? The truth might be just the balm her wounded soul needed. “I was ready to pass on Jackson’s invitation to play, but then Caroline mentioned that you usually rode along and drove Jones’s cart on Saturday mornings, so I changed my mind.” He watched her closely as he added, “You probably know I had a crush on you.”

  He didn’t miss the flash of emotion in her eyes. Was it pleasure? Happiness? Gratitude? He wasn’t sure. It wasn’t horror, anyway. Nor was it the worry that immediately followed.

  “If I acted inappropriately on New Year’s Eve,” she hesitantly began.

  “No. Not at all. You always presented yourself as Taken—with a capital T—even if a man somehow managed to overlook that oversize diamond on your finger and the way you talked about your wedding every third word.”

  She glanced down at her ringless left hand. “Was I that obnoxious?”

  “You were the way you should have been.”

  Now, she frowned and asked, “Did you hit on me, and I just didn’t notice?”

  “Nope. I’m not a poacher, and I kept my crush to myself. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy the buzz being around you gave me. Since I wasn’t buzzing anywhere else at the moment, I didn’t see what it would hurt to spend a few hours on a January morning in your company. I have to tell you, I was terribly disappointed you weren’t there. Only thing that made me feel better was beating the socks off your ex—in spite of his foot wedge.”

  “By how many strokes did you win?”

  “Even with his using his foot, I beat him by six strokes, not two.”

  A smile fluttered at her mouth. “My dad always said that a man who cheats at golf would cheat at anything.”

  “Haven’t had the honor of meeting your father. He sounds like an intelligent man.”

  “I don’t think he liked Jeremy very much. He never said it aloud, but I could tell.”

  “I repeat. Your father sounds like an intelligent man.”

  Gillian stretched out her legs and crossed them at the ankles. “I thought he was just being a dad who wouldn’t like any man his only daughter chose. Now I wonder…”

  Tucker tore his gaze from her very pretty ankles to find Gillian studying him with narrowed eyes. “Did you like Jeremy? Before the Saturday morning foursome? I know you spoke with him at Caroline’s Christmas party, and then we all had dinner on New Year’s Eve. Did you like him, then?”

  “Saturday morning foursome sounds like a different sort of sport,” Tucker observed, buying time to frame an answer.

  “Golf is full of sexual innuendos, and I’ve heard all the stupid jokes. Did you like him?”

  “No, I didn’t.” Her frown and the strain around her eyes revealed that his answer distressed her, so he elaborated. “But that’s on me. It’s probably fair to say I prejudged him before I actually got to know him.”

  She arched her brows. “You don’t like bankers who wear custom suits and Italian shoes?”

  “Polish doesn’t bother me.” Recalling the white wingtip shoes, white slacks, and red-and-gray cashmere sweater that Jeremy had worn the day they’d played golf, he added, “Although he did get a little boring name-dropping so often, and I thought the country club fashion plate was a bit much. Never been a fan of white slacks on the golf course.”

  “He’s always been a golf fashion snob,” she admitted. “What did you wear?”

  “Black slacks. Red polo.” Tucker’s lips twitched with a grin as he added, “I made an eagle on number six.”

  “An eagle,” she murmured. “I’ll bet he loved that.”

  “Not so much. Looked like ol’ Jeremy was munching on a sour pickle when I sank the putt. I believe the quote is: ‘You must think you’re Tiger Woods on Sunday.’”

  Gillian snickered, and then passed a half a minute in silent thought. “So, why did you prejudge him? Was it something I said about him that day you and I met?”

  She wasn’t letting this go, was she? Tucker thought he could probably understand why. Bet she was questioning her own judgment. “It was nothing you said, Gillian. It was that crushing thing I mentioned earlier. I was a little green because you were his.”

  She remained silent for a long minute after that before saying, “You’re good medicine for my ego, McBride. Thank you.”

  “All I did is tell the truth. You can count on me for that, Gillian. It’s what I do.”

  She closed her eyes and her shoulders drooped. “I thought…”

  After she let her sentence trail off, he patted her knee. “You’ve got this, Gillian. You’ll be just fine. This knocked you down, but it hasn’t knocked you out. You’re a strong, determined, successful woman. You don’t need that golf cheat to be happy or anything else you decide you want to be. You’re gonna pull yourself up by your bootstraps and get on with your life, and you won’t look back unless it’s to flip him the bird.”

  Gillian smiled faintly. “I don’t make vulgar gestures.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe it’s time for you to get a little grubby.”

  Her eyes warmed, her smile widened. She said, “We probably should be getting back to our shops. It must be close to opening time.”

  “Yeah. Probably.”

  “May I ask you one last question?”

  “Sure.”

  “The display window. Why did you really do this?”

  Well. Tucker had promised honesty, and he intended to keep that promise. However, he had not committed to a degree of honesty. Choosing his words carefully, he said, “I watched you leave for lunch with Caroline and Maisy. You looked so—” Devastated. Broken. Depressed. “Down. I wanted to cheer you up.”

  “By strapping a knife to a mannequin wearing a wedding gown?”

  “It worked, didn’t it?”

  The sound she emitted wasn’t a full-fledged laugh, but it was definitely a chuckle. Tucker counted it as a win.

  Rising, he turned to offer her a hand. Gillian took it and stood, and as she took a step forward, the sound of ripping fabric split the air.

  Gillian gasped. Tucker had to look. Her right pants leg had been torn in two from mid-thigh almost to the ankle, revealing a lot of leg. Well … well … well. Fishnet stockings beneath her britches? Wasn’t that interesting?

  “Shoot,” she muttered, grabbing at the tear in an attempt to conceal what lay beneath.

  No, don’t!

  “Stupid furniture. This stuff needs to be replaced. Nails won’t stay where they belong!”

  He heard embarrassment in her voice, but he didn’t see it in her expression because he couldn’t lift his gaze from that leg. Damn. A red bra strap and now this. He’d never be able to look at Gillian Thacker again without wondering about her underwear.

  “Would you stop that, please!” she demanded.

  “What?”

  “Staring at me.”

  “But … stockings. Fishnet stockings!”

  “It’s actually pantyhose and not stockings. I was out of clean underwear, okay?”

  “So, no garter belt, then? The fantasy takes a slight hit, but I can work with pantyhose.”

  “Would you stop that? This is so humiliating.”

  “Titillating is the word that comes to my mind.”

  She made a growl of frustration, then turned and made a mad dash for the bridal salon. Tucker hooked his thumbs in the pocket of his jeans and watched her. Just before she disappeared into the shop, she glanced back over her shoulder, and caught him watching still.

  She flipped him the bird.

  Tucker laughed aloud. He sauntered back toward his store, chuckling softly. This had gone even better than he’d hoped.

  An hour and a half later when he looked outside across the courtyard, he spied Bliss Salon’s display window and gave himself a mental high five. He’
d known to expect the camo gown the mannequin wore. The pose caught him by surprise.

  Gillian had seated the form in a fancy French chair with its legs crossed. The dress was hiked up to reveal the mannequin’s sexy, white satin garters holding up silk stockings that disappeared into ladies’ hiking boots laced with white satin ribbon. On the floor beside the mannequin sat a white backpack. Spilling out of the backpack were different types of shoes. He spied a sneaker, a flip-flop, a peep-toe glitter pump with a five-inch stiletto heel, a black leather flat, and a house slipper with feathers on it.

  “Atta girl,” Tucker murmured. Looked like Gillian Thacker was ready to take on just about anything.

  His gaze snagged on the peep-toe pump. He thought about her pretty ankles. He thought about those fishnet hose. For the rest of the day and a good part of the night, he couldn’t stop thinking about Gillian Thacker—with the tune of Beyoncé’s “Single Ladies” drifting through his mind.

  Chapter Ten

  On February fourteenth, three days before what was to have been her wedding day, Gillian dawdled in the stockroom at the store feeling grumpy.

  Curse Cupid and his stupid bow. If she ever came across the little diaper-wearing cherub, she swore she’d grab the weapon from his chubby little hands and put him out of her misery. Whoever invented Valentine’s Day needed to be sliced with cardstock paper cuts from head to toe and then buried under a mountain of chocolate and flower petals.

  She didn’t want to be here at Bliss. She’d rather be almost anywhere else but here. When she’d opened her eyes this morning, she’d seriously considered coming down with the bubonic plague. Tragically, she couldn’t do that to her mother. Valentine’s Day was one of Bliss Salon’s busiest days of the year. Brides who weren’t getting married or engaged on Valentine’s Day loved to pick February fourteenth to choose their wedding gowns. So, Gillian had come in to work, and now she was surrounded by satin and lace and giggling bridesmaids and teary-eyed MOBs and giddy brides high on romance.

  It all made Gillian nauseous.

  She knew she needed to pull herself up by Tucker’s damned bootstraps again, to put on her big-girl panties and go out there and sell the fantasy.

  “Gillian?” her mother called from the stockroom doorway. “Are you having trouble finding that petticoat?”

  “Sorry, I got distracted.”

  “Hurry, please. We’ve screeched to a standstill in the dressing room.”

  “Sorry,” she repeated. “I’ll be right there.” Weighed down with guilt, she scanned the shelves, located the box, and removed a crinoline, which she carried back to the dressing room.

  From one appointment to the next, Gillian tried to hide her grumpiness. Apparently, she didn’t do a very good job of it because her mother’s exasperation grew more evident with every hour that passed. Shortly before the two o’clock brides were due to arrive, Aunt Cathy swept into the shop and declared she’d come to help. Barbara handed Gillian her jacket and said, “Go. We’ve got this. You’re doing more harm than good today.”

  Gillian’s spirits sank even lower. “I’m a terrible daughter.”

  “No, you’re not, but you are useless to me today. I understand why you’re in a blue mood, but we owe it to our brides to do better. Since we didn’t change our calendar after your breakup, we are already scheduled to be closed for the next three days, so go home and do what you need to do to get your head on straight.”

  “I’m really sorry. Maybe I should tackle some of the paperwork that’s been piling—”

  “No,” Barbara interrupted. “Go. It’ll be better next week, I’m sure. Life will look brighter when you get past Saturday.”

  “I hope so,” Gillian muttered. First her aunt, and then her mother gave her a hug and shooed her toward the door.

  Gillian ducked back into the storeroom to grab her purse and happened to glance out the window as she turned to leave. Her gaze fell on Tucker’s window, and she hesitated. They hadn’t spoken since the day she’d decorated the display window. She’d left the courtyard that morning feeling strong and determined, the way he’d described her. The feeling had lingered, but with the arrival of Valentine’s Day and with her aborted wedding day on its heels, strength and determination had dissolved like cotton candy in a puddle of rain. As a result, she’d let her mother down. That only made her feel worse.

  Maybe she needed another dose of Tucker to jerk her out of this gloom.

  She couldn’t go barging into the Enchanted Canyon Wilderness School and ask him to make her feel better. Knowing Tucker, he’d have some suggestive proposal on how to help. Not that she really believed his flattery and talk about a crush, soothing though it had been. He was a nice guy. He’d taken pity on her and turned on the flirt.

  It had worked. She’d like it to work again. She needed an excuse to pay a visit.

  Her gaze drifted over his display window, and an idea occurred. It was missing something. A veil. His mannequin needed a veil. She knew the perfect one for his model too.

  Purse in hand, she headed back downstairs, darted into the stockroom, grabbed the veil she had in mind, then headed out of Bliss. She hurried across the courtyard, moving faster than she had all day. A bell chimed as she opened the door to Tucker’s school. Moments later, he descended the stairs from the second level, and upon seeing Gillian, smiled. “Hello, gorgeous. This is a nice surprise.”

  “I brought you something.” She handed him a small plastic bag emblazoned with the Bliss Salon logo.

  “A present!” He peered inside the bag, and his brows arched in surprise. “Net?”

  “A veil.” My veil. “Your mannequin isn’t finished.”

  “Ah.” He pulled it from the bag. “Want to help me with it? I admit I’m not experienced with wedding veils.”

  It was a simple, little flyaway bit of tulle that had been perfect for her dress. As Gillian carried it to the window, curiosity about his lack-of-experience comment caused her to ask, “Does that mean you’ve never been married?”

  “Never even come close. Military life is hard on families. Wasn’t a mission I wanted to tackle.”

  Gillian placed the wedding veil on the mannequin, fluffed the tulle, then stood back, and studied the result. “Perfect. Don’t you think?”

  When he didn’t respond, she glanced over her shoulder and caught him staring speculatively at her slacks. It should have annoyed her. Instead, she secretly preened. “Well?”

  “Hmm?”

  “The window!”

  “Ah. Yeah, much better.”

  She rolled her eyes. She was pretty sure he hadn’t looked at it. Turning around, she folded her arms, and his gaze finally lifted to hers. “A couple of our brides today mentioned the windows. They’re a hit.”

  “I expected they would be.” He paused a moment, then added, “Noticed lots of traffic at your place today.”

  “Valentine’s Day is always one of the busiest days of the year for us.”

  “I’m surprised you had time to steal away and bring me window fluff.”

  “Window fluff?” She smiled crookedly at the term. She couldn’t argue with it. “I actually am done for the day. My mom gave me the boot. Apparently, all the Valentine’s Day nonsense has made me a bit grumpy.”

  She couldn’t believe she was admitting this to him, but then again, she’d already shown him her fishnets, hadn’t she? How much more embarrassed could she get?

  Besides, Tucker McBride had a way about him that simply made her feel better. Maybe it was the honest admiration in his gaze. Perhaps it was his gentle teasing. She didn’t know. Today, she wasn’t going to analyze, but simply accept.

  Now, he studied her with a considering look in his eyes. “All the hearts and flowers are getting to you, hmm?” She shrugged, and he continued, “You know what? I’ve got the perfect medicine for that.”

  An image flashed in her mind—Tucker McBride naked and kneeling on her bed. Whoa, Nellie! Appalled by the direction of her thoughts, Gillian felt her ch
eeks flush. With embarrassment. That’s all. I embarrassed myself.

  “Do you have hiking boots?”

  “What?”

  “Boots. Something other than the pair in your display window. If not, we’ll grab a pair here, then run by your house so you can change into jeans. What size are you?”

  “Jeans and boots? Why do I need jeans and boots?”

  “It’s Valentine’s Day. Your fiancé just dumped you.”

  “Gee, thanks for the reminder. And to be perfectly precise, it was a mutual dumping. I told him to leave.”

  “Good for you. You’re off work for the afternoon, and I’m the boss, which means I can close up shop whenever I want. I want. You and I are going hiking in Enchanted Canyon.”

  She frowned. “Hiking? Oh, no, thank you. I went hiking up to the waterfalls in Enchanted Canyon last summer with Boone and Maisy and Jackson and Caroline. It’s really not my thing. I’m not really an outdoors person.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously. I appreciate the invitation, but I don’t do camping or climbing or fishing or hunting or ticks or snakes or mosquitos.”

  “Oh, Gillian. That’s just sad. What do you do?”

  “Five-star resorts with infinity pools and spa appointments and yoga on the lawn. And bathrooms. Big, luxurious bathrooms with heated towel racks and soaking tubs and walk-in showers.”

  “Huh.” He folded his arms, tilted his head, and studied her. “Well, I guess that doesn’t really surprise me. You are a girly girl. So, I take it you don’t own good hiking boots?”

  “No, I don’t. I wore sneakers when—”

  “What size are you?” He studied her feet. “Eight?”

  “Nine. I’m tall. I have big feet.”

  “Proportional feet. Your legs are a mile long, Glory.” He disappeared into the stockroom before Gillian could formulate a reply.