Chapter 2

2

T ucker glanced at the city limits sign as they entered Lost Creek. It had been many years since he had visited the town, a refuge to him during his childhood and teenage years.

He had traveled the country in the two years since Josie’s death. At least, after his leg came out of its cast. He’d also received a large settlement from Monroe McLemore’s wealthy family, money he considered a bribe not to take the case to trial. McLemore had been excessively drunk when he had crossed the line, slamming into Tucker and Josie. The police investigation had concluded McLemore had consumed eight beers and four shots in the two hours before the fatal car crash. The twenty-year-old came from oil money, and his family hadn’t wanted Tucker to bring them to trial, especially since their son had been underaged, and they didn’t want any scandal regarding the crash.

His attorney had advised Tucker to accept the money, and he had. But he hadn’t spent a cent of it. He felt it was dirty money. Blood money. Money which was supposed to take the place of Josie and his unborn son.

The hell it did.

After the tragedy, Tucker had left Austin. Left Texas. He constantly was on the move. He hitchhiked. Took Greyhound buses. Went from town to town. City to city. State to state. All trying to forget the horrors, which played out in nightmares every night. He had seen both the good and bad of the U.S. Wonderful people were everywhere, generous souls who gave him a kind word or hired him for a temporary job. He’d also witnessed the seedier side of things in his travels.

Through his travels, he’d tried to write. He had thought the one constant which remained would be continuing to write songs as he roamed the nation. Instead, it was as if the spigot had dried up. Nothing creative came from him. Not a note. Not a line. The harder he’d tried to pen a song, the more discouraged he became. And yet his gut told him he still had plenty of music inside him.

Now, it was time to settle in one place and try to live again.

Josie would have wanted that for him. She would never have wanted to see him lost. Rootless. Hell, Josie was so kind, she would even want him to fall in love and have the family he’d always desired. Tucker wasn’t about to do that. It would feel like a betrayal if he did.

He was painfully lonely, though. Once a month, he pulled up Josie’s Instagram account, scrolling through pictures of their life together in happier times. He knew it was punishing to keep looking at the pictures, but he couldn’t help himself. Too many times to count, Tucker had read and ignored texts his cousin Ry had sent to him. Hearing from Emerson Frost, though, had been a turning point. He had answered her DM, which had put him in touch with Ry. Tucker had responded to Emerson’s message, leaving his cell number and the ball in her court.

Almost immediately, Tucker heard back from Ry and Emerson. They had just gotten married a few hours earlier. The talk had been a good one. Not long, but satisfying. The couple had convinced him to come to see them in Lost Creek. Ry hadn’t pressured him, saying it could be a temporary visit. It would be up to Tucker to decide if he wanted to stay or move on, continuing to be a vagabond.

If he’d ever had a home, it would be Lost Creek. He had spent every summer in the small town from the time he was five until he turned eighteen. Just looking at the passing scenery now caused a lump to form in his throat. He had missed his cousin. His Aunt Shelly and Uncle Shy. If he had to curb his wanderlust and settle down, it might as well be in Lost Creek where he had family.

With the settlement from the McLemores, he wouldn’t have to work right away. As it was, he had been living off previous savings, not just from his loan officer job he’d worked at diligently for years, but the modest royalties he received on the songs he had written before his wife’s death. While on the road those two years, he’d also taken on temporary jobs. Busing tables. Harvesting farm produce. Even being an extra in a movie production.

He couldn’t stomach the idea of going back to an eight-to-five job at a bank. Tucker decided if he could find peace within himself, the music might return to him. He desperately wanted it to because he wanted to try and make it as a songwriter. No desire was left in him to perform, but the last two years had given him a wealth of material to draw from. He was eager unlock those experiences, putting everything he’d been through in a song. If he were able to get something down on paper, he figured a few people in country music might still take his calls.

“Is it Tuesday?” he asked Pete, the elderly gentleman who had stopped and picked him up as he was hitchhiking out of Austin. Pete was headed to Boerne, which was about half an hour south of Lost Creek, and had been happy to give Tucker a ride and have some company for most of his trip.

“Yup, it’s Tuesday,” Pete said, turning onto the town square.

Tucker’s eyes roamed the square, seeing familiar shops. The Bake House. The hardware store. The barbershop. He also saw a few new places, including Java Junction. He could definitely use a cup of coffee.

Pete slowed the truck and pulled into an empty spot by the gazebo.

He offered the older man his hand. “Thanks for taking a chance and picking up a stranger, Pete.”

“I did my fair share of hitchhiking back in my teens.” Pete grinned. “A hundred years ago. Or at least it seems like it after six kids and fourteen grandkids. Good luck to you, Tucker.”

“Thanks. Same to you.” He handed Pete some folded bills and said, “Gas money.”

Pete waved it away. “Nah. I was headed this way anyway to see the newest grandbaby. Keep your money.”

“Take it,” he urged. “Even if you pay it forward. Pay for someone’s order in a fast-food line or for someone’s coffee behind you. I appreciated spending time with you, Pete. Maybe I’ll even write a song about you,” he joked.

The old man cackled. “I’ll be listening for it on the radio, Tucker. Might even ask you for a piece of the pie if it’s a hit.”

“You got it,” he said, opening the passenger door.

Tucker removed his things from the floorboard, slinging his backpack over one shoulder while lifting his duffel bag from the floorboard. “You take care, Pete.”

“You, too.”

Shutting the door, he gave a wave, and Pete backed from the parking place and drove away.

The clock above the gazebo said it was a quarter till ten. Too early for lunch, but Tucker was starved. He decided to make his way to The Bake House, which had all kinds of sweet delights. He knew from texting with Emerson that she now owned the place but had someone else manage it for her. She mentioned that she baked cakes for some big place where weddings were held. Ry also catered some of those wedding receptions.

It didn’t surprise him that his cousin had come home from the army and was cooking. The Blackwood family had owned a barbeque joint on Main Street for a few generations now, and Tucker assumed Ry had come back to work for his dad. He definitely had a lot of catching up to do with his cousin, who had served in the military overseas for a dozen years, ever since he was a teen. Tucker looked forward to reconnecting with Ry and getting to know Emerson.

He’d actually texted with Emerson more than Ry in the past couple of weeks since that fateful phone call. He could tell she was a genuine person. Nothing artificial about her. They had even spoken on the phone twice without Ry as Tucker had traveled closer and closer to Texas. Emerson had extended the offer for him to stay with them once he arrived in Lost Creek, but they were newlyweds. Tucker recalled how he and Josie behaved in those early months. Couldn’t keep their hands off one another. Made love in every room and in every position.

No, Tucker wouldn’t infringe upon the privacy the couple needed as they started their marriage. That meant finding a place to stay was his top priority.

He entered The Bake Shop and glanced around, not seeing Emerson. Looking in the display case, he ordered an apple Danish and sausage kolache to go and decided to check out the new Java Junction.

As he entered the coffeehouse, a warm feeling enveloped him as he glanced around. This would be a good place to come to. To sit and relax and let his thoughts meander.

After he stepped up to the counter, the barista asked what he wanted.

“Coffee black,” he replied. “I don’t go in for the fancy stuff.” Holding up his bakery sack, he asked, “Is it okay to eat something from The Bake House while I’m here?”

“It certainly is,” the woman replied. “Go have a seat. We’ll get your coffee right out to you.”

Tucker moved through the large space, seeing a group of older men holding court at a table in the corner, and he supposed they were retired and came to Java Junction each morning to shoot the breeze. Several moms in athleisure wear were saying goodbye to one another and leaving. The only other person at a table was a man close to Tucker’s age, wearing wire-frame glasses, typing furiously on his laptop.

He took a seat a couple of tables away from the guy, figuring he might be a writer from his looks. Slipping the backpack from his shoulder, he set it atop the duffel bag at his feet.

A different barista brought his coffee to him, not in a paper cup, but an actual mug. The mug was huge. He set it on the table and with a friendly smile asked, “Passing through?”

“No. I believe I’ll be staying.”

The man looked puzzled a moment and then his eyes lit up. “You wouldn’t happen to be Tucker Young?”

Guardedly, Tucker asked, “Who’s asking?”

The man offered his hand. “I’m Dax Tennyson. Ry and Emerson are friends of mine. I’m married to Ivy Hart. I think you know her.”

He relaxed, shaking Dax’s hand. “Ivy and Harper were like cousins to me. I came to Lost Creek every summer to stay with Aunt Shelly and Uncle Shy. Ry and Todd were thick as thieves, and the three of us had many adventures together. If I didn’t have dinner with my aunt and uncle, Ry and I were at the Harts. Ivy and Harper were great girls. Lots of fun.”

“Then you must know Ivy is an artist,” Dax said, a proud smile on his face. “She just had a big exhibit in New York City last month. She’s focusing on painting the landscape of the Hill Country, and New York is gobbling up her paintings like hotcakes.” Dax paused. “We’re also going to have a baby come March.”

By now, Dax had taken a seat across from Tucker.

“Congratulations,” Tucker said. “Ivy was always so sweet. She’ll make a great mother.”

“She’s my everything,” Dax said fervently.

Tucker’s throat constricted. He understands exactly what Dax Tennyson meant.

Clearing his throat, he asked, “What about Harper? She was a real pistol. I definitely could see her going places.”

“She’s actually returned to Lost Creek after being an event planner in Austin for several years,” Dax revealed. “She spearheaded a big project at Lost Creek Vineyards. Built an event center on the property. She now operates Weddings with Hart. Brides are rushing to be married at the winery.”

What he had learned from Ry and Emerson now began to fall into place. They hadn’t mentioned Harper by name, but it had to be her place where they were catering weddings.

“Harper’s married to the chief winemaker at Lost Creek Vineyards,” Dax continued. “She and Braden will have their first baby next month. You need to meet Holden.”

Dax turned and looked over at his shoulder at the man whose fingers still flew fast over his keyboard. He turned back. “I hate to interrupt Holden when he’s on a creative tear. That’s Holden Scott. Another friend of ours. He’s married to the former Finley Farrow.”

“Hmm. The name sounds familiar.”

“She’s a little younger than Ivy and Harper. You probably met her in passing over the years. Finley and Emerson are close friends. They used to teach together at Lost Creek Elementary. Nowadays, Finley is a photographer. She works a lot of the weddings at the winery, but she’s also branched out and is doing individual photography. Family and senior portraits. She’s also hooked up with some movie people, thanks to Holden.”

“Wait. Holden Scott. He’s a famous author. I’ve seen a movie based on one of his books.” As he’d crisscrossed the country, Tucker had frequented movie theaters, losing himself in the stories of other people.

Dax glanced over his shoulder again, and Tucker saw that the writer had now stopped and was closing his laptop.

“Hey, Holden. Come over here. Got someone for you to meet,” Dax said.

The writer came and joined them. “Holden Scott.” He offered his hand.

“I’m Tucker Young. Ry Blackwood’s cousin.”

The two men shook, and Holden smiled. “Ry mentioned to us that you were coming to town soon. It’s nice to meet you.” He glanced to Dax. “Have you invited Tucker to dinner tomorrow night?”

“I hadn’t gotten that far yet,” Dax said. Looking at Tucker, he said, “Ry and Emerson would’ve invited you anyway. A group of us meet every Wednesday night for dinner. We’re all pretty busy, and it’s a time for friends to catch our breath. Enjoy a home-cooked meal. Be a little bit social. It’s always held at Harper and Braden’s house. A few of us take turns cooking.” He chuckled. “Ivy can barely boil water, but she is good about bringing along different wines from Lost Creek Vineyards for our dinners.”

“I hope you’ll be able to join us,” Holden said. “Tomorrow night, Braden is making jambalaya and dirty rice.”

He hated to commit to anything. He hadn’t carried on long conversations with anyone, much less large groups of people, ever since he’d hit the road. Just random ones with an individual stranger here and there. Still, Tucker knew he needed to get back to what would be his new normal. Living in one place. Making friends. Trying to contribute to a community.

“I’d be happy to come if you have room for me,” he told the pair.

“When did you get here?” Holden asked.

Chuckling, Tucker said, “About fifteen minutes ago. I saw The Bake House and couldn’t pass by it. And what goes better with a sweet than a cup of coffee? I decided to check out Java Junction.”

“So, Ry and Emerson don’t even know you’re in town yet,” Dax said.

“No. I was going to text them once I finished my coffee.”

“Then I’ll let you do that in peace,” Dax said. “I’m off the clock for a few hours and have some things to do. I’ll see you tomorrow night, Tucker. Great having you in Lost Creek.”

Dax left, and Holden said, “We have something in common. I heard from Ry and Emerson that you’re a songwriter. I write novels and am venturing into screenplays, as well. While I love writing at home, Java Junction is a nice change of scenery, especially if you get stuck. It’s super busy in the morning. They have a bit of lunch crowd. Then after school, the place is hopping. Coffee is the new addiction of the teenagers in Lost Creek. But if you get tired of where you are and want to write, I suggest coming here during one of those quiet times.”

“Thanks for the tip, Holden.”

“I need to head home, but it was a pleasure meeting you, Tucker. I look forward to visiting with you more tomorrow night.”

Tucker sipped his coffee after Holden left and tackled the kolache first. The sweetness of the roll balanced perfectly with the spicy sausage nestled inside. He finished it and then savored the Danish. He felt good. Really good. Dax and Holden had been open and friendly. They hadn’t pressed him about his past, which he appreciated. He looked forward to catching up with Ivy and Harper again after so many years.

The last time he’d visited Lost Creek had been for Todd Hart’s funeral. Todd had been Ry’s best friend and was killed during his military service. The body had been brought home for burial. Ivy and Harper had probably been twenty or so at the time. Tucker knew just how fleeting life could be and how death affected a person and a family. Now that he’d committed to returning to Lost Creek, he was eager to renew his friendship with the two women, as well as others here in town.

Anticipation filled him as he texted his cousin and Emerson.

Made it to Lost Creek. Sitting in Java Junction. Met Dax and Holden. Eager to see you both.

He sent the message and waited. Almost immediately, his phone chimed.

Just stopped at The Bake House to check on orders. I’m coming your way now.

That came from Emerson. Moments later, his phone dinged again.

Have Emerson bring you to the truck. Can’t wait to see you!

Ry’s message puzzled him. He thought they would have met up at Blackwood BBQ or Aunt Shelly’s diner. Tucker wasn’t going to worry about it, though. He had made it to Lost Creek. Already met two people whom he hoped would become friends. It would be hard, starting over without Josie, but it was time to put an end to his nomadic lifestyle and make a life for himself.

And if songwriting didn’t work out, maybe he could learn the barbeque business.