Walk Away Joe (9 page)

∙ ∙ ∙

They knocked off work on Sunday. It was one of the rare weekends without a competition. They all needed the rest. Lana and Tag needed time together. With each other and with Cody. Tucker insisted.

He had a need or two of his own—specifically, he needed time away from them and the reminder that what those two kids had together would forever be out of reach for him. Mostly, though, he needed time away from Sara.

Damn the woman. She made him hot and horny. Angry and disgusted. More than that, she made him think. And feel. He didn’t want to do either, not because of a woman. All he wanted to experience with a woman was sex, he told himself, working hard on believing it. It was all he was good at giving—just like his old man.

A muscle in his jaw worked as he left the house early and walked to the horse barn to saddle up Poco. At least he recognized his weakness and dealt with it. Unlike the old man, he wouldn’t make promises he couldn’t keep. That way, no one got hurt. Sara made him think about promises. She made him think and wonder if maybe he hadn’t settled for a little less than he could get. If maybe he wasn’t worthy of a little more than he’d always figured he deserved.

He was about to swing into the saddle and get as far away from her and her expectations as he could when he sensed he had company. His shoulders stiffened as the light morning breeze wafted in through the open barn door, bringing her scent with it.

Timing was everything in this old world, he thought with a resigned sigh, and forced himself to face her. Standing in the open doorway, backlit by daylight and shadow, she looked small and fragile and as refreshing as the day which was sunshine-bright and unseasonably cool. And as sexy as ever-loving sin, with her soft, dark curls tugged and lifted by the summer breeze and her cinnamon-and-spice eyes shaded by a small, uncertain smile.

He was certifiably loco for not having personally shoved her into the back seat of Lance’s car last night. He’d told Lance he wanted her gone. He’d told him to get her the hell off Blue Sky. For all the good it had done him.

“Working today?” she asked, in a tone as tentative as her stance and as soft as her skin.

“Ridin’ fence,” he said, tearing his gaze away and turning back to the stud.

“Sounds like fun.”

He heard the hint of wistfulness in her voice. Heard it, and refused to succumb to it. “Last I knew, checking fence was not fun,” he said gruffly. “It’s a dull, boring job.”

“A little company might make it fun,” she countered, and offered him the suggestion of another smile when he scowled at her over his shoulder. “At the very least, it might make it a little less boring.”

He wasn’t up to answering that smile. He wasn’t up to issuing an invitation. He wasn’t up to any of this. Not the things she made him feel. Not the things she made him want and he sure as hell couldn’t have.

“Hey, Lambert,” she said, moving up beside him. “Lighten up, would you? And for God’s sake, would you quit scowling? That’s all you’ve done for the past four days.”

He turned and glared at her. The woman didn’t have the sense to cut and run. She just shook her head and grinned. When he gave her his best you’re-pushing-the-hell-out-of- this snarl, he was damned if she didn’t laugh.

“Look,” she said, working hard at pulling a straight face, “you’ve made your position clear, okay? You don’t want me here. You thought that by now I’d be gone. Well, I’d be sorry about that, if I really thought I was putting you out. But the fact of the matter is, you could use my help right now. And frankly...

She trailed off, then looked away, as if she were struggling with her next words. When she spoke again, all traces of her smile were gone. “Frankly, I could use a little more time to...to get myself back together.” Her voice had gone achingly soft, and her eyes a little misty with emotion. “I figure, maybe it makes for an even trade.”

Yeah, he thought in grim silence. It makes us even. But it didn’t make it easy. He did not want to hurt this woman. If she stayed much longer, he couldn’t guarantee that he wouldn’t.

He faced her with reluctance and, for the first time, with complete honesty. “There’s more to it than that, Sara, and you know it.”

She shifted uncomfortably, tucked her hands in her hip pockets and let out a deep breath. “Yeah. There’s more to it than that.”

For the longest time, he stood there. Steeped in wants, bound by regrets, and determined to give in to neither.

“I’m attracted to you. Physically,” he added, with an emphasis meant to discourage the notion of any further possibilities. “But that’s where it ends,” he added for good measure. “I’m not interested in any other kind of a relationship.”

He told himself he was being truthful, promised himself he meant it, and that the hurt that flashed across her face in the moment before she hid it didn’t affect him.

“Following through on that attraction and acting on it are two different things,” he continued, telling himself this was for her benefit, not his.

“It’s not going to happen, Sara. It doesn’t matter how much I want it or how much you think you want it. It’s just not going to happen. Involvement with you would only be another headache, and I’ve got enough of those already. So believe me when I say I’m not interested.”

“You’re not interested,” she repeated, after a long, humming moment. She shrugged, then met his eyes with an openness that fractured the hell out of his control. “Fine. I can live with that. In fact, I appreciate your honesty. It clears the air. And you’re right. A physical relationship is a bad idea. Actually, knowing where you stand on that is kind of a relief.”

The return of that mischievous light in her eye had him narrowing his with suspicion. “Relief?”

 
“Yeah. Don’t take this personally, cowboy, but you’re really not my type, anyway. Feel better, now?”

 
He gave her a hard stare. Was she sassing him? Or was she telling it straight? One possibility was as unsettling as the other.

“So, since we’re clear on that issue,” she went on, before he could decide how to deal with her flashing eyes and sexy-as-silk grin, “is there anything stopping us from sharing a beautiful day?

“Oh, come on, what do you say?” she coaxed, absently stroking the stud’s muzzle as Tucker stood there clenching his jaw. “Can you use some company, or do you want me to take a hike?”

What he wanted was for her to leave him alone. What he wanted was to get her out of reach. What he wanted was to take her to his bed and into his heart and tell her things he’d never told another living soul. Which proved his earlier conclusion. He was just plain out of his head. Which, he accepted fatalistically, explained the next words out of his mouth.

“I’ll saddle up Jez,” he said, after a long-suffering sigh. “Go get your boots and hat.”

∙ ∙ ∙

To Sara’s surprise, they rode in a pleasant, companionable silence for the better part of an hour. During that hour, an awareness of her affinity for the ranch, like her slow, heart-stalling acceptance of her growing feelings for Tucker, crept up on her.

She hadn’t realized how deeply the wide-open spaces had settled into her blood in the short time she’d been at Blue Sky. It had just happened, the way a cool sunset was the inevitable end of a yellow-hot day. The way the comfort of a deep sleep was the reward for hours of restless denial.

Like the man at her side, whose brooding good looks and haunting blue eyes spoke of secrets and sadness and drew him into her heart, even as her head cautioned her to keep her distance.

She’d lied through her teeth to get him to take her with him. Just as he’d lied about his feelings for her. She hadn’t believed him. She felt his longing with her heart, saw his yearnings with her eyes. She accepted what was happening here, and was determined to make him accept it, too.

It wasn’t going to be easy. Tucker Lambert was like the country they surveyed, both wild and beautiful, both beckoning and a little bit dangerous. From the gently rolling hills to the cracked creek basins, sage to saw grass, she was enthralled. Just as she was enthralled with this goodtime Charlie with the heartbreak-blue eyes and the Texas- size charm.

She knew it wasn’t wise. She even knew she’d probably end up hurt. He’d become a total enigma to her, much harder to deal with than when she’d thought he was little more than a flirt in tight denim. There was more to the man. So much more than he wanted anyone to see. She was determined to find out what he was hiding...what part of him needed protecting so diligently that he guarded it at his own expense.

That was why she’d lied. The only way to get to know the real Tucker Lambert, she’d realized, was to convince
him
that her feelings were as shallow as the creek bed they’d just crossed. Trouble was, she already suspected they ran much deeper. Black-water deep. Deep-water dangerous. And she was in way over her head.

Go figure, she thought with a sigh of total defeat as she admired his unrivaled good looks and his smooth grace in the saddle. She’d never been one to fall for a pretty face. She’d never gone for the flash and fire.

But seeing him today, looking for all the world like an outlaw who’d just posed for a calendar or a wanted poster, she found herself slipping deeper under his spell. The memory of each haunted, hollow look when he’d tried to physically and mentally set her away from him only made her want to heal a hurt that she suspected cut as deep and as painful as her own.

He turned and caught her staring. She smiled. Then smiled even wider when he looked away, a black scowl back in place that made his ruggedly handsome face even more appealing.

“I’ve been wondering,” she began, starting on ground she felt was fairly level, “is Tucker your given name?”

He hesitated for a moment, as if giving over that small piece of himself might be an irreversible step in the wrong direction. In the end, he gave up the information with a throwaway shrug that suggested it wasn’t really important.

“I’m told that when I was a kid I was a bit of a hellion.”

“Imagine that,” she said, softening her sarcasm with a smile.

He gave her a hard glare that warned her that if she wanted to hear this she’d best keep her smart mouth under control.

It shouldn’t have, but his irritation tickled her. Good, she thought. Let him get riled. Maybe he’d let go a little and level with her. Maybe he’d lose that control he’d latched on to like a lifeline.

With a supplicating look that she had to bury her tongue in her cheek to maintain, she promised to oblige him.

“Anyway,” he continued, in her estimation trying to sound grumpy but fighting a glimmer of amusement at her cheeky attitude, “my mother was fond of telling everybody within earshot that I plumb Tuckered her out.” He shrugged again. “Guess it stuck.”

It suited him somehow, and at the same time fueled her desire to fill in the blank spaces that Karla, digging in her heels, had refused to flesh out.

“And am I going to have to
guess
your given name?” she asked, wondering if she was going to have to pry every piece of information out of him with a crowbar.

“Les,” he said flatly.

Her smile faded as a shadow crossed his face. A cold, dark chill shuddered through her when he added in a hard, emotionless voice, “After my old man.”

This, she could see, was forbidden ground. At least for now. Old hurts, far from numb, were etched on his face, icing his eyes over at the mention of his father.

“And Tag?” she asked, before the silence could become unbreachable, “Is there a story there, too?”

His shoulders relaxed a little. “That had more to do with me. The day he took his first step, he started following me around like stink on a skunk. Tagging along everywhere. Never letting me out of his sight. Guess it stuck, too.

“Tom,” he added, anticipating her next question. “After my mother’s father. Any other part of my case history you’re of a need to know Miz Stewart?” he asked, his voice full of sarcasm, but gentled a bit by a reluctant softness in his eyes.

“Only why you resort to calling me Miz Stewart when you get your back up.”

He grunted. Fixing his gaze on the fence in the distance, he tugged his Resistol farther down on his brow, kneed the stallion and rode away at an easy lope.

Sara sat for a moment, watching him go. Jezebel fought the bit, wanting to go after them.
So you think you can run away from me, do you, cowboy?

“Not in this lifetime,” she murmured under her breath. Tucking her own hat a little tighter, she gave the mare loose rein.

They caught up with Tucker as he topped a gentle knoll and reined to a stop. Together, in a silence that was edgy yet oddly comfortable, they looked back over the land they’d traveled to the cluster of buildings nestled in the midst of the plains. The nucleus of Blue Sky.

The stucco-and-brick ranch house, with its wide veranda and red tile roof, sparkled like a jewel in the mid-morning sun. The little casa Tag and Lana shared, and the matching dwelling where she spent her nights, were miniature replicas of Tucker’s ranch house, flanking it at right angles on either side. She tugged off her hat, shaking her dark chestnut hair free and brushing it back from her face with her fingers.

Closer to the sprawling barn and the inside and outside riding arenas, the currently unoccupied bunkhouse added the final touches to an operation that was both well thought-out and constructed with no lack of expense.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, her appreciation reflected in her voice, as well as her words.

“Wait till you see it in the spring,” he said, apparently without realizing that the statement implied she’d be around that long. “It’s so green then. The magnolias and bluebonnets and sage fill the air with scent and color.”

“It sounds pretty,” she said, thinking that even the dried earth and yellowed grass speckled with the thatches of bobbing black-eyed Susans and the fencerows dotted with occasional clusters of sunflowers were as pretty as pretty could get.

“Sometimes,” he said, so low that she wondered if he realized he’d spoken out loud, “sometimes, I still have trouble believing it’s mine.”