Tucker's Crossing (6 page)

“That was a great throw you made today.”

“Pass.” Jake said to the table, making ketchup doodles across his plate with a fry.

“Fine, it was a great
pass
you made.”

“It sucked. Jason didn’t even catch it.”

“Language,” Shelby corrected.

“He caught Ryan’s.” Jake finally met her eyes, looking heartbroken all over again, as if he would never be good enough.

Shelby was about to comment when Faith Loren, waitress, busgirl, bartender, and sometime-biscuit-baker at the oldest “establishment” in the county, approached the table.

“You all finished here?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jake said and Shelby wondered when the slight Southern drawl had woven its way into her son’s voice. Then she smiled. Even though he’d been born in California, he was a Texas boy through and through—which was why she needed to figure out a way to raise him here, while protecting him from further disappointment.

“But you barely touched your food,” Faith said, clearing the plates and digging her elbow into her side to balance the tray. “Was anything wrong with it? I can have Mrs. McKinney whip you up something else if you’d like.”

Jake looked at Shelby and even though she wanted to tell the waitress he’d had a rough day, she remained silent. No one liked being spoken for, especially when they were sitting right there. “No, ma’am. It tasted good. I’m just not all that hungry.”

Faith exchanged a look with Shelby, and her concern was so sincere it was palpable. Most people tended to look right past the waitress, seeing only her sex-on-heels curves and exotic face, but Shelby had always thought the woman had an unpracticed compassion about her, something that made her easy to be around, to talk to, as if she took pride in her ability to care.

She was also one of those girls who looked like she’d had big dreams but somehow life got in the way. Somebody else’s life, Shelby thought sadly, taking in the way she always looked ready to drop everything at a single phone call.

“You aren’t too full for a slice of peach pie now, are you?” Jake’s eyes lit up and Faith slid Shelby a sly, sideway glance. “That is, if it’s all right with your mom.”

“Well, I don’t know.” Shelby stalled, hoping to get some sort of response out of him. He had always kept his feelings close, just like another Tucker she knew. And Shelby wasn’t above using dessert to get him to open up. “Faith’s right, you didn’t eat much dinner and you know the rules.”

“Please,” Jake begged, dragging it out. And for the first time since he’d walked into that kitchen he resembled the sweet kid she loved.

“All right, just this once.”

“Thanks, Mom. You rule.” Jake high-fived Faith.

“One peach pie à la mode, coming right up. And can I get you anything, Shelby? A fresh cup of coffee?”

Shelby looked down. Jake wasn’t the only one who had ignored his meal. Her plate looked like it should be coming out of the kitchen, not being sent back. And her coffee, now cold, was still full to the brim. “No thanks, I’m fine.”

That was the lie of the century. And Faith, as attuned to the turmoil rolling off Shelby as she was at uncovering her customers’ whole life histories, knew it. She shot Shelby a stern we’ll-talk-later look and disappeared through the swinging double doors.

Jake had polished off most of his pie and was currently working on the pool of vanilla ice cream at the bottom of the bowl. Although they hadn’t talked much about anything, and he hadn’t brought up Cody, his shoulders weren’t quite as slumped as when they’d sat down and his face was a little less pinched.

“Coach said that there’s this football camp next month. It’s a whole week and you get to sleep there. In bunk beds. All the guys are going.”

“Sounds like fun,” Shelby said. But it didn’t. She couldn’t imagine Jake being gone for a whole week. He was only nine. Way too young to be going off to sleepover camp. Right? He’d only had his first sleepover at Ryan’s a few months ago. And that was after meeting his family and getting to know them.

“Coach said it would be good for anyone wanting to play first string. Especially me ’cuz I need help with my arm.”

Coach coach coach
! Shelby didn’t think Jake needed help with anything. He’d gotten his athletic ability from Cody—thank God—and his willingness to commit wholly of himself from her. She’d only put him in the sport because Silas had convinced her it would be a good way to make friends and feel a part of something. Going in, no one had warned her that football in Sweet Plains—well, the entire state of Texas—was law. Right up there with God, guns, and BBQ.

“I’ll ask your coach about it.”

“He told us to give this to our parents.” Jake rustled through his bag and set a patriotically inspired application on the table.

Shelby looked at the flyer and her heart sank. There, at the top, bold, collegiate letters read, “Tri-County Father/Son Summer Football Bootcamp.”

Shelby peered over the paper at her son. His face said everything he was feeling but couldn’t put into words and Shelby vowed then and there that she would do whatever it took to get her son a daddy. Even at the cost of her heart.

Jake sank back in the booth and spooned at the ice cream, his ready smile from a moment ago gone. “Why did he have to come back now?”

Why indeed.
“I don’t know, sweetie. Maybe because he was finally ready to.”

“He didn’t seem ready to me. Seemed like he wanted us gone.”

That he did. Wasn’t going to happen though. “I just don’t think he was expecting us to be there is all. We surprised him.”

“I hate surprises.”

“I know.” Shelby placed a hand over his, struck again by how similar Cody and Jake were. He let her hold it for a minute but quickly snatched it back when Faith reappeared.

“I’m guessing he found his appetite after all.” The waitress took in the empty bowl and winked at Shelby. “I’ll take the licked-clean appearance as a compliment to the chef.”

Jake scrubbed the leftovers off his face with the back of his hand. “It isn’t Ms. Luella’s. But it’s close.”

“Don’t you let Mrs. McKinney hear you say that. The last man that compared those two women’s baking, and found Mrs. McKinney lacking, wound up hog-tied to the church flagpole. On a Sunday.” Faith leaned in and whispered—Jake eating up every word. “Wearing nothing but his tighty-whities and peach pie.”

“No way.”

“Yes, way,” Shelby confirmed. “She went on to take first place in the Summer Sweet Spectacular pie cook-off that year. And those two women have been going back and forth, swapping first and second place, ever since. If Mrs. McKinney wins the pie portion, Ms. Luella’s chili receives the blue ribbon.”

“If you ask me, the judges are just too scared to do anything else,” Faith laughed.

Jake’s eyes widened. “But that’s cheating.”

“Maybe so, JT.” Faith shrugged. “But in a town this size, and with those women, it’s also called smart. Not sure what they’ll do this year with the pie portion being canceled.”

Shelby looked around The B-Cubed, took in the silver pole, mechanical bull, the country-style dance floor, and found herself relaxing a little. Even smiling. Some forty years back, Bartholomew McKinney, fourth-generation owner of The Bluebonnet up and died, buck naked, in the arms of a woman who was definitely
not
Mrs. McKinney.

The men in town broke out into a riot, one worthy of calling in the National Guard, when Mrs. McKinney, Sunday school teacher and woman scorned, discovered her husband’s family business had more to do with debauchery than doing people’s taxes, and turned the county’s only strip club into an actual eating establishment that followed health codes. They tried to persuade her, shut down her business, run her out of town, anything to get their “gentleman’s” club back.

It only took a few weeks, a public statement that she would be releasing her husband’s clientele list, and one bite of her buttermilk biscuits with sweet-hot pepper jelly to win the townsmen back. And she’d ruled the Sweet Plains culinary world ever since.

“Gina said this year the judging will be impartial and fair. She refuses to be bullied.”

“Mark my words, she’ll cave. They all do. Only a crazy person would be stupid enough to take on a woman defending what’s hers,” Faith added.

“You are absolutely right, Faith.” Shelby smiled. Cody might be stubborn but folks knew he wasn’t stupid. Surely he’d see that she wasn’t going to back down.

“Whoa, boy.” Cody pulled back on the reins, his Thoroughbred, Goliath, slowing to a stop. He was about three miles east of the ranch when he crested the hill and saw a sight for sore eyes. Steers. Hundreds of head of cattle dotted the valley below, chewing the grass and fighting over the sparse shade.

It was barely eight and the temperature was already threatening to suffocate him. The heat wave that had moved in and dried up their entire county hadn’t broken, and it wasn’t expected to any time soon. So why were the cows holing up here when there weren’t more than eight trees in sight? Not to mention a serious lack of water.

When Cody was a kid, this was where they would hold their breeding stock to keep it separate from the beeves they were preparing for transport and auction. It was way too early in the season for that. So why were they here?

Cody kicked Goliath into action and made good time getting down onto the valley floor. Something just didn’t sit right with him. Cows might not be the brightest of animals, but they had strong survival instincts. The only way they’d stay there was if— “What the hell!” Cody yanked on the reins, forcing his horse to stop inches from a barbed-wire fence. The metal coils that ran a good quarter mile in each direction should have stopped a few hundred yards to the right, but the area was completely enclosed.

Sliding off the saddle, Cody hitched Goliath to the fence and checked out the gate. It wasn’t locked, but secured tight enough to make the cows think they were closed in. Tight enough that he couldn’t get the damn thing to budge. A closer inspection showed that the gate had fallen off its lower hinge, cementing the post into the packed dirt. Talk about bad luck.

Wishing he’d taken Sam up on his offer for some company, Cody unbuttoned and hung his shirt on the fence and—thank God he’d been smart enough to at least put on jeans and boots this morning—sank to his knees. He started digging up the ground around the post. The sun beat down hard and Cody felt the scrape of soil and rock against his hand. It felt good to get elbow deep in something other than memos and briefs.

Finally, enough of the soil was removed. Cody straightened, lifted, and gave the fence another forceful yank. The metal groaned as he worked it through the ground. When the steel bars cut into his palms, he kicked himself for not packing gloves in his saddlebag.

Christ, he’d been kicking himself ever since yesterday. What the hell had he started? At a time in his life when he really needed to focus, in the one place in the world where he always fought for control, the universe had decided to flip him the finger and toss Shelby Lynn into the mix.

But how could he have gone and kissed her like that? Cody wiped the sweat off his brow and nearly laughed out loud.
How could he not?

One look at her in that dress, her silky hair tumbling in dark waves down the middle of her back, bare feet and scrubbed-fresh face, and he’d been tossed back to a time when he thought he stood a chance at happiness. And then he remembered why he’d come back to Sweet Plains and his only thought was that she had to leave.

Cody lifted, his legs straining under the weight of the fence, and pulled, gaining another few feet.

When her small hand had grabbed his arm, begging him not to go, he was instantly lost in those limpid eyes . . . those nipples pouting prettily under that thin dress. Her scent was everywhere, and he just reacted—pure instinct.

And when their lips had touched, she’d practically crawled up his chest. It reminded him of just how good they’d been together. In that short space in time, all the pent-up feelings about coming home fled, and all he felt was her.

Cody grunted through the last few feet and watched as a few cows wandered on over. He was going to be sore as hell tomorrow, but he knew it would be the good kind of sore.

Weighing his options made him realize just what a damn city boy he’d become. He didn’t have his dogs or men so he couldn’t round up the cattle. But they needed to get to a better pasture. Dammit. He’d have to come back for that. In the meantime, he hoped
their
instincts would force them to get curious, go in search of water.

Dusting off his hands, and putting his shirt back on, he took a long swig of his water and grimaced. It was hot and thick going down, but he needed the hydration. Another long swig and he mounted Goliath, wanting to get out of the heat fast, but careful not to overheat his horse. By the time they made it to the barn, he was slick with sweat and his body ached.

Man, he still couldn’t believe he’d practically had sex with Shelby Lynn right there on the counter.

That’s why he’d been bucked sideways when Jacob came in. The Shelby he knew would never have kept something so important, like the fact that they had a son together, from him. No matter how they’d ended things.

Guess you didn’t know her all that well then, did ya?

Even thinking about Jacob—about Shelby’s silence, and the whole screwed-up situation—made his stomach burn with anger.

Kicking at the gravel, Cody set off toward the line of ranch hands assembled in the yard, wishing he had time for a cold shower. Circling the barn, he followed the worn fence toward a group of men who looked as shell-shocked as he’d felt yesterday.

Time to get to it, he thought grimly.

Several dozen cowboys stood by the barn doors, shooting the breeze and doing their best to look casual. But the sudden silence that descended the moment Cody came into view told him differently.

Stopping to address the group, which now looked like they were expecting a firing squad, he reminded himself that this was what he’d come here to do, the course of action he and his brother, Noah, had decided upon.