Walk Away Joe (5 page)

He’d searched her face, probed the brown eyes that couldn’t quite meet his, and felt that ache of compassion and kinship he’d sworn he wouldn’t let himself feel. The look in her eyes as she faced him had been fragile as glass. It had killed her to come to him. To admit her embarrassment and confront it head-on had been bad enough. To apologize had to have damn near done her in.

He’d felt an unsolicited clutch of pride in her, then damned himself for a fool for even thinking along those lines. As he mounted the bay, he’d had to remind himself that she was nothing to him. Nothing but a pain.

Yet even as he kneed the gelding into a trot and rode away, he’d had to squelch the urge to ride right back to her. To avoid it, he’d worked himself and the colt until they were both in a lather.

Even with the workout, and the ones after that, he hadn’t been able to shake the memory of the look in her eyes as they searched his. It had been surprisingly soft and uncomfortably pensive. He knew better than to get caught up in caring about those looks. Caring led to expectation. Expectation led to promises. Both were traps he avoided at all costs.

That was why he should have felt irritation when he caught sight of her on the porch swing in the covered courtyard of the ranch house when he came in for supper. What he felt, instead, was too much warmth as he watched her play with baby Cody. And too damn much pleasure at seeing her there.

She was still dressed in the yellow tank top and those soft, tight jeans that hugged her curves like a possessive lover. She looked comfortable and natural, like she belonged on the dust and sage of a working ranch instead of the concrete streets of the city. Her black roper boots showed a respectable amount of wear and fit in the way a pair of fancy fashion boots never would. For some reason, that pleased him. Even the way she wore the straw Stetson she’d settled over her dark hair had Texas Born and Bred stamped all over it.

And the soft smile lighting her face when she saw him, then the attentive way she lifted Cody into her arms and dropped an impulsive kiss on his golden curls, filled his chest with an ache he couldn’t have identified or named.

“Hi,” she said, rising from her perch on the swing and settling the pudgy little boy onto her hip.

Tucker stopped and frowned, reaching instinctively to brush a knuckle over Cody’s soft cheek. The baby squealed in delight. “Tuc Tuc!”

“Take it easy, you little tank,” Sara said with a laugh as Cody bounced wildly in her arms. She shifted him from one hip to the other to get him in a better hold, then grinned up at Tucker. “It would seem that he’s glad to see you.”

Their gazes locked over Cody’s head. It was all Tucker could do not to ask if she was glad to see him, too.

Damn fool. Damn stupid fool.

“I hope you don’t mind,” she said, a wariness coming back into her eyes when she encountered his scowl. “That I’m here for supper, I mean. After I made my apologies to Lana, she insisted I eat with you tonight.”

“That sounds like Lana,” he said, because it seemed the safest reply. Much safer than satisfying the unbidden urge to lean down and plant a deep, probing kiss on that sweet, sultry mouth of hers.

“It’s all right, then?”

Hell, no, it wasn’t all right. He needed distance from her, not proximity. But he kept those thoughts to himself and shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

He dodged the wounded look in her eyes, skirted around the jumble of thoughts clouding his head, and walked toward the door.

Maybe it was the need he sensed in her that made him want to reassure her and run from her at the same time. That need was as potent as her scent. It drifted on the air as he walked by her, as exotic as sin, yet as fragile as the yellow roses Lana struggled to bring to bloom despite dry winds and searing heat.

The memory of Sara’s mouth against his clutched at his gut. He had a miserable feeling her taste would linger in his mind even after her scent had faded—if it ever did. And the wanting that accompanied them both would niggle like a deep, throbbing bruise.

Lana opened the door from inside, just as he reached for it.

“Hey, Tucker.” She smiled in greeting as she wiped her hands on a dish towel, then shoved a fall of heavy black hair behind her ear.

“Tag’ll be up in a couple of minutes,” he said, following her gaze toward the barns.

“He’d better be,” she said with a mock scowl. “Because I’m about to put supper on the table, and I fried that chicken he’s been after me to fix.” She switched her attention to Sara and the baby. “And how are you two getting on?”

“We’re doing just fine, aren’t we, big guy?” Sara gave Cody a swift hug, then pressed her cheek to the top of his head when he cuddled against her.

The combination of that instinctive maternal gesture and the sight of the wet spot on her knit top, low on her breast, where the teething two-year-old had drooled, tugged at his chest in a slow, hard pull. Emotions he couldn’t catalog, wants he couldn’t name, tangled with regrets he hadn’t known he harbored and didn’t want to admit, confusing the hell out of him as he watched her holding his brother’s child.

He tore his gaze away, only to collide with her brown eyes. Softly searching, curiously concerned, she met his eyes for the briefest of moments before Lana’s voice jerked him back to the present.

“You have no idea what a help it was having you watch him while I got supper ready,” Lana was saying to Sara. “I’d forgotten what it was like not to have him underfoot. Isn’t that right, sugarbritches?”

Cody reached for his mother when he heard her voice. Lana enfolded the baby’s outstretched hands in her own and nuzzled her face in the curve of his double chins. “You stay with Aunt Sara just a little while longer, okay, baby?”

Tucker’s frown deepened and landed on Sara.
Aunt Sara?

She just shrugged and gave him a helpless grin.

With a snort, he stalked on into the house to clean up. And sort out. And think through.

This was getting sticky. He hit the shower cursing the day he’d set eyes on Sara Stewart. He didn’t like what was happening here. It wasn’t just the ease with which she had won Lana’s confidence. It was more the sense that she seemed to have entrusted that same kind of confidence to him. He wasn’t comfortable with it. Or with the things she made him feel.

Or with the look in her eyes this morning and again tonight when she’d first spotted him, he added grimly. He’d seen that look too many times over the years not to recognize it for what it was. Interest. Physical and emotional. Her curiosity was piqued. Her expectations were heightened.
Is there more to the man than the face and body? Is there substance and strength and something worth finding inside?

Honey, he thought darkly, the answers would disappoint you.

Twisting off the spray, he reached for a towel. He’d known from the outset that she was trouble. What he hadn’t known was that he’d feel this attraction toward her—or this sense of responsibility. He didn’t need Sara Stewart to add to the list of people who depended on him.

He rubbed the towel over his wet hair. He didn’t want to be responsible for her. It was a given that if she cast her lot with him, he’d let her down. When it came to women, he always did. That was one of the reasons he’d done his damnedest to keep his distance. But now that he’d looked into Sara Stewart’s eyes, he had another reason. The bottom line was, if he let himself, he could care about her.

He already cared enough that he didn’t want to hurt her—and enough that he didn’t want her to find him out. Just as she was running from a life she could no longer cope with, he was dodging his own demons—demons that constantly reminded him he couldn’t give any more to a relationship than good sex and bad goodbyes.

He wasn’t proud of it. He wasn’t pleased by it, either. It was just a fact. He couldn’t commit. Couldn’t be depended on. It wasn’t even his fault. It was a matter of blood—a legacy from his father.

Scowling, he dried himself off and tossed the towel over the curtain rod. The genetic accident of good looks and a winning grin were all Les Lambert had ever given him. Hard times and excuses were all his father had ever given Tucker’s mother. Tucker had watched it break her, then finally kill her.

He lived with the memory of his mother’s death and the knowledge that he was just like his old man. He looked like him. He charmed like him. He had the same capacity for using it all to his advantage. The knowledge ate at him like acid.

He’d found out at an early age that he had the same power over women as Les Lambert, and he’d sworn he would never be responsible for causing the kind of pain his father had caused his mother.

That was why he kept his involvements with women fast and loose. No strings. No strain. No misunderstandings that permanence was part of the plan. If they didn’t understand the rules up front, they didn’t play the game. Not with him.

Sara Stewart didn’t yet know the rules. She wasn’t a player in his kind of game. She was a forever kind of woman. In spite of her coming on to him last night, he knew that one-night stands weren’t a regular part of her agenda.

He smiled grimly. In spite of what had happened between them, she thought he was a nice guy. He could see it in her smile. Hear it in her voice.

He pulled on clean jeans, and with grim determination made up his mind. If she kept giving him those soft, slow looks and those shy, sexy smiles, he was going to have to set her straight.

∙ ∙ ∙

“Thanks,” Tucker mumbled, but didn’t look up, when Sara passed him the basket of rolls.

“You’re welcome,” she replied, then caught herself before she asked him what was wrong. For some reason, she was making him nervous. The man was as skittish as a calf at branding time. He thought he was hiding it. He thought he was handling it. He was wrong. Judging from the puzzled looks passing between Lana and Tag, they were at a loss as to what was bothering him, too.

“So, big bro,” Tag said, tearing a warm bun in half and slathering it with butter, “is that little roan gonna be ready for Galveston?”

“She’s coming along,” Tucker said, and dived into his meal again.

Sara looked from Tucker to his younger brother and understood the reason for the adoring glances that Lana cast her husband’s way. Tag was almost a carbon copy of Tucker. He was muscled yet lean, with the same burnished-gold hair, the same tight cowboy butt, and that trademark Lambert smile that could charm a nun out of her habit and into a teddy. Tag might be young—barely into his twenties, she’d guess—but in spite of his boyish teasing and his sometimes macho posturing for Lana, his manner conveyed an underlying maturity and sense of responsibility beyond his years.

It was there in Tucker, too. Not in words so much as in action. He worked hard. They both did. She’d gotten the feeling in the few days she’d been here that both men were driven to succeed by something more far-reaching than paying the bills or getting rich. It was as if they had something to prove. Who they needed to prove it to was anyone’s guess.

Tag obviously didn’t have to prove anything to Lana. She was a dark-eyed beauty, young and in love and as natural a mother as Sara had ever seen. If she didn’t miss her guess, Lana was also in the bloom of the first few months of another pregnancy.

“Saw Sam Commins in town the other day,” Tag said, interrupting her thoughts, as he stabbed another piece of chicken from the platter. “Says he’ll be out one of these first days to check on his filly.”

Tucker snorted. “Let’s just hope he has his checkbook in his hand when he gets here.”

“Mason came through,” Lana offered brightly. “Paid in full, plus two months ahead.”

‘‘Amazing what placing in the money a couple of times will do to loosen up the green,” Tag said, grinning. “That mare of his is one sweet little lady. If she keeps up the pace, she’ll do more’n place her next few times out. She’ll be finishing in the top two or three. The buzz about her will be just what Blue Sky needs to attract more business.”
 

“And the buzz about Poco when he wins the futurity in Fort Worth this winter will guarantee it keeps coming,” Tucker added confidently. “That little stud’s going to write our ticket to a long and prosperous future.”

Tag tossed his brother an ornery grin. “That little stud’s gonna land you and your sorry butt in the dust if you don’t keep your mind on your business any better than you did today.”

“You let me worry about Poco,” Tucker said with a warning glare, and pushed away from the table. “And we’ll worry about business tomorrow. I’ve had as much as I can handle for one day.

“Good supper, Lana,” he added as he stood up and chucked Cody under his double chin.

The baby squealed and offered Tucker a bite from his spoonful of mashed potatoes.

“You eat it, little cowpoke,” he said, grinning. “If y’all will excuse me, I’m outa here.”

He didn’t wait for anyone to respond. Judging from the look Lana and Tag exchanged as he left the room, Sara sensed that his destination was neither a surprise nor a mystery to them.

She wasn’t so lucky. The clutch of disappointment that hit her hard and fast was a big surprise. The devastation she felt when he sauntered toward the door without a backward glance was a total mystery.

“Oh-oh,” Tag uttered as he watched his brother snag a black Resistol from the rack and head out the door. “The black hat.”

“The black hat?” Sara echoed, sensing a significance she wasn’t sure she wanted to be privy to.

“His prowling hat,” Lana explained, casting a worried glance Tucker’s way before she met Tag’s scowl. “A heart’s gonna get broken tonight,” she said with a resigned sigh, and started clearing the table.

A heart’s gonna get broken tonight.
The words echoed through Sara’s mind as she rose in stilted silence to help Lana with the dishes. With concentrated effort, she avoided looking out the window as the sound of a pickup tearing out of the drive infiltrated the evening silence.

Some poor unsuspecting woman was going to feel the heat of Tucker Lambert’s passion and the sting of his goodbye. Sara could almost have felt sorry for her—if she didn’t already feel a little sorry for herself. Which was totally ridiculous.