Tucker’s Claim

by Sarah McCarty

  His hand settled against the doorjamb beside her head. His belly pressed the box into her side. The bag of sugar wobbled on the top. “There are other things that could be more refreshing.”

  A tingle of warning went down her spine. She was now effectively trapped between the door and him. He was watching her mouth as though he wanted a kiss. A shiver of distaste went through her. Her fingers closed around the knob. “I thank thee very much for thy help.”

  He leaned in. “You’ll find I can be a very helpful man to know.”

  With a bump of her hip, she dislodged the sugar. When Lyle bent down to retrieve it, she slipped inside and turned the lock. She took another step back, tripped on the braided throw rug and tumbled backward. A hand closed over her upper arm. Another slid across her mouth. Oh, dear God! She was being accosted in her own home and she couldn’t even scream.

  “How long has this been going on?” a deep voice rumbled in her ear.

  Tucker. Relief surged through Sally Mae in a debilitating rush. Her knees gave out. Tucker’s hand left her mouth and took the groceries from her hands. The other pulled her into his embrace. For a moment, just a moment, she leaned her cheek against his chest and breathed the scent of horse and man. He must have just arrived, otherwise he would have bathed. Unlike Lyle, Tucker was fastidious about his personal appearance. She pressed closer, listening to the steady beat of his heart, her fingers twisting his shirt. She’d always thought of Lyle as harmless. Too lazy to be a threat. It was disconcerting to realize she’d read him wrong.

  A knock came at the door. “You all right in there, Mrs. Schermerhorn?”

  Tucker set the box on the floor and reached for the handle. The harsh planes of his face were set in lines of granite. There was no doubt what he would do if he opened that door. She pushed his hand away and shook her head. He narrowed his gaze.

  “Ma’am? I heard something.”

  She smoothed her hair and straightened her spine, shaking her head at Tucker once more, for good measure. “I tripped on the rug. I’m fine.”

  There was a pause and then, “I’ve got your sugar.”

  Was it her imagination or was there some sort of tacky innuendo in that statement? She wrinkled her nose and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “That’s nice of thee, but—” But what? Tucker folded his bare arms across his massive chest and cocked his eyebrow at her. She frowned at him as she called out, “I don’t want it now.”

  “The package didn’t split open. It’s fine.”

  “It touched the ground. Just throw it away.”

  “You throw things away just because they touch the ground?”

  Good, let him think she was a spendthrift. A man as lazy as Lyle had to worry about things like that. “Yes. Goodbye, Lyle.”

  With a sigh of relief she heard his heavy tread on the steps. He was leaving. She didn’t immediately turn around. She needed a moment to gather her composure. Tucker’s hand on her arm didn’t give her a choice. Neither did the finger he tucked under her chin. His beautiful eyes narrowed.

  “Lyle scares you.”

  Darn, the man was discerning.

  “It’s more like he makes me nervous. The only man who’s ever courted me was Jonah and it’s different among Friends. Men aren’t so…blatant.”

  His pinky stroked down her throat. “You think he’s courting you?”

  No. “Yes.”

  “You can do a lot better than him.”

  She jerked her chin to the side. “Really?”

  He forestalled the attempt by simply catching her chin between his fingers, holding her face up to his. This close, she could see the flare of his nostrils. Anger or frustration?

  “If you are not encouraging his suit, why the hell let him carry your purchases home?”

  Angry. He was angry, but not nearly as much as she. The effects of the past hour were just beginning to hit her. “There wasn’t any way not to let him. In case thee haven’t noticed, Lyle can be very obtuse when it suits him.”

  Tucker frowned. “Obtuse?”

  She made a motion with her hand, reaching for the groceries. “Dense.”

  Tucker glared at the door. “I’ll give him that.”

  Holding the box to her, hiding behind the fragile protection of having something to do, she headed for the kitchen. “When did thee get back?”

  “Just in time to see Lyle declare his intentions.”

  She placed the box on the table. Crockett scratched at the back door. “Stop it, Tucker.”

  He came into the kitchen and leaned against the doorjamb. “Stop what?”

  “Stop pretending to be jealous of a man who’d be lucky to stand in thy shadow.”

  He watched unnervingly as she unloaded the box. “I’ve got news for you, moonbeam. I’m plenty jealous.”

  She paused, a can in her hand. “Of what?”

  “His right to state his intentions.”

  The can fell from her hand and rolled across the table. She just stared at him as he caught it. Him with his size, his confidence, his always-bare arms that showcased his strength. “Nothing to say?”

  “We are having an affair.”

  “So you keep saying.”

  “It was only supposed to be for one night.”

  He placed the can on the table. “That’s stretched into two months.”

  He was right. “I cannot marry a man of violence.”

  “Honey, what you can’t marry is an Indian.”

  “Thee are a good man, Tucker McCade.”

  He shook his head. “You refuse to understand.”

  “I refuse to live the lie that others believe.”

  “Which leaves us where?”

  She took the sack of coffee out of the box. “I don’t know. My life is not thine.”

  There was silence as he watched her unpack. Silence laden with sadness, hope. Silence that draped around her like a wail. “I’ve got to leave again.”

  No doubt the reason involved killing. The silent wail grew louder in her mind. How could a man so tender with her be so ruthless with others? She picked up the now-empty box. “When will thee be back?”

  “I don’t know.” He came up behind her and took the box out of her hand and set it on the table, effectively trapping her between a chair and the edge. His lips brushed her hair. An apology?

  “Did you get everything you wanted?”

  She shook her head.

  “What did you want, baby?”

  “Peas.”

  “You like canned peas?”

  She could tell from his tone that he didn’t get the attraction.

  She shrugged, trying not to let on how much she wanted them. “I’ve had a powerful hankering for them lately.”

  His fingers brushed her throat. “If I pass by a mercantile, I’ll check to see if they have any.”

  Saliva flooded her mouth. “That’s not necessary.”

  He smiled. “But I’ll check anyway.”

  His fingers traveled downward over the collar of her dress to the placard of buttons running down the front, continuing their journey until they rested just below her breasts. His touch was so light that it was impossible to feel through the heavy cotton, but it didn’t matter. Her imagination could easily fill in the blanks. Nerve endings stirred and came to life. Her nipples hardened. She watched as he skimmed the backs of his fingers up and out. Her next breath wouldn’t come as he slowly brushed the small peaks. He did it again. Tears burned her eyes.

  “I’ll miss you.”

  Surprise jerked her eyes up. They never talked about the feelings between them. Her vision blurred. She couldn’t cry. “I would think thee would have had thy fill.”

  His fingers tucked under her braids with incredible ease and he pulled her forward. “I think we’ve got a bit to go before we reach that state.”

  His pinky pressed in at the vulnerable point that always seemed to command her obedience. Her lips parted beneath his, demanding his passion, and when he withheld it, she bit a
t his. If this was a goodbye, she wanted a kiss to remember. Just in case. She closed her eyes on the possibility he wouldn’t acknowledge. He would come back to her.

  Tucker didn’t disappoint. He never did. His hard lips moved over hers, his teeth nipping, until her mouth opened farther and her breath left in a gasp. When the kiss ended, she clung to him with her hands, her mouth, her heart. When he pulled back, she opened her eyes to find him staring down at her, a strange expression in his gaze.

  “Stay the hell away from Lyle.”

  She would have bristled at the order, except she could tell he was concerned. “I’ll do my best.”

  He kissed her hard and fast. “Succeed.”

  11

  Avoiding Lyle was not as easy as it should be. Over the next two weeks, he seemed to be everywhere. And every time he got near, it was another innuendo, another furtive touch. And every time Sally Mae rebuffed his advances his hostility increased. To the point that, when the knock came at the back door that morning, her heart jumped into her throat. “Who’s there?”

  “Hazel.”

  Hazel? Carefully placing the instrument she was sterilizing back into the carbolic from which she’d just removed it, Sally Mae wiped her hands on her apron. They were shaking. She was going to have to do something about Lyle. She stood. The room spun. She steadied herself with a hand on the table before taking a deep breath. “Just a minute.”

  “Hurry. It’s Davey. He cut his hand badly.”

  The room came back into focus. Sally Mae rushed to the door, opened it, and there was Hazel, holding little Davey on her hip. The boy had his father’s height, and his legs tangled halfway to Hazel’s calves while his face was buried in her neck. His injured hand was tucked out of sight between their two bodies.

  Sally Mae stepped back, blocking Crockett’s attempt to come in with a raise of her hand. “Come on in.”

  Crockett whined. She shook her head. He flopped back down to the porch with a huff that had her smiling. He was a character.

  Hazel hurried in. “I just took my eyes off him for a second.” She stopped a few feet into the kitchen and looked around, half-dazed. “Where do you want us?”

  “The kitchen table will be fine.”

  She’d meant the chair before it, but Hazel plunked Davey on the sturdy table and gave him a stern look even as she held him close. Looking over his shoulder, she explained, “In that time, he decided to cut his own bread.” Another breath and then a very controlled, “With a butcher knife.”

  Oh. Sally Mae’s stomach dropped. Had he cut the tendons? She couldn’t do anything about cut tendons. For six years she’d assisted Jonah in surgeries, absorbed every nuance she could of every procedure she’d seen, but she didn’t have his education and she dreaded the day she would be called on to do more than dig out bullets and sew up cuts. Dreaded the day her lack of formal schooling would cost a patient an arm, a leg, their life. And that dread was so much worse with a child. Worse than a child’s lack of understanding of why she sometimes had to hurt them more to make them better was their absolute certainty that she could make them better.

  “Is that what happened?” she asked Davey, taking his bandaged hand in hers.

  He nodded, peeking at her from the corner of his eye.

  “Well, let me take a look then.”

  He shook his head, keeping his arm locked so she couldn’t turn his hand over.

  “Please?”

  All her “please” got was a jutting out of his lower lip.

  “You do as you’re told, Davey!”

  Sally smiled to counter Hazel’s sharpness. “I’ll be very careful.”

  The muscles in his wrist relaxed. She turned his hand over and mentally grimaced. There were just some wound locations that bled a lot. Hand wounds were one of them. The knowledge didn’t help her keep her smile solid as she turned his hand over and saw the amount of blood, old and new on the white cotton. Likely it was going to need stitches. She pulled out the chair at the end of the table.

  “Could thee sit him here?”

  Hazel nodded. Davey clung and shook his head.

  “He’s a little frightened.”

  “I can understand that.” Placing her hand on Davey’s back, Sally Mae tried a different approach. “Would thee like to sit in thy mother’s lap?”

  That got her a nod and another cautious glance.

  “Then that’s what we’ll do, honey.”

  Hazel gave her a weak smile. Sally Mae couldn’t imagine what she was going through. Losing her husband eight months ago had been devastating enough, but then to lose Billy…Though little more than a boy, Billy had been able to do a man’s work. Sally didn’t know how Hazel was managing economically or emotionally, but Davey was all she had left. Hazel stood.

  Sally Mae’s palm retained the sensation of the boy’s sturdy back. She closed her fingers around the sensation, longing striking her hard as Hazel murmured softly to Davey and turned. Sally had wanted a child for years, but Jonah had wanted to wait, so they had practiced restraint and contraception. While the methods hadn’t worked for many couples, they’d been all too effective for her. To the point she’d wondered if she were infertile…And now Jonah was gone and she had nothing. Water under the bridge.

  Please, Lord, give me the strength. Not to resent. Not to long for what could have been. She thought of Tucker and the impossibility of loving him. Not to be bitter.

  Sally Mae waved Hazel to the chair, and Davey settled into her lap. Before reaching for his hand, Sally carefully slid surgical instruments out of sight behind a tin of cooled bread. No sense scaring him. “Now, let’s see what this looks like.”

  Davey wrinkled his nose. “It stinks in here.”

  “Davey!”

  She smiled at his mother’s reproach. “I wasn’t expecting thee.” She unwound the layers of cloth. “Thee caught me in the middle of cleaning my tools.”

  Davey’s little body tensed as she got down to the last wrapping. He wasn’t dreading this any more than she was. Hopefully, he hadn’t cut any tendons. Hopefully, the knife had been clean. Hopefully, two weeks from now she wouldn’t have to perform a first amputation because infection had set in. She looked up into Davey’s face, his puffy cheeks and red eyes. “I promise I’ll be very careful with this last one.”

  His lip quivered. “I made a big hole.”

  More to distract him from the unwrapping than to get a description of the wound she asked, “A straight line or a curvy one?”

  Hazel answered. “A straight line.”

  Sally caught Davey’s gaze and held it. She didn’t want him to see the cut and get scared again. “Is that right, Davey?”

  After a little hiccup, Davey nodded. “Straight.”

  Ignoring the evidence on his face, Sally asked, “And thee didn’t cry?”

  He pulled his little shoulders square. “Only a little.”

  “Your father would have been so proud of thee.” She couldn’t imagine any father not proud of the sturdy little boy. It was so hard to understand God’s will sometimes, and the Lord taking Davey’s father in a flash flood was one of those times. Every time she looked at Hazel, saw the toll the tragedy in her life had taken on her once sunny nature, she struggled to accept all over again. Her faith wasn’t what it should be. Sometimes she thought Tucker had it easier with his lack of faith. Things just happened. Life turned to manure, and he didn’t question why, because there were some things over which he easily accepted that he didn’t have control.

  The last of the bandage came off. The wound was a large slice. Not as deep as she’d feared. “Thee were indeed very brave.”

  “Is it bad?” Hazel asked.

  Sally Mae cut a warning glance at Hazel before softening her smile for Davey. “I just need thee to wiggle thy fingers.”

  “You talk funny.”

  “I do. Wiggle please?”

  Very carefully, obviously fearing pain, Davey gave them a brief clench. Not a full wiggle, but he could move them and tha
t was the important thing.

  His lip quivered and he looked up at his mom, obviously wanting to cry, but being brave like she’d asked. Sally Mae wished she’d kept her mouth shut about his dad being proud of him. This young boy shouldn’t be worried about being a man.

  A knock came at the door. Sally Mae’s heart leaped into her throat, but this time with excitement. There was only one man who knocked like that. Tucker was back. Her pulse beat in her ears and the breathless excitement that always ensnared her in his presence flared. “Come in.”

  The door opened and Tucker stepped into the room, dominating it with his broad shoulders and the force of his personality. Davey’s eyes went wide. Hazel tensed. Sally Mae held on to her smile.

  “Hello, Mr. McCade.”

  He tipped his hat. “Ma’am.” His gaze fell to Davey. “Everything all right?”

  “Davey had a run-in with a kitchen knife.”

  It only took two long strides for Tucker to reach her side. The scent of leather and man came with him, embracing her in a familiar hug as he eyed Davey’s hand. It took everything she had to control the urge to turn her head and kiss his bare arm. Why did the man never wear a shirt with sleeves under his vest?

  “Looks like the knife won.”

  “Davey’s been very brave.”

  Tucker took the boy’s hand in his. It was like the hand of a giant comparatively, but Davey didn’t even wince. Tucker could be as gentle as he could be violent. “That’s going to leave a scar.”

  Davey’s eyes grew bigger.

  Tucker smiled one of his rare smiles. Sally Mae couldn’t help but stare. It seemed like forever since she’d seen him. And standing this close, all her senses were making her aware of him.

  “A couple weeks and you’ll be able to show it off.”

  Clearly, that thought hadn’t occurred to Davey.

  The last of his tears dried as realization dawned. “Yeah.”

  Sally Mae shared an amused glance with Hazel. The other woman shook her head and mouthed, Boys.

  Tucker flexed the boy’s fingers. “Good thing you didn’t cut the tendons though. A thing like that can cripple a man.”