“Nope, we’re here to see Sutter.”
We’re
here? As if they were a couple. Looking for the town’s only lawyer. Something smelled fishy.
“He’s in the back at his usual table with the usual suspects.” The curiosity was killing her. Apparently Tuck wasn’t going
to introduce her. Evie pasted on her best hostess smile, even though she wasn’t feeling the love, and thrust out her hand.
“Hi,” she said to the Amazon. “I’m Evie, Tuck’s big sister.”
The Amazon barely cracked a smile. “Jillian Samuels.” She shook hands like a logger. Firm and strong and serious.
“Nice to meet you.”
“Same here.”
“You passing through town?”
“Evie, could you cut us some slack? We just want to see Sutter,” Tuck said. “Then later we’ll grab some lunch.”
Evie’s fingers tingled and she jammed her hand into her back pocket. “Is there a problem?”
“Nothing Sutter can’t handle,” he said, and turned for the back room, Jillian at his heels like a shadow.
Evie felt a stab of something closely akin to jealousy. For the last two years, she’d essentially been the only woman in her
grief-stricken brother’s life. She deserved more info than that. Blast it, she’d changed his diapers and pulled his first
baby tooth and taught him how to whistle and snap his fingers. She trailed them to the door of the other room.
Tuck walked up to Sutter, who was surrounded by his cronies—the town elders—who kept counsel in the Bluebird most days of
the week and introduced the old barrister to Jillian.
Evie cocked her head, trying to eavesdrop on the conversation, but the lunch crowd was booming. The diner hummed with the
noise of buzzing voices and clanking silverware and the Hank Williams CD Dutch had stuck on, now playing. “Hey, Good Lookin’.”
She started to slip farther into the room, but a pair of masculine hands coming to rest on her shoulders stopped her in her
tracks.
“Mind your own business, big sister,” Ridley whispered into her ear.
Evie stiffened. “Tuck is my business.”
“He’s a grown man.”
“A heartbroken grown man.”
“Still …” Ridley turned her around and pointed her in the direction of the kitchen.
“Who’s that woman he’s with? Did you know he was seeing someone? How come you didn’t tell me?”
“I don’t know who she is for sure, but I imagine it’s the temptress.”
“The who?” Evie jerked her head to stare up at him as he guided her away from the group in the back room.
Ridley sighed. “Promise me you won’t get upset.”
“Upset? What’s there to get upset about?” She twisted from Ridley’s masculine grip.
“Remember the night I put him in the sweat lodge?”
Evie didn’t like the sound of this. “Uh-huh… .”
“Well, your brother had a vision.”
“A vision, huh?”
“In the vision he was visited by a temptress.”
“Meaning?”
Her big husband nodded his head toward the back room. “Meaning she’s his destiny, and there’s not a damn thing you can do
to change it.”
S
UTTER
G
ODFREY
was holding court.
The elderly lawyer sat in a wheelchair at the head of the table, dressed in a blue seersucker suit straight out of the 1940s,
complete with a blue and white polka-dot bow tie.
He was a thin man, with a thick flush of white hair and a dapper Charlie Chaplin mustache. He had to be pushing eighty downhill.
He was surrounded by five other men, four of whom were in his age group and dressed in the usual hunter regalia—camouflage
clothes, down vests, and orange baseball caps. A couple of them looked to be of Native American ancestry. The fifth appeared
to be a decade younger than the rest of the bunch. He had on jeans, a starched button-down white shirt, and a gray tweed jacket.
The minute Sutter spied Jillian, his pale blue eyes lit up. “Scoot over, Bonner, Carl, and let the young people have a seat.”
She and Tuck took the quickly vacated positions to Sutter’s right; “Sutter,” Tuck said, “This is Jillian Samuels. Jillian,
Sutter Godfrey.”
“It’s rare for Salvation to be graced with the charm and beauty of one so refined as you,” Sutter drawled in a deep South
Carolina accent.
Her bullshit meter clicked rapidly. “You have a gift for flattery, Mr. Godfrey. A handy talent for a lawyer.”
“Let me introduce my associates.” Sutter went around the table naming off the men. The guy in the tweed jacket was Salvation’s
only practicing physician, Dr. Bonner Couts. The two Native Americans, Tom Red Deer and Sam Soap, were the elders of their
tribes. One was a retired mechanic, the other a still-practicing accountant. The remaining two men were Carl Fielder and Dub
Bennet, town counsel members and local merchants. Carl owned Fielder’s Market, and Dub ran a hunting and fishing guide service.
They might be fading into old age, but it was clear that this group still held a lot of power in the community.
“So what might I do for you and this lovely lady, Tucker?” Sutter took a sip of coffee, eying them over the rim of his cup
as he waited.
“Could you please confirm for Ms. Samuels that Blake Townsend deeded me his lake house?”
Jillian clenched her hands in her lap. She didn’t want to know why her throat suddenly squeezed so tight she could barely
breathe.
Sutter pursed his lips and set down his cup. “I do recall having that conversation with Blake, yes, indeed.”
Tuck exhaled audibly. “So you filed the deed?”
“Hmm.” Sutter paused. “I do believe so, yes. But as you recall, that was about the time I took a nasty fall down the steps
of the Peabody Mansion and broke my right hip.”
“I recall.”
Sutter nodded as if that explained everything.
“So you have a copy of the deed on file in your office?” Jillian asked.
“Most likely,” Sutter drawled. The guy spoke as if a simple yes or no would kill him.
“I’m the executor of Blake’s will. Is it possible to get a copy for the probate?”
“Surely, my dear.” He smiled. “Anything for a beautiful lady.”
“That would be helpful, thank you.”
“Of course,” he went on, “you’ll have to go find it for yourself. I can no longer climb the stairs to my office.”
“You don’t have an assistant?”
“Sadly, my previous assistant took up with the wrong kind of fellow, found herself in a family way, and left town in shame.”
“What about a computer? Don’t you have electronic files?”
Sutter shook his head. “I never learned to use those infernal machines. My assistant had one, but I have no idea what she
did on it.”
Good grief, had she been jettisoned back to 1950? If she turned around, would she see Sheriff Andy Taylor and Deputy Barney
Fife walk through the door? Would Aunt Bee come rushing in with a homemade apple pie? Would Opie tag along, fishing pole cocked
over his shoulder?
Tuck leaned over to whisper, “Most people go to Boulder for their legal needs.”
She shot him a why-the-hell-didn’t-you? look, at the same time Sutter cleared his throat. Jillian glanced back to see the
elderly lawyer was dangling a set of keys from his index finger. “If you plan on riffling through my office, you’ll be needing
these.”
“Thank you, Sutter,” Tuck said as he pushed to his feet. “We’ll be back in a bit.”
“I’ll be here.” He gave a wave of his hand.
Carl and Bonner resumed their seats while Sam broke out the dominoes. Yep, Andy, Barney, Bee, and Opie had to be around here
somewhere.
The Peabody Mansion turned out to be the large turn-of-the-twentieth-century Victorian in the town square. Before they left
the diner, Tuck got Evie to make them a sack lunch while Jillian retrieved Mutt from where he’d been attracting the attention
of passersby on the sidewalk. He was eating up the strokes and scratches behind the ears with his usual extroverted glee.
They didn’t bother taking Tuck’s truck. It was a short walk from the Bluebird to the Peabody. The wind was brisk, and Jillian
found herself wishing for a thicker sweater. She suppressed a shiver, but the next thing she knew, Tuck’s flannel jacket was
around her shoulders.
It smelled of him. Manly, comfortable.
“What—”
“You looked cold.”
Disconcerted by Tuck’s gentlemanly manners and the way his masculine scent disturbed her senses, she wanted to shrug off the
jacket and give it back to him, but she was cold, so she drew it closer around her and managed a grudging, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
An awkwardness settled between them as they mounted the steps of the Peabody. The once-stately manor had been converted into
office space. Besides Sutter’s office, the sign out front told her the place also housed the offices of two certified public
accountants, a used bookstore, and a business specializing in flooring and window treatments.
She also noticed there were no parking meters. A town where you didn’t have to pay to park? Too damned charming.
Tuck unlocked the front door and they stepped inside.
The house smelled nostalgically of old boards, old books, old wallpaper, and lavender potpourri. It was a get-comfy-snuggle-up
kind of smell. Like rain on a winter’s day. Like cedar chests and autumn leaves and thick cable sweaters. Between that and
the lack of parking meters and the feel of Tuck’s jacket on her shoulders, Jillian was about to overdose on quaint.
“Wanna have lunch down here before we tackle Sutter’s office?” Tuck asked, pointing to seating in the bay window between the
flooring store and the CPA’s offices that overlooked the town square.
She wanted to get this over with, but her stomach rumbled. She was hungry. “Sure,” she said, slipping off his jacket and handing
it back to him.
Tuck pulled sandwiches from the white paper sack. “Tuna on rye or turkey on whole wheat?”
“Whichever one you don’t want.”
“Evie cut them in half; why don’t we mix and match?”
It sounded too damn cozy, but he didn’t wait for an answer, just started taking out the sandwiches. Mutt sat on the floor
at their feet, thumping his tail and licking his lips.
“Okay,” Tuck said. “I can see the sandwiches have got to be divided three ways. He broke off a chunk of his tuna on rye and
passed it to Mutt.
Jillian didn’t know why she found the gesture touching, but she did.
This town is making you feel sappy. Snap out of it.
“Sit.” Tuck patted the cushion beside him, then held out a wax-paper-wrapped section of turkey on wheat.
She sat beside him on the seat. “Just to be clear, I’m not sitting because you told me to.”
“Gotcha. Independent, strong-minded, you don’t need no stinkin’ man telling you what to do.”
When he said it like that, it made her sound like a stone-cold bitch. Did she really come off that way?
“As long as that’s settled,” she said, trying to act like she’d been teasing. “Are there any chips in that bag to go with
the sandwich? I like the crunch.”
“Yep, we’ve got the barbecued variety or salt and vinegar.”
“Ooh, salt and vinegar, my favorite.”
“Tart, I should have figured.” He tossed her the bag of chips.
“Is there something you want to say to me?”
“Nope. Evie stuck some colas in the sack as well. You want one?”
She nodded and he popped open a Coke for her. Avoiding his gaze, Jillian unwrapped the sandwich, took a bite, swallowed. The
turkey was succulent, roasted, hand carved. “Honestly, Tuck, I know we got off on the wrong foot, but thanks for lunch.”
“You’re welcome.”
Silence fell and it wasn’t the good kind.
Hurriedly, she ate the sandwich, giving Mutt the last few bites; then she dusted her fingers with a napkin and sipped her
soda while she waited for Tuck to finish his meal. He seemed to be taking an extraordinary amount of time eating. Did he normally
eat so slow, or was he trying to aggravate her?
“Look,” she said, “I’m sorry about all this.”
“Nothing to be sorry about,” he said, dabbing mayonnaise from his bottom lip with a napkin. For some unfathomable reason,
her gaze hung on his mouth, and she couldn’t tear her eyes away. “It’s my house, and we’re going to find the document that
proves it. You’re the one who’s going to be inconvenienced.”
“If Sutter didn’t file the deed, it’s murky legal territory. The vague testimony of a doddering old man will not hold up in
court. You need a proper legal document to lay claim to the lake house.”
“I’ve got them.”
“Do you?”
“I’ll fight you on this,” he said, his voice taking on a steely edge she’d never heard before.
She met his gaze. “I fully expect you to. But I have to tell you, back in Houston, I’m known as the Bulldog, because when
I sink my teeth in, I never let go. I never give up. I never surrender.”
“Is that a threat?”
“No,” she said, alarmed by the sudden rapid pounding of her pulse. “It’s a fact.”
He held her gaze, turned it into a stare, didn’t even blink. “You want a battle, I’ll give you a battle. Just know before
you get into this, Bulldog, that I’ve got the home-field advantage.”
T
UCK COULDN’T SAY WHY
he’d challenged Jillian. The confrontation hadn’t been a conscious decision. It had just come pouring out of him on an emotional
current so strong it took his breath away. As if all the pent-up anger that had been lying dormant underneath his grief couldn’t
be stomped down any longer. He needed a target for his resentment and Jillian was it.
“Let’s get this over with,” he said, picking up the remains of their lunch and tossing it in the trashcan positioned inside
the front door. “The sooner we find that deed, the sooner I’ll get rid of you.”
Jillian inhaled audibly.
Tuck turned to glance at her, and for the briefest of moments, he spied utter hurt in her eyes. Instantly, she wiped the emotion
away, but he saw it and felt like a complete shit for having said what he did. Jillian Samuels was more vulnerable than she
wanted anyone to know.
He should have realized that. Should have been more attuned to her feelings and what was going on with her. Aimee would have
been ashamed of his behavior. Not only had Jillian’s mentor just died, but she’d also packed up her belongings and moved to
a place she’d never even visited. A lawyer, picking up lock, stock, and barrel when Blake’s will hadn’t been probated?