Marry Me Again (The Second Chance Love Series, Book 1) (6 page)

Tucker had said all the right things to her father, charmed her mother and left Rebecca very nearly speechless.

But she hadn't minded that. It was enough to sit there at dinner, picking at her food and staring at him, wishing she were the kind of woman who could turn Tucker Malloy's head.

It had taken her a while to realize that she had done just that, actually much more than that because—

Rebecca gave a start as the crisp sound of dress shoes clicking against the sidewalk broke through her memories.

Tucker, with his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, the moonlight shining in his hair and a stern look on his face, was coming back up the walk.

She rose quickly, brushed the back of her hand across her cheeks to make sure they were dry, and clutched the robe closer together at her throat.

He stopped beside the house, leaned one arm against it and stared up into the sky.

What now? She couldn't even make herself look at him. It was hard just to be with him, alone here in the darkness. She didn't want him here like this, didn't want to be this close to him. Most of all, she didn't want to feel anything for him.

She'd meant to erect an impenetrable shield around her heart, but her defenses had been nothing against him. Within a matter of minutes, he'd brought back to the surface all those old feelings she'd fought so hard to bury.

Now, he was back again. What kind of damage would he do this time?

"Does Sammy..." Tucker cleared his throat.

Rebecca looked up at him then, and it was his turn to look away. He put his back to her, so she couldn't see anything of his expression, even if she'd tried. His hand raked through his hair, then settled into his pocket again.

She heard the night sounds, the hum of crickets, a dog barking on the next block over. The world closed in around them, him and her, alone in the near darkness of the porch.

"Does he hate me?"

The soft, sad question seemed to drill right into Rebecca, into the deepest, most vulnerable part of her. She feared she'd start crying yet again.

This was so hard, so much harder than she'd thought it would be. And she wondered how it was possible to be so mad at Tucker and to feel so bad for him at the same time. He'd missed so much with Sammy, missed days he could never get back.

That's how she came to find herself wavering, found part of her anger at him slipping away, found herself wondering what he'd suffered as well over the years.

"He doesn't..." Rebecca had to fight to keep her voice steady. "He can't understand why you haven't been here."

She hesitated as she saw him tense before her eyes. Tucker's hands were buried deep in his pockets, his shoulder muscles clenched hard under the expensive suit, his head bent low.

But she couldn't leave it at that, couldn't let him go with only those words.

"But he doesn't hate you, Tucker."

He turned slowly, lifted his head. She could watch as a little light came into his sad brown eyes.

"Sammy's..." She couldn't help it. She had an irresistible urge to somehow ease a little of his pain. "He can't wait to see you."

And then that long-remembered smile spread across his face. He was simply stunning when he smiled.

Rebecca stood there, paralyzed, as he came closer and closer. He seemed to be moving in slow motion, coming to touch her. She was sure of it, and she could do nothing to stop him.

She felt the warmth radiating from him, felt his presence like a force from which she couldn't escape. His hand tilted her chin up toward his face, then lingered in a soft caress, a whisper of a touch that stole her breath.

"You're a generous woman, Rebecca."

He gave her another one of his blinding smiles, and for the second time that night, turned and walked away from her.

Rebecca's knees gave way. She sat down hard on the steps and leaned against the wall for support.

She was supposed to hate him, she reminded herself. It should be the easiest thing in the world to hate him.

But it wasn't.

Chapter 4

Later, closer to morning than night, Tucker sat on the hood of his car, miles from Tallahassee, miles from any place he'd ever been before, and he wished he had a cigarette.

He'd given those up, too.

He'd given up much too much in his life.

Tonight, nerves had left him unable to be still, had pushed him out of his hotel room and into his car, and had propelled him through the dark night to this place, where the Gulf was in front of him, Tallahassee was far behind him, and no one was even close on either side.

For a man who'd finished running from his troubles, he'd done a good job of it that night. Running from the possibilities of what he might find when he looked into his son's eyes in the morning.

As he sat on the hood, he stretched his feet out in front of himself and leaned back against the windshield with his hands cupped behind his head. There was no sound but the wind and the water, no light but the few stars that glittered in the hazy sky overhead.

Tucker looked out into the waters of the Gulf, saw nothing but Sammy's face and sensed yet another wave of regret and recrimination heading his way.

He pulled one hand from behind his head and stared at his own fingers, the ones he'd allowed for just a moment to settle on Rebecca's chin and then used to tilt her face up so he could look into her sorrowful green eyes, glittering with unshed tears.

His wife.

Tucker shook his head and laughed joylessly at the slip. No, his ex-wife. His child. His past, the one he'd left behind but never escaped. It was closer than he would have ever believed, even after all the running he'd done.

And now that he'd stopped running, what was he going to do? He'd been surprised twice tonight, surprised by his reaction to both Sammy and Rebecca.

For a minute there in his son's bedroom, Tucker had thought he might die from the pain crushing his chest. He saw Sammy, sprawled out on the bed, arms and legs everywhere, hair going in every direction, and those heavy, thick lashes covering the eyes Tucker was afraid to face.

And then the room started to spin and went dark. It was too hot. He started sweating. A moment later, it had been too cold.

He wondered if Sammy would ever look at him and smile, the way the boy smiled up into his mother's eyes in the photographs Tucker had. He wondered if Sammy would ever run to him for comfort when he was hurt, for security when he was scared, or just for the sheer joy of being held and loved.

Tucker's mouth went dry, and the pain settled down onto his chest again. Nervous energy pushed him to sit up and slide off the car. Then he shoved his hands into his pockets and started to pace.

What was he going to do? How was he going to make it right? He knew as much about being a good father as he did about being a good husband—damned little about both.

And he couldn't screw it up this time. He wouldn't.

Tucker closed his eyes and remembered the way it had been, soon after Sammy was born, in those last crazy days he and Rebecca had spent together. Sammy was so tiny, so fragile, a strange and bewildering creature. All too often the baby turned red in the face and screamed, his hands and fists waving and kicking on those few occasions when Tucker held him.

Tucker was simply overwhelmed by the baby. He didn't know how to hold Sammy without worrying about dropping him. He had no clue about what to do when the child cried and a bottle didn't satisfy him.

But there was that one time Tucker remembered so clearly, when Sammy had surprised them both. He'd been fussing forever, and Rebecca had been exhausted. She hadn't asked for his help—she seldom had because she'd known from the beginning that Tucker hadn't wanted to be a father. But Tucker had come home late from the office and found her at the end of her rope with a baby who was clearly winding up and not down, and he'd taken the baby from her.

Sammy screamed, as usual, in the unfamiliar arms of his father, but he must have been exhausted because he hadn't screamed for long. Sammy got sleepy, and before Tucker knew what hit him, he found himself holding this warm, ever-so-slight weight that seemed to mold itself to Tucker's body.

Sammy was soft and slight, cuddly and clinging, whimpering softly in the aftermath of a storm of crying. Then he started sucking loudly on the side of his hand and rested there against his father's chest as exhaustion overcame him.

A part of Tucker, the part he couldn't let himself listen to, wondered how he'd ever let Sammy go, while another part knew that he couldn't put the baby down fast enough.

And after that Tucker was even more careful to keep his distance because he knew, even then, what he was going to do. He was going to divorce himself from his wife and his child.

So he deliberately held himself back from getting to know his son because, as he saw it, the less they knew of each other, the easier it would be to leave.

A boy couldn't miss someone he'd never known, could he?

Tucker's laugh was a joyless sound.

He was a father, and he certainly missed the son he barely knew. And now that he'd seen the boy, the longing was even stronger. He wished he'd known Sammy as a baby, as a toddler, as a terrible two-year-old, through all the years in which he'd grown to the ripe old age of six.

Six. To Tucker it seemed like a lifetime, now that all that time was gone and the regrets were eating away at him.

It was a night for regrets. Come morning, he would put them behind him. He had to. If he carried them along with him for the rest of his life, they'd kill him for sure.

Besides, if he'd learned one thing in the lonely years since he'd left, it was the fact that a man could change. He knew the mistakes in his past couldn't be dismissed, but he also knew yesterday wasn't nearly as important as today.

And the past was nothing compared to what he could make of his future.

He had time to get to know Sammy. He would take the time, and he would make things right. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he didn't.

And Rebecca? What in the world was he going to do about Rebecca?

Through the still-dim light of the coming dawn, he stared down at his right hand, then closed his eyes and remembered the warmth of her face against his fingertips. He could still feel her warmth there, feel the softness of her skin, feel that spark of awareness that had caught him totally off guard.

Impossible,
he told himself. It was absolutely impossible to be thinking of Rebecca this way.
Missing her? Wanting her?
She hated him, with good reason. He'd made sure of it.

He opened his eyes and looked up into the sky, as if the answers might be lurking above. The night was coming to a close, the sky was warming to a pale pink, light streaking across the horizon line.

Almost dawn. A new day. A second chance for him and Sammy.

Yes, he would get that chance.

But what about Rebecca?

He still remembered so clearly the moment he first saw her, standing in the garden at her father's party. He'd glanced up, and there she was. All that glorious dark hair of hers and pale skin, the big, dark green eyes, all of her looking as beautiful and polished as could be.

He walked straight over to her, thinking she was feigning aloofness toward him. He'd figured out later she was actually a little shy and quiet. Which made him feel oddly protective of her, made him want her all the more. He'd tried not to rush her too much, but it was almost impossible.

She robbed him of every bit of polish and ease he'd had with most every other woman he'd ever wanted, dissolved his innate cynicism about love and marriage, made him ignore every bit of good sense he had about what he'd wanted in life at that time. Which was the kind of success that came with working his tail off and ignoring most every aspect of his personal life.

Finding out she was his new boss's daughter should have put her off limits. He didn't want complications like that, didn't want any one thinking he'd taken short cuts to his success. He wanted to earn it, plain and simple.

God, Rebecca.