All of Me (6 page)

She closed her mouth over him, and overwhelmed, Tuck simply surrendered.

J
ILLIAN WOKE UP
from her naughty sex dream with a flushed face and a pounding heart. She shivered, remembering him. Tall and muscled, but
not overtly so. Straight nose, strong chin, a trustworthy jaw ringed with a stubble of beard. His eyes had been the color
of expensive whiskey. His hair like winter wheat.

He’d seemed so sad. As if he’d been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders for a very long time and didn’t possess
the strength to take one more step.

And then she’d seduced him.

Gulping, Jillian shook her head to dispel the image and threw back the covers. And that’s when the realization hit her. She
had nowhere to go and nothing to do. In all her twenty-nine years on earth, it was a first.

She fell back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling, thinking of the sex dream. It had seemed so real that she wouldn’t
have been surprised to find the man beside her. Yet, while her body felt strangely electrified, the other side of the bed
stretched empty.

What did surprise her, however, was the fact she still wore the mourning clothes she’d worn to Blake’s funeral. And she still
had that stupid wedding veil on her head.

Chagrined at having put the veil on in the first place and being desperate enough to make a wish, she yanked it off and sprang
to her feet. She could have lingered in bed, tried to get back the wisp of the smoking hot dream, but Jillian was not a woman
who lingered, even when she had nowhere to go or nothing to do.

She folded the veil and stuffed it in the cedar chest, wanting it out of sight, out of mind. She stripped, leaving her clothes
lying in the floor, and took a hot shower, washing away the last remnants of the haunting dream, the man with the whiskey
eyes.

There. It’s over. Forgotten.

But as she poured herself a cup of coffee from the automatic-drip coffeemaker on her kitchen cabinet—it was the only kitchen
appliance she owned beyond the major ones that came with the place—she thought of him again.

He’d seemed so damned sad.

The guy wasn’t real. Move on. It was just a dream
.

God, but he’d had some kind of body.

Haven’t you had enough of men after what Alex—

Enough.

Determined to stop thinking about the dream man, she took peanut butter—the smooth kind—from her pantry. She slathered it
on a slice of wheat bread, folded it over, and called it breakfast. Balancing the peanut butter sandwich on her coffee cup,
she opened the back door and walked out onto the stoop of her condo, where she liked to sit and watch the sunrise and eat
her morning meal on the few days in Houston when the weather allowed such indulgences.

Jillian had just settled onto the first step and stuck the sandwich in her mouth when she saw him.

Hunkered in the corner behind the yaupon holly. Watching her like a fugitive. Correction. He wasn’t watching her; he was watching
the sandwich.

She took the peanut butter sandwich out of her mouth. “You hungry? You want this?”

He leapt from the shrubbery and trotted over.

Up close, she could see his mixed heritage—Lab, Doberman, collie, German shepherd, and with those ears, maybe even a bit of
basset hound. He possessed big brown melancholy eyes, a sharp nose, and a tail that was too long for his body. He looked like
a five-hundred-piece jigsaw puzzle put together by a three-year-old.

Nothing fit.

The mutt stopped at the bottom of the steps, nose twitching, oversized tail wagging. Jillian extended the sandwich, and he
took it from her hand with surprising gentleness.

It was gone in two quick bites.

He looked hopeful.

“You still hungry?”

Of course he was still hungry. His flanks were so lean that she could count his ribs. His hair was matted, and she feared
he had fleas and ticks, so she was leery of letting him into the condo.

“Hang on,” she said. “I think I’ve got a can of chunked white albacore in the pantry.”

He hung on.

She got the tuna. He scarfed it down as quickly as he’d disposed of the peanut butter sandwich. When he was done, he sat on
his haunches and looked at her. She was not a pet person. Had never owned one. Not even a goldfish. Her stepmother wouldn’t
allow it, and she had no idea what to do with him.

You need to find his owner
.

She knocked on her neighbors’ doors. The dog followed. No one claimed him. After an hour of canvassing the neighborhood, she
ended up back at her condo.

“Right back where we started.”

The expression on his doggy face seemed to say,
Story of my life
.

She took him to the vet. She had nothing else to do, and it helped keep her mind off Blake and Alex and quitting her job and
her crazy, wedding-veil-induced sex dream with a whiskey-eyed man in a sweat lodge.

“The dog’s been neglected,” the veterinarian told her. “He needs medicine.”

“That’s why I’m here.”

“We’ll give him shots, clean him up, check his blood work, and he needs to be neutered.”

“I’m not going to keep him. I just want him healthy while I look for his owners.”

“I seriously doubt he has an owner. If you keep him, look into the neutering thing.”

“I’m not keeping him. I’m not a pet person. I don’t do pets.”

The vet prescribed medication. “Give him these pills once a month to prevent heartworms.”

“Hello, not keeping him.”

He pressed the prescription into her hand. “In case you change your mind.”

She wasn’t going to change her mind. She couldn’t change it if she wanted to. Her condo didn’t allow dogs.

When she got home, she called the
Houston Chronicle
and took out an ad. Then she went on the computer and posted on craigslist.
Lost dog.
She detailed his vital statistics and added her cell phone number.

“Now we wait,” she told the mutt.

He gazed at Jillian as if she was the most impressive person on the face of the earth.

“Remember, Mutt, I’m not a pet person, so don’t get attached. I’ll just break your heart.”

He looked as if he didn’t believe her.

“I will. I’m mean that way. Ask anyone.”

Her cell phone rang.

“Hey,” she told Mutt. “This could be it. Your long-lost family.” She flipped open her phone. “Hello?”

“Jillian Samuels?”

“Yes?” She hadn’t put her name on the craigslist ad. The call couldn’t be about the dog.

“This is Hamilton Green. I’m Blake Townsend’s attorney,” the man said.

At the mention of Blake’s name, she curled her fingers tighter around the phone. “Yes?”

“I need to speak with you in person.”

“What’s this about?”

“Mr. Townsend has left you an inheritance and a sacred responsibility. May I have my secretary pencil you in for a three-thirty
appointment on Tuesday?”

“H
OW WAS THE SWEAT LODGE?
” Ridley asked Tuck as they drove to the construction site on the other side of the mountain the following morning. They were
both working as contract labor—Ridley hired as an electrician, Tuck as a carpenter for a new spec house going up.

Ridley was behind the wheel of his SUV. Tuck was ensconced in the passenger seat wishing he’d driven alone. But he’d woken
up in the sweat lodge that morning, and Ridley had just assumed they’d carpool to the job site.

Tuck shrugged.

“Did you have a vision?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You sure? Because sometimes vision quests can be pretty intense.”

“Mule deer in the bar ditch.” Tuck pointed not so much to warn his brother-in-law just in case the animal decided to dart
into the road as deer often did in that part of the country, but to distract him from the conversation. That damn vision was
imprinted on his brain. It made him feel horny and guilty as hell. He was afraid of his own subconscious, and the last thing
he wanted was to have Ridley Red Deer analyze it.

His brother-in-law slowed.

The doe raised her head as they motored past, and she stared Tuck squarely in the eyes. The deer looked accusatory, as if
she knew all about those shameful sweat lodge happenings.

You’re losing your marbles. Snap out of it.

“You sure you don’t want to talk about it?” Ridley asked. “It might help to powwow.”

“I’m good, thanks.”

“That bad?”

“We’re not talking about this.”

“So you
did
have a vision?”

“That constitutes talking.”

“Gotcha. No talking about the vision quest.”

“Thank you.”

A long moment of silence stretched out. Tuck let out a relieved breath. Ridley was gonna drop it. He stared out the window,
studying the fall scenery. This time of year, most of the leaves were gone. The snow on the ground was light, but there would
soon be more.

“So how’d you end up in the lake last night?” Ridley ventured. Apparently, he just wasn’t going to let it go.

“My sister put you up to this conversation, didn’t she?” Tuck asked.

“How’d you know?”

“You’re not usually so intrusive.”

“Come on, dude. Throw me a bone. You know Evie. She’ll gnaw my ear off with questions if I don’t bring her something.”

“Sort of like what you’re doing to me?”

“So you can see how annoying it is.”

“She’s my sister. I know how annoying it can be.”

“About the lake …”

Tuck sighed. “I was feeling sorry for myself. Took a boat ride on the second anniversary of my wife’s death. That’s not so
crazy.”

“In the middle of the night? In Colorado? In October?”

“Hey, at least it wasn’t February.”

“Valid point. Although if it had been February, you could have just skated out on the lake.”

Ridley shut up again, but this time Tuck was afraid to count on the silence.
Note to self: Find another carpool buddy.

“Your sister loves you. She worries.”

“I know.”

“We both care about you.”

“I know that too.”

“There is life after Aimee.”

That one he wasn’t so sure about it. He might be breathing, but it sure as hell wasn’t much of a life. Walking around with
only a small shred of heart left inside him.

“You should start dating again.”

Tuck folded his arms over his chest and stared determinedly out the window. “I’m not ready.”

“Evie and I could double-date with you. If that’d make it easier.” Ridley stopped at an intersection behind a green garbage
truck.

Tuck focused on an banana peel dangling from a crack in the truck’s tailgate. “Not interested.”

“How about Sissie Stratford?”

“Aimee didn’t like her, and she’s got that phony laugh.”

“Too bad Lily Massey got engaged to Bill Chambers. Aimee liked her and she’s really pretty.”

“I’m sure Bill isn’t thinking it’s too bad Lily said yes to his proposal.”

Ridley snapped his fingers. “I know. What about Lexi Kilgore? She’s nice.”

“She’s older than I am.”

“Please, by what? Three years? Evie’s two years older than me, and it makes no difference at all.”

“Lexi’s nice enough, but there’s just no spark there; besides, she talks too much.”

“What about that new bartender at the Rusty Nail? Have you see her?”

“I haven’t been at the Nail in weeks.”

“She’s cute. Blond. I know you have a thing for blondes. I think her name’s Tiffany or Amber or …” Ridley snapped his fingers.
“Brandi. It’s Brandi. Her name is Brandi.”

“How very bartendery of her.”

“So, you want me to introduce you?”

“Rid,” Tuck growled. “I appreciate the effort, I really do. But I’m just not interested.”

“You do know what my cultural beliefs are in regard to the vision quest, right?”

Tuck shrugged. “You might want to make that a little clearer for me.”

“When you’re a young man entering adulthood, or you’re at a crossroads in your life, my tribe believes the vision quest guides
you on to the next phase in life. You, my friend, are at a serious crossroad.”

He couldn’t argue with that. “Okay.”

“The dream you had in the sweat lodge is a harbinger of what’s ahead,” Ridley continued. “Not what’s behind you.”

Tuck pondered that one. A harbinger of what lay ahead. Hmm. So he was going to be sexually molested by a wedding veil–draped
dervish? The thought made him both uncomfortable and excited.

The excitement disturbed him.

“So about this vision. Maybe you’re confused by the symbolism and you need me to interpret—”

“I’m turning on the radio now. What program is it that you really hate?” Tuck reached for the radio dial and snapped it on.
He didn’t want to discuss this. “Yeah, here it is—
Rush Limbaugh
.”

Ridley laughed. “Okay, I get it. Please spare me
Rush
. I’ll shut up about the vision quest. But when you’re ready to talk—”

“I know where to find you.”

A
ll weekend long, no one called about the dog.

By Tuesday, Jillian was convinced no one was going to claim him. Poor baby. She knew what it was like to be unwanted. “I guess
I’m stuck with you, Mutt.”

The dog didn’t seem to mind.

Jillian was starting not to mind so much either. Sure, he shed hair all over the place, so she had to vacuum every day, and
he had the bad habit of chewing on her shoes, but she was surprised by how much the dog lifted her spirits.

It was a pity. She’d found someone worse off than she was and that cheered her up.

“I’m only keeping you around because you make me feel good about myself,” she told him.

Mutt seemed cool with that too.

“Can you behave yourself while I’m off to see Blake’s lawyer? No shoe chewing? Especially stay away from the Jimmy Choos.
If I’m unemployed much longer, I might have to sell those suckers on eBay for some quick cash.”

Mutt wagged his tail.

“Okay, I’m taking you at your word. But to be on the safe side, I’m shutting you out of the bedroom. And fair warning—if I’m
keeping you, we
are
looking into that whole neutering thing.”