Tucker

by Emily March

  He didn’t see the figure until she spoke from out of the shadows. “Searching for peace for your troubled soul, Tucker?” Celeste asked.

  “Oh. Hello. Yeah, I guess I could use a dose of Enchanted Canyon right about now.”

  “Your angel dust is Texas red dirt, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know about that, but red has become my favorite color of late.” Tucker’s mouth twisted with a crooked smile and he added, “Angelica has these spicy sprinkles she sometimes puts on her cookies. Calls it her devil dust.”

  “I think I’ll pass on making a comment about that. Beyond a general observation, anyway.” Celeste clicked her tongue, took his arm, and started walking with him. “Cousins can be a trial, can’t they?”

  “That’s no lie.”

  “But they are certainly treasures too.”

  “Yes.”

  They strolled together in silence for a few moments. Tucker was in no hurry to end the walk. Something about Celeste Blessing was as soothing as a long hike in the canyon at the end of a busy week.

  She gave a long, contented sigh. “Listen to the night, Tucker. If you indulge my literary mood, I’d like to share something of the poet John Keble. ‘Peace is the first thing the angels sang.’ Isn’t that a lovely thought?”

  “It is.”

  “It’s lovely, and there is a lesson there. If you open yourself to the song your angels are singing, you will find your peace.”

  He lifted his gaze to the starlit heavens. “I don’t know that I have much of a relationship with angels.”

  “Now, that’s where you’re wrong.” She halted and gave his arm a squeeze. “When you are lost in the wilderness, sometimes you need to take a leap of faith. Your angels are singing, Tucker McBride. Listen to them. Listen to them, and let go. It’s the only way to fly.”

  Then, she turned and faded away into the shadows.

  Tucker sighed and faced the lake. He filled his lungs with mountain-scented air and exhaled in a rush. “Angels?” he scoffed. “I ain’t got no blessed angels.”

  What whispered to him was a conscience. It had nagged him for days now, ever since the argument he and Gillian had at her camp in the canyon. It’s what had put him in such a lousy mood and put his trigger on “hair.”

  Gillian wasn’t ready to be his wife. He was beginning to believe that she’d never be ready to be his wife.

  His angels—such as they were—were singing loud and clear.

  * * *

  Gillian watched Tucker slip away from the celebration, and her throat went tight. Could she be any more miserable? She was trying to hide it, trying to pretend that all was well, and she thought she’d fooled everyone. Well, everyone except for Mom. Mom knew her too well.

  She’d fielded a few questions about hers and Tucker’s tempestuous arrival back at the North Forty. She’d mixed a little truth with some fiction, and blamed it on travel fatigue and a clash of tempers.

  She knew that Caroline and Maisy thought her blues were Jeremy related. They couldn’t be more wrong. Her mood wasn’t wedding related. It was all about divorce.

  Nevertheless, she’d done her bridesmaid duty and soldiered on. She’d made a lovely, heartfelt bridesmaid’s speech, and she’d managed to forget her own problems and insecurities for a little while as she basked in the positive energy of the love in evidence at an Eternity Springs wedding weekend.

  But now, Coco was about to sing. Gillian didn’t have the heart to stick around to be entertained. She needed some time to herself, time to think about these doubts she was having about her doubts. Maybe she should let herself have one more good cry, after all. She could use her eye drops and the emergency mask in her makeup case before going to sleep, and she’d look all right in the morning.

  The question was where to go. The last thing Gillian needed was to run into Tucker. He’d appeared to be headed down toward the lake. She’d go in the opposite direction.

  She’d thought she made a stealthy escape, but her mother appeared out of nowhere and stopped her by grabbing her hand. Barbara led her away from the milling crowd, then asked, “Gillian, what’s going on with you and Tucker?”

  Gillian opened her mouth, the words of a confession hanging on her tongue. However, this was not the time or place or way to spring this sort of news on her mother. She swallowed and produced new words, honest words, if not all the words that needed to be said. “It’s a long story, Mom, and this isn’t the place to tell it, but, well, we’ve been seeing each other.”

  “I suspected as much.”

  “You did?”

  “I know you pretty well, Gillian.” She paused a moment, then added, “I like Tucker. So does your father.”

  “I do too, Mom.”

  “Do you think there’s a chance that—”

  “Excuse me,” Gillian interrupted. “I need to powder my nose.”

  She fled and did a pit stop at the ladies’ room in the dining hall because she really was done with lying to her mother. Then as Coco’s heavenly voice rose on the night air singing the hit song “Wishes for My Angel” that she’d co-written with Jackson, Gillian took the path leading away from the lake. It took her toward the tree house that Haley had declared was her favorite place in Colorado. Gillian paused beside the ladder and gazed up at the trilevel structure that had a platform above the tree line for stargazing.

  It was a perfect place to hide. The ideal place to think about lowering her guard and trusting versus letting him walk away.

  She kicked off her heeled, slippery-soled sandals and climbed the ladder to the first level, then the second, and finally to the platform—where she discovered she wasn’t alone.

  “Hello, dear,” Angelica said. “Did you come to share my sky?”

  “Yes, if that’s all right.” What else could she say? No, I wanted to be alone so I could have a pity party cryfest all by myself? Even if she thought to be that rude, she knew better than to say something like that to Angelica. The Fallen Angel innkeeper would give her a well-deserved verbal beatdown.

  It turned out Gillian didn’t have to say much of anything to get that. She’d no sooner stretched out on her back beside Angelica and begun to seek the constellations she could identify when her friend said, “What is wrong with you, girl?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I should say so. I’ve never seen a woman so durn sorry in all my life. You have happiness at your fingertips, but it appears you’re ready to throw it all away.”

  Gillian came up on her elbows and asked with suspicion in her tone. “What do you know?”

  “‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’”

  “From ‘so durn sorry’ to quoting Shakespeare to me?”

  “I’m diverse, and my cousin got me started down a literary path with her Hemingway quote. But here is what I know, Gillian. Allowing fear to rule your actions is like wrapping weight bands around your ankles. Thick ankles are not a good look for you. Your heart will never fly free carrying that extra load.”

  “Now you sound like Celeste too,” Gillian grumbled.

  “Well, as much as I hate to admit it, the old girl makes a lot of sense when she’s not making sense. Let me put this to you in Angelica fashion—you need to pull your head out of your bloomers. He’s a good man, and he loves you!”

  “Tucker told you about us?” Who hasn’t he told?

  “He hasn’t said a word—with his mouth, anyways. His eyes speak volumes. The fact that he’s in love with you is written all over that big, broad, beautiful body of his. I can’t believe no one else has noticed.”

  “I think my mother has,” Gillian grumbled. But it sounded like Angelica didn’t know about the Las Vegas wedding either, so Tucker hadn’t blabbed to everyone. If Angelica knew, she’d darned sure say something about it.

  “Of course, the same message is written all over you too.”

  “It is?”

  “Yep. It’s just not as clear because you’
re transmitting other messages as well, so things get a bit mixed up. What is wrong with you, Gillian? What fears are the pellets in your ankle weights?”

  She wasn’t going to try to deny it. She was tired of trying to hide. Tired of lying, mostly by omission, but lies were lies, and they didn’t rest well on her soul. According to Angelica and Celeste, Enchanted Canyon was where troubled souls found peace. Angelica was the closest thing to Enchanted Canyon around here at the moment. Who knows, maybe she can help me?

  “It’s not fear. It’s trust. A lack of trust. In myself. How do I know these feelings are real? I came within a one-night stand of marrying a man who, only a few months later, I don’t even like, much less love. Makes one wonder if I ever loved Jeremy. Tucker doesn’t like it when I bring Jeremy into our relationship—”

  “I can understand why.”

  “But the man is part of me, part of who I am today. He changed me, and I’m trying to figure out who the new me is.”

  “You’ve been hanging out in the self-help aisle in Caroline’s bookstore, haven’t you? Listen to me, honey-child. I’m gonna speak frank. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “That’s bull. The only way a man has the power to change you is if you cede your power to him. You didn’t do that with the eighteen-hole wonder. You won’t do it with Tucker. You had a life experience, and you think you have to make it into this big woo-woo project.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “I’ve been doing woo-woo from way back,” Angelica interrupted. “This ain’t it. Save yourself and Tucker and everybody else you care about from the self-discovery chase because you’re going looking for answers to something you already know.”

  “I don’t know the answers! That’s the problem!”

  “Sure you do. At the center of your soul, you know who you are, and what you want. You’ve allowed distrust—which is just another way to say fear—to hide that knowledge from yourself. You’re trying to peel those layers back, one at a time, when all you need to do is take a broom to ’em. Or, maybe a baseball bat. Just git ’er done, Gillian. Unbuckle those ankle weights. Because while you’re going all Magellan inside your psyche, time is passing you by. Time is your most precious resource, your most valuable asset. Use it wisely. Don’t let life pass you by.”

  With that, Angelica rolled gracefully to her feet, crossed to the access hatch and ladder, and began her descent from the stargazing platform. Just before her head disappeared, she paused and offered one last piece of Angelica advice. “Life is hard. Wear a helmet. Don’t be a wuss.”

  Gillian stayed in the tree house gazing up at the star-filled summer sky long into the night, thinking. Peeling away. Using a broom, a baseball bat, golf cleats, and an acronym or two.

  When she saw the shooting star streaking across the heavens, the job was done. She knew who she was and what she wanted.

  Forget S.U.R.V.I.V.A.L.

  As of this moment, she was all about L.I.V.I.N.G.

  Chapter Twenty

  The wedding went off perfectly. The bride was a vision in her dream gown from Bliss Bridal Salon, and the sight of his bride marching toward him brought tears to the groom’s eyes. The flower girl all but stole the show, cute as a six-month-old puppy with a ball of yarn, as she carefully dispatched rose petals all the way up the aisle. Even River Dog the ring bearer cooperated, his most-excellent training on display as he walked beside Haley, and then took his seat at Angelica’s feet.

  Tucker and Gillian survived the awkward moment when they met to walk together up the aisle as groomsman and bridesmaid. It helped that he’d knocked on her door first thing that morning and suggested they cry peace for the day and leave their personal baggage locked away. Gillian had gratefully agreed. They’d even danced together at the reception. The only tricky moment came when Gillian accidentally caught Caroline’s bouquet.

  Now, they were back in Texas, and the time had come for Tucker to own up to his angels. Like it or not, he knew what he had to do.

  On Monday evening, sitting at the dance hall bar and nursing a beer, he fingered the engraving on his pocket watch. To my love. He closed his eyes, returned the watch to his pocket, and pulled out his phone. He sent Gillian a text. “Can I see you sometime tomorrow? We need to talk.”

  Three long minutes later, she responded. “Tomorrow works for me. I agree.”

  “Your place? After work?”

  This time he waited almost five minutes for her reply. “I have the afternoon off. How about I bring lunch to you—Taco Tuesday—and afterward we hike up to the cave? I would like to get the wedding dress for Bliss.”

  That surprised him. What Gillian proposed sounded more like a date than a “talk,” but he had nothing against the idea. “Sounds good.”

  “Your usual?”

  “Yes, please.”

  She posted a thumbs-up emoticon. “See you tomorrow. Twelve thirty-ish.”

  He went to bed that evening feeling lonely and depressed, and his mood didn’t improve when he awoke the following day. He spent the morning doing research and making calls and arrangements, carrying around a dust cloud of blue mood à la Pigpen in the comic strip Peanuts. The process depressed him. The plan dejected him.

  At twenty after twelve, the perk of River’s ears signaled Gillian’s approach. He opened the trailer door and stepped outside to meet her, his cousin’s dog at his heels. Moments later, Gillian climbed out of the car carrying Peaches and a white paper sack.

  Tucker welcomed her with a genuine smile. “That smells great.”

  She handed him the bag. “I got you pulled pork tacos, regular charro beans, and corn in a cup as requested. I also ordered you your own side of guac since you’re always trying to filch some of mine.”

  “Good thinking. Want to eat here or take it with us?”

  “Here, please. It was all I could do not to break into the bag on the drive out here.”

  He got them each a bottle of Topo Chico mineral water, and they made small talk while they ate. She asked if there’d been any word from the honeymooners, and he told her Jackson had called him last night to see how River had managed the flight home. He asked her how Peaches had made out at the dog sitter’s while she’d been gone.

  “She wasn’t very pleased with me,” Gillian said, dipping a chip into her guacamole. “Hopefully this hike will win me back into her good graces.”

  “I know the feeling,” Tucker murmured. He was tempted to go ahead and put his plan on the table alongside the chips and salsa. Get it over with. Without thinking it through, he asked, “Do you want to have our relationship talk now or later?”

  She sat back in her chair and considered the question. “Let’s walk off our lunch first. Might end up with indigestion otherwise.”

  He nodded. She had a point.

  After loading up the dogs and backpacks in the MULE, he drove to the trailhead, where Gillian muted her phone and stowed it inside her pack while explaining, “I learn from my mistakes.”

  They did little talking on the way to the cave, though he did point out where she’d gone off-trail on her solo trip.

  “Oh, wow,” she said. “I must have totally zoned out on the R. I didn’t remember where I was, because now I remember you telling me that trail led down to a spring.” She paused, gave him a look he couldn’t read, and added, “That won’t happen again. I’ve been working on my acronyms.”

  “Good.” He guessed it was good, anyway. He didn’t know what the heck she was talking about. Gillian was in a strange mood today, but he imagined she might be thinking the same thing about him.

  They set a good pace and arrived at the cave entrance sooner than Tucker had expected. For the first time on the hike, Peaches balked. She wasn’t interested in going inside the cave. Her dog’s reaction gave Gillian second thoughts. “Maybe she senses something or smells something inside. You’d better check.”

  Tucker smirked. “What would you have done if you two had made it here by yourselves that day, and she reacted
this way then?”

  She folded her arms. “I guess we’ll never know, will we?”

  Grinning, he shrugged off his backpack and reached for the small flashlight he carried on his belt. He’d started to duck into the cave when Gillian grabbed hold of his sleeve and stopped him. “Wait!”

  He arched a curious brow. She slipped off her backpack and fished the flashlight from inside. Grimly, she announced, “I’ll do it.”

  “Gillian, wait a minute,” Tucker began.

  “No. No, I’m going to do it. It’s part of my new strategy.”

  Strategy? What strategy? He was the one who had a strategy. “Strategy for what?”

  “Here. Hold my dog.” She handed him Peaches’ leash, switched on the light, drew a deep breath, and ducked into the cave. Peaches whimpered. River followed on her heels. Moments later, Gillian called happily, “All clear.”

  Bemused, Tucker ducked into the shadowed cave.

  Damned if she didn’t meet him with a kiss.

  It was the first kiss they’d shared since their canyon fight, and after the initial moment of shock, he went all in. He kissed her back hard, pouring all the pent-up sadness and frustration that he’d been feeling for more than a week into the effort, groaning against her mouth as she responded in kind. He’d missed her. Missed this. Hell, he’d been missing this all his life.

  He didn’t want to lose it. He didn’t want to lose her.

  She delved her fingers into his hair. He released her mouth and feathered kisses across her face to that spot on her neck just below her ear that always made her shudder. Hearing her moan his name sent a shot of heat racing through him like fine Kentucky bourbon. Biting, licking, and tasting, he let her scent wash over him and wanted to drown.

  Then Peaches decided she wanted some attention and threaded herself between their legs. At the same time, River spotted a lizard and went on the hunt, sideswiping Tucker in the process. “Dammit,” he muttered as he lost his balance and came close to taking them both down. Gillian stepped back and steadied him. Her eyes were laughing as she said, “Those darned kids.”