One Night With a Cowboy (24 page)

“Yeah. I thought you were there to watch. Not, you know, do. A bull rider? Jesus!”

Tuck had played football in school. He wondered if he’d get shit for not telling Conseco
about that as well. “Anyway, now you know.”

“Yes, I do. And from now on, your name is Cowboy.”

“Oh, no.” Tuck shook his head. “You’ve been calling me Jenkins since I got here. No
need to change now.”

“Only because I was waiting for the proper nickname to present itself. Now it has,
don’t think I’m not taking full advantage of it.”

“Come on. Everyone is not going to start calling me something different a month into
my being here.”

“Yes, they will. Do you know Jinx’s real first name?” Conseco looked a little too
smug for Tuck’s liking.

“No.” He had a bad feeling his answer was going to work against him.

“Exactly.” Conseco gave him a single nod of victory. “And I didn’t give him that name
until we were a good month into the deployment.”

“And how exactly did he earn his handle?” He was almost afraid to ask.

“Every damn patrol the kid went on got hit. Meanwhile, there were other patrols going
out without him who never saw any action at all. After about the third time, I finally
said, ‘You know what, kid? You’re a jinx. That’s going to be your name from now on.’
And that solved the problem. After I gave him that name and we all started calling
him Jinx, he went out on another patrol and not a shot was fired.” Another nod from
Conseco told him the story was over and he had no hope of getting rid of his new name.

Conseco pulled a marker from a pocket, making Tuck wonder what else he had in there,
but only until he was distracted by what the man was doing. He grabbed a grenade and
wrote in big bold letters COWBOY. He handed it to Tuck. “There. Now the bastards will
know who’s shooting at them.”

Tuck accepted both the grenade and the nickname with a sigh. “Thanks.”

“Not a problem.” With a grin, Conseco flung himself back onto the mattress, his torture
obviously done for now.

Thompson came through the door with a bang and a curse, stripping out of his gear
and shirt as he walked. “Why is it still so fucking hot out there? Isn’t it like September
or October? Shouldn’t it be cooling off?” He glanced up and nodded to the two of them
already inside. “Conseco. Jenkins.”

“It’s Afghanistan. Nothing happens like it’s supposed to. And we call Jenkins Cowboy
now,” Conseco informed him.

“Okay.” Thompson barely spared a look for Tuck and then flopped backward onto his
bunk. He closed his eyes, apparently accepting the name without question so he could
take a nap.

With Thompson napping and Conseco back perusing his magazine, Tuck was left to read
the letter that had come in the envelope with the poster. Jace wasn’t exactly a wordsmith,
but he got his point across. Tuck was laughing out loud reading Jace’s description
of how he’d gotten on a practice bull to show the kids how it was done, only to end
up hanging from the rails as the bull came after him. He had just opened his mouth
to relay the story to Conseco when an explosion in the distance had all three of them
on their feet.

There wasn’t time to wrestle into his wet T-shirt. Tuck pulled his body armor on over
his bare torso and reached for his weapons.

As the three ran out the door, there was the sound of answering fire.

Conseco was right. Tuck should have told Becca how he felt, but there was no more
time for regrets as they ran for the Hescos and dove for cover behind them.

B
ecca barely cleared the doorway and had just dropped the handle to her suitcase when
Emma enveloped her in a huge, sisterly hug. “I’m so happy to have you home.”

“Thanks, Em. Me, too.” It felt good to be back in New York, where everything seemed
as familiar and comfortable as an old pair of shoes. And where she didn’t imagine
she saw Tuck’s truck driving down the road, and she didn’t get sad while trying to
eat her take-out dinner because it reminded her of him.

“I’m still mad at you for not letting me pick you up at the airport, though.” Emma
finally released her so she could take off her coat and scarf.

“I told you, there was a special deal on rental cars for the holiday weekend. It made
sense for me to get one so I can run errands while I’m here.”

“I guess, but you know I would have driven you anywhere you wanted to go.”

“I know.” But she probably also would have had comments to make about Becca driving
over to Vassar on the way from the airport to say hello to her former coworkers—and
see who’d replaced her.

It was well worth the eighteen dollars a day plus tax for the rental just to have
the freedom from Emma’s lectures.

Now all Becca had to do was free herself from the demons of her recent past. It seemed
she was more obsessed with them than ever. Especially one in particular. Tucker.

She hadn’t heard from him in what felt like months. Not since that one and only call.
Though it was probably closer to just a month since he’d called, it was still too
long. All that time left her wide open to obsessively worry about him. About whether
he was all right.

That worry had soon turned into anger. Why hadn’t he called? Surely he could get one
little communication out. He had before.

While she was angry with him, she remembered how mad she’d been about being let go
from Vassar. And since she was back in New York, why not obsess about her old job?
It was all a vicious cycle.

But as she stood inside the warmth of Emma’s home, the anger faded. Acceptance had
begun to set in. Her job was gone. Tucker was gone. Holding on to anger wouldn’t change
any of that. Seeing how the rest of the professors had all taken on extra classes
in addition to their usual workload because of the budget cuts and her dismissal,
she really couldn’t be angry about that anymore.

It was as if she’d gone through the stages of grief. What were they again? Denial.
Anger. Acceptance. There were a bunch more she couldn’t remember right now, but she
was fairly certain she’d run through them all since Tucker had told her he was leaving
for Afghanistan.

Now she simply felt tired. Exhausted really. It came on suddenly. As if she’d walked
into Emma’s house and all the hot air keeping her balloon afloat whooshed away, leaving
her deflated. Her energy and her spirits sinking after she’d worked so hard to keep
both up for her students and for Tucker’s sake.

Maybe being back in a familiar place amid people who loved her had done it, allowed
her to let go. She felt too tired to even remain upright any longer. “Can we sit?”

“Of course. Sit. I’ll open wine and then we can catch up.” Her sister headed toward
the kitchen.

Becca accepted Emma’s offer of a seat, but catching up with her sister might be beyond
her at the moment in her current state. “We talk at least once a day on the phone.
What do we have to catch up about?”

“I don’t know. We’ll find something.” Emma returned with a corkscrew in one hand and
a bottle of red wine in the other, and Becca had no doubt her sister was right.

“Oh, my God. I knew I had something I had to tell you.” Emma planted the bottle on
the table so hard, Becca feared it would break. She spun toward Becca on the couch,
hand on her hip. “You won’t believe who I saw this morning while I was out running
errands.”

“I don’t know. Who?” The sofa back cushioned Becca’s head nicely. It was so comfortable,
she could probably fall asleep right here. If Emma wasn’t still talking . . .

“Jerry.” Emma announced it with a scowl.

That name got Becca’s attention. Tired or not, she sat bolt upright.

Jerry—the one loss of her past she had managed to not obsess over. Unlike her former
job and her former . . . whatever Tucker had been or currently was, she had no regret
that Jerry was gone from her world. She didn’t even like the intrusion of his name
being mentioned now, keeping her from the wine her sister had yet to open.

“And?” Becca cocked a brow.

“And he was feeling me out for information.”

“About what?”

“About you.”

Oh, this was not good. “Emma. I seriously hope you didn’t give him any.”

The rotten bastard didn’t deserve any information about her.

“Becs, I had to tell him something. He was being such a cocky ass.”

What else was new? Becca groaned. “Oh, God. What did you tell him?”

“Just that you’d gotten a great new job at OSU with an advancement to associate professor.”

All right. That wasn’t so bad, but knowing Emma, that wasn’t all. “What else?”

“Well, after he started saying how he was sure you’d taken a huge loss selling your
condo in this market, I had to tell him you didn’t sell. That you rented it fully
furnished to a wonderful tenant and were making a nice monthly income from it.”

Not exactly true, but the rental income covered the monthly mortgage and that was
really all she wanted.

“All right. That’s fine. You didn’t say anything else about . . . anything, did you?”

“Like what?”

“Like Tuck,” Becca accused. She held her breath, hoping the subject hadn’t come up.
That sneak Jerry shouldn’t have the privilege of knowing anything about her personal
life . . . such as it was.

Emma looked insulted. “No. Of course not. What do you think I am?”

She thought it best not to answer that question. Instead she eyed the still corked
bottle Emma had abandoned on the table. “That wine coming anytime soon?”

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” Emma cringed and reached for it. “But I think it’s good Jerry knows
you’ve not only moved on with your life, but you’re also doing really well.”

“I guess.” Still, even if it was only about her job and apartment, Becca hated the
idea of his knowing anything at all about her after the cowardly way he’d ended their
relationship.

The blessed wine was winging its way toward the sofa, transported by the hands of
Emma, when Becca’s cell phone rang.

“What now?” She’d been so close to finally relaxing. Becca let out a sigh filled with
all of her frustration and glanced at her phone. The number was a local area code,
but unfamiliar. Wondering who it could be wouldn’t get her the answer, so she hit
the button and said, “Hello?”

“Miss Hart? It’s Jim Mooney.”

“Uh, hi.” Who the hell was Jim Mooney?

With one wineglass in each hand, Emma perched on the sofa and whispered, “Who is that?”

Becca shrugged and silently mouthed, “No idea.”

“Um, I’m at the condo and there’s a man here who says he used to live in this apartment
with you, and the wall unit belongs to him. He wanted to take it today.”

Jim. The condo. The pieces began to fall into place. Jim was her tenant, though his
checks were imprinted with
James R. Mooney III
so it was no wonder it had taken her a few seconds to put it all together. But it
was the other piece of the puzzle that had her blood pressure rising until she could
hear the pulse pounding in her ears. “Jerry is there?”

“Yes, that’s the name he gave me.”

“There right now. Inside the condo?” She was having trouble wrapping her head around
that concept. How dare Jerry think he could go to her condo and try to take the furniture.

“Yes. I didn’t want to turn it over to him without checking with you. And I kind of
was counting on the shelves staying here. I’ve got my TV and my stereo—”

“Oh, no, Jim. That wall unit comes with the apartment, and if he tries to take it,
call the police. I’m on my way over now.”

“But I thought . . . Aren’t you in Oklahoma?”

“No, actually. I’m home visiting family. I can be there in five minutes. If you could
ask Jerry to wait outside for me, I’d appreciate it. And if he doesn’t want to go,
tell him not only will I call the police, I’ll also be calling my father, the retired
cop who still has a sidearm.”

“Oh.” There was a pause, and then Jim said, “All right, then. I guess I’ll see you
in a few minutes.”

She might have scared her tenant off for good, but it would be worth it. Becca disconnected
the call and stood. “Son of a bitch! You won’t believe this. Jerry is at the condo
trying to steal the wall unit.”

“What?”

“I’m sure he got the bright idea from talking to you this morning. When he heard the
furniture was here but I was in Oklahoma, he probably figured he could get away with
telling the renter it was his and it would be too late for me to do anything about
it by the time I found out.” Becca’s blood pressure rose so high she felt light-headed.

“Why would he do that? Does he have any claim to it?” Emma stood, glass in each hand,
looking like she didn’t know what to do.

“No. I mean he paid for half of it when he moved in, but that’s because he needed
it for all his damn video game equipment.”

Emma waffled her head side to side. “Well . . .”

“Don’t you defend him.” Becca gave her sister a scathing glare. “If he wanted it,
he should have taken it when he moved out. And he should have given me my half of
the money back. He didn’t. He left it and he can’t come get it months later.”

“Then by the same token, if you’re going to keep it, you owe him half the cost—” Emma
took one look at Becca and clammed up. “Never mind. Um, do you want me to come with
you?”

“If you want to.” Becca had her coat on and her purse in her hand when Emma trotted
after her. She eyed the wineglasses still in her sister’s hands. “You can’t bring
that in the car.”

“What if I get a to-go cup?”

She frowned deeper. “No.”

“Oh, you’re no fun.” Emma put the glasses down on the table in the entry hall and
grabbed her coat. “I hope this doesn’t take too long.”

“You and me both.” Becca opened the door and got hit with a brisk November wind.

“Is your tenant cute?” Emma followed her out and pulled the door closed behind them.

Becca frowned at her sister. “You need to get yourself a boyfriend.”

“I’m trying. Why do you think I asked about your renter?” She pulled the two sides
of her coat tighter together. “Come on. Let’s go so we can get back. I have a lasagna
in the oven.”

That news gave Becca one more reason to dispense with Jerry quickly, before he ruined
her appetite for Emma’s homemade, extra cheesy and oh-so-tasty lasagna.

The drive to the condo wasn’t a long one, but by the time they arrived, Jerry had
already left. Perhaps the threat of the police, or their father, had been too much
for him.

She’d always known he was a coward, so it was no surprise really, but it did make
Becca extra glad she’d changed the locks right before her tenant moved in. She wouldn’t
put it past Jerry to try to use his key to sneak in when no one was home and help
himself to what he felt he was entitled to.

After Emma had determined that Becca’s tenant, though a handsome man for his age,
was too old for her, they left again and headed home. She pushed through Emma’s door
more exhausted than before, but the smell of the lasagna and the sight of the wine
greeted them, and that was enough to revive her spirits.

Becca gulped a swallow of wine, still so angry with Jerry she had no hope of even
tasting it, forget about appreciating the flavor. “You know what really pisses me
off?”

“Do tell.” Emma grabbed her glass and headed for the kitchen, leaving Becca to follow.

“That I dated him at all. I wasted two years of my life on that man.” Two years of
her life were gone, and she wasn’t getting any younger.

“So what are you going to do about it?” The sound of the oven door squeaking open
accompanied Emma’s question.

“What can I do? I mean I’d love to get revenge but . . .” Becca considered that idea.

Maybe she could somehow put bedbugs in his mattress. How would one go about obtaining
and transporting those nasty things? Too risky. She’d probably end up becoming infested
herself.

“I’m talking about Tucker. You’ve got a great guy who is obviously into you and all
you keep telling me is how you don’t want a relationship with him.”

Becca had already made the comparison between the two men herself. Where Jerry seemed
to run from any sort of confrontation as if his life depended on it, Tucker ran toward
it. Literally, and his life did depend upon it. “I was trying to not rush into something.
After the disaster with Jerry, I thought that was the smart thing to do.”

“Mmm, hmm.” Emma had a knack for agreeing in the most judgmental way.

“What am I supposed to do? He doesn’t call. He doesn’t write, even though I’ve written
him.” She was getting pretty tired of this total lack of communication. Of course
he was at war, but still. He’d managed to call her once. Surely he could do it again.
Becca realized she’d somehow gotten back to the anger stage again, and took another
sip of wine.

“Becca, come on. It’s not as if he’s ignoring you to go hang out with the guys to
drink and play pool or pick up women. He’s at war, for God’s sake.” Emma cocked a
brow. “So let’s move forward, past right now while he’s somewhere in Afghanistan serving
our country, and think about the future. What are you going to do once he’s home?”