Tucker Page 8

  “I can’t believe this,” she said.

  “Thirteen. Twelve. Eleven,” counted the crowd.

  “He was in a lousy mood, so I figured he was sulking in a corner, that maybe he stayed away to spare me. I never thought he’d do this.”

  “Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven.”

  She made one full turn around the chair, looking for her fiancé.

  “Six. Five. Four.”

  She wobbled. Tucker cursed again and put his hands around her waist and lifted her down to the floor.

  “Three. Two. One. Happy New Year!”

  The mirror ball hit the stage, and the crowd went wild. Haley ran to her mother for a hug and kiss. At stage left, Jackson gave Caroline a thorough kiss.

  Looking dazed and brokenhearted, Gillian blinked back tears. “I can’t believe he ditched me at midnight on New Year’s Eve.”

  Screw Jeremy Jones, Tucker said to himself. As the band launched into “Auld Lang Syne” with Coco leading the vocals, he cupped Gillian’s chin and tilted her face up toward his. “His loss is my gain. You can kick his ass later. Happy New Year, Glory.”

  Then Tucker bent down and stole a friendly New Year’s kiss.

  Friendly. Dammit.

  Chapter Six

  With “Auld Lang Syne” ringing in her ears and the taste of Tucker McBride on her lips, Gillian was filled with despair. Everything was wrong. They’d gotten engaged last New Year’s Eve. Tonight, he didn’t even bother to be with her at midnight? She needed air, so she turned to leave the crowded building. Vaguely, she sensed Tucker following behind her and just as she was about to push into the bleak winter night, a man called her name. He wasn’t Jeremy. Gillian recognized one of his golfing buddies.

  “There you are. I’ve been looking for you. Jeremy called me. He said you didn’t answer your phone.”

  Gillian’s phone was in her purse and tucked safely away in the dance hall’s office. “Where is he?”

  “He said he got sick and left. He asked me to drive you home.”

  “Oh.” She immediately felt concerned and contrite. He hadn’t ditched her. He’d gotten sick! “Oh, no. What type of sick, did he say?”

  “No. Just that he didn’t want you to catch it.”

  Now Gillian felt guilty. She should have gone looking for him long before midnight.

  Jeremy’s friend continued, “Want to meet at my car when the party’s over? I’m in my truck. Last row, underneath the lamppost. Can’t miss me.”

  Two more hours? Wonder if I could get an Uber this far out?

  “I’ll take you,” Tucker offered. “I’m about ready to leave.”

  Gillian looked up into his warm brown eyes and realized she wanted to go with him. More than she probably should. “Thank you.”

  She was quiet during the twenty-minute drive into Redemption. Sensitive to her mood, Tucker didn’t fill the silence with small talk. She appreciated that. Her focus was on Jeremy and the events of the evening. When she checked her phone, she saw that he’d called around eleven. He’d texted, too. Why had her first reaction been that he’d ditched her? He probably had been feeling unwell all night. That’s why he’d been grouchy at dinner.

  And yet, why did she sense there was something more going on here? Why did she wonder if Jeremy was truly ill? And why hadn’t she really missed him until almost midnight? Until the dance with Tucker? This was wrong.

  As they approached town, Tucker asked, “Do you want to check on him? I’ll take you by his place.”

  “Yes, but he probably won’t want me to stay. I’ll need my car, and it’s at my house.”

  Tucker shook his head. “Let me wait and see you home, Gillian. I’ll sleep easier tonight knowing you’re home safe and sound. Redemption might be a small town, but this is still the most dangerous night of the year to be out on the streets.”

  Tucker isn’t concerned about Redemption drunk drivers, Gillian thought. He was offering her his silent support in case this was something other than illness like her fiancé had claimed.

  Gillian gave him Jeremy’s address and moments later, he pulled his truck to a stop in front of the house. Jeremy’s car was in the drive. “I won’t be long.”

  “Take your time. I’m happy to wait for you.”

  She hurried up the front steps and used her key to let herself inside. “Jeremy?”

  He was in his bedroom sitting on the side of his bed, wearing only his boxers. His face was buried in his hands. “Go away, Gillian. You shouldn’t be here. I’m sick. Go home.”

  Ignoring him, she approached the bed. “What are your symptoms? Do you have a fever?”

  She reached out to feel his forehead, but he jerked away from her and headed for his bathroom. “I’m about to throw up again. Go, Gillian. I’ll call you when I’m better.”

  He didn’t look well. He was pale and his eyes were glassy. “You shouldn’t be alone,” she called as he shut the bathroom door. “Let me stay. I’ll bunk in the guest room and—”

  “No. No, I want you to go. I want to be alone.”

  The vehemence in his voice told her he meant it. She listened for sounds of retching, but the only thing she heard was the sound of water running in the sink. She sighed. “All right. I’ll go. I’ll check on you tomorrow. Promise me you’ll call if you need anything before then.”

  “Okay.”

  She turned to leave, but hesitated when a question occurred to her. “Jeremy, did you ever get your flu shot?”

  “Good night, Gillian.”

  Well, that was her answer, wasn’t it? They had a flu season wedding! Everyone in the bridal party had been instructed to get their flu shots. For the groom to ignore it? What did that say about their relationship?

  They seriously needed the premarital counseling they had scheduled. She hoped this illness of his wouldn’t delay it, because she could no longer deny that these jitters were serious doubts.

  She’d planned to pay another round of deposits this week. Maybe she should hold off on that until after she and Jeremy met with the counselor. If they called off the wedding …

  The thought made Gillian feel a bit fluey herself.

  “You okay?” Tucker asked as she climbed back into his truck a few moments later.

  “I’m tired. I’m just really tired.” Physically and mentally. “Thanks for waiting for me, Tucker.”

  “Like I said, I’m happy to do it. Can’t think of anyone I’d rather ring in the New Year with.”

  She gave a sad little laugh. “This isn’t much of a ring.”

  He drove half a block before replying, “Actually, for me, it is. I’m in a good place, have some good plans going forward, and I’m making some good new friends here in Redemption. You and I can be friends, right?”

  She cut him a sidelong glance and scolded, “No more kissing.”

  “Hey, it was New Year’s Eve at midnight. And I kept it friendly, didn’t I? That’s well within the allowable lines.”

  He reached over, took her hand, and gave it a squeeze. “Happy New Year, new friend. I’ve been told by someone who claims to be in the know that it’s gonna be a great one for you and me both.”

  “Someone in the know?”

  “Angelica.”

  Gillian smiled. “In that case, I’m not going to worry. Angelica knows things.”

  The innkeeper’s comment really did make her feel better, and as she unlocked the front door of her house and turned to give Tucker a wave, her smile was genuine.

  Two weeks later, her smile was nowhere to be found. She stood beneath the threshold of Jeremy’s bedroom door with her arms folded and her foot tapping. He’d used his illness to keep her away for two full weeks. They had not seen the counselor nor had the heart-to-heart talk they desperately needed, and their wedding date was now only a month away. “I think you should go back to the doctor.”

  He lay in his bed, on his stomach, and spoke into his pillow. “Don’t worry. I’m better.”

  Then why was he still in bed? You’d t
hink the man had the plague. “If you’re feeling better, then we have some things we need to discuss. Our premarital counseling needs to be—”

  “Leave it alone, Gillian,” he snapped. “I don’t have time for this. I have to go to work today, and I need to get ready.”

  Hurt by both his words and tone, and out of patience with the patient, she snapped back, “Fine. I won’t bother you anymore. You call me when you’re feeling more yourself, and we can discuss our future.”

  She left the house in a full-blown snit. She did not spin her tires as she pulled away from his house, and she gave herself a gold star in self-restraint. She drove to Bliss with her radio blaring hard rock, grateful to have the distraction of work. She had window design on her calendar, and she dove right into it.

  Shortly before the shop opened at ten, her mother joined her in the courtyard outside of Bliss Salon. The two women stood side by side with their hands on their hips and gave the display window a critical study. “What do you think, Mom?” Gillian asked. “I was going for subtle Cinderella.”

  She’d used a backdrop of shimmering silver and added a Louis XIV chair upholstered in snowy velvet to the scene. Rhinestone embellished Jimmy Choo shoes sat beside a chair leg, the right shoe tipped over on one side. A fingertip veil was draped over the chair, a tiara propped crookedly atop it. Fanned across the chair’s seat was a trio of books: The Princess Diaries, The Princess and the Pea, and The Princess Bride.

  “You might have overshot subtle,” Barbara observed. “But I love it.”

  “Should I have used a wire dress form instead of the new mannequin? It might be a little more romantic that way.”

  “No, I don’t think so. The clear molded plastic is sleek and elegant, and the silver neck finial is classy. This window is very Princess Grace. I think it’s perfect. You have such an eye for design, Gillian.”

  “Thanks, Mom. I got it from you.”

  “We make a good team.”

  Hearing a peculiar note in her mother’s voice, Gillian gave her a sidelong look. Barbara’s hazel eyes had filled with tears. Oh, no. I’d hoped I was done with drama for today. And no way was she going to voice her concerns before she had a chance to talk with Jeremy.

  “That’s not going to change, Mom,” Gillian said as she slipped her arm around her mother’s waist and gave her a hug. “We’re just growing our team.”

  “I know. I know. Don’t mind me. I’m a little emotional this morning. And I’m glad our family is growing. You know I am. I’m excited for you to start your new business—I know you’re going to make it a huge success. It’s just that, I don’t know, this is an ending of sorts and a bittersweet time. Working with you to build Bliss has been a joy.”

  “For me too, Mom.” Gillian’s gaze shifted toward the hand-lettered sign beside the shop’s door. BLISS BRIDAL SALON. PROPRIETORS: BARBARA THACKER, GILLIAN THACKER.

  Barbara reached into the pocket of her black slacks and pulled out a clean tissue. Dabbing at her eyes, she said, “I’m the mother of the bride. I’m allowed to be a little emotional.”

  “That you are.”

  “Thank goodness you have it all together as usual.”

  Not hardly. Gillian’s mouth twisted in a rueful smile. “Hey, I have my bridezilla moments.”

  “Few and far between, and nothing like She Who Will Not Be Sold Another Gown.”

  Gillian winced. Yesterday’s fitting appointment with Lindsay and Erica had been even more awful than the last. They’d stayed until almost nine. Lindsay had been a terror, unhappy about everything. When she’d snapped at Barbara over a zipper that wouldn’t zip due to the holiday pounds she’d put on since the previous fitting, only a warning look from her mother had stopped Gillian from poking the witch with a straight pin. Erica hadn’t helped the situation one bit either. Rather than attempting to soothe the bride’s nerves, she’d sat like a sullen lump in the corner, saying no more than a dozen words the entire time.

  Barbara continued, “Forgive me, sweetheart. I’m on edge today. Feeling a bit, I don’t know, lost.”

  The peculiar look that flashed across her mother’s face gave Gillian pause. “Mom, if I’ve made you feel left out of anything planning-wise—”

  “No,” Barbara interrupted, stepped toward her daughter, and gave her a quick hug. “I didn’t mean that. All is well. I’m having a grand time with the wedding.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure. Honey, you’ve managed to hit an almost perfect balance with the trifecta of roles you are performing—daughter, bride, and wedding planner. As a daughter, well, we’re almost through this, and you and I are still friends. As the bride, you’ve been respectful of Jeremy’s wishes and vision, and of your own, too, without stepping on anyone’s toes too hard. As a wedding planner, you’ve excelled. Event planning fits your skill set to a tee, and I’m so glad I need not concern myself with all the details.”

  Barbara gestured toward the window and added, “I love the display design, sweetheart. You are really very good at everything you do.”

  “Except nursing a fiancé sick with the flu,” Gillian replied with a bite in her voice.

  “Oh, honey.” Barbara threw her arm around her daughter’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “Don’t take it to heart, and remember your grandmother’s always appropriate marital advice: This, too, shall pass.”

  Gillian smiled wistfully at the mention of her grandmother, gone now for almost four years. “You know who sort of reminds me of Nana, despite being her total opposite in most regards?”

  Barbara didn’t hesitate. “Angelica Blessing.”

  “Yes.” Gillian gave the window one last look. “Angelica predicts I’m going to have a fabulous year this year.”

  “I’m going to agree with her. I think you’re gonna be happy as a clam, Gillian. You just need to get past this fluey start first.”

  * * *

  “What is wrong with this picture?” Jackson asked as he toted a box past Tucker to set near a stack of them sitting beside the checkout counter.

  “I’m taking a break,” he replied.

  “Obviously. You’re standing around staring aimlessly out the window when there’s plenty of work to be done.”

  Tucker wasn’t staring aimlessly. He was watching Gillian Thacker. This was the first time he’d seen her since New Year’s Eve. Well, if he didn’t count seeing her in his dreams, that was.

  That dance and that kiss had been a big mistake.

  “Move your butt, cousin,” Jackson said. “There’s still half a trailer yet to unload. It needs to be done before lunch because I’m not coming back after the meeting at the bank.”

  “What meeting at the bank?”

  “You need to start checking your email now that you’re a businessman. Boone sent an email about it yesterday. The bank needs signatures for our accounts, and apparently, Jones likes to do the meet-and-greet for any new business. He’s going to take us to lunch afterward. Goodwill gesture and all of that.”

  Jeremy. Wasn’t that just ducky? “Well, I guess as long as the banker is buying, I’d better work my ass off so I have an extra big appetite.” Tucker cast one last glance toward Gillian, then returned his attention to the boxes. “Remind me why we’re doing all the work when this whole storefront thing is Boone’s idea?”

  “Because we’re idiots. And Boone is … Boone.”

  Tucker simply sighed. For the next two hours, he and Jackson hauled and opened boxes, assembled shelves, and hung pegboard. They unloaded the trailer filled with the antique desk, chair, and bookcases they’d stored since remodeling the Fallen Angel Inn and wrestled them upstairs. Slowly, the space began to take shape. A little after eleven as curses flew while they worked together to level a shelf, Jackson grumbled, “This would be easier with another set of hands.”

  “Maybe we should ask the banker to help us over here instead of buying us lunch,” Tucker suggested.

  After much effort, ten minutes before they were due to leave fo
r lunch, they finally managed to fix the shelf properly to the wall. They stood observing their handiwork with their hands shoved in their back pockets when a voice spoke from behind, “It needs to come up some on the left.”

  Tucker and Jackson both hung their heads and then shared a look. Simultaneously, without turning around, they both lifted a hand and shot the speaker the bird.

  “Now, isn’t that a nice way to greet a visitor,” Boone said.

  Tucker scowled at Jackson. “He’s here again? It’s not that easy to get here from Eternity Springs. Why is he here again?”

  Jackson shrugged, then his brows winged up. “Are you seeing Maisy Baldwin?”

  “What?” Boone asked. “No. She’s awfully cute, and she thinks I’m cute too, but there wasn’t any sizzle. We’re friends.”

  “I think Maisy is sweet on the guy from New Year’s Eve,” Tucker told Jackson. Then he arched a brow toward Boone. “How long have you been skulking around outside while we’ve been in here working?”

  “Hey, that’s insulting.” He waited a beat and added, “Ten minutes, maybe. You guys were a hoot.”

  “Jerk.” Tucker shot him the finger again for good measure, then observed, “This is a surprise. Is anything wrong?”

  “No. All is well. Mark and Annabelle Callahan have been in Eternity Springs visiting Brick and his crew, and they flew back to Texas last night. I hitched a ride on their plane, and drove down from Brazos Bend this morning.” He shrugged and added, “I was feeling left out.”

  Tucker snorted. “I don’t see how. You’re in my business every time I turn around.”

  “That’s because I’m a businessman, not a recluse.”