Mr. Write (Sweetwater) (25 page)

“Damn it.”  He pulled back
, but couldn’t quite meet her eyes.  “What’s wrong with you?  Why aren’t you fighting?” 

“Because you’re hurting,” she said quietly, and Tucker felt it like a punch to the gut.

They both stood frozen.

“
Honey, I’m home!”  Mason called out from downstairs.  “And there’s some kind of animal in the kitchen.”

Tucker forced himself to look at her.  Her lips were swollen.  Her eyes were kind.  Shame burned through him. 

She turned away.  “I’ll get Useless on my way out.”

SHRUGGING
into a clean shirt, Tucker came into the kitchen to find Mason leaning against the counter, drinking a beer.

Good.  A handy target.

“Have a nice day?”

Mason eyed him
warily over the rim.  “Better than you have, I’d wager.”

“You deserted the field last night.”
  He yanked open the refrigerator.  Found two more beers, a bottle of Tabasco and a carton of rice that was growing hair. 

It made him yearn for a pastrami on rye like a lost lover.

Mason shrugged.  “Sarah came in.  I figured you might actually get off your arse if I weren’t around.  Although judging by the look on her face when she left here, your skill in handling women remains as finely honed as usual.”

He didn’t want to talk about Sarah.

“How’d you get home?”

“These things on the end of my legs.  I believe they’re called feet.”

He slammed the refrigerator door and was in Mason’s face before it had shut.  “Are you screwing around with Allie Hawbaker?”

“I…” Something shifted in his eyes.  “No.”

It was said just mournfully enough to have Tucker drawing back.

“I walked her home… back to the store, anyway.”

“Your bedroom door was shut.”

Mason’s stare was bland.  “Because I assumed one of us might actually know how to talk a woman into his bed, and might appreciate a little privacy.”

“You went somewhere with her today.  Her car was gone.”

“What, you’ve joined Scotland bloody Yard now?  Why are you so concerned, anyway?”

“You mean aside from the fact that I’m fond of her?”

“You’re fond of your beer, too, but you don’t get all brassed off when I have
one.  Oh,
fine,”
he said when Tucker bared his teeth.  “Help a woman out and suddenly I’m a villain.”

“Depends on the kind of ‘help.’”

Mason drained the rest of his beer, chucking the bottle into the trash can.  “I noticed a clicking noise when she pulled away last night.  Like when my Jag had a worn CV joint.  So I stopped by today, mentioned that I thought it sounded off, and she may want to have it looked at.  Ah, Josie, the old woman, sort of insisted that that happen right away.  And that I should be the one to take the car in, since I seemed to know my arse from my elbow.”

Tucker crossed his arms over his chest.  “You took her car in to have it serviced.”

“If I hadn’t, there’d probably be a wax likeness of me somewhere with little pins in it.”

“
And you walked her home last night. In the dark.  During a storm.  And then watched her drive away.”

His
busy mouth turned sulky.  “So?” 

“
So.” Tucker couldn’t believe it.  “You struck out.”

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

“It’s a baseball analogy, dumbass.  You hit on a woman, and you struck out.”  He grinned.  “There is a God, after all.”

“I did not strike
out.” He dragged both hands down his face, and went to the fridge for another beer.  Giving the top a vicious twist, he muttered: “I choked.”

“You
choked?”

“I just couldn’t bring myself to…” He whirled, pointed a finger.  “I’ve clearly been living with you too long.  Your ineptitude has worn off.”

Immensely cheered, Tucker grabbed his keys from the table.  “Come on.”

“Where?”

“We’re going to get some food.  And then there’s a piece of riverfront property I want to check out.”

“You’re buying more land here?” Mason sounded puzzled.

“Not exactly.  I’ll fill you in on the drive.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

SARAH
stared in heartsick consternation at what had been an especially lovely bed of lantana.  Yellow and white blooms lay crushed and torn across the walkway, the plants having been simply ripped up from the roots. 

Deer, maybe. 
Pulled them up, decided they didn’t like the taste? Though the research she’d done before she planted it indicated that lantana was supposed to be deer resistant.   She’d even sprinkled dried blood – a thought which she found mildly disgusting – around them as well as the various perennials that she’d discovered were like candy to the marauding varmints.

Setting aside the shears she’d been using to prune Mildred’s
wildly abundant azaleas, she studied the poor, mangled remains.  The lantana was a particular favorite of hers, due to its low maintenance and abundant blooms, and one of the few new introductions she’d made to Mildred’s gardens.

She could take some clippings, try to start some new plants
, she guessed.  Then she sighed. Starting from scratch like that took time, and time was something that Sarah had in short supply.  She’d have to go back to the nursery, buy some specimens – likely costly specimens – that were already well-established.   She couldn’t leave things like this. The ruined bed was an eyesore.

P
ushing at one of the pins she’d stuck into her hair to keep the heavy mass off of her neck, Sarah blew at the stubborn curl that tumbled free regardless. Then she picked up the shears, right before she felt the prickle on the back of her neck.       

“Easy.”
  Tucker held up a hand, gaze shifting to the shears she’d gripped like a lethal weapon.  “You have every right to be pissed, but I’d hoped we could avoid bloodshed.”

She eyed him, big and dark
and sporting an expression somewhere between broody and annoyed.   She wasn’t sure what it said about her that she’d started to find that appealing.

“You’re lucky I didn’t clip something off, sneaking up on me like that.”

He snorted as he dropped his hand.  “I didn’t sneak.  I’ve been standing here for about two minutes.  You have the survival instincts of a turnip.”

“Is that so?”

“Unfortunately.  And for the record, that icy tone doesn’t work as well when a woman’s wearing a shirt with Snoopy on it.”

She glanced down at the ancient tank
.  The words
It was a dark and stormy night
danced over Snoopy’s bent head.  “If you’ve stopped by to irritate me, you can consider your task complete.”

“Irritating you is a side benefit.  I stopped by to bring you this.”

When he held out the simple brown bag filled with bright, pretty tissue, Sarah could only blink.

“Did you wrap that up yourself?”

“Would you just take it so that I can stop feeling like a jerk?”

“I would think you’d be used to that particular sensation by now.”  But she took the bag.

He watched her, and when she took her time taking off her gardening gloves, laying them with the shears, he stuffed his hands into his pockets.  He’d taken the time to shave, she noted, and his damp hair was combed into order.  She caught the faint scent of spicy soap.  When he shifted his feet, scowled, awareness struck.

“Are you nervous?”

“No.”

Could have fooled her.  It probably made her a terrible person, but she found his discomfort, and the fact that he’d troubled to make himself more presentable…well, cute. 

“What happened to those plants?”

“
I’m not sure. Deer, I think.”

“Huh.”
  He glanced around, jingled his keys. “Why didn’t they eat them?”

“Well, they’re not supposed to like lantana, which is why I planted it to begin with. Apparently they didn’t get the memo.
” 

The keys stopped jingling.  “I guess they didn’t get the memo that smoking is bad for them, either.”

“What?”

Tucker pointed. “There’s a cigarette butt on top of that pile.”
 

Sarah
stared, feeling her gorge rise in her throat.  And realized that this was… destruction.  Of the deliberate variety.

“
Maybe teenagers,” she suggested. Who were known to do things like this for the hell of it.  She knew that there were several in town who were giving Will fits, knocking over mailboxes, egging public buildings. Breaking into the old mausoleum. Though why they would target a lowly flower bed, she had no idea.

She did, however, have an idea why… certain other individuals might find this sort of thing entertaining.  Bullies, she knew, enjoyed destroying things that were special to others.

Just to show that they could.

And she recalled, vividly, the smell of cigarette smoke the night on her porch when she’d been so certain she was being watched. She’d attributed – mistakenly – the smoke to Tucker, and the prying eyes to a stray cat.

Now… now she wasn’t so sure.

“Are you okay?”

Sarah blinked, then glanced up at Tucker’s face, embarrassed to see that chagrin had morphed into concern. “I’m fine,” she said, rather briskly.  “Just… annoyed. Since I inherited this garden, so to speak, I’ve felt duty bound to take care of it.  And I’ve discovered that I enjoy it, which is a nice bonus.  You know.” She untied the ribbon.  “I have several wonderful books on flora that does well in this zone, if you’re interested in doing some work on your landscaping. A couple big, splashy pots of hibiscus on either side of those front steps would perk the place right up.”   

From the look on his face, she figured he knew that she’d deliberately changed the subject, but decided to give her a pass.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”

When she l
ifted the tissue paper out of the bag, admired it before folding it neatly into a square, Tucker said: “Jesus.  What is it with Southerners?  You’ve got molasses for blood?  It’s tissue paper, not one of the Dead Sea Scrolls.”

“It’s very pretty tissue paper,” she informed him coolly, even as laught
er wanted to tickle her throat.  But when she fished into the bag, drew out a large, square book with a gorgeously illustrated cover, the tickle became something else.  “Grimm’s Fairy Tales.”  She slid her fingers under the front cover, turned the first page to examine the date of publication.  “Nineteen-oh-four. This is beautiful.  Where did you get this?”

“Mason dragged me into this antique store yesterday. 
He has a thing.  But they had boxes of books from some old estate.  I’m not sure the proprietor even knew what all she had in there.  My mom…” he trailed off, cleared his throat before he continued.  “My mom would have been turning cartwheels.  She worked at a vintage bookstore back in New York.”

And suddenly his reaction the first time she’d seen him made perfect sense.
  “I see.”

“
I owe you an apology.”

Understanding how difficult this must have been for him, Sarah was careful to keep her tone light. 
“For denigrating my preference for happy endings?”

“Everyone’s entitled to their preferences, and their opinions.”
   

“You know,” s
he tapped a colorful illustration of Rapunzel in her tower.  “This version of the story has the prince being blinded by thorns.”

“Really
.”  He flicked a glance at the row of bushes behind her.

“
Viburnum.  They don’t have thorns,” she informed him.  “And in any case, you’re hardly a prince.”

His gaze shot back to hers.  “No,
I’m not.”

“Tucker.” She closed the book on a sigh.  “As much as I enjoy kicking you, metaphorically speaking, I’m not inclined to do it while you’re down.  So this was a lovely, but unnecessary, gesture.”

“I shouldn’t have…” He stabbed a hand into his hair, cursed.  “Look, I’m not above using my size to intimidate assholes.  Hell, I enjoy it.  But I’ve never used it against a woman.  And I’ve never used sex as a power play in my life.”

“Believe me, if I thought otherwise, you’d be
eating this book right now.”

“I’m sorry.”  He sounded
very nearly miserable.  “After… what you went through, I should have been more cognizant.”

She held up a hand, not caring to
go down that road. Particularly right now, with the remnants of her flower bed strewn around her.

And because she didn’t want to be seen as some kind of helpless damsel in distress, climbed
purposefully to her feet.  “Speaking as someone who has been on the receiving end of that kind of power play, I can tell you that what you did…” She made herself meet his gaze.  “It wasn’t even close.  I didn’t feel threatened when you kissed me, Tucker.  Surprised, yes.  In any kind of physical danger, no.  Mostly I felt sympathetic.”