CHAPTER FIVE
Emily
The pie was still warm when I set it on the passenger seat, tucked in like precious cargo. I tried to convince myself I wasn’t completely out of my mind.
“This is fine,” I muttered, starting the car. “This is a perfectly normal thing to do. Just taking a pie to thank someone for helping with your car. People do this all the time.”
Except people didn’t usually take pies to mountain men who’d kissed them senseless on the side of the road or in a parking lot in broad daylight.
My hands had shaken through the rest of my shift yesterday to the point where Mandy had asked if I was coming down with something. I’d blamed low blood sugar and hidden in the supply closet for five minutes trying to get my heart rate under control.
Tucker Barrett had kissed me. Twice.
And I’d kissed him back—both times—like my life depended on it.
Mom had taken one look at me this morning when I’d pulled out my rolling pin and smiled knowingly but hadn’t asked questions. Jesse had just been excited about pie.
“So, two pies?” Mom had asked when I’d pulled them out of the oven.
“Yeah. One for Jesse and one for… someone else.”
Her eyes had crinkled at the corners. “Anyone I know?”
“Mom.”
“I’m just saying, you’ve got that look.”
“What look?”
“The one that says you’re about to do something brave and possibly foolish.” She’d kissed my forehead. “Be careful on those mountain roads, sweetheart. Storm’s coming in.”
Now, driving up the steep mountain road toward Tucker’s cabin, I wondered if she’d meant the weather or something else entirely.
The sky had gone heavy and gray, clouds rolling in thick and low. The air smelled like rain, and I knew I should’ve waited until tomorrow. Or, better yet, turned around when I saw how dark it was getting. The pie wouldn’t go to waste, my little brother would see to that.
But I’d spent yesterday and this morning replaying those unexpected kisses, and I couldn’t wait another day to see him.
To know if it had been real.
To know if he’d meant it.
The cabin came into view, and I saw smoke curling from the chimney. His truck was parked out front, and lights glowed in the windows—warm and inviting in a way they hadn’t been the first time I’d come here.
I sat there for a minute trying to find my courage.
He kissed you. He wanted to kiss you. You’re not imagining this.
But he’s a reclusive grump who doesn’t like people.
He apparently liked you well enough.
I climbed out before I could chicken out, grabbed the pie, and walked up the porch steps on shaking legs.
This time when I knocked, the door opened almost immediately.
Like he’d been waiting.
Tucker stood there, and my mouth went dry all over again. He wore a thermal shirt and jeans, feet bare on the wood floor. The casual intimacy of it—seeing him like this, in his space, relaxed—well as relaxed as he could look, made my heart stutter.
His eyes locked on mine, dark and intense. “Emily.”
“Hi.” I held up the pie like a peace offering—or a shield. Despite having shared two lip locks with him, I wasn’t sure of my reception. I was still the curvy, underconfident woman I’d always been. But I was giving this a shot. Despite my shaking hands and weak knees. “I brought pie.”
His gaze dropped to the dish in my hands, then back to my face. “You baked me a pie.”
“Apple. To say thank you. For the car. And...” I trailed off, suddenly unsure.
“And?” His voice had gone low, rough in that way that made my stomach flip.
“And because I wanted to see you again.”
The honesty hung between us. No games. No pretending this was just a friendly thank-you visit.
Something shifted in his expression—heat and something else. Something I desperately wanted to put a name to.
He stepped back.
The inside didn’t exactly match the stoney outside. Inside it was warm with a crackling fire in the stone hearth. Masculine but not messy—lived in, not neglected. A book lay open on the arm of the couch. A mug sat on the side table.
He took the pie from my hands, our fingers brushing in the exchange. That same delicious shiver ran up my spine.
“It smells good,” he said, setting it on the counter.
“It’s still warm.” I stood there, awkwardly, but not disappointed. I’d made it inside.
“You drove all the way up here with a warm pie.” He turned to look at me, and I saw it again—that intensity that made me feel like I was the only thing in his world. “At dusk. With a storm coming.”
“I know.”
“You shouldn’t have.” Another low growl that seemed so protective.
“I wanted to.”
We stared at each other, and the air between us felt charged. Heavy with everything we weren’t saying.
“Do you have plates, or are we eating the pie like animals?” I did my default and resorted to humor and sarcasm. I was at my best when I could combine both, but this situation was different.
He hesitated a beat before pulling plates from the cupboard. His movements were slow and deliberate. He retrieved a knife and two forks from a drawer. “Cut it,” he ordered as he went to the fridge to get some milk. He sat the cups in the center of the table.
I cut two pieces before sitting down. We ate in silence for a few minutes, the fire popping behind us. The tension in the air was softened—still charged, but warmer now.
He took a bite and gave a deep sigh. It was a little haunting, but it made me glad I’d brought him the pie. “I haven’t had anything homemade in a long time.”
“So you don’t bake? I figured you could make a mean chocolate cake.”
That almost earned me a smile.
“My repertoire is limited.” He ate like he did everything—focused, efficient. “But I can make about four things well.”
“Which are?” I had to admit I was enjoying myself. Sharing a pie with this man.
“Coffee. Eggs. Steak. Soup.”
“So no chocolate cake? That’s a shame. But it seems you have the bachelor essentials down to an art form.”
“I had to. You couldn’t always rely on the mess hall for a meal.”
It was the first time he’d mentioned the military.
I had to admit I’d read his file at the clinic, for purely professional reasons, of course.
He was thirty-five, medically discharged from the military with full retirement.
He worked occasionally for Race Gentry, the man whose land he was living on, and suffered from migraines.
“How long were you in?” I asked carefully.
“Seventeen years. I enlisted at eighteen.” He looked down at his plate. “Seemed like a good idea at the time. Small town, no prospects, no reason to stay.”
“Where was home?”
“Nowhere that matters anymore.” His voice had gone flat. “My mother remarried last year and moved to Arizona. We don’t talk much.”
The casual way he said it made my chest ache. Like he’d accepted it so completely that it didn’t hurt anymore—or he’d gotten so good at pretending it didn’t.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. She’s happier now. That’s what matters.” He took a drink of milk. “What about you? You said you raised your brother?”
I nodded. “Dad left when Jesse was three. Mom worked two jobs to keep us afloat. So I... stepped up, I guess. Made sure he did his homework, went to his games, kept him out of trouble.” I smiled, though it felt sad.
“By the time I was old enough to go to college, I couldn’t afford to leave.
I worked at the diner and took night classes when I could.
It took me until I was twenty-five to finally go to nursing school full-time. ”
“That’s why you need this job.”
It wasn’t a question, but I answered anyway. “Yes. I have student loans to pay. And Jesse eats like a bear.”
That did earn me a half smile. He was quiet though, studying me. “You’re tougher than you look.”
“I’ve had to be.”
“Yeah.” Something shifted in his expression. Understanding, maybe. Recognition. “Me too.”
I jumped when lightning flashed outside, followed by a loud rumble. I bit my lip, knowing I needed to leave, but not wanting to. I got up and put the dirty dishes in the sink. “I guess I better go.”
I turned around and he was there,
“You’re not going anywhere now.”
“I, uh,” I didn’t know what to say. Was this just the protective streak that ran through him? Or something more?
He placed his hands on the counter next to my hips, caging me in with those big arms. I started to tremble, realizing this was happening.
He leaned in closer, his mouth by my ear. “I’ve been trying not to think about you for days. Trying to convince myself to stay away. I’m done fighting it.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. “Fighting what?”
“This. You.” He leaned forward, slow enough to stop him if I wanted to—but I didn’t. Not even a little. His lips brushed mine once, testing. Then again, deeper, hungrier.
The storm, the world outside disappeared as he kissed me like a man who hadn’t in years—cautious at first, then desperate, all at once.
This kiss was different from the one on the side of the road or the one in the parking lot.
Slower. Deeper. Like he had all the time in the world to learn the shape of my mouth.
When he pulled back, we were both breathing hard. “This is a terrible idea,” he said.
“The worst.” His mouth curved—an actual smile, small but real. “Again?”
“Obviously.”
He pulled me into his arms, flush against his hard body and I did what came naturally. I melted into him. He slanted his mouth over mine and kissed me again.
This time it was exploring. His tongue licked at the roof of my mouth. I followed is lead, our tongues tangling as we kissed.
Finally, we came for air.
“Emily.” Th sound of my name was dark and deep. “If you stay here tonight, if we—” He stopped, jaw working. “I need you to understand something.”
“What?”
“I’m not good at this. At people. At... any of it.” He was clearly frustrated but I found it enticing. “I’ll probably screw it up. Say the wrong thing. Push too hard or not hard enough.”
“Okay.”
“But I want to try.” The words sounded like they cost him something. “With you.”
I stood on my tiptoes and kissed the underside of his jaw. His eyes widened slightly, like he hadn’t expected the soft touch.
“I know,” I said softly. “I want it too.”
His hand cupped my cheek, thumb brushing across my skin. The touch was gentle, at odds with everything rough about him.
“You should be scared of me,” he murmured.
That made me smile. “I’m not.”
“You should be.”
“Tucker.” I covered his hand with mine, holding it to my face. “I’m a lot of things around you. Nervous. Frustrated. Confused. Turned on.” I held his gaze. “But not scared. Never scared.”
Something in him cracked at that. I saw it happen—watched the wall come down, watched the decision being made.
“Tell me to stop,” he rasped.
“No. I’m here because I want to be. Because I want this. Want you.” I pulled back enough to meet his eyes. “So if you want me too, stop asking me to tell you to stop.”
He kissed me again, lifting me. I wrapped my legs around his waist instinctively as he carried me toward his bedroom, his mouth never leaving mine, and I felt the last of his control slip away.