Chapter 4
She had never been so exhausted and so full of want at the same time.
Tucker’s horse trailer-turned-temporary-residence was warm, dimly lit, and smelled faintly of leather and hay. He offered her the narrow bunk against the wall while he took the saddle bench, like some kind of gentleman outlaw from an old western who still knew his manners.
Ginny kicked off her boots and climbed up without waiting for permission, folding her knees under her and wrapping herself in the thick throw blanket.
“You ready for bed?” he asked.
“Wired. It’s only eight p.m.” She shook her head. “That was way too much mischief in way too short a time.”
He eyed her. “Need some Tylenol? Get ahead of the drink headache?”
“I had a total of maybe two drinks, watered down, plus the equivalent of a cup of sugar laced with red dye number three.” She shuddered. When he cringed as well, Ginny laughed. “Yeah, I might never be able to look a maraschino in the eye again.”
“You have to admit Dare is creative. Which we all knew with her blogging and all that.” Tucker pulled out a deck of cards and held them up. “Want to pass the time for a bit while you come down off the adrenaline high?”
“May as well.”
How she managed not to suggest strip poker as a great starting point—sainthood waited for her, right around the corner.
The wind rattled the trailer’s aluminum skin. It was only February, so winter had a long time to hang on. The night smelled more like thawing mud than snow, with a Chinook wind blowing from the west, but in Alberta, thinking of spring now was more than a fool’s game, it was downright wrong.
She watched Tucker’s hands as he shuffled. Strong. Familiar.
And hers, if she could just get him to admit it.
“You were a good friend to Dare tonight,” he said finally, passing her the cards and going to the small fridge to grab them drinks.
Ginny exhaled softly. “I tried.”
“You succeeded.” He brought back two cans of ginger ale and offered her one.
“She’s the strongest person I know, but sometimes even that strength turns in on her.” Ginny shrugged. “She misses them. Her sister, her parents. The hurt just sneaks up.”
Tucker nodded, slow and thoughtful. “And you were the only one who could keep her steady until we got there.”
Ginny snorted. “That was me keeping her steady? You missed the part where she tried to strip off her tank top to make a ‘sacrifice to the whiskey gods.’ I stopped her by bribing her with more cherries.”
A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Smart. Effective.”
Ginny smiled but didn’t look away. “I’m serious. Thank you. For coming tonight. For helping her. For helping me.”
Tucker glanced up, and something in his eyes flashed that looked like regret. “You don’t have to thank me. You’re family.”
Family.
She let the word sit between them. Not out of bitterness—she knew what he meant. But God, if only he knew what she meant.
“I’m not a kid anymore,” she said, quiet but sure. “I’m all grown up.”
Tucker raised a brow, his gaze flicking up and down in a deliberately light-hearted gesture. “No argument from me.”
“Don’t look at me like that,” she snapped, patience wearing thin.
“Like what?”
“With lying eyes.”
Tucker blinked in surprise. “What’s that mean?”
“That you’re totally looking and like what you see but pretending that you’re not. Probably because I’m Luke’s little sister or something equally stupid, but you have noticed that I’m not twelve anymore.”
He shrugged and picked up the cards again.
“You’re not going to admit it? That you’re interested? That we’re interested in…more.”
Tucker determinedly shuffled the cards, not meeting her eyes.
“Tucker.” This time she said it softly. Yearning and yet somehow unable to straight out say it. I want you. I’ve wanted you forever.
The expression on his face as he cautiously glanced up said he’d heard it. The said and the unsaid. The drift of his eyes over her torso burned as clearly as if he’d dragged a finger over her, heat smoldering just under her skin.
A second later, it was as if he’d been poked with a cattle prod. He stiffened, and an unnatural smile replaced the smolder.
The pretending version of Tucker turned cocky. One of his brows winged upward. “Ready to play?”
Asshole. She knew this thing between them was complicated, but still, she didn’t deserve to be lied to, not like this. “I hope my boobs burned your retinas.”
He snorted, which made at least some of the real Tucker return to his eyes.
Fine, Ginny needed some time to cool off. She’d give him a break for a short while, but before the night was out, she planned to give the stubborn bastard a run for the stubborn championship. She wanted every trace of liquor gone from her system so that couldn’t be his excuse to shut her down.
They played endless rounds of gin rummy.
Tucker told her about the place he was working.
Rich horse owners who were alternatively snooty and needy as they brought in under-exercised rides and suddenly realized they needed the hired help.
Ginny told him about the garden and greenhouse Caleb had agreed to build, and her hopes to get a community supported agriculture garden box off the ground the following spring.
“You’ve always loved the garden,” he said. “And your herbs. The teas you make are great. Except for the one.”
She was never going to live that down. “Luke is none the worse for a little food poisoning.”
“You might have improved him.” Tucker was grinning again.
An hour passed. Another. Comfortable and familiar.
Maddening.
They’d been sitting there since just past eight, the trailer slowly getting warmer and warmer around them. Or maybe that was just Ginny’s libido kicking into overdrive. The compact space meant every time he moved, or she did, something connected.
He stripped off a layer, and she had to concentrate to stop from staring at his forearms. She pulled off her flannel shirt, and his gaze drifted from his hand of cards to her breasts and then back to his cards with an iron will.
Yeah, she had his number. Breast man, all the way.
Finally, it was nearly eleven o’clock. She deliberately put the playing cards aside then stretched out her legs.
She didn’t pull them back when her toes brushed his thigh.
He wiggled briefly but didn’t jerk away.
Time. It was past time.
“You remember the summer Luke dated Courtney Masseny?” she asked.
Tucker’s smile faltered, just a little. “I remember.” He made a face. “That relationship was thankfully short lived.”
She snorted. “Agreed. But as a side note, I had a wicked crush on you that summer.”
Tucker blinked. “What?”
Amusement rose. “What, you didn’t hear me, or what, you can’t believe it?”
“My brain isn’t registering the comment properly.” His expression made that clear. He’d truly had no idea. “If I do the math right, you were fourteen. You liked to eat Pop-Tarts with pickles.”
“And I dreamed of kissing you behind the barn,” she confessed. “Which was about as far as my teenage brain dared to go back then. Kissing. So scandalous.”
Silence.
“I think my mom knew.” Ginny’s cheeks flamed, but the truth was the truth, and that’s what she was known for sharing. “She’s the reason you didn’t have to deal with an infatuated teenager following you around the ranch all day and night for the next year.”
His entire body stilled.
Ginny leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “I left you alone because Mom was right—you needed your time with Luke, and I needed time to grow up. But the truth is the way I felt never changed.”
He opened his mouth.
She held up a hand. “Let me finish.”
He nodded.
“I get it. The timing for me to say something has always been tricky. Life got messy with the accident. You were Luke’s best friend. I was too young. You’re always careful. And I appreciate that. But I’m not too young anymore, and I’m not confused about what I want.”
“Ginny—”
“This is what I want. You. This night. Us.” Her voice shook just a little, but she steadied it with another breath.
“I would never have wished for Dare to end up mindlessly drunk on the anniversary of losing her whole world, but I can’t pretend I’m not grateful for what created a moment alone with you. ”
Tucker was frozen.
“Today is awful. Mom and Dad are gone forever. Caleb and Luke— Hell, you know what we’ve all had to deal with for the last five years.
You’ve been here. You’ve helped.” She slipped her hand over his.
“If something good could happen—on this day of all days—maybe it won’t always be just pain and bad memories. ”
He stared at her for long enough that the wind outside seemed to still.
Then his whole expression shifted. The warmth of family and friendship was replaced by something fierce. Intense.
His lips parted slightly, a muscle ticking in his jaw. That was his tell—his heart was racing. He was thinking too hard and too fast and didn’t know where to put any of it.
Ginny sat very still. For once in her life, she didn’t press further. Didn’t push. She’d said what she came to say.
Now it was his turn.