The House on Persimmon Road (18 page)

Agnes sniffed as if smelling something odious. “In my day a man would come up to the door to call for his date.”

“In your day they still used horse and buggy,” quipped Pauline.

Justine’s guilt and tension restructured itself. “Look, if it’s going to cause all this hassle, I’ll just tell Tucker I’ve changed my mind.”

“You will do no such thing,” insisted Pauline. “You’ve earned a night out. If Agnes becomes ill, I’ll take care of her.”

“I’d end up dead for certain then,” Agnes muttered.

Pauline put down her needlepoint, shoved Justine’s purse into her hands, and ushered her out onto the front porch. “I can recall the times when you couldn’t wait to get away.”

“I’m older now.”

“All right, if you don’t want to go, ask Tucker if he’d mind a substitute. I’d like a night out myself.”

Justine laughed. “Okay, Mother. Point taken.”

He was leaning against the cab of his truck, chatting easily with the children. When he looked up at her, his smile was disarming and sexy. Justine knew he meant it to be. She suddenly had another dozen instructions for Pip and Judy Ann. Tucker shook his head, gently pried her away, and handed her up into the cab. Justine’s hands were so unsteady she could barely fasten the seat belt.

Once they were off, it seemed to Justine they were acknowledging each other only by a soft flurry of vibrations. She was doing her best to remain cool and detached, to deflect the wealth of emotions that threatened to swamp her.

A quarter mile down the road he said, “If you’d honestly rather not do this, we can turn around…”

“I’m nervous.”

“All because of a hamburger and beer?”

“Because I haven’t been on a date in fifteen years! I don’t know what’s in—how to act, what to say—”

“Calm down, be yourself. You mind riding in the truck?”

“No, why should I?”

“See? Now we have an ordinary conversation going here. Easy as pie.” He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “Did you miss me?”

She had counted the days and finally, the hours. “No.”

“Nine days and you didn’t think of me once?”

“Well, when you called.”

“I’ve got to think about this. Watch the scenery.”

She did, but more often her gaze slid to his profile, his hands on the wheel, or the jean-clad length of his legs. He’d had his hair cut, and he smelled of a seductive woodsy after-shave. There had to be something primitive in the olfactory nerves, else why did his aftershave cause sudden erotic images in her brain.

At the stop sign before they got onto the highway he looked at her, and Justine could feel the warmth of his eyes on her lips.

—  •  —

Tucker sensed Justine was wholly unaware of her impact on him. The light scent she wore filled his nose, swirling around him like an aphrodisiac. It took all the control he could muster not to pull over onto the verge and take her in his arms.

“You had to think of me,” he said, knowing full well the huskiness of his voice betrayed his thoughts. “No way you couldn’t. The chemistry between us is just cooking away. We’re on the same wavelength. The way I see it, you’re lying. Shame on you.”

Justine salvaged what she could. “Maybe I’m not at the same point in this relationship as you are—or think you are. I’m not even sure we have a relationship.”

“Put any name on it you want. I know what’s plaguing me.” He was creeping up to the danger zone, decided to pull back.
God,
he thought,
I need her.
His entire life had been spent focusing on survival, keeping the wolves at bay. He had ignored and discounted the loneliness that ate at him, nagged him like a toothache. Justine had undone his equanimity.

He had thought he’d get back on track while in Montgomery, but when neither the memory of the soft feel of her skin or the smell of her hair had diminished in his thoughts, he had telephoned her. When she came on the line, his heart sank and swelled happily at the same time. The sound of her voice made him wish he was with her and had her in his arms. Boy oh boy, he had it bad. Back peddling wasn’t taking him anywhere but circles.

Justine wet her lips. “You said something?”

“Halfway thinking out loud.”

“About what?”

“Now that’s a leading question,” he said, smiling. “What if I told you, dreams?” She was beautiful, the expression in her eyes uncertain. Tucker knew he’d have to give her time to catch up, to ripen with love and desire.

“What kind of dreams?”

“Same as everybody else. A cross between fantasy and reality, speaking of which, tell me—what’s with our old friend, the chair, these days?” A quick glance told him she was relieved at the change in subject.

“Nothing now, but it ruled our lives for three days. Pip drew circles in chalk around the legs. It hasn’t moved an inch. I’m not certain that it ever did—on its own, I mean. But convince Pip and Judy Ann of that. Mother deplores it, Agnes ignores it. I sit in it. It’s comfortable.”

“Brave woman.”

“Hardly that. I don’t believe in psychic phenomena. At least, I don’t want to believe in it.” Justine paused. “But if I had to swear on a Bible, I’d have to say it did walk down the hall on its own.”

Tucker grinned. “Put it back outside and see if it trots in again.”

Justine laughed. “I wouldn’t dare.”

“Too bad. I could make rescuing damsels a habit.”

“No doubt you’ve done your share of that.”

“Not nice, and here I am on my best behavior to impress you.”

“If I were any more impressed, I’d have to stand up and applaud.” He laughed, and she knew he was pleased by her approval. Justine could not tear her gaze away from him. He excited her in a way that no other man ever had, including Philip. That was something. Or perhaps now she couldn’t remember how Philip had once excited her. So much had happened to diminish the feelings.

—  •  —

The tavern was a weathered building boasting a much-scuffed wooden floor. It was built on stilts overlooking the Tensaw River. A red neon sign advertised beer and bait. The bait shop was beneath the tavern. A warped wooden floor held rusted bait boxes flowing with salt and fresh water. The air was rank with the smell of dead fish and bait, but not offensive in the soft breeze off the water. Close to shore sea grass undulated in the shallows just beneath the surface. A boat ramp was nearby and from the number of trucks and cars and boat trailers, Justine surmised it was a popular local watering hole.

Tucker guided her to a table near a bank of windows which gave her a view of the river and shell bulwarks bulwarks upon which long-legged water birds perched. A jukebox gave out an old Elvis Presley tune. A middle-aged couple swayed to the music in the small area set aside for dancing.

A few men spoke to Tucker, and the waitress greeted him by name.

“Like it?” he asked.

“Actually, I do.”

“It’s more fish camp than beer joint. I bring my dad here sometimes. Gives him a chance to keep his fish tales up to snuff.”

The waitress set frosted mugs before them. The beer was so cold it hurt Justine’s teeth.

Tucker placed his hand lightly over hers. “Tell me every little thing that’s happened while I was out of town.”

“You’d be so bored you’d never ask me out again.”

“I like the sound of your voice. I just want to hear you talk.”

“You flatter me.”

“So indulge me.”

“I jogged every morning. After that I worked, or did laundry, or pleaded with Milo to quit digging gopher holes and mow the grass. Mother and Agnes practiced their driving. We’re all three studying for our Alabama licenses. Mother wants to find a job…” A shadow flitted across her face.

“And?” Tucker prompted.

“Mother and Agnes fight more than the kids do. I think Agnes is envious. Tucker, I’m listening to myself. You don’t really want to hear this.”

“I’ll tell you when to stop.”

Justine shook her head. “I just wish there was more harmony. I miss it.”

“What about your ex-husband?” Tucker stroked her hand. He hated bringing the man up. It felt as if he was hitting himself over the head with a club. But if there was a force in the way of Justine’s feelings for him, he wanted it banished. “Do you miss him?”

Her face closed up. “That topic is still a little raw.”

“In what way?” he kept on, pushing to exorcise the man, erase him from Justine’s mind.

Justine exhaled a long sigh. “I miss what he represented. The three-bedroom ranch, the mother-in-law quarters, the security and safety of being married. I hate it that the children don’t have a father, especially now. Pip needs a firmer hand these days, and Philip was always the disciplinarian. I miss…having somebody there for me…” She trailed off and took another sip of beer. “Enough about me. What about you? Any ex-wives out there?”

“Not a one.”

“Girlfriends?”

“Now and again.”

“Did you ever come close to getting married?”

“Once, but I had a project going that didn’t appeal to her, and there’s the matter of my dad. She thought three’s a crowd. She didn’t like country living either.”

Justine succumbed to a twinge of jealousy. “You lived together?”

“For about twenty minutes.”

“What kind of project?” Changing the subject.

The bottom line. Tucker decided it was still too early to risk it. “Just an old dream. I’ll tell you about it sometime.”

“Dreams can turn out to be nightmares,” she said with feeling.

Tucker gently squeezed her hand. “He really hurt you bad, didn’t he?”

“I was devastated.”

“Wherever he is, I hope somebody rubs his nose in it. Some guys just don’t know how lucky they are.”

“It happens all the time. Mid-life crisis.”

“Drivel.”

Anger glared in her eyes, lighting them from behind. “It’s not drivel. Men turn forty, and poof! They want out.”

“Don’t make the mistake of including me in that group. I had my mid-life crisis when my mother died.”

Justine started.

“Ah. You
have
been including me—giving me black marks when I didn’t deserve them. You can’t go around dishonoring a Southern boy like that, Justine. It riles them no end. As it happens I know just how I want you to make it up to me. Let’s put a quarter in the jukebox and take a twirl on the floor.”

She straightened in alarm. “No! I haven’t danced in years.”

He moved around the table and bent to whisper in her ear. “It’s like this: you either dance with me so I can hold you in my arms or we can go outside and get it on in the truck.”

“I’ll dance.”

His grin was wicked. “Knew you’d see it my way.”

He picked out a couple of old Ray Charles tunes, and once he had the whole of her in his arms, thigh to thigh, chest to chest, he merely stood still. “Oh, Lord,” he murmured. “I knew this was how you’d feel.”

Justine, too, felt the current; her nerve endings pulsed. She moistened her lips. “We’d better dance.”

He two-stepped them about the floor.

She was very much aware of every inch of him pressed against her. It was the music. It seemed to insinuate itself inside her body, making her respond to Tucker without her own volition. She was both dismayed and excited. The sensation of his arms about her left her with no will of her own. It felt wonderful—as if she were whole again. As if whatever essence of womanhood she had left was being forced into bloom. She slipped her hand to the back of his neck. His arm tightened at her waist.

“This is unadulterated hell,” he whispered in her ear. “Like making love with your clothes on.”

“I know,” she whispered back, then flushed deeply realizing she’d just confided something terribly intimate.

They danced two more sets. When the last tune faded, Tucker guided her back to the table, reluctantly relinquishing her to her chair. “Can’t handle any more of that. Maybe another beer will cool me down. Then we’ll eat.” After he gave the waitress their order, he looked at her and with a troubled laugh said, “Remind me, when we leave, you ride in the truck bed. If you sit next to me on the way home I won’t be held responsible for what I might do.”

His voice had a slight quaver and Justine understood that he was as shaken as she. Up until a few moments ago, it had been little more than words between them, the seriousness lightened with jokes. But now…the only thing left to her was to put a good face on it. She patted his hand and put a smile in her voice.

“Don’t worry, you’re safe with me.”

He frowned. “You’re not taking me seriously at all, are you?”

“I can’t.”

“Or won’t?”

“I won’t deny I feel something for you—”

“What do you feel?”

“But one of us has to be practical.”

“Forget practical,” he interrupted, intrigued by the possibility of what she might say. “What do you feel?”

Justine was hanging on to her resistance by a thread. “I—I’m probably in as deep as you.”

Tucker was suddenly flushed by a dizzying uprush of emotion. “Let me just run down the list, to be sure.”

“What list?”

“Just answer yes or no. Does your flesh feel restless?”

“Tucker…”

“I’m not asking you to jump in the sack. I’m just trying to find out if we’re talking the same language. Restless or not?”

“Restless.”

“Your gut feel airy?”

“A little.”

“Only a little?”

She gave him a half smile. “All right, a lot.”

“You feel intoxicated?”

“Yes, because I’ve had two beers on an empty stomach.”

“You feel like laughing when nothing’s funny?”

“Sometimes.”

“Are you terrified?”

She laughed outright. “Unequivocally. Now stop.”

“Last question. His eyes radiated a sudden intensity. “Wanna dance until our food comes?”

“We might embarrass ourselves.”

“We won’t. I just want to hold you close again.”

There were several other couples on the floor. They moved among them for a few steps, then Tucker maneuvered her into the darkest corner. He nibbled on her ear, kissed her brow, and trailed his lips from one eyelid to the other.

Justine’s inner response was so profoundly receptive that all at once she found it impossible to believe it was happening. She pushed him away. “Please, you’ve got to stop.”