Lori. “We’re kind of busy, you know?”
“Honey, we have to get going.”
Brody groaned. “Aw, Mom…”
“No whining. Go on into the pool house and change into your shorts and T-shirt.”
“But, Mom, Fargo and I were just—”
She put on her sternest, most no-nonsense expression. “Get moving.” The round two-sided cabana was about fifteen feet behind where she and Tucker sat, nestled among a row of brightly blooming crape myrtles. “Now.” She jabbed a thumb back over her shoulder.
Brody rolled his eyes at her and groaned some more, but he did trudge on past, with Fargo trailing after him, lazily wagging his long, frizzy tail.
“Wow,” said Tucker. “You’re tough.”
She pretended to scowl. “Yeah. So you’d better not mess with me.” Lori’s flowered capris and knit top were folded neatly on a bench in the women’s side of the pool house, waiting for her to get in there and put them on. She braced her hands on the arms of her chair and started to rise.
Before she pushed all the way to her feet, Tucker brushed her arm with a light hand. The touch set every nerve humming. She dropped back into her chair.
He said, “I hope we can do this again.”
“Yes. Well. Um, that would be nice…”
“Hey. Look at me.”
She forced herself to meet those deep, dark eyes of his and told him honestly, “I had a great time—and so did Brody, in case you didn’t notice.”
“I noticed…”
Beyond his broad shoulder, a lightning bug blinked on and winked out, a too-brief golden glow in the night. The crickets sang from the grass.
Lori found herself thinking what she knew she shouldn’t: of all that might have been—if Tucker had answered his door that day she went looking for him in Austin, if he’d stayed in one place long enough to receive one of her letters, if she’d told him the night of the prom that it wasn’t Lena he was making love to, if she’d stepped forward the next morning and told him then, when he came to the door…
If, if, if.
There was no point in going there. What might have been simply wasn’t.
She’d kept her secret. And he’d moved away. Far, far away.
She had tried to reach him and he hadn’t been reachable.
And then there was Henry.
Henry, who had loved her in a deep and steady way. Henry, who had been just the father her son needed. She had loved Henry. She still did. Henry was the rock she’d built her till-then floundering life upon. She couldn’t imagine what her world would be like now, if she’d never known him. With Henry, she’d come into her own as a true adult.
Tucker still watched her. His gaze tempted her…to reach for him. To lose herself.
And it came to her: a part of her resented her own powerful response to this man who was her son’s natural father. Her hard-won adult self didn’t trust that he still managed to stir her in exactly the way he’d stirred her as a confused and yearning seventeen-year-old girl. When she looked into Tucker’s velvet-brown eyes, she felt like a kid again. As if she hadn’t matured or changed one bit in the eleven years since the unforgettable night that set her life spinning onto a new and unexpected course.
The emotions—the passions—he roused in her scared her. A lot. They made her feel less, somehow, than she wanted and needed to be. They called into question her whole life, all her choices, between that fateful night when Brody was conceived and this moment—this moment, when she should be in the cabana putting on her clothes, but wasn’t. This moment, when she couldn’t seem to make herself turn away and rise from her chair.
She gave another wimpy stab at doing what she should. “I ought to get dressed.”
“I know.” He gave her a smile that she couldn’t quite read. It seemed part male appreciation. And part something else…
Something very, very dangerous. Something intimate and tender.
That did it.
Lori jumped to her feet and headed for the cabana, achingly aware of his gaze on her back the whole way.
Tucker watched her go, and marveled…
How had this happened? How could he be so absolutely, beyond-a-shadow-of-a-doubt sure? He didn’t know. And as he’d told her a few minutes before, how didn’t matter anyway.
Still, it was amazing. He’d only known her a few short days—and no, to him, the past didn’t count. All those years ago, when they were kids and he was going with Lena, he hadn’t known Lori then. Not in any way that mattered. Not the way he knew her now.
The past, to him, was nothing. As he’d told Lori, he’d been a fool, then.
He couldn’t even see her then. When he tried to remember her back then, he saw a shadow of a person, a quiet girl who looked like Lena.
It was all different now. He no longer saw Lena when he looked at Lori. Now, he saw her, Lori Lee, completely independent of her twin. And he could see them, already, the three of them—Tucker and Lori and Brody. He could see how it would be, see it clear as a bright Texas morning.
He saw them as a family. Saw the nights like this one that would be theirs all the time; saw their lives, his and Lori’s, together, raising Brody.
And afterward, when Brody was grown up and gone, he could see just the two of them, on their own—well, unless there were more kids to raise. That would be okay with him, too.
It would all be okay with him, as long as he could have Lori at his side for the rest of their lives.
It was pretty strange and new for him, yes. But he was dealing with it. He was just fine with it—in spite of the fact that he’d never been the kind to see himself with another person. He’d known quite a few women, been involved in a number of blazing-hot affairs. The heat and the longing never lasted. He’d never expected it to.
Looking back, he wouldn’t say he’d loved them and left them, exactly. He’d simply never been the kind who considered settling down. No matter how white-hot things got, he always knew the day would come when he’d be moving on.
He’d been changing, though, in the last few years. He’d put down roots in his hometown. Now, he had no problem seeing himself as a family man; he saw himself as Lori’s husband and Brody’s father.
And Tucker liked what he saw.
Chapter Four
“You what?” Tate grabbed his brandy and took a big gulp.
“I’m going to marry Lori Lee Taylor,” Tucker said calmly for the second time.
They sat in Tate’s study in matching leather wing chairs, boots up on the tufted ottoman between them, sipping their after-dinner brandy while Molly was busy upstairs with the babies.
Tate slanted Tucker a glance from under the dark shelf of his brow. “Does Lori Lee happen to know that you’re her future husband?”
“Not yet.”
Tate chewed on that for a moment, then demanded, “You even been out with her?”
“Yep. Last night she and her boy, Brody, came over. Brody rode Little Amos. Then we had barbecue and went swimming. It was great.”
“Came over? Here? To the house? I didn’t see her—or the boy.”
“Because you weren’t