Mr. Write (Sweetwater) (30 page)

Recognizing the
near panic that fueled the temper, Tucker reached for the sander.

“What are you doing?”

“I’ll finish this.”

“I don’t need you to do it.  I don’t want you to do it.”

“Okay.”  One of them needed to be reasonable.  Looked like it was going to have to be him.  “Then you might want to go change your dress before you do any more damage.”

“What?”
  She looked down.  And when she spotted the black smear of what looked to be grease across her left breast, went statue still.

For whatever reason, it was the straw that broke her.

“Shit,” Tucker said under his breath.  But he overrode the instinct to drop the sander and hightail it off the porch.  And took her into his arms about two seconds before she started watering.

Tucker rode it out, wondering if there was a man on the planet who wasn’t terrified of a woman’s tears. 
They made him feel helpless.

Tucker hated feeling helpless.  But more, he hated that some
jerk had caused Sarah such distress.

“This was the
right dress,” she gritted, sounding far more angry than sad.  “The perfect dress.  Now I’m going to have to wear the damn roses, and how transparent is that?”

To Tucker’s way of thinking, a transparent dress would be a lot more interesting than the one she had on. 
But since he doubted that was what she was getting at, he wisely held his tongue.

She wound down pretty quickly,
thank God, the hands she’d laid against his tear-streaked chest curling into fists. 

“You done?”

She waited a beat that he suspected was filled with mortification.  A fact which she confirmed when she said: “God, I hope so.”

He stroked a hand down her back.

“Thanks for not saying
there there.”

“I make it a point not
to sound like an idiot whenever possible.”

When she
finally lifted her face, he took her chin, frowned over the black stuff running down her face.

“Better?”

“Some.”

“
Good.  Do you have a camera?”

“
I’m not feeling real photogenic at the moment.”

Tucker brushed his thumb over her
damp cheek.  “You want that off your wall, not tainting your business.  I get that.  But it would be smarter to take some pictures before I finish sanding it off.”

“Tucker, you
really don’t have to do that.”

“
I know.  If I had to, I probably wouldn’t.  And besides, you’re not getting my services for free.  You have to call Hawbaker first.  That’s the deal.”    

He watched her struggle not to argue.
  “Look, I’m not a particular fan of cops, but this one seems decent enough. Plus, he cares about you. Even if he can’t do more than file a report, he needs to know.” 

“Okay.
  Okay, you’re right.”  Then she sighed, glanced out over the garden.  “You didn’t ask.”

“What?”

“You didn’t ask why Jonas referred to me… like that.”

“My guess?  Because he’s an asshole.  And for
a whore, I still say you’re repressed.” 

“Thanks.”  She smiled, just a little.  “I think.”

“Get your camera.”  He stepped back.  “And call Hawbaker.  I’ll grab a shirt, meet you back here.”

“DO
you think I’m cynical?”

Allie
paused in the act of stacking the chairs in the cafe, glancing toward Sarah, who waited to sweep the floor.

“In what way?”

“Like… suspicious of people, their motivations.”

“Oh.  In that case, y
es.”

Sarah leaned on the broom handle.  “T
ake all the time you need to think about it, Al.”

Allie laughed, scooped up a discarded napkin.  “
Not that it’s necessarily a bad thing.  When was the last time someone pulled the wool over your eyes?”  Unlike Allie, who seemed to have been blindfolded since birth.  “I’d say it’s more a matter of you being… aware.”

“
Aware
sounds better than misanthropic.”

Allie tilted her head.  “Is this because June Darby wasn’t quite the snob you thought she’d be?”

“I don’t know. 
I mean, she was a little intimidating, certainly.  That hair helmet she has?  I’m pretty sure that’s not hairspray, I think it’s just afraid to move.   But anyway, I think she liked me.”

“Why shouldn’t she
like you?” Rainey interjected from where she was wiping down the counter.  “You weren’t the one having sex with her husband.”

“I should hope not
.”  Allie shuddered.  “Have you
seen
Harold Darby?  Anyway Sarah, I don’t know why you act surprised that she signed that check.  Our food is ten times better than the stuff they serve at the country club, and – thanks to you – the garden is nearly as spectacular, if not so large, as theirs.” 

“That’s nice of you to say. 
You know, I used to think I was pretty well-adjusted.  But it occurred to me that Jonas might be… targeting me because he perceives that I think I’m better than him.”

“You are better than him,” Rainey pointed out.
 

“I certainly hope so.” Sarah swept crumbs into the dustpan with more force than necessary. “But then I realized that I’m sort of guilty of the same thing.”

“Murdering rodents?”

“Ha.” Sarah shot Allie a look.  “No, of
making assumptions about people based on my own insecurities.  Kind of a reverse snob.”

Allie
’s mouth formed a tight line as she plumped the chocolate brown cushions on the loveseat.  She was furious that that idiot had come after Sarah in such a cowardly way, even angrier that he’d somehow caused her to question herself. 

“
First of all, Jonas is a degenerate who has to blame all of his problems on someone else. There’s no comparison.  Secondly, even if you did have some preconceived notions that weren’t quite right, you still gave those people a chance.  And since June left here a happy customer, and you’ve been getting naked with Tucker, I’d have to say that you’re secure enough to admit when you’re… oops.”

She turned away from Sarah’s wince to where broken crockery rattled behind the counter.

Rainey’s eyes were brown saucers.  “I’ll pay for the mug.  She’s getting naked with Tucker?” Her gaze shot from Allie toward Sarah.  “Tucker Pettigrew?  How did I not know this?”

“Because I forgot to take out an ad in this week’s circular,” Sarah said dryly.

“Sorry,” Allie murmured, but Sarah waved it away.

“Wow… that’s… I mean he’s kind of… but
anyway, he’s
hot.”

“I thought you were all about Mason,” Allie said.

“Well sure, he’s combustible.  But he’s got a thing for you.”

What?  “Um.”  Allie laughed shortly.
They were friends.  Of sorts.  But she hadn’t even seen him since Josie had browbeaten him into taking her car in to be fixed.  “I don’t think so.”

Rainey just rolled her eyes. 
“Okay, so tell me,” she said to Sarah. “Does his butt look as good out of his jeans as it does in them?”

This time Sarah was the one to laugh.  “You’ve been checking out Tucker’s butt?”

“Hard to miss when the man’s standing on a ladder.”

“Really?”  Sarah moved toward the window.

“Look at you.  Not right now. Earlier, when I ran back to your place to get your doohickey for the computer, I saw him on his back porch.  Looked like he was hanging something.”

“
I wonder what he’s up to.”  Then she winked at Rainey over her shoulder.  “Actually, his butt doesn’t look as good naked.  It looks better.”

Laughing,
Allie plopped down on the cushion she’d just plumped.  “Speaking as a woman with no hopes of seeing a naked male butt – good-looking or otherwise – in the near future, I’ll just have to take great pleasure in reminding you that it’s your turn to clean the restroom.”

IT
was a small gesture, Sarah thought as she snapped the lid onto the iced coffee.  But one she was certain would be appreciated.

After all,
Tucker was a caffeine addict.  Handy for him to have his pusher right next door.

S
o she’d lead with the coffee, then see if she might be able to entice him away from his keyboard.  Or whatever project had him standing on a ladder on his porch.  She wanted a light meal, a long shower.

A
nd some good, sweaty sex.  If Tucker was feeling amenable again, she saw no reason why he shouldn’t join her in all three.

He’d held her while she cried.

Not a memory she wanted to revisit with any regularity, but over the course of the day it had at least faded from completely humiliating to moderately embarrassing.  After all, a woman was entitled to some frustration when her moral character had been libeled on the outside wall of her place of business, and she’d subsequently ruined her best dress. 

And the way he’d handled it, with a
sort of uncomfortable forbearance, was actually kind of sweet.

Tucker
was kind of sweet.  In his own cranky way.

It was a combination that, strangely,
seemed to work for her.  So she was going to drop in on that sweet, cranky man, and talk him into that meal, and that shower.

She’d yet to have to talk him into sex.
  And thank God for it.

Sarah set the alarm, made sure to leave the outside lights burning
.  She refused to let Jonas’s petty campaign of harassment mar her good mood.  She’d had a successful day, business-wise, and she planned to end it on a high note on a personal level.

Except that when she stepped out onto the porch, watched the light
there give way to shadows that shifted stealthily across the garden, her heart gave one hard bump.  Her place, she thought again.  Her place, and he’d been here at least four times, that she suspected. Possibly more. And there was little to stop him from coming back, at any given time, with God knew what on his agenda.

She wasn’t going to bother
again with wondering why. It was stupid and self-defeating.  People like Jonas didn’t need a reason, they simply needed a target.  She could only do her best to make herself difficult to hit.   

Ma
ybe she could get a dog.  A dog was a good deterrent.  They were territorial, barked at strangers.

And at customers, more than likely.  They also needed room to roam, and they dug in gardens.  Not to mention that Useless would never forgive her.

Or she’d end up with one like Bark, who could barely stir himself to scratch.

“Okay.  So, no dog,” she muttered, and shaking off the tiny tingle of apprehension, headed toward Tucker’s.  Better to think about
that, about the way his mouth would press hot against hers in greeting. How he’d taste like the coffee she’d brought him and smell, just lightly, of healthy male sweat.  How his hands, rougher, and more thrilling than she’d expected, would cruise over her skin, while his voice – that deep voice that was so often cool, so frequently brusque – would turn warm, almost liquid against her ear.

And then
, best of all because he did it so rarely, he’d laugh –

Sarah stopped short beside the overblown blooms on one of Tucker’s gardenias.

He’d laugh, she mused, her brows drawing together, almost exactly like that.  Only the pitch would be a hell of a lot lower.

Now that she’d stopped, she heard the voices.
  The deep rumble that was Tucker’s.  And the other, that certainly was not. 

Something ugly rose inside her, causing Sarah to duck back behind the hedge.  And – though she wasn’t proud of it – she followed it, hunched over, until she had a better view of the back porch.

The light had gone heavy, nearly steel gray with dusk, but her eyes confirmed what her ears had told her.

Victoria.  That bitch.

And there was Tucker, drinking a beer, his tool belt slung low on narrow, denim-clad hips while he leaned against the porch rail.  He looked like some kind of handyman Hunk of the Month. 

Sarah allowed a moment for
pure female appreciation.

When the moment was over, she narrowed her
gaze.  Appreciation aside, the man was talking to Torie, who sat comfortable as you please on Tucker’s newly installed swinging daybed.  Imagine that.

The mattress was bare, but
that didn’t stop Torie from stroking and cooing over it, then reclining like Cleopatra on her litter.

She
laughed again, then got up and sashayed toward him. Close enough to lay her palm against Tucker’s hunky chest.