Chapter 8

8

R eagan awoke the next morning, surprised that she had slept through the night. Even though she had worked outrageous hours in New York and fell into bed exhausted, she oftentimes had trouble falling asleep. Worse, she would wake up at three or four in the morning and not be able to fall back asleep. Being in Lost Creek with no career worries, however, had gifted her the first night of sound sleep since Arch’s untimely death.

She tossed on a robe and went across the hall to the bathroom she and Tucker Young would be sharing. The door was open, and Tucker stood at the sink, shaving. A towel was wrapped around his hips, slung low, and his chest was bare. It was a beautiful, muscular chest, and she fought the urge to reach out and move her palms up and down it.

“Mornin,’ Reagan,” he said in that Texas drawl that caused tingles to run along her spine. “I’m done with the shower and will be finished here in a moment. Hope you don’t mind the open door as I shave. I was trying to let the steam escape and cool off things for you.”

She watched his long fingers wrapped around the razor, the smooth strokes along his face. Her own cheeks heated, and she forced herself to look away, faking a cough.

By the time she looked up again, he was rinsing his face. His clear, hazel eyes fastened on her, and her stomach did a flip-flop that would have earned a perfect ten in an Olympics gymnastics competition. She was proud that she kept her eyes on his, avoiding letting them slide up and down his magnificent frame.

“Done. Miss Jean brought up a little sign for us to use.”

He indicated the door behind him. Hanging from the nail was a sign that said OCCUPIED . Tucker flipped it over. AVAILABLE was on the reverse side.

“With neither of us having a schedule, I hope this system will work for us now,” he told her. “If you have somewhere to be, I’m happy to give it up to you so you can get ready. See you at breakfast.”

She hurried across the hall and gathered up something to wear for the day and her travel kit that contained her makeup and toiletries. After showering, she dressed and brushed her teeth, only applying a coat of mascara and some lipstick. She’d noticed all the women last night wore minimal makeup, and she didn’t want to be accused of bringing fancy New York ways with her. It was a relief not to do full makeup for once. She brushed her hair and then placed it into a ponytail, feeling lighthearted and free.

Going downstairs, she heard voices and followed them, seeing her aunt and Tucker seated in the dining room.

“I’ve set out the morning buffet, Reagan,” Aunt Jean said. “This morning is scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. I remember you always loved sourdough bread.”

“Still do,” she said, though she couldn’t recall the last time she’d eaten it. Bagels were her go-to breakfast.

“I’ll pop a couple of pieces in the toaster for you while you fix yourself a plate,” her aunt said. “Juice?”

“Do you still have cranberry?” she asked, recalling it was a special treat.

“I do. Coffee?”

“Yes. A splash of cream and sugar,” she replied.

Tucker rose. “Fill your plate. I’ll grab coffee for you.” He followed her aunt into the kitchen, giving Reagan another nice view of his broad shoulders and firm ass. And now that she’d seen the top half of him without clothes, she couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Or what the bottom half would look like.

She went to the buffet and was seated by the time Tucker returned. He set a coffee cup in front of her.

“Looks perfect,” she said.

“I never add anything to mine, so I was guessing what a splash of both meant,” he said, grinning at her lazily.

Now, her heart was thumping. Reagan feared he’d see her shirt moving. What was it about this man that made her go weak in the knees? Other than having an incredible body, gorgeous smile, and sparkling eyes, that is. And he was kind and friendly on top of that. She hadn’t crushed this hard on anyone since Pete Prater moved to Dickinson in eighth grade. Pete had taken every girl’s breath away, with his good looks and sweet smile. He’d only spent a year in town before his parents moved again, and Reagan had continued to spin fantasies about him until she left for college.

But even a grown-up Pete would pale in comparison to Tucker Young.

He returned to his breakfast, and she picked up a piece of bacon. Biting into it, she said, “Perfect.”

“Glad you like it,” Aunt Jean said, coming through the door with a small plate. Atop it rested two golden slices of toast. She sat the plate on the table, and Reagan reached for the crock of butter.

As she spread the butter on the bread, she said, “You always had real butter. That, and whole milk. I remember thinking they were the most wonderful tasting things I’d ever had.” Turning to Tucker, she added, “My mother was constantly on a diet. We only had skim milk and some weird butter substitute. Coming to Lost Creek was like heaven. Aunt Jean was such a great cook.”

Glancing to her aunt, she said, “Speaking of cooking, I’d really like it if you’d teach me how to cook.”

Her aunt looked pleased. “What do you want to learn? How to fry a chicken? Make buttermilk biscuits?”

“Everything you can teach me. I don’t know how to do anything except heat up a can of soup in the microwave, and I haven’t done that in a long time.”

Tucker frowned. “How did you eat? Did you have a roommate who cooked for the two of you?”

Laughing, Reagan shook her head. “It’s called takeout, cowboy. More than half of my cell’s contact list is all the takeout places within three blocks of my apartment.”

He frowned. “Even I can cook a few things. I can mash potatoes. Mix a meatloaf. Grill just about any meat you give me.”

“New York is different. Here, you drive to a grocery store. Load your basket with a couple of weeks’ worth of food. Drive home and unload it. In Manhattan, you stop in a market and only buy what you can carry, whether you’re walking home or walking to a subway station and then carrying the bag or two home from there. It’s easier to simply order dinner and have it delivered to you. For the most part, I lived on Chinese takeout and pizza deliveries.”

Tucker chuckled. “That sounds pretty boring, Reagan. Even when I was traveling with bands, we’d stop in at greasy spoons to eat.”

“That’s why I’d like to learn how to cook,” she said. “I want to become self-sufficient. It’s a different way of life down here. I want to learn how and fit in.”

“I’m happy to teach you any and everything,” her aunt said. “You’re a smart girl. You’ll pick things up fast.”

“I might want to horn in on a few of those lessons, Miss Jean,” Tucker announced. “If I stay in Lost Creek, I’ll eventually need to find a place to live. I can’t show up at Ry and Emerson’s every night and sponge off them.” He paused, his gaze meeting Reagan’s. “Would you mind sharing those lessons?”

“I’m happy to have you along for the ride,” she told him.

“You’ll probably be the best at every dish, but I don’t mind coming in number two each time. Long as I learn to feed myself.”

A man appeared in the doorway. He looked to be just under six feet, with nondescript brown hair and eyes. He glanced about, seeming startled that people were in the dining room.

“Come in, Sid,” Aunt Jean encouraged. “This is Sid Allen. Sid, my niece Reagan Bradley. My other guest is Tucker Young. He’s the nephew of Shy and Shelly Blackwood.”

Sid came in and took a seat. “My wife works at Lone Star Diner. She says Shelly is a terrific boss.”

Tucker nodded encouragingly. “Aunt Shelly is a really nice lady. Glad to hear your wife likes working for her.”

Her aunt rose. “I’ll get your coffee and juice, Sid. Grab a plate and get yourself some breakfast.”

Sid didn’t talk much during the meal, eating quickly and excusing himself while the other three drank a second cup of coffee and relaxed.

“Is Sid shy?” Reagan asked. “Or does he just not like talking to people?”

“Probably a little of both,” Aunt Jean said. “He’s a quiet tenant. Sleeps most of the day. What time will Emerson pick you up?”

“Eleven,” she replied. “Then Tucker and I will be at the winery until after we do our tasting with Ivy.”

“The tasting room closes at five-thirty,” Tucker volunteered. “So, we’ll probably get out of there after an hour or so. I know you serve dinner at six.”

“I can keep it warm for you two,” Aunt Jean said.

He glanced to Reagan. “I was thinking maybe we might stop and eat at my uncle’s place afterward. Then Uncle Shy could give us a ride back here.”

“Barbeque sounds good to me,” she said, wanting to spend more time in Tucker’s company. “We can have Emerson drop us at the inn, though. That way, we can take my car to dinner and not inconvenience anyone else.”

Her aunt nodded approvingly. “Then I won’t be expecting you for dinner. I hope you have fun today.”

“We’ll clear the dishes,” Tucker said, rising. “But you can rinse and put them in the dishwasher, Miss Jean.”

Once the dishes were in the sink, he asked Reagan, “Would you like to stretch your legs a bit? Emerson won’t be here for a good while.”

“I’d love to,” she agreed. “Let me grab a jacket. I’ll meet you in the foyer.”

When she returned downstairs, he had on a jean jacket and a cowboy hat.

“Ready, cowboy?”

That slow, lazy smile appeared again, taking her breath. “You called me cowboy before, and I wasn’t even wearing my hat.”

Reagan shrugged. “You just looked like one to me. I think it’ll be my nickname for you.”

“Then I’m gonna need a nickname for you,” he said, his eyes dancing mischievously.

Tucker opened the door. She went through it and descended the steps. The cool of the morning hit her, but the warm sunshine spread over her, too, making Reagan think this was a perfect day.

With a perfect guy.

“Caramel,” Tucker said, scampering down the steps in his worn cowboy boots.

“What?”

“Your nickname. Your hair is like caramel. The sun hitting it shows all kinds of shades of golds and browns, all tumbled together. Besides, I like caramels. One of the roadies used to carry some in his pockets. He’d give me one every now and then. Not because I was good or helped unload things or carried stuff around for him. Just because. He told me a caramel is a treat, and you never know when to expect one.”

Tucker paused, studying her. “I think meeting you has been a treat, Reagan. I feel I’ve already made some new friends since I got to Lost Creek, and I’m counting you as one of them. Remember, you’re going to be my sounding board. And I’ll be yours.”

A warm glow filled her. She liked this man. Liked his looks and openness. But Reagan told herself not to rush anything. Or expect anything. She’d been disappointed too many times by others. She would be wary until she got to know him better.

“Let’s walk, Caramel.”

She fell into step beside him. It was faster than a stroll but not an all-out, race walk pace. Just something in-between. They walked along a path that took them into the woods behind the B&B. Eventually, they reached the water, and Tucker slowed.

“Along here is where we used to fish. Ry, Todd, and me.”

He led her down to a large rock and offered her his hand. She took it, feeling both a sense of comfort and a thrill at the same time, sensations she never would have married together.

They both eased down until they were seated atop the rock. The sky had not a cloud in it. The river running beside them moved swiftly. In the distance, she figured there was a drop-off because she heard a swooshing sound of water.

“Harper mentioned last night that Todd had died a few years ago.”

Tucker nodded, a grim look on his face. “He and Ry were closer than brothers. Had been since before they could walk and talk. I joined them each summer. We did everything a boy growing up in a small town might do. Got into a little mischief, but mostly it was riding bikes. Fishing. Swimming. Playing board games. Hanging out.”

“You came every summer?”

“From the time I was five.”

Reagan waited, certain something was coming.

“My mom and Aunt Shelly were sisters. Aunt Shelly was the good one of the pair. Did what her parents said to do. Brought home good grades. Never caused anyone a minute of trouble. My mom was the opposite. A year younger and a hellion from the time she was born. Hated being compared with her sister by all the teachers in school. Mom began smoking a pack a day when she was ten. Drank. Ran around. Dabbled in drugs but never got sucked into that pit.”

He paused again, and she patiently waited. It seemed his story came out in small bits. She was eager to hear it, but she would never rush him.

“Mom moved to Austin before the ink dried on her diploma. It was a fun, freaky place, and she loved every minute of it. She followed certain bands, and that’s how she came to meet my dad. She’d find a way backstage after a band played at a local club and would party with them some. Dad was always around, watching his investment, making sure no one got too drunk or too high. They got to talking, and sparks flew. Next thing you know, they were married.”

Tucker reached for a few small stones sitting on the ground and flicked his wrist, sending them skimming across the water one at a time.

“Did she travel with him?” Reagan asked. Tucker had mentioned being on the road with his dad, but he had never opened up about his mom until now.

“For a while. Then she got bored. Nothing held her attention for long. Not even me,” he said quietly.

She heard the hurt in his voice. Instinctively, she covered his hand with hers.

“A doctor told her she couldn’t have kids. Then all of a sudden, after being married five years, she got pregnant. Had awful sickness around the clock the entire nine months. Then I popped out.” He hesitated. “Let’s just put it this way. Dad was more maternal than Mom, if that makes any sense.”

“I get that,” she said, lifting her hand.

He caught it, though, his fingers entwining with hers, pulling it back down. “Bad mom?” he asked.

“Haughty. Disdainful. Detached. Those are the first things that come to mind. My mother was a snob. Thought she was better than everyone around her. My dad was an attorney and made buckets of money. Not just from clients. He had a feel for investing. Mom dabbled in volunteer work and gossiped ferociously. Our house had to have the best of everything. She wore designer clothes. Had enough jewelry to fund a Third World nation for years. And I was her greatest disappointment.”

His thumb stroked hers. “How so?”

“I never really fit in with others at school. I kept apart. Always had my nose in a book. She wanted me to be popular. Rule the school. That kind of thing. When it was obvious I never would, she lost any interest in me. Around me, she was always cold. Aloof. Disinterested. It drove me to be closer to my dad. We talked all the time. He traveled for business, though. They traveled the world together when I was young. Later, as I grew older, Dad insisted I go along on their trips in the summer. I’ve seen Paris. Milan. Tokyo. Dubai. London. Mom would sulk most of the trip. She’d go off and have spa treatments. Shop. Dad and I would visit castles and museums and tourist attractions such as Tokyo Tower or the London Eye.”

“Did things get better between the two of you after you became an adult?” he asked.

“My parents died in a plane crash shortly after I graduated from high school,” she said quietly. “After all these years I still really miss my dad.”

“I’m sorry.” His gaze met hers. “I lost my mom when I was five. Cancer. All those smokes finally caught up to her. Dad had said the road was no place for a baby or toddler, so he’d made sure she stayed home with me. Do you know I can’t ever remember a time she read to me or played with me? As far as she was concerned, I was a lump that had to be attended to. Fed every now and then, but she left me to myself.

“She was beautiful, though. Until the cancer hit. Even now, though I was so young, I can remember the change that came over her. How she stopped eating and became skin and bones. The chemo caused her hair to fall out. She just gave up on life. Refused to go to any treatments. And then she was gone.”

“I’m so sorry, Tucker,” Reagan murmured.

“It’s okay. Really. I traveled with Dad during the months kids were in school. He was a nice guy. Did the best he could with a small child. Summers, Aunt Shelly convinced him to let me come to Lost Creek. I had my own room. Uncle Shy bought me a bike. I had three meals a day with my family and was nagged to wash behind my ears. For those summer months, I slept in the same bed every night— unless we were camping —and I felt like a normal kid.”

Tucker sighed. “Maybe I romanticized Lost Creek, but this place always has felt like home. Even if I’ve been gone a really long time from it.”

“Sounding board speaking here,” she said. “This is the place you were happiest. I know you’re suffering because you lost Josie and feel guilty you survived the crash. But I think Lost Creek could be the place you might heal, Tucker.”

His gaze pinned her. “Sounds to me as if you have also had some nice times here yourself. Maybe this is the place you need to wind up, as well.”

Tucker’s free hand caught her chin. Slowly, he moved his head toward her, his lips coming closer. Her heart sped up. Her mouth grew dry.

Then he gave her a soft, sweet kiss.

It wasn’t a lover’s kiss. It didn’t have the passion and fire of that. It was more a kiss of friendship. Of two lost souls coming together as friends. Two people who had experienced hardships in life and by sharing some of their burdens, found those burdens begin to lift.

He broke the kiss, his lips hovering just above hers.

“I hope that wasn’t too forward.”

“It wasn’t,” she told him.

Tucker moved away, releasing her hand. “I want you as a friend, Reagan, but I’m feeling an attraction to you.” He smiled wryly. “And it’s confusing the hell out of me.”