Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
TUCKER
“ Y ou didn’t ID her.”
“Didn’t need to,” Scooter says, grinning as he watches the young blonde strut away.
My cousin is nothing if not a ladies’ man. He has more charm in his pinky than most men have period. The problem is, he doesn’t know when to shut it off, and his boyish grin has gotten him into trouble more than once.
“Damn it, Scooter. I’m off duty tonight. The last thing I want to do is watch another officer haul you off to jail.”
“No, the last thing you want to do is bail me out.”
“That, too.” I don’t smile back at him when he tries to use his charm on me.
“Well, don’t worry about either one of those. She’s over twenty-one.”
“How do you know? You didn’t even card her.”
“The same way I know about the birthmark on her right inner thigh, and how I know she likes to scream out that I’m her Big Daddy when she’s about to?—”
I hold up my hand. “I get it. You’ve slept with her.”
He shrugs. “Once or twice. And you know I don’t dip my stick into just anyone. I have standards.”
“Jesus.” Shaking my head, I take a drink of my beer. Sure, he has standards. Those of an alley cat.
“And for the record,” he adds, “I carded her when she first came in.”
“Thank God.”
“Have some faith in me, officer .” I flip Scooter the bird, and he lifts a brow. “You are a ray of fucking sunshine tonight. What’s gotten into you?”
“Not a damn thing.”
“Scooter, beer, now,” my brother says, sitting on a stool beside me. Scooter slides a draft across the bar, and Dean picks it up. “Where’s Chloe?”
“Sleepover with a friend.”
He nods. “You’re drinking tonight, I see.”
“One or two.”
“One-word answers. Who pissed in your Cheerios?”
“No one. Christ, what is up with you two tonight?”
Dean looks, and Scooter quickly waves him off. “Don’t worry, he’s just PMSing. I’m pretty sure our boy Tucker grew a vagina. That’s the only explanation I’ve got for the grumpy mood.”
I flick the cardboard coaster at Scooter’s head. He chuckles at my failed attempt and sets another on the bar top for me to use. I consider leaving the rest of my beer and heading home. A quiet night to myself sounds pretty damn good right about now, but there’s no way these two fuckers will let me get away with that.
Not when they can already tell that something is bothering me.
Well, not something. Some one .
Dean and I grew up with our cousin, Scooter. We were all close in age, and with our mothers being twins, we spent the majority of our childhood together. Which means, my brother and cousin are overprotective and nosy as hell, and if I leave now, one of them will likely follow.
“Your bad mood doesn’t have to do with Scarlett being back in town, does it?” Dean guesses, and I narrow my eyes at him while I take another sip of my beer. Shit, this might be the first time in years that I decide to have more than two drinks. I have Scarlett to thank for that.
“Wait.” Scooter stands up straight, a wicked gleam in his eye. “Scarlett is home?”
I tip back my head and finish off my beer. “Yup.”
“Scarlett Kincaid?” he clarifies.
“The one and only.”
“No shit?”
“She got back a few days ago,” Dean offers.
“She still hot?”
“Can we not fuckin’ talk about her?”
Someone must walk through the front door of the bar because I feel a gush of warm air, but I don’t turn to see who it is. Instead, I slide my glass to Scooter.
“One more.”
He ignores my request as his eyes lock on something over my shoulder. “Oh, yeah, she’s totally hot.”
“I said I’m not talkin’ about it.”
“You don’t need to. I’ve got a front-row seat.”
Dean and I whip around and, sure as shit, there she is in pink cotton shorts and a white tank top, looking nothing like the woman she’s become and everything like the girl she used to be. Her dark hair is a wild mess on top of her head, and there isn’t a lick of makeup on her gorgeous face. She’s never looked as beautiful as she does right now.
I scowl as I shift in my seat, my dick twitching at the sight of her.
Down, boy.
“What the fuck is she doing here?” I grumble.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t little Scarlett Kincaid.” Scooter lays the charm on thick, and she answers with a blinding-white smile. “Welcome to Scooter’s,” he says, rounding the end of the bar.
“Scooter Bennett.” Scarlett giggles when he wraps her in a giant hug. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”
“Did you hear that, everybody?” he yells, garnering the attention of everyone in the room. “Scarlett Kincaid loves me. We’re getting married.”
She swats playfully at his chest and pushes him away. “You haven’t changed a bit.”
“Neither have you, darlin’.” He gives her a kiss on the cheek and takes his place back behind the bar.
“When did you do all of this?” she says, looking around the tavern.
I turn around, trying to take in the place through the eyes of a newbie. Scooter’s is like a second home to me. Hell, my daughter practically lived here when we gutted the place.
Exposed wood beams run the length of the ceiling. The hardwood floors are scuffed and worn, a testament to the number of people who have enjoyed a twirl around the dance floor. High-top tables and a few booths are scattered along the walls. A stage, which boasts a live band on any given Friday and Saturday night, is tucked in the corner. A small billiard room sits off to the right, and my favorite part about this place, the kitchen, is situated behind the bar.
You won’t find a better piece of apple pie than the one Scooter serves.
“We remodeled a few years ago.” He pats the bar top. “It’s my baby.”
“This is wonderful, Scooter. I’m real proud of you.” Scarlett turns toward the bar and has no choice but to acknowledge me. “Hey, Tuck. Dean,” she adds, tipping her head at my brother.
He tilts his beer in her direction. “How are ya, Scarlett?”
“I’m doing good. Thank you for asking.”
“What can I get ya to drink?” Scooter asks, grabbing a glass from under the bar.
“Oh, I’m not here to drink. I called in a to-go order of food with the kitchen.”
“Let me go see if it’s ready.”
Scooter disappears, and Dean clears his throat. “So, uh, how’s your dad?”
“He’s good. Came home two days ago.”
“Is he waiting in the car?” I ask, ready to go out and talk to him if he is. I haven’t seen Rick since his stroke.
“Oh, no. He’s at home.”
I furrow my brow. “Is Lexi with him?”
“No.” Her eyes dart to Dean and then back to me. “Is she supposed to be?”
“Are you fuckin’ kidding me? You left him at home by himself?” My harsh words echo through the bar, and a hush falls over the small crowd.
“For five minutes. He’ll be fine.” The flippant tone of her voice only fuels my anger.
“He had a stroke, Scarlett. What if he tries to get up and falls?”
“I told him not to get up until I get back.” She props her hand on her hip, lifts her chin, and pins me with those defiant eyes of hers.
I laugh humorlessly. “And you think he’s going to listen?”
“Of course, he will.”
“You’re a piece of work, and you’re the one who hasn’t changed a bit. You don’t think about anyone but yourself.”
“Fuck you, Tucker.”
“There’s not enough alcohol in this bar to make that happen.”
Dean stands up and puts a hand on my shoulder. “Calm down, brother.”
I easily shake him off. “Do you even know your father? He’s more stubborn than you are. He thinks he’s fine and doesn’t need anyone to stay with him, and you think that just because you told him to sit tight, he actually will?”
Scarlett’s lips part, no doubt to give me a piece of her mind, but nothing comes out. Her face pales, and next thing I know she’s running out the front door mumbling something that sounds an awful lot like “ shit, he’s totally right .”
“Two spaghetti dinners and an extra side of garlic—” Scooter’s words cut off when he notices that Scarlett is gone. “Where’d she go?”
“Loverboy here just made the poor girl cry.”
I shoot Dean a look. “She did not cry.”
“Maybe not, but you were an ass.”
“She left Rick home by himself,” I argue.
“Well, congratulations.” Scooter sets the bags of food on the bar in front of me. “You just bought two spaghetti dinners and a side of garlic bread. That’ll be eighteen fifty.”
Rolling my eyes, I pull my wallet from my back pocket and slap two tens on the bar. “Your spaghetti is overpriced.”
“And you’re a shitty tipper.” He snags the money and shoves it into the cash drawer. “Now, get outta here and take that poor girl and her dad their food.”
“Poor girl, my ass,” I mumble. Grabbing the bags, I turn for the door. “You’re dead to me, Scooter. You too, Dean,” I say when he snickers.
Scooter just laughs. “We still on for Sunday dinner?”
“Yeah, yeah. See ya then.”
“Good. And, Tuck,” he yells, when I kick open the front door. “Pull that stick outta your ass before you knock on her door.”
By the time I make the short drive home, my anger subsides, and I almost feel bad for the way I talked to Scarlett. Rather than pull into Rick’s driveway, I park in mine and walk across the front yard, which is overgrown. I make a mental note to get it mowed sometime this week.
With a deep breath, I climb up the steps toward the front door. The house is quiet aside from the murmur of the television wafting through an open window. With the bags hanging from one hand, I use the other to knock.
“No, you stay put,” I hear Scarlett say.
The sound of the television is muted, and a second later, the door flings open. Scarlett stands in the doorway, and she looks pissed.
Or maybe hurt.
A pang of guilt hits the center of my chest.
“What do you want?”
I hold out the bags of takeout. “You forgot your food.”
She seems shocked that I’d take the time to bring it to her. She stares at the bags for a few seconds and then yanks them from my hand and slams the door in my face.
Okay, I probably deserved that.
I’m still processing what just happened when the door whips back open.
“Here.” Scarlett holds out some money. “I forgot to pay for the food before I left.”
“Don’t worry about it, I’ve got it covered.”
“Take the damn money.” She tries to shove it against my chest, but I step back, preventing her.
“I don’t want your money, Scarlett.”
“Well, I don’t want to owe you, Tucker .” I’m quick. She’s quicker. In the blink of an eye, she has the wad of money shoved into the breast pocket of my shirt, and the front door slams in my face.
Again.
Damn, she’s feisty.
Stunned, I run a hand along the back of my neck and debate whether to knock or say “fuck it” and go home.
Home would be the easy choice.
But she deserves an apology.
I’ve been in a shitty mood since she arrived back in town, and it has nothing to do with the woman herself and everything to do with the feelings I harbor for her. Feelings I thought were long gone. Feelings I damn sure don’t want to have.
For the third time tonight, her front door flies open. “What’s your problem, Tucker?”
“You,” I blurt, startling us both. There’s silence for a heartbeat as we just stare at each other.
“Me?”
I’ve already admitted it, there’s no sense turning back now. “Yup.”
“But I haven’t even been home. What could I have possibly done to make you mad?”
“That’s exactly the point. You haven’t been home. For twelve fucking years . You’re so goddamn selfish. You just up and left your friends, your family. Everyone. And you never looked back. Not once.”
“Hold grudges much?” But it’s not bitchy. In fact, she looks completely flummoxed.
“I’m not holding a fucking grudge, Scarlett. I’m hurt.”
Good Lord, Scooter is right. I grew a fucking vagina, and now I sound like a pussy.
Scarlett’s eyes widen and then soften at my admission. “Tucker?—”
“Tucker, is that you?” Rick sidles up next to Scarlett and pokes his head out the door.
“Daddy! What are you doing up? You know you’re not supposed to get up on your own.” She looks at me with wide, pleading eyes. “Can you keep an eye on him for one second while I grab his walker?”
“Sure.”
I step forward. With one hand against Rick’s back and the other on his arm, I make sure he’s steady.
“You here to ask my little girl on a date?”
I nearly choke on my saliva. “No, sir. I just stopped by to drop off the spaghetti.”
“Oh.” He frowns. “Well, that’s too bad. Scarlett could use a good, strong man like you in her life.”
Scarlett shows up a few seconds later with the walker. “I don’t need a man, Daddy. Quit trying to pawn me off.”
“If you don’t need a man, then I don’t need this damn thing.”
“Yes, you do,” she admonishes. “Your physical therapist and occupational therapist said you need to use the walker until you regain the strength in your arm and leg.”
Rick looks at me and rolls his eyes before skirting off toward the living room. “Come on in and have some spaghetti with us,” he hollers. “We can talk about the date you’re going to take her on.”
“Daddy, Tucker and I are not going on a date.”
“Sure, ya will. Just as soon as ya both pull your heads outta your asses.”
Scarlett closes her eyes and fights a smile. When she looks up, I feel it like a punch to the gut. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s okay.”
“I, uh…I’m gonna go eat before the food gets cold.”
“Yeah.” I glance over at my house and then take a step back. “I need to get home anyway. It’s been a long day.”
She nods, and I turn on my heel. I’m halfway down her walk when Scarlett calls out to me.
“Tuck?”
“Yeah?” I glance at her over my shoulder.
“Thanks for bringing the food over.”
“You’re welcome, princess.”
Her easy smile falls. “Quit calling me that.”
“Call it like I see it.”
I expect some sort of quick retort. Instead, Scarlett growls and slams the door.