Just once.
Not that he was acting on that want.
He swallowed and stiffened, his muscles pulling tight along with his determination.
Yep, he was done kissing Miss Jenna Tucker. Done with his wild past. Done with acting on his impulses.
Finished. Through.
No matter how much he suddenly wished otherwise.
CHAPTER 12
She really needed to call it a night.
That’s what Jenna told herself as she closed a box and slid it to the side to carry down later. It was almost four in the morning and she had to be at the high school Ag barn at eight A.M. sharp to look over the kids’ animals. One of the lambs had caught a bad cold and Mr. Sheffield was eager to make sure nothing spread to the others. He wouldn’t be happy if she strolled in late.
Late?
Like that would condemn her.
She’d already made the top spot on the Ag teacher’s list of Most Hated Students of All Time. Back when he’d just been starting out at Rebel High School and she’d been a student. She’d snuck into the barn to play with the pigs without his permission and, inadvertently, let them all out. They’d rushed the football field and knocked over the top wide receiver. He’d fractured his wrist and been benched for six weeks. As a result, the team had failed to make the playoffs for the first time in ten years.
Needless to say, she’d been the most hated sophomore in town.
Except by Mr. Wide Receiver himself. While a top prospect on the field, he’d been from the wrong side of the tracks. He’d ridden a motorcycle and worn a leather jacket, and she’d been helpless to resist the whole badass vibe. She’d spent more than one Friday night nursing him back to health and feeding her reputation.
Not that she’d cared one lick what anyone had said about her.
Not then, she reminded herself.
But she cared now, which was why she was going through the attic instead of heading downstairs to bed. Three Little Higgs would be ready to demolish the house down to its foundation in just over a week and she needed everything sorted and out by then.
She dusted off the last small trunk and pressed the latch. Metal clicked and the lid popped open with a desperate groan. The stench of mothballs filled her nostrils and left a stale taste in her mouth.
She spent the next few minutes digging through the folded clothes, everything from a few slips and several pairs of nylon stockings, to a flower-print dress with boxy shoulders. A pair of black patent leather lace-up shoes sat near the bottom of the trunk, next to a faded pair of short pink gloves.
She dug into the small pouches on either side and came up with a handful of lipsticks and an old-fashioned bottle of perfume. She ran her fingers over the faded Bellodgia label and took a sniff of the spritzer.
O-kay, so mothballs weren’t the only thing stinking up the inside of the case.
Setting the bottle off to the side with the rest of the items she’d trashed, she reached into the pocket that lined the lid and retrieved a stack of mail that had been rubber-banded together.
She went to drop the stack into her trash pile when something odd caught her eye. None of the letters were addressed. No recipient. No sender. Just a pile of pink envelopes that had been carefully stamped.
Pulling off the rubber band, she riffled through the stack.
She pulled open the first envelope and slid the paper from inside. Unfolding the delicate parchment, she stared at the neat script and felt a wave of nostalgia roll over her.
It had been ages since she’d seen a handwritten letter. Not since she’d unearthed the Dear Santa letters after her mother’s death. The woman had saved all of the scribbled, misspelled concoctions that her daughters had painstakingly written and addressed to the Big Man up North.
With the convenience of computers and cell phones, people rarely wrote letters to each other. Like most folks, if Jenna couldn’t text or e-mail, she didn’t bother. As far as keeping up with friends, that’s what Facebook and Instagram were for.
But this was from a far different time.
December 21, 1941 to be exact.
She had the same niggle of guilt that she’d felt when she’d stolen Callie’s diary and read it from cover to cover, but it wasn’t enough to deter her from what she was about to do.
She scooted back and settled against a nearby wall, her legs stretched out in front of her, and started to read.
My dearest P.J.,
I am truly sorry about what happened on Friday. I wanted to tell you that in person, but my father would not let me out of the house once he dragged me inside. He thinks if he locks me up that it will change things. That I will stop feeling the way I do. He does not know me or the depths of what I feel. He can keep me prisoner, but he cannot make me forget the love of my life. Never. Not even if he tries to beat it out of me. He won’t. At least, that’s what Mama says. But what does she know? I’m guilty of the ultimate betrayal as far as he’s concerned. I’ve turned him against his best friend. I’m the enemy now. Waking up to the sharp strap of his belt would not surprise me one bit. In fact, it would be welcome to disrupt the silence that fills this room. Even Mama only stays for a few minutes when she brings me my meals. And while she at least talks to me, she never speaks of what happened. Of what is happening. All she talks about is what Rebecca Peabody was wearing at the market or the horrible gloves that Maureen Shay was wearing at church. She won’t speak of the Tuckers anymore and she says I shouldn’t either. She hates them now, just like my father. I cannot begin to tell you how terrible I feel about that. I have ruined everything for you and your family. All I can do is hope now that you can find it in your heart to forgive me one day.
Begging your forgiveness once again and always,
Clara Bell Sawyer
Jenna stared at the signature scribbled across the bottom and her stomach hollowed out. Shock bolted through her.
What was Clara Sawyer’s trunk doing in James Harlin Tucker’s attic?
Had he picked it up at a rummage sale? Won it in a game of poker? Found it abandoned on the side of the road?
A dozen possibilities swam in her head. All plausible.
At the same time, she had the gut feeling there was more to it. More to the letters.
More to the riff that had divided an entire town.
Her gaze went to the signature again and a certain tall, dark sheriff pushed into her head. Clara Bell wasn’t just a Sawyer. She was Hunter’s great-grandmother.
The notion stirred her memories and her mouth tingled.
So much for a distraction.
She refolded the letter, rebanded it with the rest of the stack, and closed the trunk. Pulling the cord on the overhanging bulb, she headed for the ladder leading down to the first-floor landing. A few minutes later, she dropped the stack of letters on her nightstand and headed for the bathroom. If she had any hope of getting to sleep, she needed to wash Hunter off her skin and out of her head. That meant lots of cold water and even more prayer.
Unfortunately, it was springtime in Texas. That meant heat, heat, and more heat as the days chugged their way toward a blistering summer. The water would be tepid at best. Even worse, Jenna had never put much weight in talking to The Man upstairs. Sure, she knew how to pray. She just wasn’t convinced anyone was listening.
A doubt that was confirmed when she finally climbed between the sheets, Jez curled up at her back, and closed her eyes. Hunter’s image came to her then to tease and tantalize and remind her of just what she was missing in her newfound walk down the straight and narrow.
So much for divine intervention.
CHAPTER 13
It was much too early in the morning for this.
Jenna stared at the mangled hem of her favorite T-shirt before shifting her attention to the culprit who’d just chewed it up while she’d been bent over, assessing a large scrape on his right shoulder.
Taz was a 160-pound medium wool cross sheep who’d gotten caught on a sharp edge of a fence at the
Rebel High School Agriculture barn.
He was also a hungry 160-pound medium wool cross who’d decided to gnaw on the edge of her Texas Rebel Radio T-shirt. She snatched the large piece of material still in his mouth and gave him a stern look.
“Bad Taz,” she murmured, reaching behind her into her bag for some antibiotic ointment. She fixed him up and then prepared a tetanus shot.
“There you go,” she told Monica Gray, a high school sophomore and the worried owner.
“You’re sure he’s going to be okay? Because I’ve got my first prospect show in Medina County in three weeks and I need him in perfect condition.”
Taz ducked his head, caught more of her hem, and rippp …
She drew in a deep, steady breath to calm her pounding heart and quell the sudden urge to yank a little of Taz’s fluffy white fur in retaliation.
Not that she would, but a girl could dream, right?
Besides, if she ever were going to contemplate a little vengeance, it would be with the hellion sheep that had been giving her trouble since she’d first set eyes on him back in May. He’d chewed up the edge of her favorite pair of Sperry’s. While they were on her feet.
He’d almost taken off a toe as she’d wrestled him off, and he’d been even smaller back then.
Now … He’d grown so fast. She knew the pair of Old Gringo boots she’d stuffed her feet into that morning didn’t stand a chance if she didn’t get the hell out of Dodge.
“He’ll be ready to go for the show.” She packed up her case and sidestepped Taz, who dipped a head and tried to catch the dusty tip of one leather boot. “Just keep it clean for the next few days and you’re good to go. Speaking of going, I need to head to the office—”
“So soon?” The question came from the short blond woman who walked up to the pen. “I was hoping you could check Ryan Lawson’s pig first. He’s been sneezing and we think he’s got a cold.” She wore a teal T-shirt that read 100% COWGIRL, worn jeans, and a pair of teal cowboy boots. When she noted Jenna’s questioning look, she added, “Kimberly Bowman. I’m filling in for Mr. Sheffield. He had a heart attack a few weeks ago and he’s on indefinite leave.”
Which explained why Jenna had been called out to the school with no special request—namely send anyone but that Tucker—listed in the visitation notes.
Jenna’s brow wrinkled as she did a mental search. “Do I know you?”
“No, but I know you. I knew your sister Callie. Not that we were friends or anything.” The woman shrugged. “She was a few years behind me in school. When I graduated, I left for College Station.”
“Texas A & M?” The teacher nodded and Jenna added, “Me, too.”
“Gig ’em Aggies,” Kim said before adding, “After that, I moved to Austin. I had a position at Lake Travis High School for the past ten years, but then my mother passed away. She lived just outside the city limits on a small spread a stone’s throw north.”
Recognition hit as Jenna remembered the small obituary listed in the bottom left-hand corner of the Rebel Gazette opposite the livestock sales page. “Emily Sawyer?”
She nodded. “That was her married name. Then it was Thomas. Then Bowman. Then Cleeves. When she finally passed on she was Emily Harold.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
She nodded. “Thanks.” She pulled a pair of work gloves from her back pocket. “So what about Tiny? Do you have time to take a look?”
She nodded and spent the next hour wrestling with the biggest pig she’d ever seen. Tiny was at least one hundred and fifty pounds and not that keen on getting his temperature taken. By the time she managed to assess him, her shirt wasn’t just chewed up, it was totally screwed. The sleeve was ripped. The front was covered in mud. And Jenna herself hadn’t fared much better.
“I’m really sorry,” Kim said, handing her some paper towels to wipe her face. “He’s really particular about who he lets get near him.”
“Most animals are.” She wiped the mud off her cheek. At least she thought it was mud. A deep breath, and she grimaced. Okay, so it wasn’t entirely mud.
No wonder she’d done her specialty in equine science instead of livestock. A horse was so much easier to deal with.
That, and she just liked horses.
That’s what had hurt so much about not being assigned to the Sawyer Bend Horse Farm. She’d wanted that assignment because she loved horses. She loved working with them and riding and training.
All the more reason to buck up and finish what she’d started. She needed a complete makeover, from her house to her reputation, and she wasn’t stopping until she’d managed to change an entire town’s attitude toward wild child Jenna Tucker.
That meant no more kissing Hunter DeMassi.
Her mouth tingled at the memory. A crazy reaction because it had been hours. Plenty of time for the ten seconds of Oh, baby to fade into nothing.
If Hunter had been like all the other Chucks and Kevins she’d dated over the past year. Nice guys, but forgettable.
Nice or not, she wasn’t forgetting this time and that made her even more irritated than not-so-tiny Tiny wrestling her into a pile of muck.
The truth followed her back to the clinic, niggling at her as she tried to focus on her work.
“So I told her, nobody in their right mind uses one stick of butter in a pie crust,” Bonnie Crenshaw was telling Miss Ann when Jenna walked into the clinic. “Any cook worth her salt knows it’s two. Maybe even three.”
Miss Ann nodded her agreement as she finished running Bonnie’s credit card for the chocolate-brown toy poodle attached to a hot pink leash. “Why does Alma want to make a pie crust anyhow? The woman can’t cook to save her life. Why start with a pie?”
“It’s for her neighbor. Everybody knows that pie is Gerald Sawyer’s favorite and since he’s on that feeding tube, she figured she’d drop it off for poor Lorelei to stick in a blender. I still can’t believe that Haywood blew half his jaw off.”
“I heard it was his foot?”
“I don’t know about a foot, but I heard from Maureen Samuel who heard from Shaylene Sawyer who said that her niece tended him at Rebel Memorial Hospital. Said they almost had to life flight him to Austin. But then his brother came in and gave a bunch of blood so they were able to deal with it all right there. He’ll have to find a good plastic surgeon, though, but that’ll be later after he’s out of the woods.”
“But I thought he just went to the local Urgent Care?”
“No Urgent Care can do a jaw reconstruction. Why, Haywood blew it clean off.” Bonnie shook her head. “His left ear, too. Why, it’ll be a miracle if the man can ever wear a pair of dentures again. They have to have the bone intact to hold the screws, you know. Why, Lorelei can kiss good-bye her yearly Christmas picture.”
“Unless Gerald wants to dress up like Santa,” Miss Ann offered. “I bet that white beard would hide the problem.”
“Maybe so, but you got to have two good ears to hold the ones with the elastic hoops. That, or a decent jawline for some temporary glue. Gerald ain’t got neither now.” She made a tsk tsk sound. “Damn that Haywood Tucker—”
The swear ended in a loud cough as Miss Ann caught sight of Jenna and both women stiffened.
“Oh, hey there, Doc,” Bonnie said, making a show of shoving her credit card into her wallet. She signed the credit card receipt next and handed it back over to Ann. “Just getting Lolly her rabies shot,” she blurted as if she were a toddler with her hand caught in the cookie jar. “Gotta run.” She snatched up the dog and headed for the door. “Y’all take care now.”
“Anybody waiting?” Jenna asked.
Miss Ann handed over a file folder. “Warren Burger brought in his Doberman.” She motioned to the closed door. “Big Boy’s not feeling too good. Warren said he got into the Metamucil. He’s been puking and shitting for the past hour.”
“Where’s Doc Morris?”
“Still at lunch. I was going to call him, but here you are.” She wrinkled her no
se. “That, and he’s got a meeting this afternoon and, well, you already smell pretty bad. No need to get his lab coat dirty when you’re already neck deep in it.” The old woman smiled then, a slight gleam in her eyes as if she expected Jenna to say something.
“I had a run-in with a pig named Tiny,” she managed. And that was it. No insult telling Miss Anne that smelling like Aqua Net and mothballs wasn’t much better than reeking of Tiny. No jibe that Ann was practically an expert on the smell because she was full of it, herself.
Jenna drew a deep breath and fought to calm her prickly nerves. She was better than childish insults.
She was different now.
At that moment her cell phone rang. She glanced at the display and noted the now familiar Unavailable. She ignored the urge to let it go to voice mail. She had to nip this in the bud. Right now.
“Chuck?”
“Jenna? Thank God you answered. I was starting to think you’re avoiding me.”
“I’m working.”
“I know. I’m sitting out front.”
She twisted, her gaze going to the wall of windows that lined the front and the man parked near the curb across the street. “Are you following me?”
“I prefer to think of it as looking out for you.”
“I don’t need you to look out for me. There’s nothing between us, Chuck. You’re not the guy for me.” She hit the End button before he could give her at least a dozen reasons why she was wrong.
“New boyfriend?”
“Actually, he’s not my boyfriend.” She ignored the urge to duck behind the desk and hide from his line of sight. No more running or avoiding the inevitable just to spare his feelings. She was giving it to him straight. “I don’t have a boyfriend. I don’t want a boyfriend.”
“Of course not. A girl like you likes to keep her options open.”
“A girl like me likes to work.” Another deep breath and she fought to keep from grimacing.
Gathering her resolve, she steeled herself and headed for the closed door.
Tempting Texas Page 7