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“About my Petie …”
He straightened up. “Yeah. Here’s my thought on Pete. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I heard part of what Mrs. Riddle said to you. She thinks Pete needs a sport, something outside of academics—”
“It’s not that he doesn’t get along with the other kids,” Garnet interrupted, immediately defending her son. “She was just making a point that middle school is tough on all kids. And she thought he’d fit in better with the boys … if he had some kind of athletic skill.”
Tucker nodded, then wedged a little closer. “I heard from somebody—probably another parent—that you were a widow?”
Her voice picked up a careful cadence, making him pretty sure—damned sure—she was giving him the spruced-up version of the story. “Yes, that’s right. Johnny and I ran off, got married right out of high school. It’s no secret I was pregnant at the time. He thought the best way to earn a living was to go into the service. Unfortunately, only a few months later he was sent to the Middle East. He came home on every leave, it’s not as if we never saw him, but he died when Pete was barely three. He just wasn’t around to be a male influence.”
“I take it there’s no other family close? Your parents? His grandparents from the other side?”
“John’s family moved to Oregon years ago. They send presents, cards, but otherwise haven’t tried to be part of Petie’s life. And my family’s originally from Charleston. Two sisters. No brothers.”
When she didn’t add anything further about her family, he thought, ho-kay. Obviously there was a sore spot … which made Tucker conclude that she’d never had much backup coming from family.
“So,” he said slowly, “I don’t care what Mrs. Riddle said. What do you think? About whether Pete needs a sport, or to develop some kind of athletic skill, or just some guy time?”
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I don’t see why every boy should be inherently great with sports … any more than every girl plays with dolls. Pete’s smart as a whip. He can cook better than I can. He built his own computer. Sometimes he’ll come out and work with me, so it’s not like he’s afraid to get his hands dirty. He just seems to like being inside more.”
“What sports have you tried?”
“Well … swimming. Hiking. I know, that doesn’t sound like much … but it hasn’t been that easy. I’m really tied down with Plain Vanilla. I have two regular employees, but that’s it. On Sundays, especially during the school year, we often take off and do something. It’s just … Petie would rather do a movie or prowl around a computer store. Sports never seem to make it on his want-to-do list.”
Tucker nodded. “That’s kind of what I thought you’d say. So here’s my plan. Let me take your Pete, while you have my Will. Same setup. Trade kids a couple afternoons a week. Pete can just hang with me … I’ve got a range of groups coming in over the next few weeks. It’ll be easy to give him a chance to try new things. At his size, I’m guessing you’re not real hot on the idea of contact sports, so we’ll concentrate on the other kind. Kayaking, archery, rock climbing. Not that he has to try anything. He’ll just get the chance. No push. No bribery. Just see if he shows an interest, and if he does, I’ll work with him on it. I mean … if he goes along with the idea.”
“That sounds good,” she said slowly. “Better than good. I’d really like to give it a try—if our boys are for it.”
A silence fell. At least for Tucker, it felt like an elephant suddenly plunked down on her front porch. They’d been talking easily, naturally, but once the topic of their sons was over, Garnet stiffened up.
“Well,” he said, “I should be getting back.”
She vaulted from the chair as if spring-loaded. “Me, too. I still have things I have to do tonight.”
He got it. She wanted him to leave. And hell. He did need to get back to his place. But standing next to each other, he felt like a bear next to delicate crystal. He said slowly, “It bugged me all day. That you were hurt because of me this morning.”
“That’s silly, Tucker. It was a complete accident. No harm done.”
Yeah, he’d heard all that before.
“Yeah? Well, I’ve watched you a couple times reach for the back of your head. How big’s the goose egg?”
“It’s nothing,” she said for what seemed like the zillionth time, but he was all through buying that malarkey.
He was already within touching distance. One step closer, and he could ease a palm around her neck and gently push her head into his chest. She didn’t fight him as he felt for the scar. In fact, she seemed to quit breathing altogether. The texture of her silky hair, tangling around his fingers, tangoed with the fresh smell of her shampoo and caused the obvious physical reaction in him. He ignored the arousal. He wanted to see the cut, for Pete’s sake.
And he found it. It wasn’t actually a goose egg, but looked more like a burn mark. Buried in her hair, but looking raw and fiery. “Ouch,” he said. “What’s wrong with you, that you haven’t been whining and yelling? Take advantage. Heave on some guilt.”
He stepped back, so she’d quit worrying he was going to jump her. He wanted to. Really, really wanted to. But obviously he was going to have to earn her trust by baby steps. A zillion of them. And when he stepped back, he won a reluctant grin … possibly because she liked his joking tone.
“I admit, it still smarts.”
“I’ll bet it does. So I owe you. You just have to think about what and when you want to collect.” He was using his best teasing tone, but abruptly realized that his fingers were still in her hair, drifting through that soft, silky sea, no longer looking for hurts and scrapes, just … feeling.
He dropped his hand, but all that provocative feeling was still there. Electrified because she was looking at him. Because their eyes met and neither could seem to break the sudden sharp connection between them. He could smell that raspberry shampoo of hers. See the pulse in the hollow of her throat. Hear the worry and tension in her scattered breath.
He’d known it’d be like this. Or he’d hoped it would. All he’d wanted was the chance to spend some time with her, be with her, do something to make her notice. Not notice him. But notice that something had a chance of firing hot and bright between them.
But he figured, for now, he’d pushed enough. He smiled, made a slow, easy business out of fishing the truck keys from his side pocket, letting her see that he was leaving. A little worry was fine. A few nerves were fine. But she really did seem like a fawn, standing in bright headlights, ready to bolt and flee.
He had no idea what made her so wary, but now, he just might have a chance to find out.
“How about trying the plan with the boys, say, next Tuesday afternoon?”
“Sure. That sounds fine.” But her eyes hadn’t left his. Her voice still couldn’t muster more power than a whisper.
“I think we’ve got a good idea. If it doesn’t work, then it doesn’t. But no harm in giving it a try.”
“I agree. I appreciate your coming up with the plan.”
He shot her an easy smile, took one step off her porch. “You know the old legend about Whisper Mountain, don’t you?”
She started to speak, then seemed to correct herself. “I heard a really foolish story, about when the wind’s coming from a certain direction, people can hear the sound of voices, or something like that.”
She wasn’t getting off that easy. “The legend is that it’s a lovers’ wind. That only lovers can hear the mountain whisper.”
“Silliest thing I ever heard,” she said.
“Yeah. That’s what I think, too,” he concurred, and with another grin, strode off toward his truck … just as the sky opened with a noisy crack of thunder.
Well, fine, Garnet thought irritably, as she yanked on a yellow slicker and fumbled in the back hall for a flashlight. Hard to imagine this day getting any more upsetting. First there’d been the stomach-knotting talk with Mrs. Riddle, then the foot and head scrapes that hurt the whole darned afternoon, then behaving like a goose with Tucker … and no, of course she had no illusions what’d been going on there. He’d been kind. Looking at her sore head.
She was the one imagining his interest … when she knew perfectly well she was invisible to men. Always had been. Always would be. Particularly with powerhouse alpha guys like Tucker.
And now, an unexpected torrential rain put a sharp cap on the day. “Petie!” she called from the back door. “I’m going to check on the greenhouses!”
She heard a distant “okay,” then pelted outside into the deluge. The rain was warm, coming down in sheets, making the ground slick and blurring her vision. Her plants—all of them—loved rain more than well water, but a downpour like this could erode the soil and smash down delicate leaves.
She unlocked the door to her precious vanilla house first, then checked the other greenhouses at a run, ending up at the raised garden beds closest to the shop. The raised beds all had “shade curtains”—mesh that rolled out twelve feet above ground. The curtain protected the plants from too much sun as well as allowing rain in—but not this kind of gully-washing rain. She cranked out the roll of curtain, which shouldn’t have been hard … except that her hands were wet and her eyes blinded with rain.
The whole task shouldn’t have taken fifteen minutes, but by the time she charged back into the house, she was soaked to the bone and trailing more water than a river. “I’m back!” she called, so Petie wouldn’t worry.
She peeled off the slicker and shoes, exchanged the rest of her clothes in the bedroom for a long robe, grabbed a brush and started tracking down her son.
Likely he’d be near either a TV or computer screen, but that hardly limited the possibilities. Her bungalow was built in the old-fashioned Southern style, with all rooms having a window view, and storage located in the windowless center of the place. The back side—the woods and mountain sides—had her bedroom, a den/TV room and Pete’s bedroom, which she checked first.
His sanctuary had walls of cracked pine, with a built-in desk and shelves. Unlike her bedroom, Pete’s bed was tidily made and his clothes put away. The only noise in the room came from a pair of hamsters, furiously running their wheels. She spotted Pete’s bare feet propped on the bed, but she had to lean over the bed to find the rest of her son. Petie was nestled in a down comforter on the floor, reading from a Kindle.
“Well, if this isn’t petrifying,” she said. “Is the sky falling? Your laptop’s shut down. The TV’s off.”
“Mom. There was some thunder. I had to turn everything off.” Behind glasses too dirty to see, Petie’s eyes looked hopelessly mournful.
“But it looks like you found a book to read.” She perched on the bed, resisted the urge to tickle his feet.
“Actually, it’s boring. And how come Mr. MacKinnon came over, anyway?”
She was ready for the question. “We were trying to think up a plan to torture you and his Will.”
“If you can’t think up a better story than that, I’m going back to my book.”
“I’m serious! We came up with the idea that you and Will might like to trade places for a couple afternoons.”
Pete marked the spot in his Kindle and shut down. Now his eyes were suspicious. “Why would we want to do that?”
“Because summer vacations are fun. But they can also be boring.”
He crossed his skinny arms. “Mom, I’m about never bored. You know that.”
“I do. But Mr. MacKinnon has a gorgeous spot on top of the mountain. There’s a lake up there. Cliffs—”
“I know. We had a field trip there a couple years ago. It’s pretty awesome.”
“That’s what I thought—”
Pete interrupted her. “Just tell me straight. Is this one of your schemes to make me ‘go outside and have fun’?”
She tried to think of a way to color up the truth. Couldn’t think of any. “Sort of,” she had to admit.
Petie emitted one of his old-soul’s sighs. “Listen. You need me. If I’m not here, you can’t find your car keys. And you put the milk in the cupboard. And sometimes you forget it’s dinnertime. And sometimes you need me to help with the plants and stuff.”
“That’s all true. I do need you. And you’re wonderful at being responsible and taking care of things,” Garnet agreed. “But that’s not a lot of fun for you.”
“Mom. I don’t know why you can’t get it. I have fun all the time. It’s just not noisy fun.” He sighed again. “This is about something Mrs. Riddle said to you, isn’t it? She says I never cause trouble. She says it’s not natural. So she got you all worried that you’re not a great mother, right?”
It scared her. If he could out-think her at age ten, how could she possibly cope when he was a teenager? “Not exactly.”
“Okay. We’ll go through this again. You’re a great mom. Even if you forget and put the peanut butter in the fridge. Even if you dance around like a goon when you’re making cookies. But this is like when Grandma and Grandpa call. You get all upset. You start scrubbing floors. You gotta quit listening to other people. Listen to me.”
“Peter. Sometimes you need to remember that I’m the parent, and you’re the kid. Sometimes I actually know a little more about life than you do.”
“When?”
“Hey. That wasn’t funny. It was mean.”
He rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “Okay, okay. I’ll go over to Mr. MacKinnon’s if you want me to. It’s not like it’s terrible there. He’s a good guy and all.” His tone conveyed that he was caving, but she’d better realize she was going to owe him forever for agreeing to this.
“I just want you to try it a couple of times. See if you like the setup there. That’s all I’m asking. For you to check it out.”
“Okay, okay. I said I would.”
She escaped while she was ahead, aimed for the kitchen and the end-of-the-day cleanup. There wasn’t much. Crumbs here, a quick sweep, a couple glasses to pop in the dishwasher, and last, scouring the sink. Garnet knew perfectly well she was the worst housekeeper in the universe, so heaven knew how she’d picked up an obsession about a clean sink, but there it was. Another character flaw.
By the time the sink had a blinding gleam, her mind had skidded back to Tucker. How she felt around him. How she didn’t want to feel. How every single thing that happened today had been … unsettling.
MacKinnons were blue blood in this part of the country. So was her family … but not her. She was plain vanilla all the way, went to bed with the first boy who asked her, got instantly pregnant, married Johnny because she was wildly in love with him—but he chose to fight in the Middle East rather than live with her. She wasn’t just an underachiever in her family.
She was the one who always made the wrong choices.
Tucker, with his background, had understandably been attracted to—and married—a sorority girl from Ole Miss. So the marriage hadn’t worked out. Eventually he’d find another woman with the beauty and grace and class of a traditional Southern belle, because that’s what MacKinnons did.
And Garnet would still be working in the dirt, struggling to make an ordinary living, to just raise her son and do a good job at it.
Nothing wrong with that.
But she’d made enough bad judgments. Her heart was impulsive and unpredictable. Her life had gone much, much easier since she’d just kind of abandoned men. And that resolve hadn’t changed just because she had a major zing thing for Tucker.
She’d had zings before. They always turned out wrong.
A razor-sharp blade of lightning knifed the sky, followed by an angry growl of thunder … as if she needed a reminder that she and nature didn’t always get along.
Chapter Four
Tucker glanced at his watch. What was it about Tuesdays? He’d been chasing his tail all morning, and now it was almost 1:00 p.m. “Hey, Will! Get the lead out!” he yelled, as he hiked toward the truck.
A group of fifty high-school kids were scheduled around five, and before they arrived, there was still a ton of prep to do. The camp cook needed a sort-out of the menu. The truck bringing supplies and freezer goods for the week was overdue. The camp counselors needed one last run-through of the week’s activity plans before the new gang arrived.
He’d volunteered to drop Will at Plain Vanilla—and pick up Pete at the same time. But running this late, he just needed to get the show on the road.
Will lumbered outside, shot his father a look, then lumbered into the truck. Tucker recognized his son’s “delinquent” face. As soon as they were buckled in, he turned the key. “What’s the silent deal? I thought you were on board with this idea.”
“I was. Until I got a stomachache.”
“When did the stomachache hit?”
“About an hour ago.”
About an hour ago—if Tucker remembered right—Will had taken off right after an early lunch with a fly rod. He’d come back whistling, changed clothes. Now, the silence.
Only one road led down from the mountaintop. One corkscrew turn followed another. Each bend and twist showed a different vista—a flash of mountain cliff, the velvet of green wooded shade, a burst of sunlight. Tucker had driven the road a million times, never tired of it. He wouldn’t use the word magical because that was too corny. But he’d never been able to put an anxious childhood behind him until settling on the mountain for good.
Growing up a MacKinnon had made Tucker determined that Will’s childhood would be different than his.
“Did you change your mind about working with Garnet?” he asked his son.
“No. Not exactly.”
“But you’re bugged about something.”
“Not exactly.”
