All of Me (13 page)

Something wasn’t right. She did not seem the kind of woman who acted on whims. Something was driving her. She was running
away, and the lake house had been her refuge.

“I’m sorry,” Tuck apologized. “I shouldn’t have spoken so rudely to you.”

“Never apologize for being honest,” she said lightly, but he heard the brittle edge in her voice. She
was
in emotional pain.

Damn it all.

He couldn’t deal with his own feelings, much less hers. Tuck pivoted on his heel and started up the carpet-lined staircase
to Sutter’s second-floor offices. Jillian and her dog followed.

The key fumbled in the lock, giving her time to catch up with him. Mutt was running the halls, entirely too cheerful. He tried
not to be pissed off at the dog. It wasn’t his fault Tuck’s life was so screwed up.

He shoved the door inward. The hinges shrieked. The minute they stepped over the threshold, they both stopped in their tracks,
mouths agape.

The phrase “looks like it’s been hit by a tornado” was a serious cliché, but in all truthfulness, it was the only phrase that
fit. Papers were strewn about the room; piles of manila folders lay in haphazard stacks. Musty old law tomes were spilling
off the bookcase and shelved in the oddest places—cluttering the floor, the sofa, the top of the radiator. The drawers of
the file cabinets were open, briefs and deeds and accident reports hanging from them willy-nilly.

But that wasn’t the worst of it. In the middle of the floor was a murky puddle of foul-smelling water. Directly above the
puddle was a serious water stain on the ceiling that also ran down one wall, and there were telltale signs of mold. No telling
how long Sutter’s roof had been leaking.

A sigh seeped out of Jillian.

“I hope you weren’t in a hurry,” Tuck said.

She laughed. A short, humorless sound full of weariness, disappointment, and defeat. “Sutter has no idea the place looks like
this, does he?”

“I’m guessing not.”

Jillian chuffed out her breath and crossed the room to sink into the leather desk chair. Dust rose up around her. She sneezed.

“Bless you,” Tuck said automatically, before he remembered she was the enemy intent on kicking him out of his home.

“Thanks. I need all the blessings I can get.”

“You’re not the only one.”

Her eyes met his. “We are in something of a pickle, aren’t we?”

“It’s not a good day,” he agreed.

“This was supposed to be my fresh start,” she said, her shoulders sagging in a dejected slump. She looked like a prizefighter
going down for the last count.

Why did he have a sudden compulsion to make her feel better? It was a good thing she was feeling overwhelmed. She’d be all
the more likely to get into her Sebring and head that U-Haul back to Houston. The thought made him feel a bit sad. He wanted
her to stay and fight.

But why? Why would he feel that way?

“Look,” he said. “You’ve had a long day. Let’s just call it quits until tomorrow.”

Another one of those rueful nonlaughs escaped her. “I don’t even have anywhere to stay, and from the look of it, at this time
of year, Salvation isn’t exactly flush with lodging options.”

She was right. In the summer, Salvation did a big tourist trade. But come the end of September, the motels and B and Bs closed
for the winter and didn’t reopen until May. There was ski season, yes, but people preferred to stay on the slopes rather than
an hour’s drive down the mountain to Salvation.

He didn’t know why he said it. He didn’t mean to say it. But the next thing he knew, Tuck opened his mouth, and the words
simply tumbled out. “You can stay at the lake house until we get this thing sorted out.”

T
HEY WENT BACK TO THE LAKE HOUSE
, Tuck built a fire, then quickly left her alone after mumbling something under his breath about meeting some friends of his.
He didn’t offer to let her tag along, but why would he? Just because she was alone in town and didn’t know anyone. She’d usurped
his home. He was bound to be upset.

Jillian sat on the couch staring into the fire, Mutt sleeping at her feet. She felt out of place and offtrack. What the hell
was she doing here? She didn’t belong in Colorado. She belonged …

Where did she belong?

That was the thing. She didn’t belong anywhere, but Salvation was supposed to have been her new beginning. Her chance to find
her place. To fit in. To finally achieve the love and belonging that had been so elusive for most of her life. She’d found
it temporarily, in college, with her three friends. Then again, in Blake. But while she’d had their love, she’d never had
that sense of community or permanence. Never lived in a place where everyone knew you and accepted you anyway.

Until this very moment, Jillian hadn’t realized how much she wanted that. She shivered, even though she wasn’t cold. Mutt
raised his head from his place on the floor and looked up as if sensing her vulnerable mood. He sighed and rested his chin
on her foot.

“Okay.” She laughed, reaching down to scratch him behind the ears. “I’m not completely alone. I have you. We’re in this together,
Muttster. It’s you and me, kid. Homeless wanderers.”

He made a whining noise in the back of his throat.

“What’s the matter, boy?” She kept scratching his ears. “I just took you outside, and it’s too early for your supper.”

He looked sad.

“You want me to stay and fight?”

His eyebrows went up. Who knew dogs had such expressive faces?

“You like it here, don’t you? Much nicer than the city. Woods to run through. A lake to play in. Rabbits to chase.”

He thumped his tail. His fur was soft beneath her fingers.

“I like it here too.”

So fight for it.

“Do we have mental telepathy going on here, Muttster? Or am I cracking up?”

Another thump of his tail.

This was a damnable situation. She’d found out Blake had left her paradise, then in the same breath taken it away. Why would
he do something like that? If he deeded the land to Tuck, why not change his will as well?

He wasn’t thinking straight. He had a brain tumor.

Or …

An elusive thought chased through the back of her mind. It made her sit up straight, but before she could fully wrap her head
around the notion nudging around, it was gone.

Oh well, perhaps it would occur to her later. In the meantime, she knew what she had to do next.

First thing tomorrow morning, she was calling Hamilton Green and getting to the bottom of the property dispute.

A
FTER BUILDING A FIRE
in the fireplace to warm the house for Jillian, Tuck had taken off. He felt agitated, confused, guilty, sad, and aggravated
with himself. He didn’t know where to go, and he wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone about what he was feeling. The only
person whose opinion mattered to him at the moment had been dead for two years, her ashes scattered over Salvation Lake.

He hadn’t been on the water since the anniversary of Aimee’s death, the night he’d fallen in, and he shouldn’t be out on it
now, but here he was, bobbing in the little red rowboat, wrapped in a parka, a wool blanket across his lap, his cheeks numb
from the cold damp wind, staring listlessly at pine trees lining the dock and wondering where in the hell his life had gone.

It was just beginning to sink in that Blake was dead. Even though he’d never really known his father-in-law, he couldn’t help
feeling a deep, underlying sense of loss and regret. For what could have been. For what would never be. Fences would never
been mended. Past hurts would never be forgiven. Misunderstandings would never be resolved.

It made his gut ache. More death, more sorrow.

And then there was Jillian.

Being around Jillian unsettled him, and it wasn’t due to any of Ridley’s bad-luck-temptress stuff. Well, all right, maybe
it was a little, but there was more to his unexpected emotions than that.

He was attracted to Jillian, and that disturbed him because he hadn’t been attracted to a woman since his wife. And then he’d
gone and told her she could stay with him at the lake house.

How stupid was that?

Why?

He didn’t really know why. Maybe it was because Jillian didn’t look at him as if he was one of the walking wounded. Everyone
else in town treated him as if he was an amputee. No one in Salvation—except for Evie—had known him before Aimee. It was nice,
at least for a little while, not to be defined by his status as a widower. It felt good to flirt. To feel like his old self
again. And that made him guiltier than ever.

Maybe it was because Jillian seemed to understand, being close to Blake and losing him. She had an underlying sadness in her
eyes that tugged at something inside him.

Maybe it was because on some level he felt sorry for her. Apparently, she didn’t have anyone else in her life. If she did,
why would she have moved up here with all her worldly possessions without first coming to check the place out? Why didn’t
she have anyone with her, helping her move?

But maybe—and this is the one he really didn’t want to admit—just maybe, a part of him wanted to explore the attraction.

Tuck studied the lake house. It was starting to look its age. It needed renovating, updating. On her deathbed, he promised
his wife that he would rebuild it. He’d also promised her he would marry again and have the kids the two of them would never
have together, but he’d lied about that too. For the life of him, Tuck couldn’t imagine getting married again. No one could
ever take Aimee’s place in his heart.

“I can’t believe your father left the lake house to
that woman,
” he spoke out loud to Aimee. “And then he turned around and deeded it to me. Why would he do it? Why would he mess with our
heads that way?”

If Aimee were here, she’d probably say, “That proves he’s an asshole.”

But if Aimee were here, this whole mess wouldn’t be an issue. If she hadn’t gotten sick …

If Aimee hadn’t gotten sick, he wouldn’t be in Salvation. He’d still be the Magic Man living their Manhattan lifestyle. It
was only Aimee’s illness that had brought him here. And it was his devotion to her and the small peace he’d found in this
odd little town that rooted him.

Now everything was changing. Blake Townsend was dead, and Jillian Samuels had arrived laying claim to Aimee’s beloved lake
house.

What did it all mean for his future?

Blake deeded the place to you. Even if Sutter forgot to put through the paper work. He wanted you to have it.

But Jillian was a lawyer. She knew how to fight. She was a prosecuting attorney from Houston; she was accustomed to bare-knuckled
brawling. She’d slice him to ribbons in a court of law. Unless he could find proof Blake had deeded him the property, he was
going to lose the place that had meant so very much to his beloved Aimee.

One thing was clear—he had to get Jillian out of his house.

J
illian and Mutt ended up bedding down in one of the upstairs bedrooms after the ten o’clock news. She’d heard Tuck come in
around midnight, and she’d tried unsuccessfully not to picture him stripping off his clothes and tumbling onto the couch.

She’d seen him in the nude in her dream and then almost naked in real life, and the man certainly lived up to the fantasy.
She’d heard him. Thought of him. And then she’d touched herself in the darkness and pretended it was his hand.

Jillian awoke at seven feeling unsettled and out of place, with the smell of fresh-brewed coffee luring her downstairs. She
found Tuck in the kitchen fully dressed, making eggs. She felt oddly disappointed to see him in blue jeans and flannel instead
of the way she’d pictured him in her mind.

It’s official. You’re a pervert.

“Coffee,” she demanded.

“My, you’re bright-eyed in the morning.”

She just glared. “Coffee?”

Tuck chuckled, filled a cup, and pushed it gingerly toward her. “Cream? Sugar?”

“Do I look like a lightweight to you?”

“Black it is.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I need to take Mutt out,” she mumbled after she’d had a few sips. “And give him some kibble.”

“Already taken care of.”

“That was nice of you.”

He shrugged. “Mutt wouldn’t leave me in peace until I did. How do you like your eggs?”

“You’re cooking? For me?”

“Why not?” His grin dazzled.

All at once, she felt a little woozy, like she’d been running too hard and too long. She couldn’t ever remember any man cooking
for her, other than Blake.

Jillian plunked down on the barstool across from the stove and sipped her coffee. She couldn’t help but notice Tuck’s long,
masculine fingers.

“Eggs?” he asked.

“Over easy.”

Their eyes met; then Tuck looked away, but not before she caught the lingering glance he slid down her body. The look ignited
the sparks shooting between them.

Suddenly she realized she was still in her pajamas, and her hair was mussed, and she just felt …
exposed
. Her hand trailed to her collar, and she fastened the top button.

“Are you cold? ’Cause I can crank up the heater.”

“No, no. I’m fine.” Sitting here, looking at him, she was the antithesis of cold. She was a bonfire.

He dished up the eggs on a blue Fiesta ware plate and slid them across the bar toward her.

“Gracias.”

“You speak Spanish?”

“I’m a lawyer from South Texas. Even when you don’t speak Spanish, you speak a little Spanish.”

He put his eggs on a green plate, leaned his back against the counter, and ate standing up. Was he that reluctant to take
the barstool next to her?

“So how come you’re really here?”

She shrugged. “I thought I’d inherited this house.”

“If that’s the only reason you came here, why not just sell it through Blake’s lawyer?”

“I’m the executor of his will. I came here to settle things.”

“In a U-Haul?”

“Hey, you wouldn’t tell me about the Magic Man thing. Why should I tell you my sob story?”