Chapter 6
Ruth
Ishould have just accepted Tucker’s offer of a check and moved on. Let him feel like a good guy for helping me and Birdie out while I laughed all the way to the bank.
Maybe if he hadn’t insisted on going to the park with us, I would have. Maybe if he hadn’t happily spent an hour and a half of his day playing with my little girl like he was actually enjoying himself, I could have done it.
But somehow, in the span of a few short hours, Tucker Bradshaw managed to make me feel guilty about not just taking his stringless offer, but also my initial plan.
In all honesty, I felt slightly bad about it from the start, but had to get over it.
I’ll do whatever it takes to keep my daughter safe.
And if it comes down to Tucker or Birdie, I’ll choose my daughter every time. Without question.
The hiccup I keep experiencing is that part of me believes that’s what Tucker would want—for me to put Birdie first, even if it fucks him over.
Because he’s not at all the kind of man I expected him to be.
Which is also why I’m sitting in his driveway for the second time, staring up at his big beautiful home, working up the bravery to knock on his door.
At least this time I’ve been invited.
Before I can get myself together, the man in question comes sauntering out onto his porch, looking way too attractive for his own good.
I understood his appeal from the beginning.
Knew why other women were falling over themselves to wind up in his path.
But now that I’ve spent a little time with him, I can see how easy it would be to fall into his bed.
Thankfully, falling into anyone’s bed is the last thing on my mind right now, making me immune to his charm.
Mostly.
I manage a smile even though I feel awkward as hell, and wave with one hand while opening my door with the other. I climb out, turning to get my daughter from her car seat, but Tucker beats me to it.
Opening the back door, he grins widely at Birdie. “Hey, Little Bird. How are you this morning?” He scans the buckle strapping her in place, smile tipping downward. “What sort of restraining system have you got going on here?”
“Let me.” I hustle around him, expecting Tucker to step back and give me room. Instead, he hovers close by, the heat of his body warming my side as I press the button that releases the chest straps keeping my daughter in place. “It’s not as complicated as it looks.”
“Maybe getting her out of it isn’t, but I can imagine wrestling that tiny tornado into that thing is no easy feat.”
I snort. “You have no idea.”
While I pull my daughter free, Tucker grabs the diaper bag from the floorboard, hooking it over one shoulder.
My eyes drift around as we walk up the driveway, checking to see if someone’s watching us.
The property is huge, and I’m pretty sure his whole family lives here.
There’s not another house in sight, though, so I don’t know that anyone would be able to spy without being caught.
But there’s no way a man would ever be as helpful as Tucker is being without some sort of motivation. And since he’s not trying to get in my pants, I have to assume it’s a performance meant to gain accolades.
“Is something wrong?” Tucker must notice what I’m doing, because he starts looking around too. “Did you see a bobcat?”
I hold my daughter a little tighter. “You see bobcats out here?”
“Not often, but occasionally.” He brings a hand to my back, maneuvering me toward the porch. “Toby and Titus have to keep a close eye on their dogs to make sure one doesn’t try to snag them during a potty break.”
That is… Unnerving.
I’ve always lived in town, so imagining wild animals casually strolling across the backyard is all but impossible. And a little unsettling.
“But don’t worry.” Tucker gives me a wink, hand still on my back as he urges me up the stairs. “I’ll protect you.”
If only that were possible. Unfortunately, what I need protecting from is way more dangerous than a bobcat would ever be.
And much meaner.
Once we’re inside, Tucker sets the diaper bag on the kitchen counter and motions for me to set Birdie down.
“She can run around.” His hands go to his hips, eyes hovering at an odd height as they slide over the room.
“I’m pretty sure I got safety plugs in all the outlets, and there’s a gate blocking off the stairs. ”
Again, I’m surprised by Tucker’s behavior.
And again, I remind myself it’s just a performance. One he is turning out to be remarkably good at.
Hopefully I can hold my own. Which is why I’m here today. If I look uncomfortable around him, it’s going to be a dead giveaway. His mom will never believe we're together, and she sure as hell won’t believe he’s heartbroken when I leave.
Even though I’m still a little concerned my daughter is going to wreck his house, I go ahead and lower her feet to the ground. Tension settles in my neck and shoulders as she takes off running, aiming straight ahead for a portion of the house I’ve never seen.
Tucker thumbs over one shoulder, gesturing in the direction my daughter ran. “She’s hopefully about to find a big pile of toys I’m hoping will keep her entertained.”
He bought my daughter toys? Of course he did. Performance. I don’t know why I keep forgetting.
I can’t even begin to guess what a bachelor would pick out for a kid Birdie's age, so curiosity drags me after her. Tucker trails behind me, his presence making me oddly jittery as we pass a breakfast room and step into what I would call a great room.
Even though great doesn’t begin to do it justice.
The planked ceilings soar and windows are everywhere. It’s light and bright, and while the decorations are masculine, it doesn’t feel like a man cave. It’s surprisingly cozy and comfortable.
“Your house is really beautiful.” I can’t imagine what it’s like to live in a place like this.
Growing up, it was just me and my mom. And while I never went without, we certainly weren’t even close to being rich.
Our townhome was cute and quaint, but no one would have ever mistaken it for being luxurious.
And this place is luxurious. From the leather furniture draped with plush blankets and pillows, to the rugs placed artfully on the hardwood floors, every inch of it is high-end.
And my daughter is wiping her snotty nose on as much of it as she can reach, leaving the equivalent of a glistening snail trail on nearly every surface.
My eyes dart to Tucker, expecting him to be horrified that his pristine home is already feeling the effects of my toddler. But he’s grinning. Watching as she finally notices the insanity tucked into one corner.
When Tucker said toys, I was expecting two or three basic items. A stuffed animal or two.
Maybe a couple books and a set of blocks.
Instead, it looks like he bought everything he could get his hands on.
There’s a full plastic barnyard, complete with just about every animal imaginable, and a barn that opens on a hinge so all the animals can play inside.
There are stacks of wooden puzzles and a magnetic drawing board on legs.
There’s a car-shaped scooter that can be ridden or pushed, and what appears to be a bubble maker.
Along with the stuffed animals I was expecting. A whole pile of them.
I turn to the man standing beside me, shaking my head as Birdie runs from one item to the next. “You didn’t have to buy all of that.” He shouldn’t have, actually. Because what in the hell is he going to do with it once this is all over?
Tucker shrugs, his eyes following Birdie as she tries to work one leg over the scooter. “It’s not a big deal.”
Not a big d—
Is he serious?
I stare at him, a man who has been extremely unserious up to this point. “It’s a very big deal. You must’ve spent a thousand dollars on all this.”
Tucker’s eyes come my way. “Sweetheart, I’m about to give you twenty thousand dollars. Those toys are a drop in the bucket.”
He’s… Sort of got a point.
He picks up one of the blankets my daughter dragged free as she passed, shaking it out before tossing it over one arm of the sofa. “Plus, my niece and nephew will probably play with these too when they get bigger.”
“You have a niece and nephew?” That explains why he was so comfortable with Birdie from the get go.
Tucker beams at me, looking ridiculously proud. “I do. They’re a few months old, and I’m their favorite uncle.”
I blink, processing what he just said. “They are a few months old.” I say the words slowly. “And you’re their favorite uncle.”
I know it’s been over a year since Birdie was that age, but I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t have been playing favorites. Even if someone gifted her an entire toy store aisle.
“Don’t look at me like that.” Tucker goes to his couch, dropping to his ass and stretching both arms along the back. “I can practically hear what you’re thinking.”
I doubt that. “Okay.” I cross both arms over my chest. “What am I thinking?”
His smile widens. “That I’m ridiculously handsome and of course I would be the favorite uncle.”
I snort, hating how endearing I’m starting to find this guy. “You’re absolutely right. That is exactly what was running through my mind.”
Tucker lifts his brows. “See? What’d I tell you? I’m basically a mind reader.” He tips his head at the seat next to him. “Come sit down with me and you can try to read my mind next.”
I take a deep breath, because I knew this moment was coming.
I just didn’t expect it to seem so… Weirdly normal.
I thought I was going to be doing a lot of faking when it came to pretending to like Tucker Bradshaw, but while he might not be the kind of man I would ever be interested in romantically, he is turning out to be surprisingly tolerable.
Crossing the room, I slowly lower into the seat, keeping a reasonable amount of space between us. Shifting around, I try to get comfortable, placing both hands on my knees while my spine stays stick straight. I glance over at him, all relaxed and cool and calm, comparing it to my rigid positioning.
“This isn’t going to work, is it?” I rub my palms down the front of my jeans, trying to wipe away the nervous sweat making them clammy. “Your mother’s never going to buy this.”
Tucker tips his head, still looking perfectly chill. “Probably not if you sit next to me like that.”
I press my lips together, taking another second to calm my racing heart before I ask, “How should I sit next to you?”
I’ve never actually been in a relationship. Certainly not like the one we’re attempting to portray. All I’ve ever been was a dirty little secret.
And a dangerous liability.
“Well,” Tucker’s eyes are oddly focused, “You should probably try being a little closer to me.”
“Yeah. Okay.” I blow out a breath. “I can do that.” It’s fine. Perfectly doable.
Slowly, I scoot across the cushion until my thigh is aligned with his, our bodies meeting from hip to knee. The positioning also brings my shoulder against his side, and the amount of heat radiating off of him is almost shocking.
Not in a bad way, just in an unexpected one.
“Good girl.”
My head snaps toward him. “Did you just call me a good girl?”
Tucker cocks a brow at me. “Are you seriously going to try to tell me you’re the only firstborn daughter in the world who doesn’t like hearing that?”
I scoff. Then sputter. Then I make some sort of weird sound I can’t even really identify.
Because I’m a little concerned he might not be wrong.
To be fair, no man has ever said those two words to me before, so my opinion of them was purely based on expectations and assumptions. I thought it would be weird for a guy to say them. Possibly even creepy. No way could women actually like that sort of thing.
Yet here I sit, resisting the unexplainable urge to preen.
Clearing my throat, I drag my eyes from his face. “Moving on.”
I swear Tucker softly chuckles beside me, but I’m going to ignore that right along with the reaction I absolutely did not have to him calling me a good girl.
“All right. Moving on then.” Tucker’s voice is low. Deep. Closer when he says, “I should probably have my arm around you instead of on the couch.”
I hold my breath, waiting for him to move. Anticipating the feel—the weight—of his arm on my shoulders.
But it doesn’t come.
Again, my head is snapping his way. “Well?”
Tucker’s eyes move over my face. “I’m not in the habit of touching women without their consent, Ruth.”
Why is he like this? I don’t understand what’s happening. Being nice to my daughter. Overly respectful in every freaking capacity.
Willing to give me twenty grand for nothing.
I really should take it. Get the heck out of here as fast as I can and leave him to deal with the problems he’s created on his own.
But he’s making it impossible. He’s being too nice. Too gentlemanly. Too easy to be around.
And I just can’t take advantage of him now that I know Tucker might not be the gigantic asshole I assumed he was.
That is the only reason I meet his eyes, metaphorically putting on my big girl panties before saying, “You have permission to touch me in whatever way will make your mother think we're a couple.” A weird zip of something I’m not going to identify tingles through my insides, forcing me to amend, “As long as it’s PG. ”
“I can work with that.” Slowly, Tucker lowers his arm to rest gently against me as he leans closer, his heat sinking into yet another part of my body as his scent surrounds me.
I might need to tell him to cut it out with that cologne.
The rich, smooth smell is baking into my brain. It’s freaking distracting.
Almost as distracting as his warm breath brushing my cheek as he says, “But if you ever want to change that rating, all you have to do is let me know.”