His Country Girl. Jillian Hart
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“They’ve been wonderful. Betty and Chip have been great in-laws to me and fantastic grandparents to Owen. They are disappointed in their son.” She shrugged her slender shoulders, unaware of how vulnerable she looked. She might want to pretend otherwise but her divorce had taken a toll.
He understood, which was why he kept free and clear of entanglements. That didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate what she’d been through. Long shifts at the diner, working at near minimum wage. She had it tough. He didn’t have to ask if Ricky was paying his child support payments.
“The Bakers were supposed to be here, too. I haven’t heard from them either.” She swallowed hard, boldly set her chin and met his gaze. “The storm has thrown a wrench into everything. I’m praying they are safe. I know they wanted to be here for Owen.”
And for her. It didn’t take a genius to guess how much her family—all her family—adored her. You would have to be a fool not to. He set down his cup. “So, what went wrong with the marriage?”
“Hey, isn’t that a little personal?”
“Sure, but we’ve got time. I’ll tell you my troubles if you tell me yours.”
“Like I would want to hear about your troubles.” A glimmer of curiosity sparkled in her eyes. “What kind of problems can a carefree bachelor have?”
“You would be surprised.” He went for humor because she looked as if she needed it to get her mind off her son. Time would fly faster that way and the surgeon would be walking in with good news before she knew it. “Women keep dumping me.”
“Because you won’t get serious with them.”
“Sure, but I still get dumped. It’s hard on a man’s ego.”
“You don’t look like your ego is hurting any.”
“You might be surprised. I spend a lot of Friday nights alone with my horse. It’s sad.”
“As opposed to scrubbing the kitchen floor after Owen goes to bed because it’s the only uninterrupted time I have to clean?”
“See? I don’t have anyone to scrub my kitchen floor. Poor me.”
There. Now laughter was dancing in those beautiful gray eyes and hooking the corners of her mouth upward. She had to know he wasn’t serious, because she didn’t hike her bag off the floor and threaten to smack him with it, the way his sisters might have.
“Yes, poor you. I’m truly surprised you can’t keep a girlfriend for long.”
“I know. I can’t figure it out. I’m heartbroken and lonely.”
“Lonely? I don’t believe it. C’mon, women must flock around you, I’m sure. They dump you eventually, but they are interested in you in the first place.”
“There aren’t as many as you think.” He may as well tell the truth. “I spend the weekend with my horse, and a lot of ladies find fault with me for that.”
“Jack is your best friend.”
“That he is. A man can always count on his horse.”
“I remember those days. My parents still have my Patches, but I haven’t had time to ride since I graduated from high school. That was a few years ago.” Some of the strain eased from her face. The tension lines across her forehead vanished as she remembered. “I got Patches when I was twelve. He was one of the best friends I’ve ever had. I shared cookies and ice cream and secrets with him. He passed away a few years before Owen was born, and I miss him.”
“I lost my first horse a while back. One of the saddest days of my life. Dagwood was the horse dad put me on when I was little. That horse and I bonded like glue. I have Jack now, but I still miss my first love.” He twisted in the chair to face her. The wide warmth of his palm covered her hand. The contact was a zing of electric spark and a comforting sweetness that made her feel less alone. Should she take her hand away and break the contact? Or pretend as if he wasn’t affecting her?
“What happened with Ricky?” His question was blunt but kind with concern. “I still don’t get why he isn’t here. I can’t imagine anyone not caring about your boy. Even I do, and I hardly know him.”
“Ricky.” There was a difficult subject. Her chest seized up like a full-scale panic attack. The truth was hard, but there was no getting around it. “Ricky said he didn’t want to be tied down anymore, so he left.”
“He just decided to walk away?” Confusion twisted across Tucker’s forehead and darkened his eyes.
“Life with me and Owen was tedious and nothing but work. So, Ricky left.” That was all she wanted to say. Anything more, and it would be too overwhelming. She could just imagine that Tucker Granger, with his wandering lifestyle, would start sympathizing with her ex. “Good thing he got out when he did. Look at how serious and demanding our life has gotten.”
Not a good attempt at lightness, but she wished it had been. She shrugged her shoulders, hoping to hide the deep sense of inadequacy she could not escape.
“Ricky’s loss.” He looked as if he meant it. Tucker had that strong, kind, honorable thing going on, an aura of integrity and grit that made her heart flutter a tiny bit. She had to be imagining things because Tucker Granger wasn’t that kind of man.
Or was he? She couldn’t think of a single reason why a carefree, nomadic bachelor would fight his way through a city slowed down by drifted snow to bring coffee and comfort to someone he hardly knew anymore—except for one. He was more caring than he seemed and more dependable than he wanted to admit.
Not in the same league with Ricky, not at all.
“I might not be a settling-down kind of a man,” he said, grabbing his cup and lifting it as if in a toast. “But I know what matters in life. I’ll sit right here with you as long as you need me to.”
“Thanks, Tucker.” Her throat tightened with gratitude that felt too big to hold back. She was strong. She could wait here on her own just fine, but having a friend at her side was nice and an old friend even better.
She remembered the boy he used to be, joking around in class and always ready with a wise-mouthed answer sure to make everyone laugh. But he had a serious side, too, a solid personality that maturity had given him, and she was grateful for that.
“Sierra?” A woman’s voice cut through her thoughts and rose above the other muted conversations in the waiting area.
“Mom?” She twisted in her chair, elation spiraling through her at the sight of her mother, looking worse for the wear. Still wearing her winter parka and carting her carry-on luggage, the woman charged across the room. She hadn’t even stopped at the hotel room.
“Baby, I stayed all night at the airport, I pleaded my case with the ticket agent and I got on the first flight out.” Jeri Lynn set her suitcase against the wall and peeled off her gloves. “I’m here. How’s our Owen?”
“So