Taking Her Time Read online

  TAKING HER TIME

  Cait London

  TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

  AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

  STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID

  PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

  Valentine’s Day is my favorite holiday

  and I am so pleased to be invited into

  this special Silhouette Books project.

  This novella is dedicated to little boys.

  May they grow to be considerate and loving men,

  sweethearts, lovers, husbands and fathers.

  Happy Valentine’s Day!

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 1

  Her grandmother’s house was now Carly’s.

  All Carly Walker Redford needed to do was to attend the Friday afternoon reading of the will, and the house would be legally hers. During the two weeks she’d arranged away from her demanding advertising position in Denver, Colorado, she planned to complete the ownership paperwork. After an early morning flight from Denver to Kansas City, and a four-hour drive to rural Missouri, she just had time to visit the home she’d always loved.

  A long sweet feeling of homecoming filled her in the hot July afternoon. Sadness that her grandmother, Anna Belle Beaumont, had passed away tempered Carly’s sense of well-being. It was one o’clock now, but tonight, she would stay in her grandmother’s room, and probably cry a bit, about the loving woman who had passed away a month ago. Grams would always be a part of her life, tucked away in Carly’s heart. Now, her grandmother’s house would become Carly’s private retreat from her high-pressure advertising job. She’d take her holidays and extra time to destress, to tend her grandmother’s roses and garden and polish the beloved old furniture. Stiles Advertising had agreed that their “hot-shot, prime, killer advertising executive” could work both in Denver and “remote,” using her laptop to communicate.

  Carly would have her grandmother’s home and the challenges she loved.

  Even a person who thrived on challenges tired eventually.

  Carly pulled her rented car into the driveway that curved off the shady quiet street in Toad Hollow, Missouri. She parked beside the little home nestled beneath huge shady oaks and took off her designer sunglasses.

  If her future worked out with Gary Kingsley, this might be their private retreat. Gary, a man she’d met in Denver, suited what she wanted from life—a rising, sharp executive-type. At thirty-one Carly could feel the warning press of her biological nesting clock, the need to see her own children swinging in Anna Belle’s backyard.

  Carly slowly scanned the well-kept front yard. July’s roses were almost ready to burst into color as they bordered one side of the lot. She made a mental note to thank Mrs. Storm, a next-door neighbor, who had taken over tending Anna Belle’s yard.

  A curved row of flat stones led down to the street’s mailbox that still read A. Beaumont. A light breeze stirred the backyard scents from her grandmother’s mint and lavender, where Carly used to swing from the old oak tree.

  She badly needed the comfort and quiet and safety of her grandmother’s home. The commute she’d planned to the retreat would be easy, since she’d bring her workload with her. In a competitive business, she couldn’t afford to lose contact entirely with sales.

  With a sigh, Carly picked up her overnight case and laptop and slid from the car. She rounded it to open the trunk and take out two suitcases, placing them on the driveway. The boxes of personal items she had sent to herself would probably be waiting at the local post office. For now, she just wanted to let the house’s warmth and memories enfold her, a sweet homecoming. She’d settle into the perfect little house and then start a brief daily working routine, telecommunicating with her office—and Gary Kingsley.

  A woman who always planned her life—except for The Incident that almost destroyed it—Carly was a woman who had things to line up.

  Hitching up her shoulder bag and laptop straps, Carly took her key chain and walked up to the front steps, just where she’d spent her childhood sitting on her grandmother’s lap and watching the night’s fireflies dance across the lawn. The house wasn’t usually locked, but since Carly had left after the funeral a month ago, she’d thought safety was best. Carly slid a key into the lock and frowned as the old brass knob turned and the door opened from the inside.

  Tucker Redford, Carly’s ex-husband, stood in the doorway. His dirty T-shirt matched his worn jeans and workboots, sawdust lay in his too-long black hair, and he held a sandwich in his left hand. While Carly was trying to recover, Tucker finished the bite he was chewing and swallowed. His steel-blue eyes narrowed and looked down her body. “Well, well, well. Look who’s here.”

  He slowly took in the practical outfit she’d chosen for the long drive and the move into her grandmother’s home—a denim vest and flowing black pants. His gaze rose slowly up to her face and her eyes locked with his.

  She’d loved him passionately as a child, as a teenager and as a young wife. Now she wanted to toss him out of her way and out of her life—as if that was possible.

  Their paths had crossed several times in the eleven years since they’d divorced, and Tucker’s deep, slow voice had never failed to nettle her. Every tone held a taunt she wanted to dive right into and tear apart. In the past, she’d managed dignity somehow, escaping any uncertain situation quickly. But now he was standing in her grandmother’s house. He even looked as if he belonged there and that thought ignited Carly’s temper. “Exactly what are you doing here?”

  Tucker took another bite and chewed slowly. Around it, he said, “Lunchtime.”

  Then he reached down and slid her key out of the lock, and with a familiar move that a longtime friend and boyfriend and husband could make, he slid the key into the chest pocket of her denim vest.

  “Get out of my grandmother’s house.” Carly attempted to push by him, but Tucker at six-feet-two-inches was taller than her. Eight hard inches of tall EX- husband. And the rest of him was all muscle, too, even more developed than when they were married.

  Tucker’s big hand opened on her forehead to gently push her backward on the front porch. His blue eyes darkened within the frame of black lashes and that hard unshaven jaw locked. The long leg he had just extended ended with a big steel-toe work boot that blocked her entry. Tucker always had big feet to match the rest of him and now they were in her business.

  It had been a few years since they’d tangled and she’d forgotten how cold those blue eyes could be, as silvery as frost. “Simmer down, Carly,” he said. “You’re all wound up.”

  Carly struggled to restrain herself, to cling to some shred of dignity. She was an advertising executive, after all. But Tucker Redford was standing in her grandmother’s house as if he owned it, eating his lunch!

  “It’s my house, and you’re not welcome in it,” she managed.

  Tucker braced one hand on the doorframe, and leaned against the other side, effectively blocking her entry. He took another bite and chewed slowly. “So how’s Denver?”

  She checked her wristwatch and glanced down the street. She didn’t want anyone to see that her ex-husband was keeping her from her property so easily. “Busy. And so am I. The reading of the will is in two hours, Tucker, and I don’t have time to mess with you.”

  He lifted an eyebrow and that blue gaze slid from her face around her hair, newly tinted in streaks to lighten the midbrown shades. “Is that so?”

  Carly straightened the straps of her overnight tote and the laptop, which had somehow become tangled and threatened to strangle her. “Yes, that’s so. Now
get out.”

  “Can’t,” he said slowly as he watched her.

  She struggled not to notice the straps tightening on her throat. To look unaffected, despite her anger and frustration, she propped a hand on her hip. Carly stared at him and asked tightly, “Exactly why not?”

  “I live here.”

  Her grandmother’s affection for Tucker had always been there—even when he had stolen a freshly baked apple pie from her window because Carly couldn’t wait a minute more to eat it. “Grams passed away a month ago, Tucker, right here in this house. If she wanted you to watch the house until I came for the reading of the will, I suppose that made her feel better, and that’s okay. But you’ll have to leave now. Get whatever you need and get out.”

  Tucker reached slowly to ease one strap from her neck to her shoulder. “Lunchtime isn’t over. We’re waiting for a truckload of lumber. They’ll call me before they deliver. Good quality stuff, too. They’ll pick me up on their way by the house.”

  “My house, Tucker. I mean, move out, not just go to work.”

  “Now, Carly, settle down. You know I have to go to work. You know that I took over Dad’s construction business. Not a big company, but we manage on small jobs.”

  “I know all that. I know everything about you. I always have.”

  At that, Tucker’s eyebrow lifted again, mocking her. On their wedding night, she hadn’t been experienced and he had been.

  They’d been best friends since she was three and he was four, and then they were high school sweethearts. Carly had always thought they would share that first sexual experience—together.

  Then, before they were married, Tucker had experienced the older, endowed back seat hottie, Ramona Long.

  On her wedding night, Carly had discovered that Ramona Long had sampled Tucker before his bride!

  He’d always seemed so hot and ready like a simmering volcano before they got married. But of course, back then in their small town, good girls didn’t. Or that’s what he’d told Carly while fighting her off before their wedding night.

  On their wedding night, Tucker had been sweet and tender and patient. Because he’d already done the deed with Ramona and knew how to prime a woman and—

  None of that mattered now, Carly decided firmly, as she struggled to recover her poise. “I refuse to stand here, on my grandmother’s front porch, and argue with you, Tucker Redford. I’m going to the reading of the will—”

  “Samuel Lawson was Anna Belle’s attorney—”

  “I know that, Tucker.” She was deeply tired from working overtime, carving these two weeks away from stressful advertising campaigns. Now her ex-husband was in her house, wasting her time.

  “And Sam is at the lunch meeting of Toad Hollow’s businessmen. You’ll have to wait. They’re having elections today to decide who is going to run the barbecue grills on Labor Day.”

  “Well, my. Aren’t you just full of information…. Make sure everything is neat and clean when you leave—before I get back,” she said tightly. She wouldn’t ask him for a favor of any kind, not even to place her bag and boxes and laptop inside the house until after the reading of the will. She turned and walked down the front steps. Carly threw her bags into the car and opened the trunk. She hefted one suitcase into the trunk and struggled to get the other one to fit beside it. When she slammed the trunk down, Tucker was still standing at her grandmother’s door, finishing his sandwich.

  Carly rounded the car, slid into the driver’s side and jammed on her sunglasses. Through the amber tints, she sent him a silent eviction notice.

  He showed his teeth, and the front door swung closed between them.

  “Okay, Tucker. Have it your way.”

  When the lumber truck pulled away out onto the state highway, Tucker strapped on his tool belt and swung up onto the rafters of Tommy Jackson’s new barn. On his way upward, Tucker took off his T-shirt and tossed it to another rafter. The bright July sunshine slid through the skeletal framework and Tucker gave himself over to the sweet scent of fresh new Georgia pine lumber.

  The barn was small by country standards, but sturdy and tight. It fit the young rancher’s finances. Tucker had designed the barn to allow the Jacksons to build an addition when they could. There wasn’t much profit to be had from the little barn, but Tucker liked helping people when he could. Redford Construction, started by Tucker’s father, had been in business for years and had no need to spend advertising money; they depended on local goodwill and recommendations. The company motto, No Job Too Small, Or Too Big ran across his truck, which was in Jimmy’s Garage for repairs.

  Tucker climbed the ladder to a ceiling joist and, standing on it, reached up and hoisted himself up on top of the roof. There, Jace Melba lay on his back, his eyes closed, his expression dreamy—probably because of the empty Fruitylicious Chocolate Pie wrappers in his open lunch bucket. Arlo Newman and Fred Austin hadn’t returned from their lunch break down at the MidTown Cafe. Both men were single and eyeing a newly divorced Sally Jo Simon, who had let it be known that she was looking for someone to keep her company.

  Tommy Jackson hadn’t come out of the farmhouse yet to help, probably helping his wife admire their brand-new baby. Tommy’s cows grazed in the green fields, and the fine, warm day should have soothed Tucker.

  But it didn’t.

  He eased down to sit beside Jace. Tucker needed to think and make his gut unknot. Carly always had that effect on him, since they were racing their tricycles down the sidewalk in front of Anna Belle’s house. Eleven damn years since their divorce hadn’t changed the way that his heart went flip-flop every time he saw her.

  Hell, after they were married, it took a week to get her to fully make love.

  Carly had a way of destroying any peace he could build around himself—like showing up while he was watching his favorite noon-time game show.

  There Carly had stood on the front porch, looking stunned and cute when he’d swung open the door to see who was fiddling with the lock. There she stood, all five foot six of big honey-brown eyes—ones that a man could fall into and his mind would stop—and everything he’d planned and dreamed for since they shared Popsicles on Anna Belle’s front porch.

  She had done something strange to her hair, putting streaks in it. Her hair had that soft sleek look, just brushing her shoulders. The fitted denim vest reminded him how he used to like to open her buttons slowly, one by one, and the wide-legged black pants clung to her swaying hips as she strode away from the house. The knot in his gut tightened just one hitch, because he surely hadn’t ever forgotten how long and curved and soft those legs were, or how they quivered when he came home to them. Add those to the funny little thong sandals with the rhinestones and the red polish on her toenails and the gold band snaking around her upper arm, and he might have been interested—if Carly had been any other woman but his ex-wife.

  The sleek muscles in that upper arm said she could probably still throw a baseball pretty well, or hold him tight. Not that he wanted to be held by the woman who had shamed him in front of the whole town by saying, “I need more than marriage to you and a houseful of kids, Tucker. I need to be someone, not just your wife and the legend of Toad Hollow.” But she was the only woman he’d ever loved.

  That was how he’d always thought of Carly—as his wife, the mother of his children, his soul mate.

  But that wasn’t enough for Carly; she had to divorce him. Not that he couldn’t see it coming with all the arguments they’d had about who played what role in their marriage.

  He had been wrong about the woman always washing the dishes and cleaning house. But by the time he figured that out and that a woman just might need more, the argument trail was just too deep and easily ignited.

  In the field sprawling below his barn-roof perch, a bull mounted a cow. The sight did little to distract him from thoughts of Carly and the pain that had never healed.

  Tucker watched Tommy and his wife step out into the sunshine, a sweet little baby girl in Emma’s ar
ms. A forgotten little pain squeezed Tucker’s heart. That was how he always thought it would be with Carly, sweet and forever.

  “Something bothering you, Tucker?” Jace asked lazily. “You’re awfully quiet. I can almost hear you thinking.”

  “Not a thing on my mind, Jace. Relax a bit before Arlo and Fred turn up.”

  While Jace yawned and pulled his ballcap lower on his eyes, Tucker settled in to think about Carly. He’d be damned if he’d let the whole town know that the pain was still there, knifing him in his gut. He hadn’t been enough for her; she’d always wanted more. The squabbles in their young marriage had been enough to sour him on any woman. But damned if he’d let anyone know that either.

  Carly had looked drained and thin and shadows spread beneath those honey-brown eyes. She looked like someone needed to cuddle her.

  But not him—oh no, he’d had enough of Carly doing everything she could to make his life miserable, haunting his dreams, making him take cold showers at midnight. She couldn’t ever let go of the fact that Ramona Long had him first.

  “Who’s that coming down the road like a bat out of hell?” Jace asked, rousing enough to sit up.

  Carly’s navy-blue car with the rental plates left clouds of dust behind it as she came toward the barn. She didn’t slow for the cattle crossing, and the car did a bump routine as the tires passed over the crossing’s bars. The car skidded to a stop by the barn. Carly slammed the door and stood looking up at Tucker with her tinted amber sunglasses.

  “I am going to kill you, Tucker Redford,” she yelled up at him.

  “Is that Carly?” Jace asked, clearly stunned.

  “That would be her.” All one hundred and fifteen pounds of sheer female trouble, and Tucker wasn’t having a second go-’round with her.

  “I think I’d be scared if she ever said that to me,” Jace muttered and his three-hundred pound bulk seemed to shudder beneath his bib overalls. “Everyone knows what she’s capable of.”