much. So she comes in and sees the dress I was making and that was it. She demanded I design her wedding dress for her on the spot.”
“Off to the races, then.”
“Off to the races. It didn’t hurt that her spring wedding was one of the most covered in Dallas. Nor did it hurt that Violet was her wedding planner. It gave me a bit of street cred to get some interest in dresses from other brides, and gave us the experience to pitch for a small-business loan.”
“Funny that your father making a donation took you on a path away from a ‘proper’ life, especially if he didn’t support what you were doing.”
Tucker’s words were casual, his gaze focused on his last few fries, before he glanced back up at her. But way down deep in those dark depths, she saw just how serious he was.
They’d spent all day in each other’s company—a day full of any number of intense experiences, from danger to attraction—yet this moment seemed the most significant somehow. Because in that moment she knew, without a doubt, that Tucker Buchanan wasn’t casual. Or simple. Nor did he miss much.
And he fully understood the irony of seeing her success come out of the simple action of an unsupportive parent.
“He’s gotten over it.”
“Parents usually do. The bigger question is, have you?”
* * *
Josephine Beauregard came awake to dim lighting and the dull scent of antiseptic. She became aware of a steady beeping somewhere behind her head and tried to figure out where she was. Recognition hovered just out of her reach—like she should know where she was but was too happy floating in a sea of blissful ignorance.
Should she open her eyes? Wait...they were already open.
With a series of rapid blinks she tried to pull the room into focus but her pupils hadn’t adjusted fully to the darkened room.
She wanted to panic. Should she panic? But the blanket around her was warm and she felt an odd sense of safety surrounding her.
Blanket?
The question hit her, tunneling through her disorientation and the fierce edges of a headache she was slowly coming to realize she had.
Why did she have a blanket? It was Dallas in summertime and she hadn’t had a blanket wrapped around her since the freak ice storm they’d battled the previous March.
So why was she wrapped up?
Underneath the antiseptic she became aware of something else. A scent she remembered from so long ago. Strong. Masculine. And mind-numbingly alluring.
Turning her head, she took in a dim shape in the corner of her room. “Max?”
Now that she was aware of it, pain throbbed in her skull with all the finesse of a jackhammer. Despite the searing pain, she couldn’t hide the rush of awareness and excitement at the figure she sensed in the dark. “Is that you?”
“Been wondering when you’d wake up.”
“Why are you here?” Why was he here? He never came, and she’d stopped expecting him to long ago.
“That’s the question I’ve been waiting to ask you.” He moved slowly—wasn’t that the way of it now?—before coming to stand beside her.
Despite the age that tinged his features, she saw the young man she’d loved so well underneath. The firm jaw that had added folds of age still begged for her touch and those bright blue eyes saw as much now as they had fifty years ago.
“What happened to you, Jo?”
“I don’t know.” Confusion warred with the sweet memories of Max and again, the pain rose up in her head with sharp claws. Through the haze of hurt, a dim memory registered. “My house... Someone broke into my house.”
She pulled at the blanket, the warm cocoon turning suffocating. “In my house. There was someone in my house. Someone hurt me.”
He moved closer, his large hand on her shoulder to steady her. “Shh. Don’t move like that. Take it easy.”
A wave of panic stuck in her throat, choking her, as hot tears pricked the backs of her eyes.
Were they tears for the sudden realization she’d survived an attack, or were they for the fact that he was finally touching her? On a hard exhale, she admitted to herself she had no idea.
But it was probably both.
“Who would do that?”
“We don’t know who.”
“We?” The word struck her as strange since she’d been the one hurt.
“My grandson and his friend are helping out your girls. Seems like trouble’s found its way to their door.”
Max leaned closer, his gaze firm as those blue eyes lit with understanding. She’d seen those same eyes on his grandson—his namesake—and it never failed to choke her up.
Never failed to remind her of things best left buried.
“What aren’t you saying, Max?”
“We don’t know who attacked you, Jo. But I think you and I both know why.”
* * *
Cassidy closed her front door behind Tucker, touched he’d walked her to her door. She’d purchased her small bungalow in East Dallas two years before, her home quickly becoming her haven, and it was odd to see his large frame in her doorway.
Odd, yet lovely, she thought now as she watched his long-limbed strides through the glass pane that edged her front door frame.
Maintaining his streak, he’d been the chivalrous gentleman, escorting her home and doing a quick check of her house to ensure the problems they’d battled all day hadn’t found their way to her door.
She’d known the moment they walked in no one had been inside the house, but that knowledge hadn’t negated how nice it felt to be looked after. Nor had it kept her from allowing him to roam through her kitchen and living room, bedroom and studio, confirming all was well.
If he’d noticed the thick duvet and red silk accent pillows that covered her bed she didn’t know. But a girl could hope the sight had been what put the slight hitch in his stride as he walked from her home.
Yep. Tucker Buchanan had gentleman written all over him.
And why was that so damn appealing?
He pulled away from the curb, and she turned to focus on her home. The warm, almond-colored walls set off by bright, vivid prints of various sketches filled her with pride. This was her home. She’d earned it through hard work and the determination to make something of herself.
To make something of her life.
And with a soft sigh, she acknowledged
