Tucker Read online

  “I know. I know. Believe me, I’ve learned my lesson. I can’t thank you—” Gillian looked up at him with a rueful smile on her face. Their gazes met and held. “Enough.”

  In that moment, sexual awareness flashed between them. Her eyes subtly widened. Nervously, her tongue moistened her lips. When she ever so slightly leaned toward him, Tucker took it as an invitation. His fingers drifted under her chin, lifting up her face. He bent his head and brushed her lips with his, gently, tentatively at first. When she responded, he let his fingers delve into that glorious hair of hers and angled her head to allow him to deepen the kiss.

  She tasted of spearmint and smelled faintly of pumpkin spice, the air freshener he’d spied hanging from her rearview mirror, he deduced. When her arms snaked up and clasped around his neck, Tucker slipped his free hand around her waist and pulled her tighter. Sizzle. Pow. Boom. Welcome back to Texas, McBride.

  Abruptly, the moment ended when she pulled away. Her blue eyes were wide and panicky, and she brought her hands up to cover the cheeks that had gone as red as her dress. “Oh, no. No. No. No. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not.”

  She took another step back, her hands extended palms out toward him. “That shouldn’t have happened. I’m engaged. Well, maybe technically I’m not still engaged because I threw his ring at him and told him we were through and to grow up, but it wasn’t a real breakup. I don’t think. We had a terrible fight, but he is coming to get me. And he had a tee time.”

  “Such sacrifice,” Tucker drawled.

  “I’m so sorry. I’m not myself. I don’t do things like this. Never mind that he accused me of it. I’m not that kind of woman. This has been a really, really bad day, and I’m truly not myself.”

  Taking pity on her, Tucker attempted to reassure her with a grin. “Well, damn. Why is it the goddesses are always taken? No harm done from my perspective. Consider it a friendly little thank-you kiss.”

  “I’m never that friendly. Honestly, I’m not.”

  “Don’t forget the thank-you part. I deserved a big thank-you.”

  “Yes, you do, but I usually send a little gift to say thank you. A bottle of wine. My favorite barbecue seasoning. Local honey.”

  “Sweet and savory.” Tucker nodded. “Same thing, just a different delivery method.”

  “I think maybe it’s time to change the subject.” She closed her eyes and visibly gathered herself before looking up and offering him a friendly smile. “So, you lectured me about my go bag. Educate me, Mr. McBride. What do you keep in yours?”

  “Water filter. Flashlight. Matches. A stick of fatwood.” Tucker hesitated. His lips twitched. He shouldn’t … he really shouldn’t … but she did ask. “Condoms.”

  Following a beat of silence, she asked, “Fatwood?”

  “Tinder. It burns … hot.”

  “Ah. I see.” She licked those bee-stung lips again and cleared her throat. “Jeremy keeps a supply bag in his car.”

  I’ll just bet he does.

  “I’ll have to ask him what he keeps in it.”

  “You do that.” The fun had gone out of this particular game, and Tucker took another step back. “You have everything? We should probably get going. Don’t want to keep your maybe-still-a-fiancé waiting.”

  Gillian winced. “Yes. Yes, I’m ready.” This time when she climbed behind him on the bike, she held herself away from him as much as possible.

  Nevertheless, Tucker sensed her presence like warm sunshine on a cold winter’s day. The drive into Temple passed in a flash, while at the same, the minutes dragged by. When he made the turn into the parking lot at Buc-ee’s, he admitted to himself that he’d be sorry for this little adventure to come to an end.

  He also knew he wasn’t really in the mood to meet ol’ Jeremy. So, he pulled up at one of the sixty-plus gas pumps, switched off his motor, and prepared to say goodbye to his passenger.

  “There’s Jeremy’s car,” she said, pointing toward a line of parked vehicles, a mix of pickups, SUVs, and a few sedans. “He beat us here.”

  “Good. My Good Samaritan work is done.”

  “A Good Samaritan indeed. I can’t thank you enough, Tucker. Here.” Gillian started to reach into her purse. “Let me buy you a tank of gas.”

  Tucker laid his hand over hers. “No. Absolutely not.”

  “But you went out of your way—”

  “No, I didn’t. Like I told you, I want a bag of roasted nuts.” Roasted nuts seemed an appropriate choice at the moment.

  “Okay, then. Come inside and let me buy you those.”

  “You’ve already thanked me, Gillian.”

  “Don’t remind me!” She cast an anguished gaze toward the man who’d just emerged from inside the building, a blond, pretty-boy prepster, who wore a pink golf shirt tucked into black slacks and designer sunglasses propped atop his head.

  Jeremy. Tucker suddenly wanted to put his fist through the fellow’s pearly whites. At the same time, he wanted to soothe Gillian’s troubled soul. Quietly, he said, “Don’t fret yourself. Don’t make it out to be a bigger deal than it was. I’m a soldier home from the wars and feeling a little lost. It did me good to rescue a damsel in distress. You have been a nice welcome home to me.”

  She tore her gaze away from Jeremy and looked at Tucker, a faint smile flirting with her lips. “Has anyone said that to you yet? Welcome home?”

  “No. Not yet.”

  “In that case, let me be the first.” Then, in front of the drivers and passengers of the dozens of cars lined up at the gas pumps to buy fuel, her maybe-ex-fiancé, and the big beaver Buc-ee himself, Gillian Thacker went up on her toes and planted a kiss on Tucker’s mouth. “Welcome home, soldier. Welcome back to Texas.”

  She turned around and dashed toward the Buc-ee’s front door and the man who apparently owned her heart.

  Tucker pumped gas into his motorcycle and watched Gillian and Jeremy exchange an embrace before climbing into a late-model BMW sports car. Moments later, it swung out of its parking spot and turned his way. The gas pump clanked and the hose nozzle shut off as the car stopped in front of him.

  The driver’s side window slid down. Jeremy called out, “Hey, man. Thank you for your service.”

  Tucker smiled and gave a little salute. The extension of his middle finger was so slight, he doubted the other man noticed it. Asshole.

  The window rose. The car pulled away and turned onto the service road. As the Beemer merged onto the interstate highway headed north and disappeared, Tucker felt like it took the sunshine away with it.

  Gillian Thacker had been a nice diversion, but that was over now. She’d ridden off into the sunset that was traffic on I-35, and now the gloom that had been riding his shoulders for months returned. He shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and silently compiled a sitrep.

  Currently, he stood at a gas pump at a Buc-ee’s in Texas. Without a woman. Without a job. Without a purpose.

  Crap. What the hell had he done? Who the hell was he now?

  The army was his life. His identity. He’d devoted himself to the job, and what he’d done had been valuable. How many people were alive today because he’d been there to put boots on the ground, because he’d had the knowledge and the training and the desire and the balls to do what needed doing? He’d stopped counting years ago. He’d made a difference!

  And dammit, he’d let the politicians win. He’d let the bureaucracy win. Quitter.

  Shame rolled over him like a West Texas dust storm, but it was too late for second thoughts. You didn’t get a do-over when you separated from the service. Not that he really wanted one. He just wanted to be able to live peacefully in his own skin again.

  Tucker muttered a curse. No sense crying over a spilt bag of Buc-ee’s Beaver Nuggets. The deed was done. He’d picked up his marbles and gone home to Texas, and now he’d have to learn to live with the decision.

  Tucker gave one last glance toward the interstate where the lovely wedding-gown princess ha
d ridden off with her tee-box prince before he turned and strode toward the convenience store entrance. At least there was one craving he could satisfy. He looked up at the bucked-tooth beaver above the door and muttered, “Nuts.”

  Chapter Three

  THREE MONTHS LATER

  On her hands and knees and drowning in a sea of ivory satin and lace, Gillian reached blindly for the tab numbered twelve. Her fingers brushed a cotton rectangle, and she grabbed it tight. She dipped her head below a fan of scratchy tulle and searched for a number. Fourteen. “Grrr.”

  She shook her head, wiggling deeper, feeling like a dog nuzzling through a bowl of boring kibble to find the prized peanut butter treat. Her engagement ring snagged on a thread. She shook it free and grabbed again. There. A glance revealed a one and a two. Victory! She threaded the button marked twelve through the twelve tab, and then traced her way to thirteen and beyond. Finally, with all eighteen buttons fastened, she scooted out, rolled back on her heels, and asked the bride-to-be, “Well? What do you think?”

  Caroline Carruthers couldn’t take her gaze off the reflection in the mirror. “I think, maybe, oh, Gillian. This might be the one.”

  Gillian shared a knowing smile with the other person in the room, her mother, Barbara, before observing, “That’s what you said about the first three you tried on, Caroline.”

  “I know!” The lovely dark-haired, brown-eyed woman who was engaged to Jackson McBride moaned. “This is too hard. All the gowns are beautiful.”

  “It helps when you have the body of a goddess.”

  “You’re one to talk, Ms. Mile-Long Legs. No way could I wear a body-hugging wedding dress like the one you chose.”

  Gillian wrinkled her nose. “Wait and see what else Mom has chosen for you to try on. You’ll be eating your words.”

  Caroline looked at her reflection. “Maybe I’ll stop at this one. It makes me feel like a princess.”

  Wearing an indulgent smile, Barbara asked, “Princess Caroline, are you ready to step out and show your ladies-in-waiting?”

  “Sure.”

  Gillian held back the dressing room’s curtain, and Caroline stepped into what they called the parlor. The area had a raised dais and mirrors placed to allow the bride to view herself from every angle, adequate seating for twelve—fifteen, if people sat close—and a sideboard for refreshments for the “bride tribe” to sample while they waited. Caroline’s tribe was small, but special, and included mutual friends Maisy Baldwin and Angelica Blessing, along with Caroline’s late husband’s sister, Elizabeth Garner. Pixyish, blond maid of honor Maisy owned the local florist. Angelica worked for the McBride family as innkeeper for their bed-and-breakfast resort in Enchanted Canyon. Despite being at least three decades older than Caroline, Maisy, and Gillian, Angelica had become a dear friend of theirs over the past year. She had a kind heart, caustic wit, and—with her long red hair and affinity for sparkles, bangles, and jangles—a sense of style unlike anyone else in Redemption, Texas.

  “Oh, wow,” Maisy said, waving a carrot stick for emphasis. “That is spectacular. Love the boat neck.”

  “It’s very flattering,” Angelica agreed. “Very princess-y.”

  Caroline held out the skirt and twirled. “That’s what I thought.”

  “We can’t do a ball gown style of bustle with many of our gowns, but it’s perfect for this dress,” Barbara explained, bracing her hands on her slim hips as she studied the bride with a keen, hazel-eyed gaze.

  “You look lovely.” Elizabeth lifted her phone and snapped a few photos. “This promises to be a tough choice.”

  “I know.” Caroline’s teeth tugged at her lower lip. “Maybe I should stick with something simpler. After all, it is a second wedding for both Jackson and me. I don’t want to choose something inappropriate.”

  “Don’t be silly.” Elizabeth gave her head a single, definitive shake. “You’re the bride. You can wear whatever you want. Besides, you have impeccable taste. You would never choose anything inappropriate.”

  “Nor have I chosen anything inappropriate for you to try on,” Barbara said. “Bliss Salon does have a reputation to uphold.” Following a moment’s pause, she added, “I have selected a silver gown for you to consider.”

  “Silver?” Caroline repeated, interest lighting her eyes.

  Barbara smiled as she tucked an errant strand of her chin-length, highlighted blond hair behind her ear. “Want to try it next?”

  “Yes.” Caroline took one last look at the princess gown, made one more twirl, then headed for the dressing room. Gillian trailed after her, and while her mother went to get the next selection from the rack of gowns she’d set aside for this morning’s appointment, Gillian helped Caroline out of the princess gown. They chatted about her choices as the bride slipped into the white satin robe that Bliss provided, and the saleswoman returned the dress to its hanger. Gillian was buttoning the last covered button when her mother swept in carrying an armful of sparkling silver lace.

  “Gillian, I’ve got this one. Why don’t you put on your bridesmaid hat and sit in the parlor with the others?”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Gillian exited the dressing room and took a seat in time to hear Maisy saying to Angelica, “… surprised when I ran into Tucker McBride at the lumber yard. First time I’ve seen him since Thanksgiving.”

  Gillian’s ears perked up. Since his return to Redemption, her erstwhile rescuer had been an invisible man.

  “We don’t see much of him at the inn either,” Angelica replied. “He stops in occasionally for dinner, but mostly he keeps to himself. He’s been spending a lot of time exploring Enchanted Canyon.”

  “Jackson has mentioned that Tucker loves the outdoors.” Maisy sipped her champagne, then addressed Gillian. “You’ve met Tucker, haven’t you? The beautiful brown-eyed McBride? Not to be confused with the gorgeous green-eyed McBride or the sexy silver-eyed one.”

  Gillian hesitated. She’d never mentioned her farm-to-market misadventure last fall to either her parents or her friends. Doing so would have meant admitting to the fight with Jeremy. Since they’d reconciled before returning to Redemption, she hadn’t seen the need. As far as she could tell, Tucker hadn’t said anything to anyone either. He obviously hadn’t told Jackson because he would have mentioned it to Caroline, who certainly would have asked Gillian about it. “Caroline introduced us at the bookstore’s Christmas party.”

  “He was there? I didn’t see him.”

  Gillian shrugged. “I’m under the impression it was a brief visit. It was a packed house, and he didn’t seem very comfortable in the crowd.”

  Angelica clucked her tongue. “That poor boy. It’s a good thing his shoulders are so broad. Otherwise, he might topple from the weight of his burden.”

  Maisy, Gillian, and even Elizabeth, who lived in Austin and wasn’t part of the local community, all turned avid looks Angelica’s way. Maisy demanded, “What burden?”

  Gillian took a celery stick from the crudités tray and nibbled one end, watching Angelica closely. She was curious about Tucker McBride, not only because of what had happened between them the day they’d met, but because he’d been such a recluse since his return to town. At the time, she’d been glad not to run into him on the streets of Redemption—she remained embarrassed to this day over her foolish flight from Bastrop, and she still felt guilty about the first kiss. Nevertheless, she found it curious how he had all but disappeared into Enchanted Canyon upon his arrival.

  Angelica brushed a cookie crumb from her orange broomstick skirt. “It’s not my place to say.”

  Maisy narrowed her eyes. “Is this something he’s told you, or one of your hunches?”

  Angelica lifted her chin. Her large hoop earrings swung. “Darling, my hunches are golden. Besides, all one needs do to recognize that Tucker is burdened is to watch his interactions with dear, sweet Haley. It’s obvious they are simpatico.”

  “Really?” Gillian asked. Jackson’s seven-year-old daughter, Haley, was dealing wi
th the aftereffects of the recent private plane crash that had claimed the lives of several people close to her, including her beloved Poppins, who’d been more mother than nanny. “Has Tucker lost someone?”

  “Not someone. Something.”

  Anything else Angelica might have said on the subject was interrupted when Gillian’s mother swept back the dressing room curtain, and Caroline stepped out wearing the silver lace gown. Following a moment of stunned silence, Maisy said, “Just kill me now. I will never look that good in a wedding dress. On the off chance I ever have the opportunity to wear one, that is.”

  Elizabeth didn’t speak, but simply clasped her hands in delight as her eyes filled with tears. Angelica fanned her face and said, “Ooh la la.”

  Caroline met Gillian’s gaze with a look that Gillian readily recognized after five years of operating Bliss Bridal Salon. Caroline had found her dress. The bride-to-be asked, “Yes?”

  “Jackson will swallow his tongue.”

  Beaming, Caroline studied her reflection from all angles, twirled in a slow circle, and finally said, “It’s perfect. I love the color. I love the style. I love the fabric. I love it. I absolutely love it. This is it. This is the one.”

  Gillian met her mother’s gaze. She knew Barbara had three more gowns selected for Caroline to try. She also knew her mother would return them to stock without saying another word about them.

  “Another satisfied bride,” Barbara said with a smile.

  “Actually, that’s what happens when Jackson takes it off her,” Maisy corrected.

  They all shared a laugh, then Barbara and Caroline discussed a schedule for fittings and the option of a veil. When that was done, Caroline’s bride tribe prepared to depart for a local spa where they had mani-pedi appointments to be followed by lunch at an area winery. Gillian climbed the stairs to her tiny office to retrieve her purse, then met her mother in the stock room. “You sure it’s okay for me to play bridesmaid? You don’t need me here, Mom?”