Tucker’s Claim

by Sarah McCarty

  Tucker looked down. His fists were clenched.

  “You’ve always kept to yourself, not had a lot to do with women, children—”

  “You know why.”

  We’re the ones who make that choice.

  Sally Mae wasn’t his father. Sally Mae wasn’t his mother. She believed in him, them. He didn’t need anything else.

  Sam took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair. “Shit, Tucker, don’t be so damn touchy.”

  “Hard not to be when you start in with your doubts.”

  “Son of a bitch, it’s not you I’m doubting!”

  That drew Tucker up short. Red bumped his shoulder with his nose. He ignored the invitation. “Who the hell are you doubting then?”

  “Sally Mae is in a vulnerable position…”

  This time when Red bumped him, he took a step forward. “You think Sally Mae’s that desperate?”

  Sam patted his pocket for his cigarettes. “I think you have no idea how appealing you could be to a widow with no prospects.”

  “Son of a bitch.” Tucker leaned against the stall door and rubbed Red’s nose, anger fizzling out as he realized Sam was protecting him, as surely as if an outlaw had the draw on him. No wonder Sam was reaching for his cigarettes. It wasn’t often they interfered in each other’s personal lives.

  “I think I remember asking you the same thing when you got your heart set on Isabella.”

  “Yeah, well, turnabout is fair play.”

  “Sally Mae isn’t using me.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because she turned me down.”

  Sam blinked and then rallied. “She didn’t hold out too long. You’re getting married in three days.”

  “I’m working on it. I had to make concessions.”

  Sam straightened. “What kind of concessions?”

  It was Tucker’s turn to shift uncomfortably. “I can’t hit first.”

  “Well, shit. I can think of a lot of men who’ll be lining up for a chat with you, once that gets out.”

  Tucker eyed Sam warningly. Sam’s sense of humor could take strange turns. “I wasn’t planning on that getting out.”

  “What else?”

  “What makes you think there’s more?”

  “I’ve seen Sally Mae barter.”

  The woman could make a penny scream for mercy. “She can be merciless in her own way.”

  “Care to share the details?”

  “No.” Some things were too intimate to share. Like Sally Mae’s belief in him and what it did to him deep inside. “I’ve got a favor to ask.”

  “Shoot.”

  “I’m taking Sally Mae back to Hell’s Eight after the wedding.”

  “Taking Shadow’s advice?”

  “Yes. She’ll be safer there. We’ll need an escort.”

  “Done.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Hell, Tuck.” Sam slapped him on the shoulder. “There’s no need to thank me. You’d do the same for me. Hell, you’ve done more.”

  “In that case, you got a bottle stashed out here in the barn?”

  Sam smiled in the carefree way that Tucker and the Eight had thought he’d lost. “Sally Mae not approve of spirits?”

  “Not taking a chance on asking.”

  Sam chuckled. “I’ve got one up at the house.”

  “Then, why are we standing here?”

  “Because you’re an ornery son of a bitch.”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Nope.” Sam grinned. “Going to be a real advantage, knowing you can’t hit first.”

  Tucker followed, a smile tugging at his lips.

  Shit.

  15

  Sally Mae was waiting for him just inside the door when he knocked the next morning, palms flat against her thighs, the way she held them when she was nervous. Her lower lip was caught between her teeth. The pale gray dress she was wearing brought out the silver in her eyes and the dark circles beneath.

  “What did he say?”

  Tucker took off his hat and hung it on the peg by the door. She eyed it cautiously. Did she think he was going to leave her again? When she carried his child? “What did you think he was going to say?”

  “I don’t know. I imagined he’d just say congratulations. That’s what most people do.”

  “Then why did you ask?”

  “For something to say.”

  “Hello would have done just fine.”

  She glanced at his hat again.

  “What?”

  “You’re staying here?”

  “Yes.”

  “But people will…”

  “Talk.” He finished for her. “We’re leaving in two days. It’ll take them longer than that to work up to action and I’m not leaving you alone again.”

  Her tongue wet her lower lip, leaving it a shiny pink. It probably marked him as a heel, but he really wanted to kiss it, run his tongue over it, leave it shinier, plumper, ready for him.

  “About that…”

  “What?”

  He went to the stove and grabbed the coffeepot. Liquid sloshed. He checked inside. Water. It was prepped. The burner was hot. The fire beneath freshly stoked. Thank God. The mother of all headaches pounded away behind his eyes. Damn Sam and his challenges. He set the pot on the burner and dumped in a couple handful of the ground beans in the stoneware jar. When he turned around, Sally was waiting. This time her hands were clenched in front of her.

  “I’m not sure leaving is the best idea.”

  She was scared. He could understand that. “Staying is not an option.”

  “But do we have to go to the Hell’s Eight?”

  “Yes.”

  Another pass of her tongue over her lips. “Why there?”

  It seemed a silly question. “Because you’ll be safe there. Our children will be safe there.”

  “Will thee be there?”

  Hell. She’d asked him how he thought their marriage would go, but he’d never asked her the same. He took a step forward, bridging the tension with touch, feeling the rightness settle inside him as her body came to rest against him. The willowy perfection that made up his world. Damn, it felt good to hold her. “Always.”

  “It’s just that thee are never here much and I won’t know anyone there.”

  “I’m not going to haul you across the state just to dump you, Sally Mae.”

  Her arms came around him slowly. He waited. Time stood still for the second of indecision before she wrapped them around his waist and hugged him. “I thank thee.”

  He kissed the top of her head. “Things have been moving pretty fast for you, huh?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re scared.”

  She shook her head. “Nervous.”

  He knew scared when he saw it, but he wouldn’t bludgeon her pride into the dust by pointing it out. “I’ll take care of you, Sally Mae.”

  “I know.”

  Did she? He wasn’t so sure. Her body tightened against his. He tipped her head back.

  “What is it?”

  Her complexion was pasty. Circles beneath standing out in sharp relief. “The coffee.”

  He could just begin to smell it himself. “It’ll be ready in a few.”

  She shook her head and her hand went to her stomach. “The smell…”

  Was making her sick. He quickly removed the pot from the stove.

  When he turned back, she was staring at him again and the tension was back between them like a wall. “Guess that’ll teach me to try and drink Sam under the table. Not even the day-after cure.”

  “You got drunk?”

  “It’s something men do to celebrate.”

  That clearly went beyond her comprehension. “He was happy for thee?”

  “He was happy for us.” Because she didn’t look as if she believed him, he added, “Truth is, moonbeam, Sam, Shadow and Tracker have been pushing me to toss you over my saddle for a while now.”

  Her lips twitched. “They have?”


  “Yup, it’s only my sense of fair play that’s saved you so far.”

  Another twitch of her lips, weak but there. He took the two steps to bring him in front of her. She didn’t step back and when he put his arms around her, she leaned into him. And that fast the tension disappeared.

  “You’re tired.”

  She nodded. “I was worried.”

  “About what?”

  Her answer was a shake of her head and a press of her forehead against his sternum.

  “Sally?”

  “It was foolishness.”

  He tipped her chin up. “Spit it out.”

  “I thought thee might not come back.”

  He remembered Bella’s fears, Sam’s promise. What it had meant when the chips were down and Bella had believed that promise. How she’d held on to it through Tejala’s attack. How she’d held on to Sam when he’d gone over that cliff. How she refused to let go. He remembered how Caine gentled Desi, took her from terrified to confident by never failing her. A couple should believe in each other.

  He bent his head, braced for Sally’s withdrawal. She just stood there, a certain desperate quality to her stillness. She wanted to believe. He kissed her once, twice. On the third he lingered, waiting for the flutter of her lips that signaled her surrender. When it came, he whispered, “I’ll always come back to you.”

  Her hands gripped the front of his shirt. She rose up on tiptoe as the passion grew, fueled by fear, caring, love. “I have asked so much of thee.”

  “Nothing I haven’t wanted to give.”

  “Thee so fear being cared for.”

  She still shied from the words. “I think I’ll learn to like it.”

  He wanted the words. Cupping the back of her head in his palm, he held her stretched up, poised on the edge of passion. She stiffened and moaned. And even as hungry as he was, he didn’t mistake it for pleasure.

  As soon as he released her, she clutched her stomach.

  “You feeling poorly still?” She nodded and bit her lip. He grabbed a pot and shoved it in front of her. She looked at him, horrified.

  “What? Better than heaving up on your toes.”

  “I’ve been making tea.”

  “That help?”

  “Sometimes.”

  Then he’d make her tea. “Hold on.”

  He grabbed up the offending coffeepot. Throwing open the door, he tossed the water and grounds out the door, barely missing Crockett, who ducked. “Sorry.”

  The apology was wasted on the mutt, who galloped after the debris in case there was something to eat or chase. Shaking his head, he closed the door. “That pup doesn’t have a lick of sense.”

  Sally Mae rose immediately to Crockett’s defense. “He enjoys himself.”

  “That he does.” Once again there was that tension between them. “You still want tea?”

  She nodded.

  “Why don’t you go sit in the parlor then and I’ll make it for you.”

  She blinked at him. “It has to be made just so.”

  “Is the making any different from any other kind of tea?”

  She shook her head.

  “Then you tell me where the tea is and you tell me how long to steep it for and I’ll prepare it while you take a load off.”

  As usual she didn’t seem to know what to do with any kindness from him. Which irritated the shit out of him—he’d never been anything but kind to her. But now that she was pregnant, at a time when he should be the most kind to her, she expected him to turn into some kind of devil.

  “I’d rather go lie down upstairs.”

  “Fair enough. I’ll bring your tea upstairs.”

  “It’s in the small blue tin beside the stove.”

  “All right then, you go on upstairs.”

  She put her hand on the wall and turned.

  He studied her closely. “Are you feeling dizzy?”

  “I’m all right.”

  All right wasn’t an answer. All right was an evasion. He was learning with Sally Mae an evasion meant she didn’t want to give him the answer she thought would upset him. The hell with that.

  He picked her up easily. He was a big man and she was a slender woman. It wasn’t that much work, but she acted as if he had just hefted an elephant. “You’re not walking up those stairs so stop your struggling.”

  She huffed as he carried her through the parlor.

  “You wouldn’t want me to drop you, would you?”

  She clutched at his neck. “I’ll never forgive thee if thee drop me.”

  As if anything in the world could make him drop the mother of his child. “Then stop struggling,” he said as he started up the stairs.

  “Thee always have an answer for everything.”

  He smiled. Truth was, it wasn’t easy carrying anybody upstairs. He did feel a bit of strain, but at least if he was carrying her he knew she wasn’t going to fall down those stairs, so any amount of effort was worth it.

  “Yup. Have to among Hell’s Eight, otherwise they’ll chew you up and spit you out before breakfast.”

  He set her on the floor in her bedroom. That ever so prim and proper space in which she became a wildcat in his arms. The room in which they’d created their child. His smile stuck as he shook his head. Hard to believe the woman he’d tumbled in that freshly made bed was the same woman who stared at him so starchly right now. He turned her.

  “What are thee doing?”

  “Unbuttoning your dress. You can’t lay down in that.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  “It’s easier for me to.”

  She swatted at his hands over her shoulder. “I’d rather do it myself.”

  He walked around the front of her and tipped her chin up. “Sally Mae, I’ve seen everything of you there is to see, every pretty little inch. What are you afraid of?”

  “It’s indecent.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know, it just is.”

  “You have some strange ideas, woman. Some very strange ideas.”

  “Fine.” She stood still. “But just the dress. I can do the rest myself.”

  He wasn’t stopping at the dress. She needed her rest and a corset was not conducive to peaceful sleeping. He didn’t make his point then, though. He made it later as she was slipping her arms from the sleeves. As she held the front of the dress to her pretty breasts, he went to work on her stays, untying them in the back.

  “What are thee doing?”

  “I’m untying them.”

  “I’ll never get them back that way again. I have hooks in front that I undo.”

  “I don’t want my son squashed through his growing years.”

  “It’s perfectly proper to wear a corset during pregnancy.”

  “Not in my book.” He untied the last of the strings, slipped his hand beneath the loosened corset. Beneath his fingers he imagined he could feel the curve of her stomach as it would be when she was heavy with his child. He flattened his palm, felt the warmth of her skin, let the heat of her body join with his.

  He was going to be a father. She was going to be a mother. Between them they’d created something special.

  He nuzzled her hair away from her ear, took the lobe between his teeth and bit it gently. “I’ll take good care of you, Sally Mae.”

  “By killing everything that thee think will harm me?” Despite the snap in her tone, she tilted her head to the side, facilitating the caress.

  “I already made a promise there.”

  “So thee did. I’m just not sure thee can keep it.”

  “Neither am I.”

  He turned her again, pulling the dress from her hands, letting it fall to the floor, leaving her in her pantaloons and camisole. He could see the pale pink of her nipples through the almost sheer material. His mouth watered. His tongue itched to sample.

  “But we’re going to give it a try anyway, aren’t we?”

  “Yes. For our child.”

  “Fuck that.”


  She gasped. He didn’t care. They could have a lot of illusions between them, but he wasn’t having that one added to the pile. “Maybe you’re just trying because of the baby, but I’m here because of you and what I feel when we’re together.”

  She blinked and tears welled in her eyes, washing them from pale to dark. Her hand opened over his chest, pressing over his heart. “Yes.”

  Before he could say more, she tore out his arms and lurched for the chamber pot. He swore and followed, cupping her forehead in his hands, supporting her through the violent spasms. Wincing when a couple seemed to come from her toes. So much for hearing her say “I love you.”

  She was weak when the final spasm died off. He lifted her away from the chamber pot, alarmed when she turned lifelessly in his arms. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what.”

  “Thee can’t have enjoyed that.”

  “Neither could you.”

  She shook her head. Her braid tumbled down, taking her lace cap with it. He caught the cap before it could hit the floor.

  “I didn’t want thee to see me like this.”

  He shoved the cap in his pocket. “Why?”

  “Because…” She waved her hand in the empty space left by silence. “Thee are so strong.”

  “And you think you’re not?”

  Her forehead rocked against his chest. “I never have been.”

  “That’s garbage.”

  “It’s true. Thee should know. I tried for my parents, for Jonah and for myself, but I never have been. I’m always afraid. Always doubting.”

  He slid his arm behind her knees and lifted her into his arms. “Tried what?”

  “To believe as they did. They were so good to me, taking me in, giving me acceptance and the room to find my way back.”

  He laid her on the bed. She sounded very unlike Sally Mae. So defeated. Taking the washcloth from the bedstand, he dipped it in the basin.

  “From where?”

  “From the silence.”

  He wiped her face. She stared at him the whole time. “I don’t know who I am, Tucker, who I’m supposed to be.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “Yesterday when thee killed Lyle, I was horrified.”

  “I know.”

  “Not for the reason thee think. That I should.” She grabbed his wrist hard enough that her short nails dug in. “God forgive me, Tucker, I was glad thee killed him.”