Chapter 6

6

R eagan finished unpacking, setting the last of her things in a drawer, deciding she would leave on her black pants and lightweight fuchsia sweater. She realized she had no casual clothes. Life had revolved around work, and she had usually worn black, gray, or navy pants with a matching blazer and dress shirt. Being in Lost Creek, she would need to pick up pairs of jeans and casual tops. All the clothes she’d dragged with her from New York no longer seemed important. They were sophisticated, tailored, and elegant— and useless. Well, maybe not. She still hadn’t ruled out looking for a job in a large city.

But the thought of continuing to do what she had done for years held little appeal for her. Instead, Tucker Young’s words intrigued her. If she could find a job which used her skills, but was also challenging and fun, she would accept it in a heartbeat. It didn’t matter what it paid. She had enough money. Her job had paid extremely well, but she put in so many hours, she never had time to spend any of the money, other than on clothes that made her look professional.

She also wanted to purchase some workout clothes. Living with her aunt Jean, who was a fabulous cook, she would need to add exercise into her daily routine. Her eating habits as a trader and analyst had been terrible. She either skipped meals or ate at odd hours, mostly pizza or Chinese takeout. She was thirty now. It was time to start taking better care of herself.

Since it was a quarter till five, she gathered her purse and a light jacket, heading downstairs. Not seeing Tucker, she walked through the various rooms, memories flooding her of previous visits to the B&B. Although she had never been close to her mother, she had been a daddy’s girl. Reagan pictured herself and her father sitting together in an oversized chair, her reading aloud to him.

Wandering into the large dining room, she wondered how many guests Aunt Jean had staying at the inn this time of year. Then she entered the kitchen.

This was her favorite room in the house. When her family had come to visit each summer during her youth, Reagan had been her aunt’s helper. It was the only time she had every cooked. They had a housekeeper and cook back in Dickinson, but in Lost Creek, she enjoyed her time in the kitchen. Aunt Jean had put her to work peeling potatoes, washing lettuce, and shelling peas. Her favorite thing had been to knead dough for the bread baked daily. She decided she would ask her aunt to teach her to cook. Wherever she eventually got a job, she wouldn’t have her usual takeout places on speed dial. She wanted to become self-sufficient in Texas.

Leaving the kitchen, she made her way outside, locking the door behind her. Tucker sat in the same rocker he had been in when she arrived.

“Take a seat,” he suggested, and she sat in the rocker next to him. “Get everything put away?”

“I did. It seems as if my New York wardrobe is a bit fancy for Lost Creek. I need jeans. Flannel shirts. T-shirts.”

“I wouldn’t get rid of anything just yet,” he advised. “You might decide you still want to work in some capacity in the business world. The best thing you can do is take the much-needed time off if you’re in a position financially to do so. Even if you decide to consult and do a lot of your work from your home base, you’ll want nice clothes for business meetings or conventions you attend. You could keep your favorite pieces and sell the others by consignment to help buy some new clothes.”

“I’m good for now,” she replied, not wishing to discuss the huge nest egg she had grown through investing. “I don’t want to dive back into a new job. I plan to take your advice, though. I may take a month or more and relish the peace and quiet of Lost Creek. How about you? What are your plans?”

He grew thoughtful, and that urge to press her lips against his sensual ones overwhelmed her again. Reagan looked away, staring out at the woods a short distance from the house.

“I’m in a similar position to you,” he began. “I worked my bank job for several years. Did a little songwriting on the side.”

“Really?” she asked, curious about this aspect of his life. “Were they country songs? Did you write any hits?”

“A few. After I quit my day job a couple of years ago, I traveled the U.S. extensively.”

“Looking for ideas to write about?” she asked.

Tucker shrugged, and Reagan said, “I’m sorry. That’s a very personal question, and we’ve only just met.”

“No, it’s fine.” He swallowed. “I lost my wife in a car accident a little over two years ago,” he shared. “I felt tremendous guilt surviving when she died. I also miss her more than I can ever say. Josie was the love of my life.”

Her own throat constricted with emotion. She could see the pain etched on Tucker’s face and knew she had found a kindred spirit.

“I was banged up in the crash. I even missed her funeral because I was still in the hospital. Once I got out and got the cast off my leg, I couldn’t go back to the life I’d led before. I saw Josie at every turn. So, I quit the bank. Sold our house and everything in it. I just took off. No destination in mind.”

“What did you do?” she asked softly.

“I hitchhiked. Stopped in places far and wide. Some were little holes in the wall with only a few hundred people in them. Others were big cities I tried to lose myself in.”

His gaze met hers. “I’ll always love Josie until my dying day, but she would want me to start living again. I’ve wallowed in misery long enough. When Emerson contacted me, I felt it was a sign. She and Ry had just gotten married, and they wanted me to come to Lost Creek. For a visit— or to stay.” He paused. “I think I’m going to stay.”

“After your time on the road, I’m sure freedom means a lot to you. Will you try to pick up songwriting again?”

“That’s the plan. I wrote some decent tunes a few years ago. I’d like to try and resurrect that part of me again. It’ll be tough, though. Josie was always my barometer, listening to what I had written. Giving me feedback.”

“No one will ever take her place, Tucker, but I’m happy to listen to any of your songs. You know I know nothing about music, but I’m ready to hear you play.”

He nodded to himself, lost in his thoughts for a moment. She kept silent, letting him mull it over.

“I believe I’ll take you up on that offer, Reagan Bradley. You’ll be more critical. That’ll push me. If you like a song, then other people will, too. If I don’t make it as a songwriter, though, I still plan on remaining in Lost Creek. After my youth spent traveling from town to town, this is the closest to home I’ve ever known.”

She wanted to tell him they were kindred spirits. That she had also lost someone she loved. Reagan tried to, but the words seemed stick in her throat.

Then Tucker said, “Here’s our ride.”

Glancing up, she saw a car coming up the path. She smiled brightly, trying to push aside all the sorrow which welled up within her.

The vehicle came to a stop, and the passenger door opened. A woman with clear gray eyes and raven hair gave her a welcoming smile. She offered her hand.

“You must be Reagan, Jean’s niece. I’m Emerson Blackwood. I’m so glad you could join us for dinner this evening.”

A warmth filled her at the friendly greeting. “Thank you so much, Emerson. I was a little reluctant to come.”

“It’s nice to have you in Lost Creek. Your aunt is a stalwart in the community. Everyone respects her opinions.” Emerson giggled. “And Jean Bradley has a lot of them.”

“She’s definitely does and she’s feisty in defending those opinions,” Reagan agreed.

Emerson turned to Tucker. “Why don’t you ride in the front? You need the legroom like Ry. Just watch the dessert sitting on the floorboard when you get in. Reagan and I can sit in the back.”

Tucker opened the rear door, and she climbed into the back seat. Emerson walked around to the other side and then joined her.

The driver turned. Although he had dark hair and blue eyes to Tucker’s sandy brown hair and hazel eyes, she could see a resemblance in their facial features, marking them as cousins.

“It’s good to meet you, Reagan. I’m Ry Blackwood.”

“I have eaten at your family’s barbeque place. It was a long time ago. My parents and I used to visit Aunt Jean when I was really young. I haven’t been back to Lost Creek in a good number of years, though.”

“Well, we’re glad you’ve come for a visit and hope you will stay a while.”

They drove to where dinner was being held, Emerson giving Reagan a rundown of who would be there.

“We always gather on Wednesdays and have dinner with this particular group of friends,” she explained. “We eat at Braden and Harper’s house because they have the largest dining table of the group. Braden works for the Hart family and is their head winemaker. He’s gaining quite a reputation in the Hill Country, especially for his blends. Harper owns a business on the winery grounds, and she holds many weddings and other events at the venue there. They’re expecting their first baby next month.”

“That may change the dynamics of your group dinners,” Reagan pointed out.

“I hope not,” Emerson replied. “Harper doesn’t do any of the cooking. Braden is the cook in their family. He and Finley Scott trade off weeks. They try out all kinds of new, fun recipes on us.”

“Tell me about Finley,” she encouraged.

Emerson smiled. “Fin was my roommate in college. After graduation, we both took jobs at Lost Creek Elementary and taught for six years. I wound up inheriting The Bake House and left teaching, while Fin stepped away from the classroom to pursue photography full-time. She’d already been doing it as a side gig, photographing weddings for Weddings with Hart and also family and senior portraits of residents in the area. Fin’s also involved a little bit in the movie business, thanks to Holden, her husband.”

“I hear he’s a writer,” Reagan said, glad she had a good memory for names and faces.

“If you haven’t read either book Holden has written, you should. They’ll keep you on the edge of your seat. His first book was made into a movie. The director of that film, Wolf Ramirez, and his wife Ana, started their own production company. They optioned Holden’s second book and filmed it this summer near Lost Creek. Holden wrote the screenplay for the film, while Finley took stills during production. She’s also worked on some of the ad campaign. Hill Country Homicide comes out at the end next month, around the same time Holden’s third book releases.”

“Then I really need to catch up on my reading,” she joked.

“I’ve told Reagan she should watch Capitol Crimes ,” Tucker added. “It’s a thriller, with a ticking time bomb plot.”

“Don’t forget about Ivy and Dax,” Ry reminded his wife.

Emerson turned back to Reagan. “Ivy is Harper’s sister, and she is becoming a painter of note. Ivy paints landscapes of the Hill Country, and she had a big show at a famous Manhattan gallery last month. Every painting sold, and she’s really making her mark in the art world.”

“I’d love to see some of her paintings. The Hill Country really speaks to my heart. I was brought up in Dickinson, which is close to Galveston. While I like being around the water, I prefer the rugged beauty of the Hill Country to the ocean.”

“Ivy also serves as the manager of Lost Creek Vineyard’s tasting room,” Emerson continued. “Something tells me that she’s going to have to give that up. Right now, she paints morning and then works at the tasting room afternoons and some weekends.”

“You think she’ll want to pursue art full-time?” Reagan asked.

Emerson chuckled. “She’s also going to have a baby. A girl. She’s arriving in March. I think painting and a baby will trump the tasting room.”

By now, they had pulled up in front of a beautiful, two-story house.

“We’re here,” Ry announced.

“I’ll grab the dessert for you,” Tucker said.

“What did you bring?” she asked as they got out of the car.

Ry answered her question. “Emerson is the one who always provides dessert for us. It’s a surprise each time.” He grinned. “Though most people hope for chocolate on a regular basis.”

Emerson told Reagan, “I try to do a chocolate dessert every other time to appease the chocoholics in the group. Tonight’s dessert is different, though.”

Ry slipped an arm about his wife’s waist as they walked to the front door. “Whatever it is, it’ll be a success.”

He gave Emerson a sweet kiss, and Reagan felt a pang of sadness. She hadn’t kissed anyone in two years. Hadn’t even had a date.

And yet for some odd reason, all she could think about was kissing Tucker Young.

They rang the doorbell, and a man with dark brown hair and eyes the color of melted chocolate opened it.

“Hey, everyone,” he said, ushering them in.

As she passed, he said, “I’m Dax Tennyson, Ivy’s husband. I heard you were joining us tonight. Good to have you in Lost Creek, Reagan.”

“It’s nice to be here.”

“Stop by Java Junction on the square soon,” Dax told her. “First cup of coffee is on the house.”

A woman her height with blond hair and arresting aquamarine eyes came toward her. “I’m Finley Scott. I would love to meet you for that cup of coffee, Reagan. Look at your calendar and see when is a good time.”

She chuckled. “Any time is good for me, Finley. I’m here in Lost Creek to visit Aunt Jean and relax.”

Finley pulled out her phone. “How about Friday morning? Nine? Ten?”

Reagan slipped her own phone from her purse. “Whichever is good for you.”

Another pretty brunette with hazel eyes joined them. “Let’s make it nine,” she suggested. “That way, I can tag along. Hi, Reagan. I’m Ivy Tennyson.”

“I hear you’re a painter. Congratulations. I hear you’re having a little girl next year.”

Ivy’s hands went to her belly. “Thank you. We’re going to be parents in March. Dax will be the most amazing father. Here, let me take your purse and jacket.”

Ivy hung both on a coat rack and slipped her arm through Reagan’s. “Come into the kitchen and meet everyone else.”

They entered a large kitchen, where a tall man with California blond, good looks stirred something on the stove. Another man with wire-framed glasses, dark hair, and green eyes talked with him. They both turned as everyone entered.

Ivy introduced her to Holden, the writer, and Braden, the winemaker.

“I hear that you cook quite a bit for this group, Braden.”

“Cooking is always something I’ve enjoyed doing,” he said. “Holden here is fast becoming a good cook himself. Finley and I are teaching him the way around a kitchen. We’re about ready to add him into the Wednesday night cooking rotation. If I cook a week, then Finley the next, and then Holden pulls a turn, it would help out, especially with the baby coming.”

“I heard you’ll be parents soon. Congratulations,” Reagan said, watching Braden beam with pride.

“You’ll have to get Harper to show you the nursery. Honey,” he called. “Reagan and Tucker are here.”

While Tucker began talking with the two men, she saw a heavily pregnant woman enter the kitchen. Harper Clark was a true beauty like her sister, even though they looked quite different from one another in height, eye, and hair coloring. Harper was probably five-eight, with long auburn hair and sparkling blue eyes.

“Oh, I’m so glad you could join us,” Harper said. “And Tucker, too. Tuck was a good friend of my brother, Todd. We lost Todd several years ago, but it’s nice to have Ry and now, Tucker, back in town again.”

“Show Reagan Beau’s nursery,” Braden prompted over his shoulder.

“Come along, Reagan,” Harper said.

They passed a homey-looking great room and went up the stairs, stopping at a door. Stepping inside, Harper turned on the light. Reagan followed.

“Oh, this is darling!” she exclaimed.

The walls were a soft cream, with a huge tree rising behind the crib. A monkey hung from a branch, while a giraffe munched from its leaves. The mural also had a zebra and a lion perched on a branch, sleeping in the sun. The changing table was in a soft green, reminiscent of the leaves, and a rocker sat in the corner. On another wall was painted the name Beau .

“Ivy and Finley did everything. All I had to do was choose the colors. My sister painted the mural you see. Finley chose all the furniture and decorated.”

“It’s a very welcoming place, Harper. I’m sure your little boy will love it.”

“Let’s head back downstairs. Dinner is about ready.”

They returned to the kitchen, where Holden said, “It’s always family style, Reagan. Everything is on the island, and you help yourself.”

“Except for drinks,” Dax interjected. “Do you like wine, Reagan? There’s also iced tea and sparkling water.”

As she started around the island, where she saw two large pots of jambalaya, as well as a black-eyed pea salad and hush puppies, Reagan said, “I’ll try some wine. To be honest, I don’t know much about it. My parents were wine snobs. Actually, they were snobs about everything. I went in the opposite direction and have never really drunk wine because of them.”

“Tucker has said the same thing,” Ivy said, ladling jambalaya into a bowl. “He’s a beer guy. I’ve offered to walk him through a tasting and teach him a little about reds, whites, and blends. He and I just decided to do that tomorrow. The tasting room closes at five-thirty. If you don’t mind, Tucker, you could share the tasting.”

“Fine with me,” Tucker said, using tongs to place golden hush puppies on his plate.

“As long as you’re coming to the winery, you might as well get the fifty-cent tour,” Braden said. “I can show you the vineyards and the lab where the magic happens.”

“And I’d be happy to show off my kitchen and the event center,” Emerson interjected.

“My office better be on this world tour,” Harper joked.

They moved into the dining room with their plates and bowls of jambalaya. Dax and Holden went around the table, filling wine glasses, with Finley coming behind with a pitcher of iced tea.

“Ivy brought a zinfandel and a shiraz,” Dax explained when he reached her. “I’m going to give you a little of each.”

“Thank you,” she said, watching the wine being poured into the glasses before her, as Holden added from the bottle he also carried. “What pretty colors.”

“Oh, you’ll learn all about color in your tasting,” Dax teased. “Ivy had to educate me from the ground up. I find I really enjoy wine now.” He grinned at Braden. “Especially Lost Creek Vineyards selections.”

She was pleasantly surprised how well she fit into the conversation at the table. The others asked her a few questions about herself, nothing intrusive. In turn, she found out more about what they all did for a living and some of the volunteer work they did for the community.

The guys cleared the table, while Emerson brought out the dessert she had baked.

“I’ve made for you an autumn cheesecake. On top of the cheesecake is a mix of Graham crackers, pecans, and cinnamon, topped with a mixture of cream cheese and cinnamon sugar-coated apples. The crust is pure Graham crackers, though.”

“It’s beautiful,” Finley declared. “And I’ll bet there won’t be any left.”

She was right.

When it was time to go, Reagan thanked Braden and Harper for having her, and Harper said, “I hope you’ll become a regular for Wednesday dinners. Maybe we’ll convince you to stay in Lost Creek.”

Braden asked Emerson, “What time do you think you’ll bring Reagan to the winery tomorrow?”

“I’ve got two cakes to bake.” Emerson looked at her. “Would you mind me doing that? I can show you around the event center while they’re in the oven. When they’re done, I’ll take them out to cool, and we can go see either Braden or Harper.”

“Work me into your schedule,” she replied.

They set a time. She and Tucker accompanied Ry and Emerson to their car. Since Tucker hadn’t seen the vineyards, they decided that Reagan would spend time with Emerson and Harper and then meet up with Tucker and Braden. Afterward, they could head to the tasting room for their private session with Ivy.

They said their goodnights to Ry and Emerson, and Tucker accompanied her to the porch. Reagan already had out her key and opened the door.

“I’m going to find Aunt Jean,” she said. “Thanks again for thinking to ask me to come to dinner tonight. Your friends are really nice.”

“I really only knew Ry, Ivy, and Harper before I got here, and I hadn’t seen any of them in years. I did talk with Emerson a few times while I made my way to Texas. But the others are all new to me, too. You’re right. They’re a great group of people. Very welcoming.”

“I agree. I didn’t sense any awkwardness at all, like there can be when you’re meeting new people. I never felt left out, either.”

“They were good about including us,” Tucker agreed. “Goodnight, Reagan. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight,” she said softly, watching him head up the stairs.

The evening had turned out well. Better than she had expected.

And at some point, Reagan would share her story with Tucker.