All of Me (10 page)

“Lucky you.” His turn for sarcasm. This woman had usurped Aimee’s father.

“Don’t get angry,” she said. “It’s not my fault that Blake and Aimee had a tumultuous relationship.”

Tuck scowled. He didn’t like hearing her speak Aimee’s name. He sat there in his underwear feeling pretty damned exposed when
he spied the dog for the first time. Or what passed for a dog. Apparently it had been snooping around the house, making itself
at home, before coming over to plop down at Jillian’s feet.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“That’s Mutt.”

“Aptly named.”

“Thank you. I thought of it all on my own.”

He grinned. “Hey, folks, who knew? She’s beautiful and imaginative too.”

“Yep, the total package, that’s me. Like DIRECTV.”

Their banter must have struck her as inappropriate at the same time it occurred to him how out of place it was, and they simultaneously
glanced away.

She gazed down at her hands. “So, anyway, Blake left me the lake house in his will.”

“What?”

“The lake house. It’s mine.”

He jumped to his feet, barely hanging on to the afghan, fighting the rage pushing at him. He thought about dropping the blanket
simply to intimidate her, but something told him this woman did not intimidate easily, and he’d end up being the one feeling
embarrassed if he exposed himself.

She stood up as well, looking calm and cool and completely emotionless. In that moment, Tuck hated her.

“Listen,” she said. “I don’t know the understanding you had with Blake—why he was letting you live here—and it’s really none
of my business. But the house is mine now, and this is your official eviction notice. I’d appreciate it if you could be out
of the house by the end of the week.”

And with that, she turned, whistled to her dog, and walked out.

J
illian made it to her car before Tuck caught up with her. He was hopping around on one booted foot while trying to jam his
other foot in the remaining boot. He’d pulled on a pair of faded jeans, the fly unzipped, and he’d thrust his arms though
a blue flannel jacket, but he didn’t have a shirt on underneath.

“Whoa, wait just a damn minute there, sister!” he shouted.

She turned to face him.

He got his boot on and zipped up his jeans. His cheeks were flushed, his scruffy hair mussed, his eyes flashing fire. He slammed
a palm against her car door just as she reached for the handle to jerk it open.

“Take your hand off my car,” she demanded as calmly as she could in the face of her rising ire. She’d had a rough few weeks,
and her nerve endings dangled on a precarious thread.

“Not until you hear what I have to say,” he growled.

Tuck stepped closer, crowding her space, but Jillian knew all about those kinds of intimidation tactics and she didn’t budge.

Sinking her hands on her hips, she glared. “Fine. Speak your piece.”

“You don’t own this lake house.”

“Maybe not technically. Not until Blake’s will is probated, but he left it to me.”

“No, he didn’t.”

“Are you deaf?” She reached in her purse and pulled out the will. “I have it right here.”

“When was that will drawn up?”

She told him.

The anger in his eyes deepened. “The week after Aimee died,” he muttered, seemingly more to himself than to her.

“Yes.”

“You can’t inherit the lake house.”

Jillian drew in a deep breath. She realized he was still hurting from the loss of his wife. It was written all over him. She
didn’t know what his relationship with his father-in-law had been like, but she supposed it wasn’t good. Blake had only mentioned
him a time or two, and he’d only referred to him as “Aimee’s husband,” never by name. “Look, I’m not heartless. I understand
you’re still recovering from your wife’s death and—”

“Don’t”—he shook a finger at her—“don’t you dare pretend you know anything about me or what I’m going through.”

Something in his tone had Jillian raising her hands in surrender. “Okay, all right. I did just spring this on you. You need
time to process. I’ll give you two weeks to find someplace else to live.”

“You’re not listening to me,” he said. “You can’t inherit the lake house, because Blake deeded the place to me four months
ago.”

His words yanked the air right out of her lungs. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Four months ago. About the same time Jillian suspected Blake had been diagnosed with the brain tumor. But if he’d deeded the
lake house to Tuck, why hadn’t he changed his will?

Maybe he forgot. He did have a brain tumor.

Or maybe Tucker Manning was lying his ass off.

“Impossible.”

“Au contraire. Not only is it possible, but it’s also true.”

Jillian narrowed her eyes. “I’d like to see the deed. I am the executor of Blake’s estate.”

“I … um … don’t have it.”

“Imagine that.” Jillian snorted. “Did you really think you could pull one over on me, Manning? I am a criminal prosecutor.”

Tuck looked mad enough to spit nails. “I’m not a liar. Blake deeded me the house.”

“Easy enough to prove. Simply produce the deed.”

“It’s with my attorney.”

Was he seriously trying to con her? She tilted her head, studying him. He seemed sincere. And pissed off.

Just then Jillian’s cell phone rang.

Tuck turned and headed back for the house.

“Where are you going?” she called after him.

“To see my attorney.”

“It’s Sunday.” Her phone rang again.

“Take care of your own business.” He tossed the comment over his shoulder as he disappeared into the house.

Glowering, Jillian flipped open her phone, saw from the caller ID that it was Delaney, and put a pleasant tone in her voice.
“Hey.”

“Hi, Jilly, did you get there yet?”

“Yes, I arrived in Salvation safe and sound.”

“Oh … wonderful … glad … there.”

The cell phone reception was spotty in the mountains, plus Delaney’s kids were hollering in the background. With her index
finger, Jillian plugged up the ear that wasn’t pressed to the phone. “Huh? What did you say?”

“Let me close the door to the playroom,” Delaney shouted.

Static crackled. A few seconds passed.

“There, is that any better?”

“Some, yeah. Sounds like the natives are restless.”

“That’s life with three little kids under the age of four,” Delaney said cheerfully.

“How do you make it through the day?”

“Turn them over to their father the minute he comes home from work.” She chuckled. “So how was the trip?”

“Good. Although it took longer to get here than I expected,” Jillian said, wondering what Tuck was doing.

“How’s the house?”

Jillian wasn’t ready to tell Delaney about the snafu she’d just encountered. She didn’t know for sure that Tuck’s claim to
the lake house was true. “Do you remember that movie with Tom Hanks and Shelley Long?”

“
The Money Pit
?”

“That’s the one. That’s my house.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well, life’s a grand adventure or it’s nothing, right?”

“Like having three toddlers.”

“I’ll take the money pit. Listen …”

“Yes?”

“About that veil.”

“You want it back. I knew you’d change your mind.”

Jillian leaned back against the passenger seat and propped her booted feet on the dashboard. “I don’t want it back.”

“Jilly, you still there?”

“I’m here.”

Jillian watched Tucker come back out of the house, raise the door to the garage, get into a red four-wheel-drive extended-cab
pickup truck, and burn rubber out of the driveway. He didn’t even glance over at her as he shot past.

“Bat out of hell,” she muttered.

“What?”

“Not you, Laney.”

“What’s wrong?” Delaney snapped her fingers. “Hey, hey, Audra, quit whacking your brothers with SpongeBob.”

“I thought you shut the door.”

Delaney sighed. “They opened it. Bunch of little Houdinis the Vinetti offspring.”

“Doesn’t Nick have extra handcuffs lying around?”

“They’re locked on my bedposts.” Delaney giggled.

“Okay, that classifies as way too much information. Anyway, about this veil …”

“Uh-huh?”

“As you know, I had a sex dream when I fell asleep with it on,” Jillian said.

“You wished on the veil, right?”

“I did.”

“What did you wish for?”

“A new life.”

“And it’s coming true.” Delaney sounded positively giddy. “The veil is never wrong.”

“That’s not the half of it.”

“What’s the whole of it?”

“You’re not going to believe this, but when I got here, there was this nearly naked guy asleep on the couch in my house.”

“Excuse me?”

“He was in his underwear.”

“Seriously?”

“We’re talking heart attack material. He’s that good-looking.”

“That cute, huh?”

“There’s more.”

“More?”

“Laney, he’s the guy from my sex dream.”

“Jilly, I just got chill bumps.”

Jillian plucked at a loose thread on her sweater. “I’m wigged out.”

“And you didn’t believe in the veil.”

“I still don’t.”

“So how do you explain the guy?”

Jillian sighed. She’d been asking herself the same question. “There’s got to be some kind of logical, rational—”

“There is. The veil’s magic.”

Jillian faked a cough. “Ahem, let’s not go down that road.”

“Face it. You’re fated. He’s your soul mate.”

“That’s so bogus.”

“What about me and Nick?”

“Right place, right time.”

“I saw Nick’s face when I wished on the veil. Saw him before I ever met him.”

“Self-fulfilling prophecy.”

“And what about Tish and Shane and Rachael and Brody?” Delaney asked.

“Mass hypnosis. Maybe mass psychosis.”

Delaney laughed. “Deny it all you want. This man is your destiny, and there’s nothing you can do about it, so you might as
well accept it.”

Jillian blew out her breath to keep from saying something to Delaney that could damage their friendship. “Tucker Manning is
not
my destiny.”

“Tucker? That’s his name?”

In the background, Jillian heard one of Delaney’s kids wail. “Oops, sounds like they’re reenacting the story of Cain and Abel.
You better get a jump on it.”

“You’re just trying to get out of this discussion … Aidan, you take that toilet paper out of your mouth right this minute.”

“Bye, Laney.”

“Tucker’s your destiny.”

“He is
not
.”

“Oh ye of little faith.”

“Crazy woman.”

“Skeptic.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“Don’t run away from love, Jilly. The wedding veil is waiting right here for you when you need it.”

“This reception is really bad. You’re cutting out. Gotta go.” Jillian turned off her cell phone and blew out her breath. She
looked over at Mutt. “Coming here was a very big mistake.”

T
UCKER STALKED
into the Bluebird Café looking for his brother-in-law. On Sunday morning, the place was packed with the before-church breakfast
crowd. He paused a moment to scrape his boots on the welcome mat.

“Hey, honey,” Evie called out from behind the counter when she spied him. “What’ll you have? Chocolate-chip waffles are on
the special.”

“Where’s Rid?”

“He’s playing fry cook.”

Tuck went around the counter and headed for the kitchen.

“Put on a hairnet if you’re going in there.” His sister was such a stickler for hygiene.

“I’m just gonna stand in the door and talk to your husband. I won’t be hanging over the food.”

“Don’t distract him. He’ll burn himself.”

Tuck stuck his head in the kitchen and saw Ridley flipping bacon on the griddle. The smell was enticing. His stomach grumbled,
but his mind was too preoccupied to think about food right now. “I gotta talk to you and it won’t wait.”

“Sure, what about?”

“Can we go outside?”

Ridley raised his head. “You sound serious.”

“I am serious.”

“Dutch,” Ridley said to the sad-faced, fortysomething prep cook with a prison tattoo on his forearm. “Flip the bacon for me,
will ya? I’m taking a quick break.”

Dutch grunted.

Ridley slid an anxious gaze toward the front counter. “Let’s make it snappy. Your sister’s on the warpath.”

“What’d you do?”

“I didn’t do anything. Honest. Those fertility drugs she’s taking make her like she’s got a triple dose of PMS.”

“Yeesh.”

“You better believe yeesh.” Ridley led Tuck out the back door into the alley, yanking off his hairnet as he went.

“I grew up with three sisters. I have a clear picture. You have my sympathy.”

“So what’s up?” Ridley fished a single cigarette from his shirt pocket and lit it up.

“I thought you quit.”

“I’m trying. It’s not working. Don’t tell Evie.” Ridley took a deep puff.

Tuck paced the alley. “Listen, about this vision I had in the sweat lodge. The temptress.”

“Yeah?”

“She’s here.”

Ridley frowned. “Whaddya mean she’s here?”

“I mean she’s in Salvation.”

“Your temptress is here? In Salvation? In the flesh?”

“That’s what I’m telling you.”

“Can’t be. A vision isn’t real, Tuck. It’s a prophecy. A metaphor for the future.”

“Well, this metaphor is real, and she’s got legs that won’t quit. She walked into my house this morning and found me sleeping
in my BVDs on the couch.”

“You mean you dreamed about her walking into your house.”

“No, I mean she literally walked into my house.” He told Ridley about Jillian and then he told him about Blake.

“Blake died?”

“Yeah. Explains why he deeded me the lake house out of the blue. Guess he knew he was dying. What I can’t figure out is why
he left the house to the temptress in his will.”

“The temptress has claims on your house?”

“Looks like it. But my deed postdates her will.”

Ridley splayed a palm to the back of his neck and looked worried. “For real?”