Chapter Ten
Tilly
“Let me drive,” I say, already sitting in the driver’s seat of Tucker’s lifted Chevy like we belong to each other because he came in my mouth once. I really should get a grip at some point. “It’s been so long since I’ve driven a truck.”
“What?” There’s firmness in his tone. “Out. I drive.”
“Or,” I grin playfully, “I can drive and you can be the passenger princess, just this once. Please.”
He stares at me for a long moment, no expression on his face other than annoyance, though I’m starting to notice he always looks like this. “Fine, but we switch out the second I tell you to.”
I grin wider than expected. “Yay! My dad used to have a truck like this. Well, almost like this. This one looks more vintage. Was it your dad’s?”
“My grandpa,” he says, climbing up into the passenger side with a groan. “You know how to drive manual?”
“Please! Don’t insult me.” I can’t get the smile off my face. “My dad always said automatic engines are for the lazy.”
He smiles. “I like your dad.”
“I think you would’ve. He was the tough type who built cabins and smoked cigars.
Everyone always thought he was in an awful mood, but he was the sweetest guy.
Every night he’d come home with flowers he’d picked for my mom.
He’d compliment her meals and clothes, he’d spend time with my brother and I, and he never complained much about anything.
I think the only time I ever really saw him angry was when this guy was talking shit about my mom, and then, of course, he turned into a different guy when she passed away. ”
“What happened to her?”
I press the clutch and start the engine. “She had this genetic disease where parts of her body slowly turned hard like a stone. My dad went to heaven to be with her a year later. He stopped eating, started drinking, and got into an accident a week after New Year’s Eve. It was instant.”
“Jesus Christ.” Tucker draws in a heavy breath. “I’m sorry. You’re so young to have lost them. That must have been hard to manage.”
“Losing my mom was really hard, but by the time my dad went, I knew he was where he wanted to be. Thankfully I have my brother. He and his wife, Mira, are really good to me. It’s nice to still have some family.
” I can hear myself sigh loudly as I shift the truck, release the clutch, and press the gas.
“What about your family? I know you were close to your grandpa, but what about your parents?”
“My parents died when I was young. I don’t remember them much to be honest. They had me in high school and drugs took over their lives before they had a shot.
My grandparents took me in, and I learned everything I know from them.
” He glances out the side window, his shoulders stiff.
“My grandpa and I spent every summer together working on this truck. When we pulled it out of his junkyard behind the house, it was a mess. Hadn’t been driven in years.
It was a complete rebuild. We got the parts from all over.
Most of it on trade for whatever else he had back in that scrap heap.
” He smiles as he talks, his rough hands brushing together like he’s not used to riding or sitting idle.
“This one guy traded us an old lawn mower for these seats. Grandpa thought he got away with murder.”
For a moment the only sound in the truck is the shifting gears and the rumble of the engine. I can only assume it was the casual mention of murder.
“I know your brother thinks he knows everything, and I get that you love and trust him, but I promise you,” Tucker sighs, “I’ve never killed anyone.”
“He said they tried to tie a murder to you once, but they couldn’t get enough evidence.”
“Because I didn’t kill anyone.” He laughs under his breath. “I’m not a good guy, I’ll be the first to admit that, but murder isn’t in my blood. Wouldn’t be unless—”
“Unless what?”
“Well, I say unless and you start thinking I might’ve murdered someone, but I didn’t and I wouldn’t unless… someone was hurting someone I loved and killing them was the only way to make it stop.”
“Who do you love?”
He glances toward me. “Love is complicated, isn’t it?”
I shrug as I turn at the painted sign at the corner that points toward Fall Fest. “I don’t know. I mean, I think love is pretty simple, actually. When you know, you know.”
“Not what you were saying earlier about your ex. You were all conflicted about him.”
“Yeah, but then I thought about what you said and I think you’re right. If Victor and I were meant to be together, we’d have figured something out by now.”
“Well damn,” Tucker groans, bumping the side of my arm playfully. “Someone mark the date. I’ve never been right a day in my life.”
“Ha, ha, ha.” I shake my head and roll to a stop at the corner lot near the diner.
“There’s a better spot up there by the tattoo shop. It’ll be easier to get out later if the road gets busy.”
“Yeah, but that would require me to back this thing up, and I don’t do reverse.”
“What do you mean you don’t do reverse?” He grins and turns toward me. “You drove this thing all the way here like a bad ass and now you’re telling me you don’t reverse?”
“Nope!” I shrug. “Sorry. My brain can’t do the opposite steps and play with the foot buttons at the same time.”
“Foot buttons?” He laughs. “Dear God, woman. What are you saying?”
I pull up the handbrake and glance toward him. “I’m saying if you want the truck parked up there, you’re going to have to move it yourself.”
“Nah.” He shakes his head and stares toward me, his gaze on mine, heavy and warm. “I think you did a pretty good job. We’re good here.”
“Thanks,” I say, biting back a grin.
“You stay here. I’m coming around to help you out.”
Why does this man have to be so perfect? Why couldn’t he have a snaggletooth, or a back hump, or terrible breath? Why couldn’t he insult my driving, my outfit, or something. Anything to make me remember what an idiot I’m being.
The driver’s side door clicks open and he helps me down, tucking his big rough hand against mine like it’s official. As if without words, we’ve decided our truth.
I don’t hate it. In fact, I love it here in the warmth of his arms, and I want more. More of him. More of this. More of this moment with the man I shouldn’t want. More of everything with a man I shouldn’t have let touch me.
Dear God, I might need an intervention.
Hand still in his, I stare down Main Street, watching everyone pass by with cups of hot apple cider and cinnamon sugar donuts.
It’s the most wholesome scene with families all smiling and happy, bluegrass music live on the stage behind us, and lampposts decorated with garlands of leaves.
There are even scarecrows in every shop window.
This sight always brings a smile to my face.
Rugged Mountain is famous for their shop window contests come holiday time.
People come for miles to see them decorated and vote on their favorite.
In the field behind the shops are at least fifty booths with vendors, a few games, a ring of ponies, and a pen with highland cows.
The bandstand with the bluegrass band sits behind all of that with a crowd of folks dancing.
The scent, though, is what draws people here.
I’m pretty sure the locals wait all year long for a taste of all the fresh mountain apple treats they can’t get the rest of the year.
Donuts, cobbler, pie, muffins, bread, jellies, jams, you name it, this place is selling it flavored with apples, and it smells incredible.
“You haven’t eaten since breakfast. I’m going to get you a slice of pizza and a Coke.” He nods toward a table at the edge of the booth. “Wait right here.”
I nod and try not to feel so warm and fuzzy inside.
This isn’t permanent. This feeling isn’t real. Sure, it’s nice that the man knows what he wants, is good at giving orders, wants to take care of me, and is mega hot, but that doesn’t mean he’s good for me long term, right?
My brother would say no. He would never accept this as a relationship.
He’d, in fact, lose his mind no matter how hard Mira tried to convince him that he’s crazy.
He’s been like that since our parents died.
I know he feels responsible for me. Truth be told, it might be good that someone is responsible for me.
Clearly, I love making terrible decisions.
That said, I bailed on dinner tonight, haven’t returned his calls, and have no intention of talking to him until I know something real about this case, though I’d have to pull my head out of my ass to do that, and I’m not sure when that moment of clarity will be.
Plus, I’m starting to wonder if maybe Tucker really didn’t have anything to do with Wren’s disappearance.
He let me sleep in his cabin, and he wouldn’t have done that if he thought there was something to hide. That would be stupid, right?
I watch him as he stands at the pizza booth. His big, inked arms, his broad shoulders, his thick neck, his strong, wide back. The man is carved from stone, and for the life of me, I can’t figure what he sees in me. Maybe that’s the clue I’ve been looking for.
A good man who looks like him would never date me.
When our food is up, he grabs the tray off the counter and stalks back toward me with the same grimace on his face he was born with. It’s then that I notice we have an audience.
“Can you go anywhere without drawing attention?” I say, nodding toward the group of women who are staring straight at him and giggling from the other side of the apple cider stand.
“I didn’t notice.”
“How did you not notice? They’re giggling like schoolgirls.”
He shrugs as though he isn’t interested. “Eat your dinner and you’ll get dessert.”
It’s been a while since I’ve been told to eat my dinner so sternly, but I’m kind of digging it and decide now’s the time for jokes. “Yes, Daddy.”
He glares at me as he takes a bite of pizza. “There you go again.”
“What?” I narrow my gaze.
“Writing checks you can’t cash.”
“Who says I can’t cash it?”