Chapter 23
23
T ucker slid behind the wheel of his truck and started the engine.
“Wasn’t that incredible?” Reagan asked, clearly on a natural high.
“You’re the one who’s incredible,” he said, stealing a swift kiss before he backed the truck from its parking spot and headed back to the B&B.
She babbled happily the entire way home, and he couldn’t blame her. She had just pulled off the biggest wedding of the year at the event center. Harper’s assistant, Paula, a petite, athletic woman in her late forties, who was very organized and slated to head up Weddings with Hart during her boss’ maternity leave, had come down with a nasty stomach flu and couldn’t be there to run things. Harper’s other assistant, Dayna, was in her mid-twenties, and what Tucker considered a great soldier. Dayna was no leader, though. Give her a task, and she’d follow it to the letter.
That meant Reagan had to step up, and she’d led the workers with military precision.
It had been the largest wedding, by far, that he had helped Ry to cater. Because of the sheer number of guests, Ry had called in his parents to help, as well as Carlos and José, two workers from Blackwood BBQ.
Everything had gone seamlessly, and he knew it was in large part due to Reagan’s direction of the evening and the many people involved.
“And the bride was so grateful for how smoothly everything came together,” Reagan said, as they turned into the drive of the B&B.
He parked the truck and cut the engine. Taking her hand, he kissed it. “You did yourself proud, Caramel. Harper herself couldn’t have done a better job.”
“I’m not sure we should tell her that Paula couldn’t make it tonight. Harper already has enough on her plate as it is.”
They had gone to see mother and baby yesterday afternoon. Harper had delivered a healthy Beau late Tuesday afternoon and had gone home the next day. Since she had the baby’s nursery organized and already had a schedule in mind for Beau, she had welcomed company to come and meet the newest little Clark.
The gang had texted back and forth, arranging when couples could drop in at different times so that Harper wouldn’t be overwhelmed. He and Reagan had brought food and flowers, as well as a stuffed Teddy bear and copy of Goodnight Moon for Beau.
When Harper had passed the baby to Reagan, Tucker knew he’d grinned from ear-to-ear. Seeing a child in Reagan’s arms only made him that much more eager to marry her and begin a family of their own. Because of the childhoods they had experienced, he knew they’d do many things differently as they raised their own brood of children.
“Want to come in?” he asked, squeezing her fingers.
“Now you’re talking, Cowboy,” she said, smiling flirtatiously.
Soon, they were inside the cottage and having boisterous, all-out sex. He loved making love with this woman. She seemed to become free from all obstacles in his arms, which made all his own troubles melt away, making her his sole focus. It was nice, too, having the cottage to come to. It offered them not only privacy but the chance to be uninhibited with one another. Or, as Miss Jean might call it, noisy.
Reagan now fell against his chest, breathing heavily after having ridden him hard.
“Are you sure you haven’t ridden horses before, Caramel?” he teased. “Because you just rode me to perfection.”
She stacked her hands on top of one another, resting her chin atop them. “I’ll bet you say that to all the cowgirls, handsome.”
Reagan looked innocent and yet seductive at the same time, and Tucker couldn’t resist her.
“Come here, you,” he growled, grabbing her elbows and moving her. Their mouths fused together hungrily, and he wondered if he would ever get enough of this woman.
They made love a second time, slow and sweet, her soft cries just as appealing as her shouts of exultation. They cuddled together. Soon, Reagan dropped off to sleep, her breathing slow and deep, a satisfied smile on her face.
On the other hand, Tucker stared at the ceiling in the dark. His body was exhausted from all the physical labor he had put in today, but his mind raced like a thoroughbred running a derby, something he couldn’t seem to turn off.
Tomorrow night, he would debut the new songs he had written at Java Junction. He had decided to start off with one of the hits he’d written for Matt, Another Beer, Dear , to get the crowd going with a familiar tune. Then he would launch into some of his new material. Two, maybe three songs, before sneaking in another hit he’d penned for Matt. He would do a few more original numbers and then close with Give Love Another Dance . It was one Tucker had written this past week, in-between shifts at Smokin’ Sweethearts. Reagan hadn’t heard it yet, and he wanted to surprise her, closing his set with the love song.
He worried the new songs weren’t good enough. His dream was to make a living at songwriting, but doubts continued to plague him. If it didn’t happen, it didn’t happen. He was already enjoying the time spent working with his cousin. The operation was growing so quickly that Tucker was happy he’d offered to invest in a second smoker at the winery. It had come in mighty handy for tonight’s reception. It wouldn’t hurt to add another smoker at Ry and Emerson’s house though Tucker had no idea where it might go. Emerson had rented the small house and lived there with Finley before she’d married Holden. Once she and Ry had wed, he’d moved in, but even Tucker could see they were outgrowing the space.
The food truck did more than a steady business during the week and on weekends when they took it out to the city ball parks. He could see investing in another food truck and hiring a crew of two to run it. Now that he was beginning to know enough about smoking meats, maybe he could take one truck out and Ry the other. It would be something he’d run by his cousin.
Despite the thoughts swirling in his head, Tucker finally dropped off to sleep, a smile on his lips.
He awoke to Reagan nibbling on his nape and quickly turned, pinning her playfully to the bed.
“You thought you’d have your way with me, huh? What’s good for the goose is good for the gander.”
His lips went to her throat, his teeth grazing her pulse point, which fluttered out of control. Tucker made love to her with abandon, living in the moment, happy love had come unexpectedly into his life a second time.
They lay in bed together a few minutes before Reagan pulled away and climbed from the bed.
“I’ve got to go home and shower,” she told him. “Aunt Jean and I are going on our grocery shopping spree today. We’re buying everything for the Thanksgiving meal we’ll be cooking for everyone.”
She had shared the menu with him, and his mouth had watered hearing it.
“I guess that’ll tie up your morning.”
“What will you be up to?”
“Ry told me not to come in today. He’s taking the food truck to the ball fields for a couple of hours, but he said I needed to take the time and practice for tonight.”
She stopped dressing and leaned down, her palm caressing his cheek. “Do you feel ready?”
“I am ready,” he said with determination. “I know I don’t have the best voice. I would never make it as a country singer.”
“But you played some places around Austin before,” she protested.
“That was more for fun— and a little stroking of my ego,” he admitted. “But I would need better pipes and range if I wanted to make it as a professional singer. I’m fine for local get-togethers like tonight, but my heart is in songwriting.”
He clasped her nape, bringing her lips to his for a sweet kiss.
“Besides, country singers are constantly on the road. I know that from having traveled that road with my dad and his acts all those years. They’re never home, always going town to town, playing the same songs, trying to eke out a living.” His gaze met hers. “That’s not what I want for us. For the family we’ll grow. I want to be home with you. With the kids. I want to take little Billy to baseball practice and little Sally to soccer. I want to go to little Cindy’s piano concerts and little George’s karate tournaments.”
Reagan chuckled softly. “I’m all about going to games and concerts, but we’re going to have to negotiate better names. As in I didn’t like one name you just used.”
He laughed. “I figure you’ll be the one doing the heavy lifting those nine months, not to mention giving birth, so you’ll have earned the right to name all our kids whatever you want. With a little input from me, of course.”
“You just keep thinking about those future kids to come. Or rather, think about your set list for tonight. Practice some, but not too much, Tucker. You don’t want your voice to be worn and thin by the time tonight rolls around.”
“You’re right,” he said. “I’ll take it easy. You and Miss Jean go have some fun at the grocery store.”
She kissed him soundly. “We will.”
Tucker got in the shower after Reagan left, changing into a worn flannel shirt and even more worn faded jeans. He wasn’t a dress up kind of guy, not even when debuting new songs. He wanted to be wearing comfortable clothes and boots he knew and trusted.
He had already told Miss Jean he wouldn’t be eating dinner with them tonight. He didn’t want to try to sing and play with a full belly. Instead, he snacked on some peanut butter and crackers and drank a tall, cold glass of milk. Somehow, the small meal comforted him.
Tucker brushed his teeth and grabbed the guitar case, thankful Dax had loaned him his own guitar to practice on and play tonight. It sounded far better than the one Dax had gifted to him earlier, and Tucker knew he would buy something similar soon.
If tonight worked out, that is.
He drove to the town square and parked, going inside Java Junction, where Dax greeted him.
“Hey, Tucker. You ready for this evening’s performance?”
“Is it too late to back out?” he joked, half-meaning it.
“Definitely too late,” Dax teased back. “When I put your name on the website and told my customers all week that you’d be here tonight, I aim to please them. They’re expecting Tucker Young. They’ll be getting Tucker Young.”
He glanced about the coffeehouse, which was already about half-full, waving to a few people he knew. Working on the food truck with Ry, Tucker had met a good number of the residents of Lost Creek and was happy to see several familiar faces already in the crowd.
“I have a couple of tables in the center reserved for Reagan and Miss Jean and Ivy. Ry and Emerson are also coming, along with Ana and Wolf. Naturally, Braden and Harper are staying home with Beau tonight, but Harper said you can stop by and sing a lullaby to Beau anytime you want.”
He was pleased that his friends were here to support him and pleasantly surprised that Wolf and Ana Ramirez had also showed up. The only ones who couldn’t make it tonight were Holden and Finley, who would wrap up his book tour Monday night and be back in Lost Creek by Tuesday. They’d be at the Thanksgiving meal on Thursday with the rest of the group.
“Let’s go upstairs,” Dax suggesting, and they headed toward the staircase. “If you want to go through a song or two, you can. There’s a restroom if you need it. I’ll have a second stool sitting on stage with a couple of bottles of water on it in case you get thirsty while you’re up there. I forgot to ask if you’d prefer a stool as you perform or if you’d rather stand in front of the mic.”
“I’ve done a little of both in the past,” he said. “I guess I’ll figure it out when I get up in front of everyone. It’s been a while since I’ve done this kind of thing, Dax. I’m a little skittish right now.”
“Then I’ll send Reagan up when she gets here.” Dax squeezed Tucker’s shoulder. “Knock ’em dead, Tuck.”
He set down his guitar case and paced. The nerves sizzled through him now, almost paralyzing him. Suddenly, he wondered if he even knew the lyrics to the songs he’d be singing tonight and quickly opened the guitar case. Glancing at the set list, he closed his eyes.
“Breathe. Just breathe,” he told himself.
Suddenly, a warm body pressed against his back. Reagan wrapped her arms about him, her cheek resting against his back.
“You are an incredible man, Tucker Young. You have a God-given talent. You’re going to share that talent and what it’s produced with a handful of very supportive people who’ve gathered downstairs.”
She released him, turning him so that their gazes met. “Sing from your heart, Tucker. Sing to me. I know you can do this.”
He nodded. “I can. I will. I love you, Reagan. More than I’ll ever be able to say or show.”
“Ditto,” she declared, her fingers bunching on his shirtfront, pulling him down to her for a slow, very satisfying kiss.
When she released him, a calm descended over him. Reagan was right. He could do this.
For her. For him. For them.
“I’m heading downstairs now,” she told him. “Dax will come get you in a few minutes. Love you.”
“Love you more,” he said, watching her leave.
Then Tucker closed his eyes. “Josie, I think you were an angel in real life, and I know you’re one now, watching over me every day. You brought Reagan Bradley into my life. I know you did, and I feel your approval of our match. Be with me tonight, my darling sweetheart. Help me get through this and shine.”
He went to the guitar case again, folding the set list and slipping it into his pocket before lifting the guitar. He sat on the coffee table, strumming a few chords, making an adjustment and strumming again, liking the sound he heard.
A light knock sounded on the door, and Dax entered. “It’s time.”
The trepidation had vanished. Confidence brimmed through him now. He’d known the love of one terrific woman and now had the love of another one. Their support bolstered him, and he would not only make it through his set tonight.
He would kill it.