by Jillian Hart
“Go for what?”
“A romance with that boy. If I were forty years younger, I might beat you to it.” She winked, and a smile wreathed her pleasantly round face. Gray curls bounced as she ambled across the room. “He’s a good boy.”
“He’s a man who hasn’t grown up.” Sierra laid the cloth over the edge of the sink, keeping her voice low. “I’ve made that mistake before.”
“He seems grown up to me. Then again, I’ve only known him since November.” The housekeeper grabbed her coat and keys by the back door. “Well, just a little friendly advice.”
“Good night, Mrs. Gunderson.” As if she needed advice. What she needed was a smack upside the head! Mostly because her lips continued to buzz pleasantly with the gentle memory of his kiss.
What a kiss. That was the problem. The man was extraordinarily gifted at kissing. He knew how to make a woman feel special and sweetly treasured with one single brush of his lips. How could any female resist that?
Which made it all his fault, she decided as she dried her hands on a towel hanging over the oven handle. Alone in the kitchen with only the chugging dishwasher to keep her company, she leaned to one side to get a good look into the living room. A big sectional was centered in the space and faced a large wide-screen TV. She stared at the back of Tucker’s head, doing her best not to notice all his thick, tousled brown hair, not to let in a single emotion. Not one.
“Hey.” As if he sensed her attention, he turned, his tone soft as velvet. The room’s bright light gave color and definition to the face she’d been trying to keep in the shadows of her mind. His vivid blue gaze speared her sharply enough to make her gasp. He stood, not caring that the rest of the occupants in the room turned to watch him go.
Were they all wondering what was going on? She wrapped her arms around her middle, hating that Frank might not be the only one who had witnessed that kiss. Mrs. Gunderson might not be the only one capable of putting the pieces together.
“It’s time to take Owen home.” She braced herself for the reaction. Sure enough, her son hopped to his knees on the couch and stared at her over the cushions.
“Aw, Mom. Can’t we stay? Tucker and me, we’re watching the rodeo. It’s the one where he showed Slayer who was boss.”
“A taped rodeo.” Not so dire, then. “You probably have the same one at home, so you can watch it later. Time to hit the road, handsome.”
“Did you hear?” Owen tilted his head back to wink at his new cohort in crime. “We can watch it later. You gotta come over.”
“Will do, buddy.” Tucker ambled toward her, looking mighty pleased with himself. Probably thinking he would get all sorts of kisses, that she was one of those poor, misguided women who couldn’t say no to a dashing, heart-stealing cowboy.
Except she knew that wasn’t true of Tucker. She wanted to keep believing it, but she couldn’t. The man crooked his forefinger at her son.
“C’mon. Let’s do what your mom says.” Mighty was a word that came to mind. Honorable was another.
Owen’s shoes hit the carpet with a thud. She ducked into the mudroom, where the coats were lined up in a row on hooks, her back to Tucker. There was no escape from him. His boots sounded steadily on the floor behind her, his hand caught her coat before she could unhook it, and he held the garment for her, dangerously close.
“Before you say it was a big mistake, let me do it first.” His confession rose and fell with an easy cadence. Nothing seemed difficult for him, not even admitting to a lapse in good judgment. “A big oops. That kiss was a complete accident.”
“You accidentally kissed me?”
“Yep. My lips bumped into yours. Don’t know how it happened.”
Honestly. What was wrong with the man? Or with her, because her gaze slid down the lean lines of his face to rest on the sculpted bow of his lips. Forget the kiss, Sierra. She had to will away the memory, but it was impossible. For as long as she lived, she would remember the reverence and purity of his kiss. She shook her head, determined to cling to some semblance of common sense.
“Mom!” Owen pounded in, breathless. “Can Tucker come over tomorrow?”
“Not tomorrow.” Not for a long time, if she had her way. She grabbed Owen’s coat and tried not to scowl at Tucker when he beat her to it. “I work tomorrow.”
“Then the day after that?” Owen pleaded as he stuck his fist into one sleeve, then the other. The big man helping the little boy into his jacket was quite a sight, one she would not let sway her stance.
“No. That’s the day we go to the party at the inn.” She opened the door. Night had fallen, and the country air iced her face. “Another time.”
“Then how about the day after that?” Owen persevered as he trudged behind her onto the porch.
“We’ll see.” She reached out for his hand, but he was already holding on to Tucker’s. The big man snared his coat from its hook and stepped out onto the porch, closing the door behind him, shutting out the sight of his father, brother, sister-in-law, sister and future brother-in-law, all watching curiously.
Great. Think of the rumors if she didn’t nip this in the bud. Her breath rose in white puffs as she led the way down the stairs.
“That means no.” Owen blew out a sigh. “She always says it doesn’t, but it does.”
“Leave it to me, buddy. Okay?”
“Okay.” Owen’s plodding step turned to a skipping one. “Thanks, Tucker.”
“Don’t thank me yet.”
The musical cadence of his chuckle made her want to turn around, but she held firm. She followed the fall of outside floodlights around the corner of the house to the driveway, where her SUV sat in full illumination. In a nearby field, wildlife scurried away from the movement as Tucker opened the passenger door for Owen and helped him in.
An accidental kiss? He was outrageous. Against her will a giggle caught in her throat and she battled it down. Really. She opened her door and dropped into her seat. She wanted to believe that Tucker was the type of man who experienced accidental kisses all the time, but down deep she knew that wasn’t true.
Tucker was a solid man like his father and his older brother. Steadfast, hardworking and honest, they were men who cared about God, family and others.
Don’t make that mistake again, she warned herself as she dug her keys out of her coat pocket. Don’t go finding the good in the man and ignoring the flaws. She’d done the same exact thing with Ricky. Seeing the man who wanted permanency and stability and family ties but not the responsibility, hard work and commitment that went with them. She sorted through the keys on her ring, drowning out the sound of Tucker’s conversation with her son, light and humorous and resonating with something she didn’t want to name.
That would be caring. True affection layered every word, every soft chuckle, and if she glanced into the rearview mirror, she knew she would find it stark on his lean, far-too-attractive face. The man wasn’t simply being nice to her son. How was she going to keep from falling for him now?
Clueless, she turned the key, the engine came to life, music blared from the speakers and a big hand settled on her shoulder. Tucker knelt beside her, toppling every defense she was trying to build.
“I’ve got a confession to make.” He leaned in, making the darkness seem so vast and accentuating the fact that, aside from Owen, they were alone together. Very alone. Again. Trouble lurked in his dimples. “Want to hear it?”
“No. Absolutely not.” Yes, she wanted to say. She was so absolutely interested she didn’t know how to hide it—if she could. She set her chin as if nothing in the world could annoy her more. “You can keep your confessions to yourself.”
“I could do that, but then we have to talk about something.” Trouble turned into a much bigger problem as he inched closer, exactly as he’d done right before he’d slanted his lips over hers. “The natural course of events would be to go from my confession to what you aren’t confessing.”
“What? I’m not sure that made any sense.
” Best to try to derail him from his course because where he was heading could not be good. The tremble in the pit of her stomach told her so.
“Sure, I’m making sense. You just don’t want to talk about it, and I can see why.” The problematic dazzle of his charm turned dangerous. “Especially since you don’t want to admit the truth.”
“There is no truth.”
“Sure there is.” The weight of his hand increased, his fingers curled around her shoulder and slid upward to the nape of her neck. “You kissed me back.”
“I did no such thing!” Alarmed, she jerked toward the mirror, but Owen was busy rescuing his stuffed bull from the backseat and settling it into his arms. A complete relief he hadn’t overheard that. The adrenaline in her blood made her dizzy.
“You can deny it.” Tucker spoke low against her ear. “But I know it and that’s what matters.”
If only she could come up with exactly the right comeback, the perfect, flippant remark to stop him in his tracks. Her mind remained blank. Nothing clever or smart popped into her head. She could only stare at him, her vocabulary missing in action and her dignity gone right along with it. A smart girl would escape while she could. She gave her seat belt a yank but he took it from her, clicking it into place with a flourish. If only his deep blue eyes would flash that easygoing cowboy charisma so she could go back to the way she’d originally felt about him. Then it would be much easier to give him a push, close the door and drive away as if she wasn’t the most foolish woman in the world.
Instead she felt lost in his sincere gaze, the pull of his emotions, and the glimpse of his honesty caught her like a lasso’s noose.
Tenderness softened his handsome features and gave depth to the man he was. He released his hold on her, rose to full height and gripped the edge of the door. “Good night, Sierra. Drive safe.”
“I will.” The words stuck like peanut butter in her throat. “Thanks for all you did for Owen today.”
“It was my pleasure.” Maybe it was a trick of the starlight, but he stood so tall, surrounded with stardust, grand enough to be her entire world. Shadowed, his true self shone through, his essence that the darkness could not seem to hide. Noble. Unfailing. Kind. The adjectives didn’t stop but rolled into her mind, making her want to believe.
Don’t do it, she told herself. She set her jaw, fighting the urge to give in. Don’t make a mistake Owen will pay for. Her hands trembled as she set them on the steering wheel at the ten and two o’clock positions. She didn’t dare let her gaze drift toward the man as he closed the door. The barrier of metal and glass was no defense against the awareness that telegraphed between them, like recognizing like. It did not shut out the impression he made—mighty, genuine, gallant.
He lifted one hand as they pulled away. Although he was nothing more than a shadow against the dark fields, it felt as if she carried a part of him with her as she drove miles of country roads, ribboned through fields and rolled into the sleepy town and beyond. The tie binding them remained as she spotted the reflector on her mailbox post and pulled into her driveway.
Tucker. What was she going to do about his kiss? She didn’t have the foggiest idea. They stopped beneath the shelter of the carport. Owen had fallen asleep in the backseat, so dear and darling and handsome he took her breath away.
He was her love. Her one true love. She turned off the engine, pocketed her keys and opened the door. Icy air pummeled her as she opened Owen’s door. She couldn’t forget this precious blessing she’d been entrusted with. Her son was her whole heart, so how was Tucker working his way in?
Lord, give me strength to resist that man. She unbuckled Owen and gathered him into her arms. Her son’s eyelids fluttered. He tightened his hold on Slayer and burrowed into her shoulder. Contentment filled her as she carried him down the dark sidewalk and up the porch steps. Her footsteps whispered around her as she hit the lights and ignored the growing list of things that needed to be done—the laundry, the dusting, the bills piling on the counter—and carried her son to bed.
Poor little guy. So tired out from his big day he could barely lift his head. She stepped over a plastic barnyard scene spread out on his bedroom floor, pulled back his covers and eased him onto the flannel sheets.
“Tucker,” he mumbled on a sigh and snuggled his stuffed bull tight in his arms.
She winced. Owen was getting attached to his favorite cowboy. Maybe too attached.
Not knowing what to do about it, she knelt to untie his sneakers. The glow of the day remained, a happiness she could not dowse. Her son’s delight over riding Jack, his squeals of glee as he clung to Cotton’s back and the way he’d stuck to Tucker’s side on the couch as they’d watched the rodeo—these had given her great joy, too. All the Grangers had done everything they could to make sure Owen enjoyed his day.
She tucked the covers around him and kissed him good-night. His flyaway hair across his forehead tickled her nose. Unending sweetness filled her. She backed out of the room, remembering to step over the plastic toy barn, cows and horses.
Maybe she didn’t have to worry about the kiss. Her feelings for Tucker couldn’t go anywhere. He wasn’t a man ready to settle down. As for his relationship with Owen, she knew after today Tucker would never hurt her son. Their friendship was real.
Alone in the hallway, she shut her child’s door tight. She may as well be closing the door on her heart. She had no room for wishes other than the ones she already had.
“Yeah, I know I’m in big trouble.” Tucker could tell by the arch of Jack’s neck what the horse thought. He eased open the stall door and sauntered in, welcoming the scent of livestock, sweet hay and alfalfa, comforting smells that always soothed him in time of need.
With a low-throated nicker, Jack trudged over, his steel shoes ringing against the floor. The gelding was sixteen hands of powerful muscle, pedigreed lines and personality. The big horse lowered his head, placed his muzzle in Tucker’s hands and leaned his forehead into Tucker’s chest. Another moment of comfort. They had been friends a long time. Tucker had helped deliver him, and Jack had been Dad’s gift when he’d graduated high school with honors. He ran his fingers along the horse’s jaw, just the way Jack liked. There wasn’t a better horse anywhere on this planet. Not one.
“You did good today, buddy.”
Jack lifted his head and snorted, as if he’d never questioned it. His red mane rippled in the lamplight and he looked every inch the champion he was.
“Little Owen sure loved riding you.” Tucker rescued from his back pocket the paperback he’d grabbed in the tack room. “Then you wouldn’t mind seeing him again?”
Jack nodded, as if in perfect agreement.
With a chuckle, Tucker rubbed the gelding’s glossy neck. “I miss riding you, buddy. I miss a lot of things.” The adventure, the traveling, never knowing what was around the next corner. What he liked the most about his professional life was the animals. He’d grown up with them and he couldn’t imagine being without them.
When he’d woken up in ICU with the compelling feeling he’d been given a huge gift of grace, the first thing he’d seen was his father at his bedside. The haggard worry on Frank’s face had said everything. Dad had stayed in the hospital with him, waiting on him hand and foot. They’d kept things light—that was their way—but in the unspoken silence he knew. He’d come close to leaving this life. Close enough that he could still remember the feeling of heavenly arms around him when he’d fallen off that horse. Heaven had been protecting him.
Lord, I know you have something in mind for me. He might not be sure what that was just yet, but he was getting an idea. His chest felt tight and bunched-up from Sierra’s visit, but that wasn’t a bad thing. He’d spent so much of his life running from his emotions or doing his level best to deny them. He wasn’t good at looking them in the face, but he was going to try.
Footsteps ambled closer, breaking the silence in the stable. Horses woke up to whinny greetings, the noise echoing in the rafters. Tuc
ker slid his book back into his pocket. Looked like he wouldn’t get the peace and quiet to read with Jack. He braced his forearms over the gate, not surprised to see his dad moseying to a stop.
“I thought I might find you out here.” Dad shrugged the strong, wide shoulders that time had not yet been able to diminish. For a man in his fifties, Frank was vital and powerful, but a hint of gray had set in at his temples. Just a hint, and it was reminder enough that time was passing.
A knot tightened in his chest until it hurt. He might enjoy his life riding bareback broncs and bulls, but a rodeo wasn’t home. He missed his dad. He missed him with a yearning he couldn’t explain. Not that he felt comfortable talking about it, so he stuck with what was. “I wanted to spend some time with Jack. I hate not riding him.”
“Another few weeks and you’ll be back in the saddle.” Dad handed over an ice-cold can of root beer and kept one for himself. “It was a good thing you did today. Owen had a great time. Remember back when I borrowed Fluffy? You took one look at that sheep and thought I was ridiculous.”
“I was wrong. It didn’t take me long to figure that out.” It had been more than twenty years ago and yet it felt like a blink. He’d been so busy running that he’d never given much thought to what he’d left behind. He was doing it now. “I wouldn’t be where I am in life if it wasn’t for you, Dad.”
“You mean busted up and healing from too many broken bones to count?” Dad excelled at sidestepping emotional topics, too.
“That’s exactly what I mean. It’s all your fault.” His throat tightened painfully with feelings he was too embarrassed to reveal, so he popped the top off the can and took a refreshing swig. Jack ambled over to check out the can. He wasn’t fond of soda and wrinkled his nose, making a face that was hard not to laugh at.
Judging by the relief in his dad’s chuckle, Frank was glad not to talk about those pesky emotions, too. So they turned the conversation to safe topics—hiring cousin Sean to help out on the ranch so Autumn could be free to prepare for her wedding and a much-deserved honeymoon, getting Cotton back to Mr. Green tomorrow and keeping an eye on the brood mare in the end stall who was getting near her time. Dad was merciful enough not to once mention Sierra or the kiss he’d no doubt witnessed.