Chapter 16

16

T he past two weeks had flown by. Where he once had wondered if he would ever pen a song’s music and lyrics again, the floodgates had opened. Melodies and words poured from him, faster than ever before. His confidence soared. He’d regained the pep in his step.

And it was all due to Reagan Bradley.

They were both settling into life in Lost Creek. He was working weekdays with Ry on the food truck, serving lunch, and had become familiar with many of the customers, several of whom were repeats throughout the week. A good number of teaching sessions had occurred, with his cousin tutoring Tucker on the art of smoking meats. He’d learned all about how exposing various cuts of meat to low, indirect heat for ten or more hours allowed the smoke to literally change the composition of the meat, turning it into a fine delicacy. Tucker could now babysit a brisket for twelve hours, making certain the outside was blackened, while the inside results were melt-in-your-mouth beef. He understood the reasons behind switching up the wood from hickory to maple to mesquite and the best cuts of meat, pork, chicken, and fish to use in smoking. Now, after practice, he had a feel for how long a smoked item should be rested, as well.

Barbequing was part science, part art— and part becoming one with what you smoked.

He’d also worked three different weddings with Ry. Emerson had been on hand that first time in case she was needed, but Tucker and Ry found their groove and went with the flow. Their camaraderie, whether in the truck or the event center’s kitchen, was easy and yet efficient.

After a week, he’d approached Ry about investing in Smokin’ Sweethearts, explaining he had money from a settlement he hadn’t touched. Ry had protested at first, but Tucker gently kept up the pressure for a couple of days, offering good reasons why his cousin should accept the financial offer. Tucker said he wanted the money to go toward something good, and he couldn’t think of anything better than assisting Ry’s business to blossom. Since business was booming, they wouldn’t be able to drive and pick up the new smoker they’d ordered as Ry had when he’d first begun his business. Tucker didn’t mind paying the shipping fees. The additional smoker would arrive sometime next week, and it would join the one at the winery. Satisfaction filled him, knowing some of the blood money would go to a good cause and make things easier for Ry.

Reagan had been busy herself, meeting with Harper and her staff as they hammered out a plan for when Harper went into labor and took several weeks off to be with her baby boy. Even though Reagan was new to the wedding event business, she was enthusiastic about it, contributing new ideas which Harper had taken to. Tucker thought from the sound of it that Reagan should be put in charge of things, but he understood why Harper chose to allow one of her assistants who’d been with Weddings with Hart from the start to oversee things in her absence.

She’d also had daily cooking lessons with her aunt. For the past several nights, dinner at the inn had been prepared by Reagan under Miss Jean’s watchful eye. As she did everything, Reagan had gone all-in on cooking and excelled at every dish she had made, from lasagna to meatloaf to fried chicken.

Despite being busy, he’d managed to spend plenty of time in Reagan’s company. The more he was around her, the more he knew he wanted her in his life permanently. Tucker wasn’t ready to make that kind of declaration, though. He wanted to give Reagan as much time as she needed to come to the same realization. This second chance for them both was a tricky thing. Both had loved and lost. He still loved Josie and always would. But he understood while she would always be in his heart and be a part of him, he needed Reagan, too.

When he wasn’t working with Ry or spending time with Reagan, Tucker was writing songs at a pace unfamiliar to him. In the past, he had tinkered with a melody for a few weeks before ever committing anything to paper. After that, he still tweaked it a while before it was set in stone. Then he worked on the lyrics to match the tune.

This time, things had flip-flopped. The words were first coming to him. He scrawled them in notebooks. Recorded them on his phone. Spoke them aloud in the shower, aiming for the right rhythm and rhyme. Country song lovers loved a good rhyme. It was a different way to work, though. He now took those verses and choruses and built a melody around them. Some came from the music that had first come to him when he ventured in to Lost Creek and those early days when he first met Reagan.

In the past couple of weeks, he’d written five songs. Not all of them were about her, but he hoped they would be. Country music was about a lot of things, but mostly it was about falling and being in love. His lyrics reflected that.

And that’s why he was afraid to play anything for Reagan.

Josie had been his sounding board when it came to his songwriting. She would give a listen and honestly critique both music and lyrics, telling him when a phrase worked and when it didn’t or shaking her head, telling him the music of the chorus sucked big time. He’d always gone back to the drawing board, wanting her approval and for the song to sound just right.

Now, he was writing rapidly, completing songs with no feedback. He thought what he had produced was good, but he wouldn’t send it to Matt just yet. It was essential to have someone else listen and give him feedback. Though Dax seemed the most likely person to do so since he was a songwriter himself, the only person Tucker could see in that role was Reagan. Tucker just hoped that what he’d written wouldn’t scare the pants off her.

Or maybe that would be a way to start something up.

They hadn’t made love yet. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to. He was certainly attracted to Reagan, but he was respectful of her and her feelings regarding Arch. Truth be told, Tucker wasn’t certain if he could make love to another woman. He hadn’t done so since Josie’s death. Each kiss with Reagan, though, stirred new feelings within him, and they had certainly done their fair share of kissing. Maybe it was time to see if she might be interested in a more intimate relationship. If so, that would mean more than the physical. It would include emotional intimacy. Already, he felt incredibly close to her. Had shared things with her that no one else knew.

Resolve filled him. He would play her some of the new songs and go from there.

Tucker decided to call Ivy. While he’d enjoyed the past two Wednesday dinners with friends, he was drawn most to Dax and Ivy. Maybe because they both had the soul of an artist, whether through their music or painting.

“Hey, Tuck, what’s up?” Ivy asked.

“I need a favor and was hoping you could help me out.”

“Sure, whatever I can do,” she responded.

“I’ve written some new songs, and I want Reagan to hear them.”

“That’s terrific news,” Ivy enthused. “And I’m guessing one or more may be about Reagan herself.”

It was no secret in the group that he and Reagan were seeing each other. “Yes. A few are. What I need is a quiet place with no interruptions in order to play them for her. I was hoping maybe we could use your studio tonight.”

“Of course!” she exclaimed. “That would be perfect. You won’t have any interruptions if you go there. Where are you now?”

“At Miss Jean’s.”

“I’m at the tasting room. Do you want me to drop off the key when I get off work?”

“Why don’t I stop by and pick it up and save you the trip?” he asked.

“Sure. See you soon.”

Tucker hung up and left his room, going next door to knock on Reagan’s door. While he could have played for her in either her room or his or even the parlor downstairs, he wanted more privacy than the inn would give them.

She opened the door, giving him a smile. “Hey. What are you up to?”

“Are you free this evening?”

Her brown eyes sparkled, and he wanted to write a song about them.

“I can be.”

“I’ve written some songs I’d like you to listen to and critique.”

Reagan frowned. “You know I don’t know a thing about country music. I’m not sure I’d be much help.”

“I value your opinion. Will you give it to me?”

Nodding, she said, “I’ll be happy to.”

“How about dinner first? Lone Star Chop House?”

She laughed. “You think bribing me with a steak dinner will result in a positive approval rating, Cowboy?”

“Maybe I just feel like steak.”

“Okay. You’re on. What time?”

“Six,” he replied. “Then after dinner, I’ll play for you.”

Her face grew serious. “I was teasing before. I really am honored that you want to play your new stuff for me, Tucker.”

“I’m glad you agreed to hear it. See you later.”

He called the steakhouse, making a reservation for six-fifteen, then drove to Lost Creek Vineyards and picked up the art studio key from Ivy.

“You know I’m dying to hear what you’ve written,” she told him as she handed it over.

“If Reagan approves, I’ll play them for you and Dax.

“I’m going to hold you to that, Tuck,” Ivy said.

He returned to the B&B, making sure he put his guitar in the back seat of the truck. He didn’t need his notebook but took it anyway in case Reagan wanted to study the lyrics before sharing her thoughts with him. When the time came, he changed clothes, putting on a fresh shirt and black slacks. Tucker was glad he did so when she opened her door.

Reagan stood there in a black cocktail dress that accentuated her curves. Though it wasn’t low-cut, the square neckline showed just enough of the tops of her rounded breasts to cause a fire to light within him.

“You look incredible,” he said. “If I owned a tie, I’d go put it on.”

“You’re fine as you are,” she told him, her eyes sweeping approvingly up and down him. “I just haven’t had a reason to dress up since I’ve been in Lost Creek. I figured a steak dinner was the closest I’d come to that.”

“Don’t forget the premiere next weekend,” he reminded her. “Holden told me it won’t be black tie, but I better spruce up a bit. Dax has already told me that since we’re the same height and general build, I should fit into one of his old suits. He kept a few when he came to Lost Creek.”

She laughed. “It’s hard to think of Dax in anything but jeans. What did he do before he moved here?”

“Accounting. Investing. That kind of thing.”

“He’s certainly smart enough, but I would never have guessed that was his old world. I can’t picture him anywhere other than Lost Creek, running Java Junction and playing for wedding receptions.”

Tucker chuckled. “I think Dax would take that as a compliment. Ready to go?”

“Let me get a sweater.”

She retrieved a sweater lying on the bed and draped it around her shoulders.

“You know I can keep you plenty warm,” he said flirtatiously.

Blushing, she said, “Maybe after dinner, Cowboy.”

They drove to the Lone Star Chop House, and Tucker gave his name at the hostess stand. They were led to a booth, which he had requested.

After they perused the wine menu, they both settled on a blend from Lost Creek Vineyards, with Reagan joking that she would feel disloyal drinking another label. Once the wine was brought and they ordered, he told her they would be going to Ivy’s studio afterward.

“Why?”

Tucker shrugged. “I wanted a quiet place to play my songs for you. Miss Jean’s a nice lady, but I think if she heard playing and singing, she’d be a little nosy and want to check things out.”

“And opinionated,” Reagan added. “She doesn’t mind making her opinions known.”

He reached across and took her hand. “It’s your opinion I’m after, Caramel. No one else’s.”

Her blush deepened. “I hope I won’t let you down.”

“You couldn’t if you tried,” he responded, wishing they could skip dinner and go straight to the music.

And more.

The server brought their appetizers, mushrooms stuffed with crab for him and goat cheese and artichoke dip for her. He eyed hers with suspicion.

When she caught him doing so, she said, “Try a bite. Just one. If you don’t like it, my feelings won’t be hurt.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever eaten an artichoke before,” he admitted. “I did eat Brussels sprouts once.” Tucker made a face. “Never again.”

She spooned some onto one of the triangular chips that came with it. Leaning over, he let her place it in his mouth.

“Let it sit a minute. Like wine,” she recommended.

He did, chewing and then swallowing. “Not bad. But I think I’ll stick with my app.”

Soon, their steaks arrived, a New York strip for him and filet mignon for her, both prepared medium rare. They each had gotten a loaded baked potato. Conversation flowed freely, with Tucker telling her about a new spicy sauce Ry had come up with this week and Reagan telling him about sitting in with Harper as she met with clients.

“It’s fascinating, seeing how Harper juggles so many balls with wedding planning. She’s lucky to have Emerson taking care of the cakes and Finley doing the photography.”

“And Ry and me catering,” he prompted, causing her to laugh.

“Well, that goes without saying.”

Their server approached them. “Are you interested in dessert this evening?” she asked.

Reagan shook her head. “None for me. I’m filled to the brim. Everything was wonderful, however.”

“Just the check,” Tucker said.

They finished their wine and paid the bill. He drove them back to the heart of Lost Creek and parked in front of the hardware store, which was now closed. Grabbing his guitar and notebook from the back, he escorted Reagan up the stairs and used Ivy’s key to unlock the door. Turning on the lights, they entered the studio and he closed the door. His eyes were drawn to a half-finished canvas, and Tucker moved toward it.

“This may be a work in progress, but even incomplete, it touches my soul,” he marveled.

“Have you been to Ivy’s studio before?”

“No. Give me a minute. I want to look around.”

Setting his things on a battered coffee table, Tucker wandered from one canvas to the next, seeing seven in all.

“I knew she was talented. Saw her work when we were kids. Boy, her work is remarkable.”

Reagan said, “I was blown away when I first saw her paintings. I had to read all about her New York art exhibit online after that. She told me that she’s preparing for another one, and demand is high from several previous buyers who want to add more of her work to their collections.”

Slipping her arm through his, she continued, “But that’s not why we’re here. I want to hear what you’ve been working on, Tucker. I’m really excited to be the first person to hear these songs.” Smiling shyly, she added, “I’ll admit I’ve also Googled you. Found the names of what you’ve previously written. I even watched You Tube videos of Matt Hardy playing them. He’s really talented.”

“Matt is Josie’s older brother,” he explained. “He heard what I was working on and asked if he could purchase a few. He bought three songs total. They all did well,” he said, pride in his voice.

“Are you going to approach Matt again about buying any of these new songs?” she asked.

He gazed at her. “It all depends upon what you think of them, Caramel.”

Reagan took a seat on a worn-out sofa. “Then let’s begin.”