When she reached it, she cried out his name. Moments later he followed her.
Time drifted until Tucker stirred, rolling over and carrying her with him. When she opened her eyes, he was watching her with tenderness and passion in his eyes.
“I love being naked with you.”
“Me, too,” she murmured. “I’m completely naked, and I’m glad. You know all my secrets.”
His eyes clouded and he slid off the bed, pulling on his jeans at the same time.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Not a thing,” he said, but his smile was strained. “I’m going to get the clothes I ripped off you downstairs. I don’t want anyone to come to the door and see your lingerie decorating the floor.”
Moments later he returned, carrying their clothes. He deposited them on a chair in her room, then shucked his jeans and slid back into bed next to her. The clouds had disappeared from his eyes, and she wondered if she’d imagined them.
“Now, where were we?” he murmured, as he reached down and kissed her.
Passion roared back, and she forgot about everything but the way he felt in her arms.
CLAIRE SETTLED HERSELF in the stands at the football game the next day, her gaze lingering on Tucker as he talked to the boys on the other side of the field. They’d talked and made love until late into the night. Around three, he’d torn himself away. He didn’t want anyone talking about her. And if he stayed at her house all night, people would talk.
Desire stirred as she watched him, and she admitted to herself that she’d fallen in love with him. She’d never wanted to spend every waking and sleeping moment with a man, never wanted to give herself so completely before. And never had she wanted a man to give himself so completely to her.
She’d let down all her barriers with Tucker, and it only made her want to give him more. She was drunk with love for him.
What would happen when she left? a small voice asked.
She ignored the voice. She wasn’t going anywhere right now.
Nick ran onto the field and took his place for the kickoff. She could see him searching the stands and she gave him a tiny wave. His mask and helmet hid his face, but she thought he smiled.
Halfway through the second half of the game, Nick kicked a field goal. She jumped up and cheered wildly, her heart swelling as he jumped into the air in celebration. He landed awkwardly on his bad leg, but instead of acting self-conscious, he ran over to Booger Johnson and banged helmets with him.
The team lost the game in spite of Nick’s field goal and a touchdown by another boy. As the last few minutes ticked away, a man behind her said, “What’s the matter with Hall, anyway? Why isn’t he teaching our kids what he knows?” His voice was hard with anger.
She turned to see who had spoken as muttered agreement swept through the parents’ section. “We need to talk to him,” another voice said.
A woman she didn’t recognize spoke up. “We need a team meeting.”
“Great idea,” someone else agreed.
Uneasiness crept over Claire as she listened to the comments around her. Anger swirled through the stands, dark and ugly. She prayed that the parents would regain their composure before they talked to Tucker.
But at Sparky’s, after the game, one father stood up and let out a sharp whistle. The room fell silent as everyone looked at him. “We need to talk to Coach Hall,” he said. Everyone looked at Tucker.
He straightened slowly. “Fine. When would you like to get together?”
“How about right now?” another man called.
Tucker looked around the restaurant, at the suddenly tense boys. “I don’t think this is the time or place.”
“Sparky’s has a banquet room. We can go in there while the boys have their pizza,” the first man suggested.
Tucker’s face tightened. “All right. Let’s go.”
Claire rose from the table where she’d been talking to Molly Burns, a sick feeling gathering in her stomach. These parents didn’t want to compliment Tucker on the fine job he’d been doing.
The parents crowded into the back room, and Tucker jumped up onto the tiny platform that served as a stage. “All right,” he said, his voice even. “What’s this about?”
“We’ve lost four games,” one of the fathers said. It was the same man who’d stood up in the restaurant.
“Yes, we have,” Tucker answered. “But the boys are getting better.”
“The other teams are running all over them,” the man shouted. “They’re getting their butts kicked.”
“Your sons are having fun, they’re working hard, and they’re learning good lessons. Isn’t that more important?”
“Why aren’t you teaching them how to play football?” another man shouted.
Tucker’s eyes flashed. “I am teaching them to play football.”
The man waved his arm impatiently. “You know what I’m talking about. Teach them how you used to play football. Aggressive. Mean.”
Claire could see anger gathering in Tucker’s eyes. “Are you saying you want me to teach them to play dirty?” He scanned the crowd, met one person’s eyes after another.
Before he’d gone halfway around the room, one man shouted out, “Why not? They need to learn how to compete, how to be their best.”
“You think playing dirty is what they need to learn? That that’s how they’ll be their best?” His voice was low and deadly, a warning that the parents had gone too far.
“I think Coach Hall is doing a fine job,” Claire said.
The parents all turned to look at her.
Someone on the other side of the room snickered. “A fine job doing what?” he called. “We’re talking about what he’s teaching our boys, not what he’s teaching you.”
Claire flushed as Tucker jumped off the stage and took a step toward the man. Then he stopped, clenching and unclenching his fists. She saw the effort it took for Tucker to tear his gaze away from the heckler, to focus on the other parents.
“This discussion is about the football team. The next person who makes a remark about Ms. Kendall is going to get a very personal lesson on playing dirty.”
His gaze swept from one person to the next. The uneasy shuffle of feet was the only sound in the room. “Claire’s right,” Judy Johnson said into the strained silence. “Tucker is doing a great job. I like what Booger’s learned since Tucker has been the coach.” She stepped closer to the front of the room, closer to Tucker. “I don’t want you to change a thing.”
Tucker’s gaze relaxed as it rested on Judy for a moment. “Thank you.” A muscle jumped in his jaw as he turned back to the others. “I won’t teach your sons dirty tricks. I want them to learn how to play football, how to enjoy the game. I want them to learn about good sportsmanship, about keeping wins and losses in perspective. Isn’t that what you want them to take away from this season?”
“No,” someone shouted from the back of the room. “That’s not the way you played. You were tough. That’s what we want our kids to be.”
“You want your kids to be tough?” Claire heard the anger returning to Tucker’s voice. “You want them to play like me? Are you sure?”
He shook his head. “A good man can’t make his living playing the game he loves because of the way I played football.” He narrowed his eyes as he stared at the man who’d first spoken. “Another man almost died because of my temper. Is that what you want your kids to learn? Is that what you want them to become?”
A muscle twitched in his face, and Tucker whirled and punched the wall. “Goddammit! I’m not going to do it.” He spun to face them. “I won’t teach your sons to cheat. If that’s what you want, you can find someone else to coach them.”
Tucker pushed his way through the suddenly silent crowd. The door of the room banged shut behind him, and they all stood there for a moment. Then they slowly shuffled out of the room.
Claire stood frozen in place, Tucker’s words pounding at her brain. He’d injured a man playing football,
so badly that he couldn’t play anymore? A man had almost died because of him?
Her heart shriveled in her chest, compressing to a hard kernel of pain. She’d bared her soul to Tucker, told him all her most intimate secrets. Told him things she was ashamed of, things she’d sworn never to reveal.
And he hadn’t shared anything of himself.
Only when all the other parents had left did she walk out the door. Somehow she managed to find Nick in the crowd of kids.
“Nick,” she said, swallowing hard, “I need to leave. Do you think you could get a ride home with the Johnsons?”
Nick looked at her, stars still in his eyes from his field goal. “I guess.” He punched Booger in the arm. “Can I, Boog?”
“Sure. No problem.”
“Thanks, Booger.” Claire forced herself to smile. “I’ll see you at home.”
“Okay.”
The smell of tomato sauce and cheese drifted through the air and the room hummed with conversation as Claire pushed her way through the crowds. Her vision blurred but she refused to blink, refused to let the other parents see her cry.
The air outside was crisp and cool, a perfect autumn night. The stars looked smeared across the deep blue of the sky, and somewhere an owl hooted. She stumbled to her car, but before she could slide in someone touched her arm.
“I need to talk to you, Claire.” It was Tucker.
She kept her back turned. She didn’t want him to see her crying, either. “It’s a little late for talking.”
“Don’t say that.” He tightened his grip on her arm, turned her to face him. “Please, Claire.”
She shrugged. “Fine. Talk.”
“Not here.” He tried to take her in his arms, but she resisted. “Come to my house.”
She wanted to refuse, to run home and lick her wounds in private. But he held her gaze, refusing to back down, refusing to let her get away.
“All right. I’ll follow you there.”
“I don’t want you to drive. Come with me. We’ll get your car later.”
She should tell him no, she thought, but he urged her toward his truck and helped her into the cab. His face looked hard in the moonlight, and she saw weariness and resignation in his eyes.
The streets of Monroe were deserted, and in a few minutes they turned into Tucker’s driveway. Once they were out of the truck, he led her around to the backyard.
Crickets chirped in the darkness, and the scent of the night-blooming flower she’d smelled the last time she was here filled the air. He drew her down beside him on the porch step.
“I’m sorry for what that idiot said about you.”
She shrugged. “It’s a small town. Everyone knows everyone else’s business.”
“Yeah,” he said, staring out into the darkness. “That’s the downside of small-town life. Randy apologized to me afterward. So did some of the others.”
After a moment he turned toward her. “I scared you tonight, didn’t I?” he asked.
“Scared me?”
“When I lost my temper. Punched the wall.” His mouth twisted. “That was an ugly little display, and I saw your face after it happened. You looked devastated.”
He swallowed. “You’re afraid of me, aren’t you?”
“No. I’m not afraid of you.” In spite of herself, she leaned toward him. “You would never hurt me.”
“I’d rip off my arm before I would hurt you,” he said.
“I know that.”
“Then what is it?”
He didn’t get it. She could see the bewilderment in his eyes, and her heart shriveled a little more.
“That was an ugly display at Sparky’s,” she said, her voice quiet. “But that’s not why I’m upset. You were right to be angry. The parents were wrong and out of line.”
With a finger on her chin, he turned her to face him. “Then why do you look so sad? So shattered?”
“You don’t know?” she asked.
“I thought it was because I frightened you.”
“No.” She shook her head, moistened her lips. “No, it wasn’t that.” She looked up at him. “When were you going to tell me your secrets? When were you going to tell me about the man you injured, the man who almost died?”
She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands, trying to rub the pain away. “I stripped my soul naked for you. I told you all the things I’m ashamed of, the things I hide from everyone else. And you didn’t tell me a thing about yourself. I thought we knew each other intimately. But I guess intimacy for you stops at your skin.”
Silence pulsed between them. After a moment he said in a low voice, “I’m not the same man I was when those things happened. I’ve changed.”
“And you didn’t trust me to see the difference.”
“Damn it, Claire! I was afraid you wouldn’t want anything to do with me if you knew about my past. Especially after you told me you’d had a violent childhood. I didn’t want to lose you.” He slid his arm around her shoulder.
She wanted to accept the comfort she’d find in his arms. Her heart breaking, she got to her feet.
“I trusted you, Tucker. I told you last night that I wasn’t afraid of you. I’ll never be afraid of you. But I guess I’ll never know you, either.”
“Do you want to hear about Ted? About Carl?”
She shook her head. “It’s not a gift if it’s not freely given. You can’t demand intimacy and trust.” She swallowed the hard ball of tears in her throat, closed her eyes against the pain. “I need to go home.”
After a long moment, Tucker stood and tucked her hand into his. And God help her, she clung to him.
Most cars were gone from the parking lot by the time they returned to Sparky’s. He stopped his truck next to her car. He shifted on the seat, reaching out to unbuckle her seat belt. When he pulled her close, she didn’t resist.
His kiss tasted of desperation, of regret. Tears leaked out of her eyes as she pulled away.
He let her go reluctantly. “This isn’t over, Claire,” he said. “I’m not letting you go.”
“Goodbye, Tucker,” she whispered.
Without looking back, she climbed out of the truck, got into her car and drove away.
CHAPTER TWENTY
ON SATURDAY MORNING, Claire sat on the front porch of the house, a book in her hand. She wanted to read, to take her mind off Tucker, but she’d chosen the wrong book. Her heart quivered as she set it down. She couldn’t read a happily-ever-after book right now. It would only make her cry, and after last night she had no tears left.
She had no idea how she’d managed to hide her grief from Nick, but her nephew had been happily oblivious to her pain. He’d bounded down the stairs that morning, his eyes shining, his face open. While he scraped a can of cat food into Joe’s dish, she’d overheard him telling the cat how he’d kicked the field goal the night before.
By the time he flew out the door to play video games with his friends, her face felt brittle and hard, as if one more forced smile would make it crack into pieces. She watched Nick until he’d disappeared around the corner, then sank down onto the top step of the porch. She couldn’t bear to stay in the house. The air vibrated with memories of Tucker, memories that made grief claw at her throat and tear at her heart.
Now she sat in the warm autumn sunshine, trying desperately to find something to make her forget about Tucker. She was just about to head back into the house to look for another book when her cell phone rang.
“Hello?”
Silence stretched at the other end of the line. “Hello?” Claire said again.
This time, she heard a deep, shuddering breath. “Claire? This is Andrea Vernon.”
“Andrea?” Claire’s hand tightened on the phone. “How are you doing?”
Another pause. “Not so good,” the other woman said in a low voice. “Could you come over here?”
“Are you all right?” Claire asked, rushing into the house to grab her car keys. “Are you hurt?”
“I need
you to come over here,” she repeated.
“I’m on my way.” Claire walked out the door and pulled it shut. “Leave the house and start walking toward town, Andrea. I’ll be there in just a few minutes.”
“I can’t leave,” she whispered. “You have to come here.”
“Is Roger in the house?”
“Hurry.”
The phone disconnected with a soft click. Oh, God, Roger had found out Andrea had been talking to her. Claire sprinted for her car.
In less than ten minutes she pulled to the curb in front of the house she’d shared with Roger. Memories washed over her in a rough wave, memories of pain and humiliation and despair.
They didn’t matter. She swallowed, forcing down her nausea, then got out of the car and hurried to the door. Roger couldn’t hurt her now, Claire thought. But he could hurt Andrea.
The door opened before she could ring the doorbell. Andrea stood in the doorway, her eyes wide with fear, her face bloodless. Two ugly bruises painted the side of her face purple and green.
“Let’s go, Andrea,” Claire urged.
“No, you have to come in,” the other woman said. Her eyes flickered to her left.
Alarm shivered down Claire’s spine. “Is Roger standing next to you?”
“Roger isn’t here.”
Claire hesitated, warning bells clanging in her head. “Then why don’t you just step outside?” she asked Andrea.
“You have to help me pack,” she blurted, her hand tightening on the door. “I don’t know what to bring.”
“You don’t have to bring anything,” Claire answered. “They have whatever you need at the shelter.”
Andrea shook her head. “I want my own things.”
Claire remembered what it was like to be completely alone and have nothing of her own, not even underwear. “All right,” she said, stepping into the house.
The door slammed shut behind her. “Hello, Claire,” Derek Joiner said. He held a large black gun in his hand, pointed at her heart. His hand was rock-steady. “I’m happy to see that you’re as predictable as I’d thought.” He gave her a terrifying smile. “I’ve seen you talking to Andrea. Since you can’t seem to keep your nose out of other people’s business, I knew you were sharing stories about Roger’s unfortunate habit of beating his wives. I figured a sob story from Andrea would bring you running.”
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