Chapter 4

4

T ucker finished shaving and rinsed his razor, drying it and returning it into his Dopp kit. He returned to his room and slipped the kit into a drawer. Making his way down the stairs, he entered the large kitchen, where Miss Jean was pouring herself a cup of coffee.

“Good morning,” he greeted.

“You a coffee drinker, Tucker?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied.

She handed him the cup in her hand and got another for herself, saying, “Sugar’s on the table. Creamer’s in the fridge.”

“No, ma’am. I drink it black, like it’s meant to be drunk.” He took a seat at the kitchen table.

“Are you a finicky eater?” she asked.

“Not a bit. Other than Brussels sprouts, that is. Never found them little suckers to my taste. Whatever you put in front of me, I’m going to eat it, Miss Jean. And appreciate it.”

“How do you like your eggs?”

“Any way I can get them. Scrambled. Fried over easy. Poached.”

“Good to know. This morning is pancakes and sausage links.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“You can keep me company while I’m making breakfast. I like things done a certain way. I like the conversation, but I don’t want you in my way.”

He chuckled, thinking her a true original.

As she stirred the pancake batter, she said, “Normally when I have a full house, I serve both breakfast and dinner in the dining room. Right now, though, it’s just you and Sid Allen. He works a night shift and shows up here at eight o’clock. Eats his breakfast and heads straight to bed.”

She clucked her tongue as she poured the batter onto a heated griddle. “I think working that night shift is the biggest problem in his marriage, but that’s something he’s going to have to figure out on his own.”

“I’ll be sure to keep quiet, knowing he’s asleep during the day,” Tucker promised, watching her drop sausage links into a hot skillet.

“Sid’s a heavy sleeper,” she revealed. “But I appreciate your effort all the same.” As she spoke, she turned the links with one hand and flipped the pancakes with the other. “I’m just making conversation, but if you think I’m a nosy old woman, tell me so.”

“Will do, Miss Jean,” wondering what she was going to ask him. Because he knew it was coming.

“Did you have a nice dinner with Ry and Emerson last night?”

Relief filled him. Tucker had thought she would ask what he’d been doing since she’d last seen him in Lost Creek. He wasn’t ready to talk to people about being a widower. Having quit his job and wandered the country. Even if she meant well, he didn’t think he could open up to her. Maybe down the road.

But for now, he wanted to protect his memories— and his heart.

“I did. It’s been great connecting with Ry again. We haven’t seen each other since we were teenagers, but we picked up like no time had passed. Emerson’s a wonderful gal. They can finish each other’s sentences.”

“That’s a good sign in a marriage, especially the early months.” She smiled. “I’m with you. I think those two are meant for one another.”

“They caught me up on things happening in town. Emerson’s going to stop by this morning. She’s taking me to Lost Creek Vineyards and giving me a tour of the new event center and her kitchen there.”

“Emerson may not be a native to Lost Creek, but it’s welcomed her, all the same. She was a mighty fine teacher, and I know Mary Miller misses her, as do her students. Ethel Frederick knew what she was doing, though, leaving The Bake House to Emerson. The quality hasn’t slipped one bit. In fact, if anything, it’s improved.”

The innkeeper began stacking pancakes on a plate and asked, “Milk or OJ?”

“Milk with pancakes or French toast, but I’m not opposed to OJ with other items.”

As they ate their breakfast, he shared, “Once I’ve seen the winery, I’m going to borrow Emerson’s car and go see Aunt Shelly and Uncle Shy. They were a big part of my life.”

“They’ll want you to come and stay with them. If you decide to do so, Tucker, it’s fine by me.”

“No, ma’am, I’m going to like it here just fine. I need a little bit of peace and quiet. I’ve got a lot to work out. The Inn on Lost Creek suits me.”

Tucker was glad she didn’t ask him what was on his mind. Jean Bradford was a smart cookie. She could subtly fish for information, but she seemed to have a sixth sense when to steer clear of a topic.

“I have an old truck out back. And when I say old, I mean old. None of them fancy computer systems in it. It hasn’t run in a good while. When it wouldn’t start, I thought it would cost too much to fix up. Got myself one of those smart SUVs instead. If you are any good with cars and want to tinker with it, you’re welcome to do so. If you get it running, you can have it.”

He was a decent mechanic. Being on the road all the time as a kid, he had picked up all kinds of skills. If he spent a little time tinkering with her truck, Tucker thought he had a shot at getting it up and running again. Newer vehicles had computer chips and all kinds of bells and whistles. He couldn’t do much of anything on them. Even changing a sparkplug was impossible. But an old truck like Miss Jean’s would offer him a challenge.

“I’d like to give it a whirl, Miss Jean. If I do get it running, though, I want to pay you for it.”

She cackled. “If you can get it running, Tucker Young, I’ll be the one to pay you.”

They finished breakfast, and he went outside to sit on the porch and wait for Emerson since his offer to clear the table was smacked down. The old woman was even particular about how dishes were stacked in the sink and rinsed, and she told him to never attempt to load the dishwasher— because he would do it wrong.

The quiet enveloped him as he rocked, and the hint of a melody began whispering in his ear. He stilled, taken unaware, but thrilled that he heard it speaking to him. He took out his phone and hit record, humming the tune into it. Tucker had learned when inspiration struck to get it down because he might not recall the lyrics or the melody that floated through his head once he had time to sit down and write.

Slipping his phone back into his pocket, he stood as Emerson came up the drive. He went to her car and greeted her.

As he got in, she asked, “How did you sleep in a new bed and place?”

“It was all good. Miss Jean is a really nice lady. She made pancakes for me this morning.”

They drove to Lost Creek Vineyards, and he saw how massive the vineyards stretched. He couldn’t remember coming out here growing up and was impressed by the size of the operation.

The event center appeared, and he whistled low. “This is nice.”

“Trey Watson, a friend of Harper’s from Austin, is an architect. He designed it,” Emerson explained. “Both she and Ivy had input into the creative process. I even got to specify certain things I wanted in the kitchen. I’m grateful for that because it’s made my job baking cakes so much easier.”

They walked toward the center, and Emerson added, “Harper’s business is mostly weddings, thus Weddings with Hart. She does hold a few other events here, however. Special birthdays and anniversary parties. Quinceaneras and Sweet Sixteens. Even a couple of corporate events. But her bread and butter is the wedding trade.”

Entering the building, Tucker was impressed with its size. The glass wall on the far end drew him in, and he moved toward it, spellbound. It overlooked an entire section of grapevines.

Emerson joined him. “This is where couples stand during their ceremonies. Isn’t this a beautiful backdrop? Ry and I were married here.”

She showed him the various dressing rooms and then the half of the building devoted to receptions. The tables were undressed mid-week, but she told him that each reception catered to the bride and groom’s specific tastes, down to the tablecloths and centerpieces.

“Harper has four different sets of china for meals. Elegant. Traditional. Whimsical. Modern. She also has tablecloths in different colors for brides to choose from. Of course, Lost Creek Vineyards’ wines are always served to guests. That goes without saying.”

“Does Ry meet with clients as you do?” he asked.

She nodded. “He does similar taste testings. He wants to give each couple their dream meal for them and their guests. It’s the same with me. I work closely with every couple on their wedding and groom’s cakes.”

Emerson showed off the kitchen, which to him looked like a baker’s dream come true.

“I need to take you by Harper’s office and the tasting room. I texted Harper to let her know you’d be at dinner tonight, and she and Ivy are so eager to see you while you’re on the property this morning. Let’s stop by Harper’s office first.”

They drove a short distance, and he saw the Weddings with Hart sign outside a one-story building. Entering, Tucker thought the tastefully decorated room reflected Harper’s cool elegance. Her greeting was anything but cool, though.

“Tucker!” she cried, leaping to her feet and rushing toward him, hugging him tightly, her belly large and round under her flowing shirt. “How long has it been?”

“Way too long,” he acknowledged. “We just came from the event center. Harper, you’ve done yourself proud.”

She beamed. “I was an event planner in Austin for several years, but I felt the pull of Lost Creek calling me home. It helped that my fiancé jilted me the day before the wedding. Or rather, he had the best man tell me things were done between us.”

Her words shocked him. Harper was surely the most beautiful, put together woman he could imagine. Why any man would let her go was beyond him. It angered him that the guy hadn’t even had the courage to tell her himself that the wedding was off.

“Wipe that frown off your face, Tucker,” Harper chastised. “I’m not sad about it at all. Ath Armistead wasn’t the man for me. If I had married him and stayed in Austin, I would have been miserable.”

Her face softened. “By coming home, I found myself professionally. And personally. Braden is everything I could ever want. He is the most loving husband, and he’s going to be a wonderful father to this little boy.” She patted her belly.

“I hear the baby’s due next month.”

“Yes. Everything is looking good. We’re going to name him Beau, after Braden’s younger brother who passed away. Come see the rest of the office.”

Harper showed off her space and spoke enthusiastically about how rapidly her business was growing.

“We’re booked up through the rest of this year, and we only have a few openings for next year.”

“How are you going to juggle the baby and business?” he asked.

She gave him a patented Harper Hart look. “Really, Tucker?”

He laughed. “If anyone can do both and excel, it’s you.”

Emerson’s cell dinged, and she read the incoming text. “Ivy has arrived at the tasting room and is ready to see you.”

“Good,” Harper said. “I’ve got clients coming in about ten minutes and need to get a few things ready for them.”

Harper hugged him once more. “It’s great seeing you back in Lost Creek, Tucker. I look forward to seeing you at dinner this evening and introducing you to Braden.”

“Thanks for having me. I hear Braden is a terrific cook.”

She grinned. “The one thing I’m not good at.”

They all laughed.

Emerson drove him to the tasting room, and Ivy was just as enthusiastic as her sister had been in greeting him.

“You’ve been away from Lost Creek too long, Tucker Young,” she declared.

He couldn’t help but glance at her belly after their hug, and she caught him doing so.

“Yes, I’m pregnant, just like Harper. The baby is coming in mid-March, so I’ve got lots of time to prepare.”

Ivy led him on a tour of the outdoor space, explaining how the tasting room had been expanded from its original size. She took him through the gift shop and then the large tasting room. It had a lengthy bar for guests to sidle up to, as well as scattered tables. Ivy explained the tastings could occur at the bar or these tables, and then people could stay after and sip some of the wines they had purchased.

“Are you a wine drinker?” Ivy asked.

He gave her a sheepish grin. “Not at all. I’m more of a beer and burger kind of guy.”

She laughed. “You sound just like Dax when I met him. He was exactly the same, but I brought him over from the dark side. He actually prefers wine to beer now after I’ve educated him.”

“Then if you could make Dax a convert, I’m next in line.”

“I’ll give you a personal tasting and teach you something about wines,” Ivy told him. “I’ll bring a couple of bottles tonight that I think you’ll like. I’m delighted you’re having dinner with us.”

They said their goodbyes, and Emerson drove back to the event center, where she had cakes to bake and a couple of client meetings lined up.

“Keep the car the rest of the day. I know we need to see about getting you some transportation so you won’t be dependent upon us to get around town.”

He explained about Miss Jean having a truck he was going to try and fix up and drive.

“If you need something sooner, we can see about taking you into Boerne and renting something for a while. Or if you want to try and buy something, you can. They’ve got a few car dealerships there.”

Buying a vehicle meant touching the blood money, and Tucker wasn’t quite ready to do so. Maybe sometime in the future, but for now, he still wanted nothing to do with the funds.

“After I see my aunt and uncle, I’ll bring the car back to the winery.”

“I should be through with business around two. Pick me up then or any time after that,” Emerson told him. “Then I can drop you off at The Inn on Lost Creek, and you can have a couple of hours to yourself before Ry and I pick you up for dinner.”

She got out of the car, and he replaced her behind the wheel, waving goodbye. Tucker drove into town. He stopped at Lone Star Diner first, having a reunion with Aunt Shelly. She looked so much like his mother had before the cancer ate her up.

“Are you staying with Ry and Emerson? If not, Shy and I are happy to have you with us. You could even have your old room back if you’d like,” she said hopefully.

He explained about taking a room at Jean Bradley’s B&B, saying he needed a little quiet time. His aunt nodded, understanding immediately. That’s what he’d always liked about his Aunt Shelly. She was warm and loving, giving him the attention he needed, always seeming to understand him. Sometimes, before he understood things himself.

After they talked over a cup of coffee, he left the diner and headed to Blackwood BBQ. As he pulled into the parking lot, the familiar smell of smoked meats lingered in the air.

Once inside, Tucker spent an hour with his uncle Shy, catching up on sports. Shy Blackwood lived for three things. His wife. Barbeque. And sports. Not necessarily in that order.

Leaving the restaurant with a brisket sandwich and a couple of sides in a brown bag, he drove back to The Inn on Lost Creek. Using his key to enter the B&B, he went straight to the kitchen, where Miss Jean bustled about, placing a pie in a plastic container and sealing the lid.

“Oh, hello, Tucker.”

“What are you up to, Miss Jean? And stop me if I’m being too nosy,” he teased.

Laughing, she said, “I’m heading to my monthly book club. Since you already have dinner arranged, I’ll stay in town after our book discussion and eat an early dinner with a few friends.”

“Will you even have room for dinner after serving that pie to your club’s members?”

She snorted. “I’ll be lucky to get a piece of it. Those women are like vultures, descending upon any sweet brought to the book club. I’ll probably be home around seven-thirty or so.”

“I should be home shortly after you,” he said. “From what I gather, the folks I’m having dinner with tonight are all early birds. They eat early because they get up before the crack of dawn.”

She picked up the container and her purse, which was sitting on the counter. “I’m off. Have a nice time with your friends, Tucker.”

After enjoying the lunch Uncle Shy had sent home with him, Tucker went outside to sit on the porch and enjoy the mid-October day. He took a notebook and pencil with him in case any lyrics came to him. While he didn’t mind dictating spur of the moment ideas into his phone, he preferred writing down his lyrics and playing with them on paper.

He rocked, his mind hopscotching from one topic to another. Lost Creek had always felt like home, and he was glad he was officially becoming a resident of the community now. Whether he could make his living as a songwriter, though, remained to be seen.

Close to two, he returned to the winery and collected Emerson. The sweet aroma of cake hung in the air.

“How did your meetings go?” he asked.

“Both couples came in for cake samplings,” she told him. “We’d already met previously, so I had an idea of the flavors and icings they might enjoy.”

“I might have to get hitched just to come in a sample all your goodies,” he joked.

“I’ll bake you anything you want, Tucker Young. As it is, I’ve also created dessert for tonight. I’m the designated dessert bringer each Wednesday night.”

She picked up a cake box sitting on the counter. “Here’s tonight’s delight. And no peeking,” she warned.

Emerson dropped him off at the inn, and Tucker retrieved his pen and paper, returning to the porch and hoping for inspiration to strike. He told himself to be patient. Not to force anything. That the music was inside him. That it would come.

And when it did, he would be ready for it.

Lost in his thoughts, a car suddenly pulled up in front of the B&B, startling him. A woman got out, slinging a purse over her shoulder and making her way up the steps. She was about five-four, with caramel-colored hair and warm brown eyes that stirred him in a way he hadn’t felt in years.

“Hello,” she said. “Are you staying here?”

He rose and offered her his hand. “Tucker Young. Yes, ma’am, I’m a guest at the inn. If you’re looking to book a room, though, Miss Jean isn’t here right now.”

She shook his hand, and Tucker felt an electricity ripple through him. She must have felt it, too, because her eyes widened slightly, and she quickly pulled her hand from his.

“I already should have a room set aside for me,” she explained. “I’m Reagan Bradley. My aunt owns The Inn on Lost Creek.”