up for bed.”
She blinked again, her eyes widening with sudden alertness.
“I mean you,” he said quickly. “You get ready for bed. I’ll just be close by if you need help.”
Her face flushed a deep pink. “Thank you, but you’ve done more than enough already. You should go home.” Bracing on the arms of the chair, she pushed herself to her feet, and the color in her cheeks drained to ash.
Tucker flew around the table and supported her, one arm around her back, one under her elbow.
After a moment, she said, “I’m okay.”
“Great. I’ll hang on to you, then.” That earned him a gratifying chuckle—and compliance.
He escorted her through the living room, up the stairs to the bedroom she’d shared until now with Dylan. An oil portrait of them, twelve years younger and resplendent in wedding gear, hung over one of the washed-oak dressers. Ever so slowly, she gathered up her nightgown, slippers and robe. Tucker remained at her elbow, urging her onward whenever her path crossed an item of Dylan’s.
At last, he shuffled her into the adjoining bathroom, sat her on a brass vanity stool and removed her shoes.
“Tucker,” she protested, obviously embarrassed.
“That’s all. You can do the rest.” He stepped to the tub and slid open the glass shower door, moved some towels closer and spread a mat on the floor.
“Tucker,” she said on an exasperated chuckle. “I’m just tired and a bit tipsy. I haven’t been lobotomized.” She rose and pushed him out of the bathroom with surprising vigor. “Go home!” she ordered, shutting the door.
“Okay, see ya,” he called back, dropping into a comfy-looking reading chair. The last thing he wanted was for her to slip and crack her head and be lying in there all night, alone and helpless.
His gaze roamed the room. It looked like something out of a J.C. Penney catalogue. Thick flowered comforter, matching curtains and table skirt and wall border. About thirty-two pillows on the bed…
Tucker’s gaze drifted to the wedding portrait again. Dylan was a handsome guy, he couldn’t deny that. But Tucker had gotten his number when they were still just kids. Although Dylan was a year younger than him, they’d shared a few mixed-grade classes, and Tucker had seen him cheating on tests. Later, he’d caught him cheating at cards. And there, standing beside the double-dealing bastard, was the straightest arrow Tuck had ever come across. Sincere, ingenuous Cathryn. Blind, gullible Cathryn.
Suddenly, the door to the bathroom opened revealing pink, naked Cathryn.
Cathryn screamed and ducked back into the steam. Wincing, Tucker eased to his feet with thoughts of tiptoeing out of the room. As if that would erase what had just happened.
“Tucker!” she wailed from behind the closed door. “You said you were leaving.”
“I lied.”
“No kidding.”
The door opened again. She was bundled in flannel from chin to toe. Her wet hair, combed straight and sleek, framed a face that blazed.
“I’m sorry,” Tucker sputtered, embarrassed too. “I didn’t think.”
“Oh…” She flapped an arm as if to finish her statement. “It’s all right. With the beating my pride took today…” The sentence trailed off to another arm flap.
“Would you like some hot milk?”
She grimaced. “No. Please. Just my bed, although I doubt I’ll sleep. My mind keeps racing.”
“Well, at least give it a try. Remember, you have to be strong for the kids.”
Tucker regretted taking that approach. Her expression filled with sadness. Still, she nodded and said, “You’re right.”
“I’m always right. Now, hit the sack, lady.”
Cathryn climbed onto the bed on all fours, batting away pillows until only two remained. Real pillows. Then she flopped face forward into one of them. “Good night,” she said, her words severely muffled.
Tucker tugged the comforter down, pulling it under her, until it cleared her slippered feet, then covered her with it and sat on the edge of the bed.
She turned her head and said, “Go home.”
He smiled and placed his hand on her head. “I’ll be downstairs if you need anything,” he said, lightly stroking her wet hair. “I’ll leave in the morning.”
Cathryn swallowed, pressed a bunched hand to her mouth, and tears glistened along the lashes of her closed eyes. “Thank you.”
“No problem.” He could get up now, he realized. He could go downstairs and have another beer and watch TV. But he sat awhile longer, stroking her hair and wishing he could say everything was going to be all right. But he couldn’t. All he could say was, “I’ll be here,” because his instincts were telling him that nothing was going to be right in Cathryn’s world for a very long time.
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