Mr. Write (Sweetwater) (27 page)

H
is breath was hot against her cheek, her cries growing louder as she moved her hips to meet him.  And when he breathed
“fuck,”
the word tense because he was clearly trying to hold off his own release, Sarah all but screamed, breaking into a million pieces.

Tucker was silent, shaking the bed violently in his pleasure.
  He collapsed on top of her, two hundred pounds of sweaty, satisfied male. 

And Sarah lay beneath him, completely unconcerned that she couldn’t breathe.

Minutes passed.  Maybe years. 

“I should move.”  But he lay there, boneless, and Sarah thought vaguely that she might pass out.  Whether from complete satisfaction or oxygen deprivation
, she couldn’t say.  And really, did it matter?  She’d just had the best sex of her life. 

Tucker slid out of her
, rolled to the side. 

“It held
.” He put his hand against the porch rail to stop the bed from swaying.  Then he raised his head a little to look at her.  “Have I finally figured out a way to shut you up?”

Sarah ignored his sarcasm and moved her leg to test for muscle control.  “I might be partially paralyzed.”

She had to smile.  There was something wonderful about the sound of a serious man laughing.

“It’s even easier to hit that spot from behind,” he told her and she turned her head to find him looking at her
, the devil in his eye.

“I’m not sure if I should trust you,” she said primly. “You northern boys are kinky.”

“You southern women are repressed.”

“
Not that repressed, apparently. We just had sex on the porch.”

“The benefits of country living.”

She started to remind him that they were in the middle of town, but he took her hand, kissed her fingers.

And something fluttered inside her chest.

“If I had one of these,” he murmured.  “I’d sleep outside every night.”

“I used to.”  She pushed the flutter down, pushed it away.
  “Lately, it hasn’t seemed like such a good idea.”

When h
e turned his head, his eyes were suddenly, coldly fierce.  “You want to sleep out here tonight, I’ll stay.  I guarantee that bastard won’t get near you.”

“I don’t need a bodyguard, Tucker.”  Or a lover who s
pent the night because he felt obligated to protect her.

He searched her f
ace.  “Your call.  In the meantime.”  He rolled until she was beneath him.  “It’s a very nice body.  I might as well use it again.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

TUCKER
glanced up from his computer screen when the pile of mail hit the porch table.  Mason stood, tanned, toned and healthier-looking than Tucker ever remembered seeing him, with a bland smile fixed on his face.

“Your correspondence.”

“I’m going to have to get you fitted for a coat and tails.”

“I’d melt
,” he said with feeling.  “And anyway, word on the street has upgraded my position from mere household help to turncoat mafia capo, deeply embedded in your witness protection program after testifying against the New York don.”

Tucker stared.  “You’re
English.”

“It’s a front.
Apparently, my accent isn’t all that believable.”

“You’re having way too much fun with this,” he said, and slit the first envelope open with
his pocket knife.

Mason plopped down in one of the Adirondack chairs Tucker had built
and which Mason had painted a cool and watery blue. “The creativity and imagination shown by the small town gossip could give you writers a run for your money.”

Tucker merely grunted, started forming a pile for bills, a pile for trash.

“In fact, I’m sure an argument could be made that gossip is in reality a form of oral storytelling.  And that storytelling, when written down as fiction, achieves a sort of validity that transforms it from idle patter to art.  So in reality,” he summed up “you’re just a glorified gossip-monger.”

Tucker lifted his head.  “You know, I think I’ll call in an anonymous tip to the don.”

“Hmmph.”

Tucker returned his attention to the mail.

Mason drummed his fingers on the chair.

“Are you going to make
me embarrass us both by telling you to find something to do?”

“Like what?” Mason slid a little lower, sulking. 

“What about that kayaking thing you were talking about.”

“
Did you know that bull sharks often swim inland, up the river?  And the kayaks looked like floating bath toys.  Bath toy.”  He held up one hand.  “Shark.”  And chomped on it with the other.  “I think not.”

Recognizing frustration, Tucker tossed another bill on
to the pile.  “I’m sorry that didn’t work out.  Why don’t you go use my punching bag.”

“A punching bag.”  Mason nodded.  “Sounds bloody exciting.”

“Better than sitting here bitching.”

“Easy for you to say, seeing as how you’re getting laid on a regular basis.”

Irritation crawled up his back, but Tucker tamped it down. “I’d hardly describe a few nights as a regular basis.  And in any case, my sex life is none of your business.”

“Yet you’ve made mine yours.”

Knowing his friend was spoiling – practically begging – for a fight, Tucker kept his tone mild as he picked up the last of the mail.  “Take my truck, drive over to Savannah.  There are plenty of tourists, plenty of bars on River…”

“What?” Mason said when Tucker trailed off, staring at
the envelope.

“Ah.  It’s, uh, a piece of my mom’s mail.  I had it all forwarded to me
, then forwarded again when I moved.  I thought I’d notified everyone, cancelled all her accounts, but… this is from a bank.  A local bank.  Next town over, judging from the return address.”

Mason leaned forward, temper forgotten.  “You weren’t aware of the account?”

“No.”  There’d been nothing in her will, nothing in any of her paperwork.  And she’d never mentioned anything to him about keeping any ties to the area.

“Maybe it’s nothing.  A
promotion or an error of some sort.”

“Maybe.”  He stared at it like it was a snake.

“You won’t know until you open it.”

“Sure.
  Right.”  It was stupid to be upset.  He’d nearly gotten used to the grief jumping out to grab him by the throat when he least expected it.  But to feel… left out because there might have been a part of his mother’s life she hadn’t made available to him was beyond ridiculous.  There were, after all, plenty of things he’d kept from her.

And
anyway, Mason was probably right.  It was likely nothing.

He slid his knife along the top.  Pulled out a
paper which indicated it was a statement of renewal.  For a safe deposit box.

Taken out
twenty-eight years ago.  The year his father died.

“I’m gathering it isn’t a mistake.”

Tucker passed the letter across the table.  While Mason stood reading, Tucker stared out through the trees, watched a beam of sunlight stab through the leafy canopy to dance sluggishly on the rich black soil.  Beneath the sweetness of the towering magnolia that anchored the right side of the porch, he could just pick out the tang of the river. The air was hot and dense, but Tucker was learning how to handle it.  Plenty of shade, plenty of cold fluids.

There was a… primal quality to it, something that had been conditioned out of the c
hilly air that circulated through the buildings he’d lived in before. 

He recognized it
, somehow.  That slightly uncivilized pulse, like a second heartbeat.  Maybe that was the kind of thing that came down through the blood.

He wondered what else had come to him through blood.
  And what could be in that box that his mother hadn’t wanted to tell him about.

“Tucker?”

Realizing he’d been lost in the twisted maze of his own thoughts, Tucker scrubbed a hand over his face.  “Sorry.  So apparently my mother had a safe deposit box which she renewed annually.”

“I’m not
terribly familiar with American law,” Mason handed him the letter “but wouldn’t any contents have had to be accounted for before the estate could be settled?”

“If they were of monetary value.”  He pinched his nose, trying to think.  “
I can’t imagine what it could be.  Her parents were killed in a car accident when she was seventeen, and by the time she’d paid for their funerals that pretty much wiped out their savings. My dad didn’t have much to leave when he died.  My grandfather saw to that.  The house was always mine, and I don’t think the contents amounted to much.  My mom didn’t take anything but clothes and a few toys with us.  He didn’t have life insurance.  Hell, he was only twenty-two.”

“And there was no key
among your mother’s things?”

“For a safe deposit box?  No.  I… wait.  Keys.”  He thought of the afternoon Sarah had witnessed his breakdown.  Felt a pang of
lingering embarrassment.  “There was a plastic key ring thing.  In with some baby toys and memorabilia in the attic.  Some of the keys were also plastic, but a couple of them were real, I think.  One of them was pretty small.”

“You think she
would have left the key here?”

“I don’t know.”  How could he?  “I was four.
  You remember much from when you were four?”

“Fine, fine.  Don’t
get stroppy.”

Tucker considered what he knew.  “We left here in a hurry.  Middle
of the night kind of hurry.  My grandfather was pressuring my mom to live out at River’s End, so he could control her, make sure I was being raised to his standards.  I think she must have panicked, thought that he’d find a way to take me from her, kick her out.  So there’s a chance she left stuff behind that she didn’t mean to.”

“
I’ll head up and fetch the keys and we can have a look.”

“The box is on the floor in front of the broken mirror.
”

He would have gotten them himself, but Mason could use the distraction.  And
, Tucker thought as he stared blankly at his computer, he needed a moment to think.

“Tucker?”

He closed his eyes.  Why did the woman have such an unerring instinct for catching him at his most inopportune moments?  He felt irritation swirl, pushed it back.  After all, the air wasn’t the only thing stirring his blood lately.

He turned, and found her standing
in a long golden dress, just at the edge of the porch. A different kind of sunlight. 

Because the thoug
ht made him uncomfortable, he was less welcoming than he could have been.  “Hey.”

“You’re working.  I’m sorry.”  But he saw that her eyes had gone bright with interest.  They’d spoken only cursorily about his work since the incident in her store
, but it seemed like discretion on her part rather than apathy.  Emotion spiked, warring factions of pride and nerves.  It was nice that she was interested.

But he damn sure didn’t want to
discuss what he’d been writing the past several days.

“Yeah.
”  He minimized the document.  “Do you need something?”

“If it’s a bad time, I can talk to you about it later.”

It was only then that he noticed the paper she held in her hand.  “You’re already here,” he pointed out.

“And I can be here at some other time, if you’d prefer me not to interrupt your work.”

It seemed undiplomatic to point out that the conversation already constituted an interruption.  “If I didn’t want to be interrupted, I’d either be growling obscenities or throwing whatever came to hand in your direction.”

“I’ll keep that in mind
for future reference,” she said dryly, then strolled closer, hand outstretched.  “This is –”

He took the paper, laid it on the table.

“It’s going to be kind of hard to talk about with it facedown.”

“We’ll talk about it after
.” Then he pulled her onto his lap.  And kissed her.

The taste of her flooded into him, sweeter than he would have guessed.
  She was so frequently acerbic that he’d expected some of that tartness in her kiss.  But she tasted warm and smooth, like bourbon blended with honey. 

He ran his hand into her hair, tangled it into the curls she’d left loose
and tumbling.  Nipped at her full bottom lip as he pulled back.  “Hi.”

It didn’t hurt his ego to
watch her have to blink her eyes clear.  “Maybe I should not interrupt you more often.”

“Maybe you should.  Middle of the work day for you.
”  He tapped the tip of her nose.  “You playing hooky?”

“What?  I… I can’t talk to you while I’m sitting on your lap.  And don’t look so smug,” she said as she climbed to her feet, smoothed down
the disappointingly long skirt.  “It’s just that I feel ridiculous, that’s all.”