Walk Away Joe (10 page)

“Because you didn’t think you’d ever find the right setup?”

One side of his mouth tipped up in a lazy, laconic smile. “Because I never figured an operation this pricey was within my reach. Poor boys who grew up mucking stalls and cooling down horses don’t usually find their way past the bunkhouse,” he added, anticipating her next question.

“Poor boys?” she repeated, hoping to keep the lines of communication open.

He crossed his hands over the pommel and regarded her with a considering once-over. “Poor boys whose mommas do other people’s wash to pay the rent and keep food on the table. Poor boys who grow up living from hand to mouth and drift from one dead-end job to another.”

She heard the bitterness that lay just below the surface of his matter-of-fact delivery and knew that now wasn’t the time to probe. “You’re not drifting anymore.”

“No. I’m not,” he agreed, stern-faced as he looked back across the sprawling ranch land. “But I would be, if it wasn’t for Lance.”

“Lance?”

He turned back to her, clearly considering how much he was going to reveal. “Lance is the money behind Blue Sky. He’s not only my friend, he’s my bankroll.”

This was news. She’d known Tucker and Lance were friends, but she hadn’t known they were business associates.

“So you were right when you figured out he had me up against the wall when he and Karla brought you here. I couldn’t turn you away. No way could I tell him no to anything. Even to dumping a small woman with a big problem on my doorstep.”

 
There was no judgment in his words, just a blunt statement of fact. A fact she was

working hard on overcoming. But not right now. Right now, she was working on him.

 
“I can’t imagine Lance applying that kind of pressure.”

 
He smiled grimly. “He didn’t. At least not the kind of pressure you think. He’d never do that. He’d never use his financial clout to try to influence me. He’s too much of a straight shooter for that.”

 
“Then why did you agree to let me stay?”

 
“Because he’s my friend. And so is Karla. With that kind of friendship, you don’t pull punches—or turn down any requests.”

 
She nodded. “I know what you mean. It’s like that for me, too. Karla and I go back to college. She was the poor girl from the wrong side of the tracks and I was the rich bitch who was bucking tradition. Talk about opposite ends of the social spectrum. Yet somehow, we formed a bond that will never break.”

 
“Well, there you go,” he said, nudging the stud into a walk. “You and Karla. Me and Lance. Stranger than truth.”

 
She clucked to Jezebel and matched his lazy pace beside him. “How did you and Lance meet?”

 
“Don’t you ever get tired of asking questions?”

He wanted to sound irritated, but he just couldn’t pull it off. That knowledge spurred her on.

 
“Let’s just say I find you fascinating, Mr. Lambert,” she said with a cheeky grin.

 
He snorted. “Let’s just say I find you nosy.”

 
“That, too,” she agreed, playing for a smile and finally getting one.

 
He let out a deep breath, gave up and gave in. “How did we meet? It’s a long story.”

 
“Just your luck, I’ve got plenty of time.”

 
“Just my luck,” he grumbled with a halfhearted scowl, and then, for reasons she didn’t want to dissect and praised the gods for divining, he started talking without guarding every word he said.

The story he told her was incredible. It was a story she’d known part of but had never dreamed Tucker had been a party to. Now it all made sense. Karla had come to work one morning nearly bubbling over with excitement over this incredible hunk her friend had dragged into ER the day before, when Sara was off duty. That hunk was Lance Griffin, and he’d been mugged on a city street. Karla’s friend, who had found Lance beaten unconscious, was Tucker.

 
“I wonder why Karla didn’t tell me,” she said, almost to herself.

 
“Tell you what?”

 
“That it was you who’d brought Lance into the ER that night.”

 
“Probably figures it didn’t matter. It was an accident that I was the one who found him. Just a twist of fate.”

 
“That ended up with Lance and Karla falling in love,” she pointed out. “Not to mention you probably saved his life.”

He rolled a shoulder, uncomfortable with the weight of that conclusion. “If not me, someone else would have taken care of him.”

“Maybe,” she said, considering. “And maybe he would have died out there if you hadn’t played the Good Samaritan.”

“Hey—don’t go pinning any medals on my chest. It’s no big deal, okay?”

“Lance must have thought it was a big deal.”

“Yeah, well, Lance is in love. A man gets a little addle-brained when he’s in that state.”

She laughed out loud. “He looked pretty sound of mind to me yesterday. And now I understand the basis for your friendship.”

“And the reason I’ve got more than a wish and a prayer and an elusive piece of
blue sky
to hold on to. I’ve got the real thing. Lance figured he owed me, and when the ranch came up for sale three years ago, he looked me up and made me an offer only a fool would refuse.”

“And Tucker Lambert’s no fool, right?”

Wrong, Tucker thought as he searched those summer- warm eyes of hers and realized he’d told her more about himself than he’d ever intended to tell. It struck him like a kick from a mad calf that he’d enjoyed the telling.

“If that were true,” he said, fully intending to back away from that unnerving scrap of reality and close himself off again, “I’d have done something with my life long before Lance came on the scene.”

“Possibly.” She eyed him again, with that thoughtful expression that told him she didn’t buy what he’d just said. “And possibly an opportunity just hadn’t presented itself.”

“Darlin’,” he said, determined to set her straight, “this Texan doesn’t let any opportunity go by. Just ask anyone who knows me.”

“And who might that be?” Her eyes were clear and probing. “Who do you let get close enough to know you, Tucker? I’m not talking about the bad-boy brawler who swaggers like he doesn’t give a damn and claims he tumbles anything in skirts. I’m talking about the man who gets involved. The man who saves strangers at risk to his own safety. The man who puts up with wayward nurses who’ve lost their sense of direction.

“I’m talking about the man who not only drops what he’s doing to pull his kid brother out of trouble, but takes him and his wife and baby under his wing to make sure they have a chance together.”

He felt momentarily stunned before he muttered, “Someone’s got a big mouth.”

“And someone else has a tendency to sell himself short.”

He worked his jaw and looked away. What he’d done—for Lance, and for Tag and Lana—was a direct result of fate and circumstances. What he’d done for Sara was the payback for a debt. It had nothing to do with character, or with duty or responsibility. Why couldn’t she get that through her head?

“How did you meet Karla?” she asked, before he had a chance to set her straight.

“How did you get so pushy?”

“Practice.” She grinned at him. “And persistence.”

He shook his head, determined not to give in to an exasperated grin. “And to think I was glad when you finally decided to talk.”

“Well, like you said, there’s a downside to everything.” Their eyes met and held for a moment so long it seemed to stretch into next week, as he thought about what had prompted him to utter those words. It had been after she promised him he didn’t have to worry about getting “accosted” by moonlight again. Only
accosted
wasn’t the word that came to mind.
Seduction
was. A slow, sensual seduction that had stirred his blood and seared to his groin and kept him awake and aching for her every night since.

“I met Karla the same way she met Lance,” he said, steering away from the awareness in her eyes and the trouble courting it could bring him. “Karla patched me up when a buddy dragged me into ER one night when we closed down a bar. I was known to get in a brawl or two back then.”

“And to break a few hearts?” she added with quiet speculation.

“My stock-in-trade, darlin’,” he said, taking the opportunity to drive his point home. “Always has been. Always will be.”

“If you say so.”

Her look was doubtful and her tone unconvinced as her gaze drifted away. She nodded toward a lone live oak a quarter mile ahead. “So, are you still up to living a little dangerously?”

Though he was glad for the change of subject, he couldn’t say he much cared for the look in her eyes. “What do you have in mind?”

“Beating the pants off you,” she told him with a sassy laugh then cued Jezebel with her knees, hung on to her hat and tore off across the knoll at breakneck speed.

Poco reacted to the challenge, dancing and rearing and champing at the bit to run. Cursing her recklessness, Tucker gave Poco his head, leaned forward in the saddle and let the stallion flat-out fly.

The big sorrel was bred for speed and athleticism, the mare for endurance. She didn’t stand a chance. He caught up to her with a sixteenth of a mile to go. Both horses and riders were winded from the exertion and the excitement when they pulled up under the tree.

“That big boy can run,” she said, laughing, as she slid off Jezebel’s back and ground-reined the mare.

Tucker swung out of the saddle. He rounded on her, shoved back his hat with an agitated punch of his thumb and propped his fists on his hips. “And you don’t have the sense—”

 
“God gave a rock. I know,” she said, cutting him off with a teasing laugh as her eyes sparkled in the July sun.

 
“That was a stupid thing to do,
cowboy
/”

 
“Yeah, but you’ve got to admit, it was a hell of a ride.”

 
Yeah, he thought, cooling himself down, he had to admit that it was. Being with her was a ride. A bona fide out- of-control jumble onto wild, uncharted ground.

 
He’d never felt out of control around a woman before. Never felt this close to the edge of letting go. Of his thoughts, of his feelings, of an insistent, building urge to let her lead the way, and damn the consequences.

 
“So...” She dropped to the soft grass, leaning back on an elbow while she caught her breath. “Have you always trained cutters?” Tugging off her hat, she shook her dark chestnut hair free and brushed it back from her face with a sweep of her fingers.

 
He squinted against the sun, knowing it wasn’t wise to join her, accepting that he’d never been a wise man. Ground-reining Poco near the mare, he pulled a thermos from a saddlebag and joined her in the shade.

 
“Always?” He unscrewed the cap and offered her a drink. She shook her head. “No. I haven’t always trained them. Have I always wanted to? Yeah. But before I found Blue Sky, I did anything I could to earn a buck.”

 
He took a long, deep swallow of the ice-cold water, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, trying not to watch as she rolled over on her stomach and laid her cheek on her crossed wrists, facing him.

 
“Such as?” she prompted.

 
He snorted, leaned back on his elbows and crossed his ankles. He studied his boots tips with a frown. “Nothing worth talking about.”

 
“I doubt that,” she insisted, the interest in her tone making him look at her. “Tell me.”

 
She looked so uncomplicated lying there. So soft and vulnerable, mellow and trusting. And interested. In something other than his body and his looks. Another first. Another puzzle—why it affected him so.

 
Thicker wished he felt so uncomplicated. He couldn’t stop looking at her. When her eyelids drifted shut, he gave up trying.

 
Her lashes were thick and dark, a lacy web of silk that kissed the ridge of her cheeks as she relaxed in the dappled sunlight beneath the Texas sun and the shady tree.

 
She prompted him again, sleepily. “Tell me, Tucker.”

 
“I’ve done everything from road construction to working offshore oil rigs, to laying brick, to busting broncs,” he said finally.

 
She fought it, but couldn’t stop a huge yawn. “Yet you ended up here.”

 
“Yet I ended up here.” He echoed her sleepy words softly and wondered, as he watched the tension ease out of her limbs and a lazy fatigue take over, exactly where “here” was.

 
He swallowed hard and looked out over the land he’d someday call his own. Yeah. He was here. Doing what he’d always wanted to do. Living like he’d always wanted to live.

 
And wondering why the fact that he couldn’t keep her with him made him feel so damn alone.

6

………

T
HE THICK GRASS DID LITTLE
to cushion the hard-packed earth beneath her. Yet the breeze felt so sweet, and her thoughts were drifting so unstructured and free that Sara hung on tight to the lethargic tug of sleep.

 
Tucking her arms beneath her chest, she turned her face away from the feathery flutter tickling her cheek.

 
“Fire.”

 
The word filtered through a muzzy haze. She ignored it, then swatted at her neck, where that persistent little tickle insisted on pestering her.

 
“Stampede.”

 
She was considering getting cranky when she recognized the Texas-slow voice as Tucker’s. Reluctantly she opened one eye. And abruptly closed it against a blinding spear of sunlight peeking through the breeze-stirred leaves of the oak.

 
“Chocolate.”

She groaned and grudgingly gave it up. “All right, all ready. I’m awake.”

“Interesting,” he said, in a measuring, amused tone, “that it was the mention of food, not fear for your life, that finally did the trick.”