Leah

 

The last two weeks living out in the country have been relaxing and wonderful. Tucker is a moody ass but at least he sometimes answers me with an actual sentence instead of a grunt or an uh-huh. He hasn’t made it any secret he’d prefer it if I weren’t here, but a deal is a deal. Besides, I think I’m growing on him.

“Do you always have to be so…happy?” he grumbles, shoving on his work boots. I’m not sure how to respond to that. I know I’m a little excitable and optimistic, but what’s wrong with that? Before I can think of anything, he’s out the back door and on his way to his workshop.

It’s a beautiful day and it’d be a shame to spend it cooped up inside so I grab my laptop and drink and head out to the porch to write. The air has cooled and the trees are glowing with color. It has nothing to do with the fact I can see Tucker without a shirt, sanding down a picnic table. Nope, total coincidence. Sawdust clings to his sweaty muscles, and dirty has never looked so good.

Laughter from behind me pulls me from my little fantasy and Ayda takes a seat beside me. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt the show.”

“No worries. It’s pretty much a daily showing.”

“No wonder you like it here.” She places the baby’s seat on the ground beside her. Ollie doesn’t even stir.

“He’s out like a light,” I remark.

“Of course, it’s daylight. Midnight tonight he’ll be screaming his lungs out.”

“Is Derek here?”

“No, I wanted to get out of the house, so I thought I’d come visit. How is the writing going?”

My plan was to write about my past, but somehow I’ve written a sex scene between a young college drop out and her brother’s friend. There’s no way I’d admit to that, though.

“Good. I’m trying to get my daily word count up so it doesn’t take a year, but sometimes I hit a wall.” A big sweaty forbidden wall.

She smiles at me. “Dare is proud of you, you know. I know he gives you shit, but he’s so proud of how you’ve handled everything.”

“I owe him a lot.”

“He doesn’t see it that way.” She shifts in her seat and watches as Tucker bends over, still sanding the wood. Nodding toward him, she changes the subject. “That man has an ass from heaven. I hadn’t really noticed before. He was so thin.”

“You met when he was homeless, didn’t you?” I ask. There are so many things I want to know about Tucker, but I can’t be obvious about it.

“Yes, he lived on the street near my apartment. I always tried to get him help, but he wouldn’t hear it. I don’t know what Dare said to him, but I’m so glad he did.” Her gaze meets mine, a knowing look in her eye. “He’s a good guy, you know.”

“I’m not…I mean, we’re not…he calls me kid,” I sigh, frustrated, and Ayda laughs.

“Trust me, he doesn’t look at you like a kid. Just, whatever happens, be careful. I know him pretty well, maybe better than most, but I think there’s a lot he keeps to himself. Something eats at him that I don’t think he’s shared with anyone.”

Ollie starts to whine, and I rock his seat with my toe. “Don’t worry. I’m just here to write and get away.”

Ayda grins when he waves at her. “Doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy the view though.”

“Exactly,” I reply, and we both giggle.

Ayda and Ollie hang out for an hour or so before she heads home, and I go inside to make lunch. Even though Tucker never remarked on my offer to make all the meals and keep the house clean as a thank you for letting me stay, I’ve still been doing it.

He comes in and washes his hands when I yell to tell him lunch is ready.

“Ayda leave?” he asks.

“Yeah, she stopped by to give me some of her old workout clothes. I need to start running again.”

Tucker runs in the evenings sometimes, but I’m not sure where. I just see him leave in shorts and come back winded and sweaty an hour later.

“There’s a pretty good trail around the lake. It should be quiet in the mornings.”

Swallowing a bite of his BLT, he shakes his head at me. “It’s dangerous. Any psycho could be out there in the woods, waiting for you.”

Rolling my eyes, I sit back and cross my arms. “You’re worse than Derek sometimes, you know that?”

All I get in response is a grunt. Fine, if he wants to give me grief over running alone, I’ll just go with him.

When he walks out the front door in his running shorts and white tee, I’m waiting for him on the porch. He takes one look at my workout clothes and the earbuds in my ears and shakes his head. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I wouldn’t want to worry you by traversing the dangers of the forest alone, so I’m running with you. I prefer mornings, but I can adapt.”

He gives a long suffering sigh, as if I’m the most frustrating person he’s ever met, but I see a glint of amusement in his eyes. Without a word, he jogs down the steps and across the yard. I catch up with him and we jog in comfortable silence until we get to the lake.

When we turn onto the trail, I pick up speed and he does the same, moving a few paces ahead of me.

Nope. Not happening.

I speed up to pass him again and I hear him grunt as he catches up. “You don’t have to keep up with me,” I chirp. “I’ll wait for you back at home.”

I’m met with a glare before our little run turns into a full-fledged sprint. He may be in great shape, but all that muscle weighs more than my thin frame and I beat him back to the house by only a few feet.

“Yes! I’m the champion. All bow before my Olympic greatness!” I cry, and fall onto my back on the porch to catch my breath. “See, if some creeper is in the woods, I’ll just outrun him…like I did you.”

“You got lucky.” He stalks inside and returns with two bottles of water, tossing one to me. “I want a rematch.”

“Tomorrow night,” I agree.

“Not tomorrow. I won’t be here.”

He doesn’t say where he’s going, and I don’t bother to ask. This is the third Saturday in a row he has plans and if he’s meeting a woman somewhere I really don’t want to know. I have no right to be jealous, but that doesn’t change the way it makes me feel.

He leaves on Saturday mornings and doesn’t return until after dark. I’d assume he’s partying or something, but he’s always sober and in a really shitty mood when he returns. It’s none of my business anyway, so I just don’t ask.

“Sunday it is. Better rest up old man.”

Tucker has already left when I wake the next day. Every muscle in my body screams in torment as I roll out of bed and make my way to the bathroom. Apparently, sprinting for six miles after a couple of weeks of no running is not a good idea. I’m glad he isn’t home to see my agony as I run a hot bath and sink below the bubbles.

An hour later, the bath and a couple of Ibuprofen have me feeling a little less like I was stomped on by an elephant, so I curl up with my laptop to write. My original semi-biographical outline has fallen by the wayside as this story pours out of me. It’s still cathartic, since the girl suffers long term abuse as a child, but I love that I get to control her outcome and give her a happily ever after with the man of her dreams. I didn’t set out to write a romance book, but I’m tired of fighting it. Romance it is.

It’s funny since I know the first advice a writer is generally given is write what you know. I know nothing about romance. My last relationship ended in a screaming argument because the guy didn’t trust me. He kept track of my every move, kept me from my friends, and tried to tell me what to do.

Once I decided I was finished with school, I didn’t tell him, just packed up my stuff and left while he was at work. He still tries to message or call occasionally, but not as often since I never pick up or respond. I won’t be controlled.

I’m shocked when I look up from my computer to see more than four hours have passed. I guess I was in the zone. Stretching my stiff muscles, I wander into the kitchen to figure out what to make for dinner tonight.

A rumble of thunder rolls across the darkening sky as I’m sliding a chicken and rice casserole into the oven. I set a timer on my phone and take it and my tablet out to the front porch to read. It’s been a warmer than usual night and the lightning is impressive, branching its way across the sky in arcs that leave an imprint on my vision.

Tucking my legs beneath me, I watch as the rain starts to sweep over the house in sheets. I love Tucker’s porch, the way I can just snuggle back and watch it pour, closing me in. I’ve always loved the rain.

Headlights beam across the road and Tucker’s truck pulls in. He makes a dash for the house, stopping short when he sees me on the porch. “Don’t you have enough sense to come in out of the rain?”

What crawled up his ass? “Are you too blind to see I’m not wet? I wasn’t exactly out playing in it.”

He glowers at me and heads inside without another word. I’m starting to detect a pattern. He’s way more of a dick on Saturdays. Is he seeing someone who pisses him off? Or is he pissed because I’m here and he feels like he can’t bring her home?

The timer on my phone beeps and I go inside to remove the casserole from the oven. I can hear the shower running upstairs, so he’ll probably come down to eat after. I’ve had a nice relaxing day and I’m in no mood to deal with his attitude, so I make myself a plate and settle in front of the television to eat.

We’ve had a very warm autumn, but according to the local weather report, that’s about to change. I guess it’s time to break out my hoodies and fuzzy socks because it’s going to get cold. I wonder if Tucker will work more in his workshop instead of the yard once it’s chilly. That’d be a shame. I’ve grown fond of watching him in the afternoons.

I’ll just have to find another way to entertain myself.

 

* * * *

 

“What the hell are you doing?”

Tucker’s irate voice pulls me from a daydream and I glare down at him. “Thinking.”

“Thinking,” he states, running a hand through his hair. He always does that when he’s frustrated with me, which seems to be about twice a day. “And you have to climb a damn tree to think?”

A grin breaks over my face as I look around again. I am pretty high up, but once I saw how perfectly arranged the branches are on this tree, I couldn’t help myself. It’s gorgeous up here.

“It’s peaceful.”

“Get your ass down here.”

Yeah, there’s no way I’m coming down now. “Or what?” I taunt.

“Seriously? Are you twelve? You’re going to fall and hurt yourself, then Dare is going to dismember me and bury me on my own property.”

“I won’t fall,” I scoff. The wind picks up, rattling the branches and chilling my skin.

“Leah.” His voice bears a warning.

“Fine. I’m coming down because I need a sweater, not because you’re channeling Derek.”

Muttering, he shakes his head and watches as I climb down the tree. Before I can make the last little hop to the ground, he grabs my waist and lowers me, placing me on my feet. “I swear, you’re like a toddler. I can’t take my eye off of you for a second.”

Ignoring his little tantrum, I run my hand over the bark, glancing at the tree beside it as well. “You know what would be great out here? A hammock. Why don’t you have a hammock?”

Starting back toward the house, he replies, “Because I work. I don’t lie around or scale trees like a kid.”

“You should lighten up and try to have more fun. Really, what do you do for fun? I’ll bet you can’t name one thing.”

He takes a seat on the picnic table and I sit across from him. He’s quiet for so long I think he’s gone back to pretending I don’t exist when he says, “Pool.”

“You swim?” I ask. I’ve never seen him go swimming anywhere.

“No, pool, billiards. I like to play pool.”

“Oh, I like it too. Our common room at school had a pool table.”

“I have one in the garage,” he admits.

Leaping to my feet, I grin at him. “Well, come on. Show me what you got.”

“Are you always this impulsive?”

“Are you always this moody? You need to plan ahead to play a game at your own house? Should I schedule it for Thursday, maybe?” I tease.

His lips twitch, despite his best efforts not to smile. “Fine. I’ll teach you a lesson.”

“Like you did when we ran?” I suddenly remember he wanted a rematch. “Are we still running tonight?”

This time a chuckle does escape as we head toward the garage. “One thing at a time, kid. I swear you’re exhausting.”

“Nah, you’re just getting old.”

Tucker disappears through the side door of the garage, and I watch as the garage door slides up revealing a clean space with a pool table in the center. He reaches into a small refrigerator and produces two soft drinks, tossing me one.

“I should’ve known there was a man cave around here somewhere. Where are the video games?”

“I live alone. My whole house is a man cave. And I don’t play video games.”

“You lived alone,” I correct, grabbing a pool cue. “I’m breaking. Rack them up.”

Tucker shakes his head. “Yes, my liege,” he mutters, arranging the balls in the rack.

Grinning, I line up my shot and hit the cue ball which smashes into the others, scattering them. Two striped balls fall in and I do a little dance while Tucker watches me like I’m a bug under a microscope.

Whatever. He’s no fun.

I don’t have a good clear shot, and I may have overestimated my ability at this game. I could hold my own with the other students, but none of them were really good either. Plus, we were trashed most of the time we played. My next shot misses, and I step back.

There’s a mischievous little grin forming on Tucker’s lips that I’ve never seen before and he gives me a cocky sideways look before taking his first shot which goes in effortlessly. He then proceeds to run the damn table on me.

“Ha! You don’t have a shot on the eight,” I point out, like that means I now have a chance in hell at this game. He really doesn’t have a good shot when it comes to the eight ball so he strikes it lightly, enough to roll it toward one of the holes where my stripes are blocking the way.

“If someone would get all these stripes out of the way,” he taunts.

“Maybe that’s my plan.” I walk around the table trying to figure out the best way to do this. I need to leave myself as many future shots as possible.

“To lose? You shouldn’t have to plan that. Seems to happen naturally.”

I gasp and cover my mouth. “Oh! Did you just make a joke? So you do speak human. Careful though, you might crack your face if you smile.”

Leaning against the wall, he crosses his arms, his cue in one hand. “Are you always a smart ass?”

“Nope,” I reply, leaning over the table beside him. “Sometimes I’m asleep.”

I manage to sink one ball, and go on to the next. My groan makes him smile when we watch the cue ball follow the next stripe into the pocket.

“Scratch,” he announces.

“No shit,” I mumble, stepping back.

I’m greeted with a smirk while his eyebrows reach for the ceiling. “You aren’t a sore loser are you?”

My death glare should be response enough.

That frustrating little smirk stays on his face after he sinks the eight ball, though he doesn’t say anything to rub it in.

“Good game,” I mutter, returning my cue to the rack mounted on the wall. Yeah, I am kind of a sore loser. It used to drive Derek crazy when we were young. It got so bad that he taught me to say good game after every win or loss to try to teach me sportsmanship. I don’t think it worked.

“Where are you going?” he asks, amusement clear in his voice.

“To put my running clothes on. It’ll be dark soon and I need to beat you for a third time.”

This time I hear him laugh aloud as I walk away.

Although it isn’t as loud as his laughter an hour later, when he beats me back to the house for the first time.

I’d curse him, but I don’t have any breath left in my lungs.

Things lighten up between us after that and he talks to me more. I actually even manage to draw a few smiles and some laughter from him which for some reason makes me feel good. It’s like a daily goal now.

We settle into a routine. He works outside building his furniture or he’s gone on assignment for Striking Back during the day while I write. A hammock mysteriously appears between the two trees and I spend some time in the early afternoons just lying in it, daydreaming. When I thank him, he just nods at me and goes back to measuring a plank of wood.

I cook and we eat dinner together, usually in front of the evening news. We run through the wooded trail in the evenings, still trying to best the other, though we seem to be pretty evenly matched.

At night, we sometimes watch a movie and other times I read or write while he watches some mob show on TV I’m not fond of. I get payback on Thursday nights when he has to sit through one of my medical dramas, although he usually ends up going to his room or out to the garage.

Except for Saturdays. On Saturday he leaves early and gets home late, always in a somber or irritable mood. After getting my head bitten off a few times when I try to get him to talk, I’ve learned to avoid him on those nights.

It doesn’t take me long to realize I’m too socially isolated out here. I’m used to going to school or working, so I do some research and find a place to volunteer a few hours per week. A local recycling plant sponsors some of the highways and parks which means they’re responsible for keeping them clean. They get volunteers and prisoners from the local jail to help pick up the trash. They also have little get togethers for the volunteers, so I sign up to help out on Saturdays.

I’ve made a few friends between my volunteering and the days I spend at the library. Without really realizing I was doing it, I’ve built a little life here and I’m happy.