All of Me (11 page)

“For real.”

“No shit.” Ridley whistled.

“No shit.”

“How come you were sleeping on the couch?” Ridley took another hit off his cigarette. “You’ve got a king-sized bed.”

Tuck threaded his hand through his hair. “I can’t sleep in there. It’s too big. Too empty.”

“Without Aimee.”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “So I had a vision about this temptress woman, and now she shows up at my house claiming it’s her house.
I’m thinking it means something important. What does it mean, Rid?”

“Um …” His brother-in-law avoided his eyes. “I better get back in there. Evie’s gonna come looking for me.” He crushed the
cigarette butt under his boot and turned to leave.

Tuck put out a hand to stop him. “Tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“The prophecy.”

Ridley laughed, but it was a hollow sound. “You don’t believe in any of that stuff, remember?”

“Having her show up has made a serious believer out of me. What does it mean?”

Ridley looked uneasy.

“Is it bad?”

His brother-in-law shrugged, but he looked alarmed. “I’m no expert.”

“You can tell me. I can handle it. How much worse can it be than losing your wife to ovarian cancer when she’s only twenty-five?”

“I guess there’s going to be a legal battle over the lake house.”

“Looks that way.”

“But you’ve got the deed, right?”

Tuck swallowed. “Sutter Godfrey’s got it. He was supposed to file the damned thing, but then he broke his hip… .”

“Sutter never filed the deed?”

“I don’t think so. I wasn’t paying that much attention.”

“That sucks. You could lose your house.”

“Tell me. In the meantime, I think she’s planning on moving in. She’s pulling a U-Haul.”

Ridley hissed in a breath. “Where you gonna go? This time of year there’s not a lot of places for lease in Salvation.”

“I don’t know. This whole thing caught me off guard.”

“You could come stay with me and Evie.”

Tuck shook his head. “You guys are trying for a baby. I’d cramp your style.”

“Family’s family. We’d make do.”

“Why should I be the one to leave? She’s the interloper.” Tuck stuck his fingers through his belt loops. “So are you going
to tell me what it means to have a vision about a temptress?”

Ridley swallowed audibly. “Having a vision about a temptress is bad luck.”

“I’d already sort of figured that out.”

“The temptress signifies broken plans, broken hearts, broken dreams. But seeing a temptress in real life that you’ve already
had a vision about …” He shook his head. “Out of my sphere of expertise, but I’m betting it ain’t good. The woman is bad luck.
A jinx.”

Tuck looked him squarely in the eyes. “You’re telling me.”

A
FTER
J
ILLIAN
got off the phone with Delaney, she decided to take inventory of the house. She was the executor of Blake’s will, after all.
It was her job. She had the right.

By lunchtime, Jillian had a list as long as her arm of things that needed repairing in the house, and she’d only made it through
the downstairs kitchen, living area, and bathroom. She hadn’t even ventured into the bedrooms upstairs.

Feeling overwhelmed, she plunked down onto the couch and stared glumly at her surroundings. What had she gotten herself into?

This behavior wasn’t like her. She wasn’t impulsive or spontaneous. So why had she thrown everything away and just moved up
here on a whim? In retrospect, it was quite stupid. Especially since she might not even have a legal claim to the house. What
in God’s name had she been thinking?

What? Why? Because her life in Houston had stopped working. She’d needed a change and needed it badly. But she hadn’t bargained
on feeling so … so … What did she feel?

Jillian sighed. Well, there was nothing to do but make the best of the situation. She’d clean the house, that was a first
step. And she’d start by throwing away the piles and piles of magazines and newspapers stacked all around the living room.
Apparently Tucker Manning was something of a pack rat.

She rummaged through the kitchen, found black plastic garbage bags, and returned to the living room. She picked up a stack
of magazines.
Architectural Digest
mostly. She tossed them into the garbage bag and then reached for another handful.

Her gaze fell on the cover. There was a picture of Tuck looking quite debonair in a tuxedo. He was winking, arms folded across
his chest, biceps bulging at the seams of his suit, a sly grin on his face.

The caption read
manning magic.

This
was the scruffy naked bum she’d found sleeping on the couch in her house?

Unbelievable.

Correction. It’s not officially your house yet.

Fascinated to uncover this new information, she sat cross-legged on the floor and flipped to the page with the article about
the brilliant young architect the media had dubbed the “Magic Man.” He designed classrooms so conducive to learning that test
scores and grades shot up in students who attended classes in a Manning school.

The article heaped praise on his talent, citing him as one of the most influential young architects of his generation. There
were detailed photographs of the learning centers he designed and pictures of his exclusive Manhattan loft. According to the
piece, he dated starlets and heiresses and traveled the world.

Why had he given it all up to live like a vagrant in Blake’s summerhouse? Yes, he’d lost a wife, but that was two years ago.
Why hadn’t he gone back to his former life?

Jillian flipped back to the cover and saw the magazine had come out four years earlier.

“Wow, you’re a lot more complicated than appearances led me to believe, Tucker Manning,” she muttered.

“And you’re a lot snoopier than you look,” growled Tuck from the living room archway.

Startled, Jillian let out an “Eeep” and tossed the magazine in the air.

Glowering, Tuck “Magic Man” Manning marched across the living room and scooped up the magazine from the fireplace hearth where
it had landed. “Mind your own damn business. And keep your hands off my magazines.”

“Why are you so testy?”

“Um … let’s see. I have some strange woman claiming to have inherited my house. You think that has anything to do with my
sour mood?”

“So get another place and leave this one to me. According to that magazine, you’re rolling in dough.”

“Not anymore,” he snapped.

“Went bankrupt, did you?”

“What part of ‘mind your own business’ do you not understand?”

“So you’re the Magic Man.”

“Don’t go there.”

“Imagine,” she teased. “I’ve seen the Magic Man in his BVDs.”

He snorted. “Only because you were breaking and entering.”

“Door was open, no breaking involved. I was merely entering. And in case you’ve forgotten, I was operating on the assumption
that it was my house.”

“As if you’d let me forget that.”

“What happened to the tux?”

“Huh?”

“The tux you were wearing on the magazine cover. What happened to it?” she asked.

“I sent it out to have it cleaned along with my Rolls-Royce.”

“What would
Architectural Digest
say if they knew how truly crabby the Magic Man could be. Not so magical after all.”

He chuffed out his breath. “I’m not that guy anymore, so can we just drop the whole thing?”

“Aw, but we were just getting to know each other.”

“You’re a smart-ass, aren’t you?”

She batted her eyelashes. “Thanks for noticing.”

“Hmm,” he said.

“Hmm what?” She canted her head.

“I can see why you’re not married.”

Ouch, that was a low blow. Clearly he was getting even with her for the Magic Man teasing. “How do you know I’m not married.”

“Are you?”

“No.” She looked away so she wouldn’t have to meet his eyes, and she saw how badly the corners needed dusting. There were
so many cobwebs that John Carpenter could set a horror flick in here.

“Okay, then, let’s go.”

“Excuse me?”

“Let’s go.”

“Go where?”

“To the Bluebird.”

“Bluebird?”

“What are you? An echo? It’s a café.”

“What for?”

“For one thing, it’s lunchtime,” he said. “And I know you haven’t eaten, because there’s no food in the house.”

“But plenty of beer in the fridge,” she noted.

“You’ve been going through my things.”

Jillian hazarded another glance at him. That blue flannel against his olive complexion …
well
… totally breathtaking. “Hey, you were the one who took off.”

“The second reason we’re going to the Bluebird is to see Sutter Godfrey. He has lunch there every Sunday.”

“Sutter Godfrey?”

“My lawyer.”

“We’re not bothering the man on his day off, especially when he’s eating a meal. It’ll keep until tomorrow.”

“No.” Tuck’s eyes flashed darkly. “No, it won’t. I want this thing settled right now. I have a feeling you don’t believe me
about the deed.”

He was right, she didn’t.

“Let’s go,” he repeated.

Jillian shrugged into her jacket. “Just to be clear, I’m not going with you because you ordered me to go. I’m hungry.”

“Don’t worry, I didn’t mistake you for someone who took directions well,” he said.

“As long as that’s settled.” She flipped her hair out from under the collar of her jacket where it had gotten caught. “What
kind of food do they serve at the Bluebird?”

“It’s a café. They serve café food.”

“Now who’s the smart-ass?”

Silence fell and she instantly had a flashback and saw the firm shape of his bare back as it disappeared into the waistband
of his undies. Briefly, she closed her eyes and willed the image away.

“You with me?”

She opened her eyes and shot him a surreptitious glance. He had long, extravagant eyelashes that were in sharp contrast to
the rest of his thoroughly masculine face. Those lashes kept his rugged looks from being too harsh. His lips were full but
angular. Her gaze just hung there. Spellbound, she wondered if his lips tasted as good in person as they had in her dream.

“Are we taking separate cars?” she asked.

He pulled his keys from his pocket. “I’m driving. You’ve got a U-Haul attached to your Sebring.”

“Oh yeah.” She’d forgotten about that.

“What should I do with Mutt?”

“Bring him along. The Bluebird keeps a leash clip chained to a pole outside for four-legged visitors, along with a water bowl
and complimentary dog biscuits.”

“Wow, imagine. Pet pampering in the wilds of Colorado.”

“It’s not Antarctica.”

“The cell phone reception
is
pretty bad.”

“Mountains. They’re tall.”

“Ooh, there’s that smart mouth again.”

They reached his pickup truck, and he walked around to the passenger side to hold the door open for her. It felt weird, and
she realized she couldn’t remember a guy ever opening the car door for her. Surely someone had, but the memory escaped her.
A funny, unexpected feeling she couldn’t define swooped through her.

Hell, he impressed you.

No, no, she wasn’t impressed; she was just … just what?

He opened the back of the extended cab and whistled for Mutt, and the dog hopped inside.

“So,” she said when they were in the car together and headed up Enchantment Lane. “What happened with the big, splashy architectural
career?”

“The topic isn’t open for discussion.”

“Oookay. How do you make a living these days?”

He paused for so long that she thought he wasn’t going to answer the question, and then finally he said, “Carpenter.”

“Seriously?”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“From the shape the lake house is in? Yeah. How come you didn’t fix it up, if as you claim, Blake deeded the place to you?”

“I was getting around to it.”

“Ah,” she said.

“Ah, what?”

“The Round-to-It. Bane of homeowners everywhere.”

Tuck grunted and ignored that comment, but his eyes were on her. She tried not to notice, but she couldn’t help seeing the
interest there. His tousled hair fell sexily over his forehead. Just like in her dream. Nervously, she fingered the bracelet
on her wrist.

Stop looking at him. Stop thinking about him. Find something else to occupy your mind.

Jillian thought about all that work that needed doing on the house. Thought of his carpentry skills. He couldn’t be all bad.
He’d opened the car door for her and brought her dog along on their outing.

And he’d given her one hell of an orgasm in her dreams. Two orgasms if she was being technical.

That was reason enough to stay as far away from him as she could manage. But how was she going to do that while he was living
in the house she’d inherited?

Except for the fact that maybe she hadn’t inherited it after all.

As Tuck pulled into the parking lot of the Bluebird, Jillian had the sudden realization that moving to Colorado might have
been one of the dumbest mistakes of her life—even dumber than her ill-fated affair with Alex Fredericks.

E
vie watched Tuck return to the café with Jillian in tow. One look at the woman and she thought,
Uh-oh.

She didn’t understand the uneasiness in her stomach or her sudden mother-bear need to protect her little brother at all costs.
All she knew was the interloper looked like Warrior Woman—with her tall imposing height, her sharp dark eyes, and the I-dare-you-to-cross-me
set to her shoulders. She was a scrapper, and the last thing Tuck needed was a fight.

Who was she, and what was she doing with Evie’s baby brother?

Wiping her hands on her apron, Evie came around the front counter, her gaze sizing up the Amazon.

The Amazon’s return stare was cool and emotionless.

Evie narrowed her eyes. “Hey, Tuck. If you’re looking for Ridley again, he went down to Fielder’s Market. We ran out of eggs.
Dutch had a mishap with the eggs Benedict.”