But I need to hold my ground. “Please?”
He nods, but I can tell he’s torn.
In my heart, I know I wouldn’t be here if he had any sort of romantic feelings for that girl. The problems lie everywhere else. The woman’s relationship with his sons… with his sister.
I hate that she’s managed to come between us.
We’re too new. Too vulnerable.
I’m scared because I feel like this three weeks before the wedding has turned into something of a trial period.
Before travelling here, I’d had this fantasy in my head. I’d arrive, his family would love me. The boys would need me. We’d have this honeymoon period before the wedding.
Maybe I’ve been a bit naïve.
I need to be honest with myself.
I’ve been a lot naïve.
“I best be headin’ out. Told Colt we’d leave by six.” Tucker’s voice swings me back to the present.
“Do you think you’ll be late?” I know nothing about what he does. Where he’s going. I have no car. No friends. I don’t want to sound spoiled, or churlish, it’s just that… this isn’t at all what I’d imagined.
“Isa, I don’t know.” God, he sounds so tired now. “Until I get out there. Til’ Colt and I track ’em down. I just don’t know.” In his eyes I see something of an apology.
Gah! Now I feel like I’m nagging him. “Just…” I lift the corners of my mouth in a halfhearted smile. “Be careful, okay?”
He presses one last quick kiss against my lips and then disappears out the door.
I try to take a few deep breaths. This ranch, though. It doesn’t stop. I’m amazed he was able to take that week off to come down to St. Thomas.
So much, if not all of the responsibility falls on Tucker’s shoulders.
The last thing in the world I want is to add to his burden.
I want to take some of the load from him.
At that thought my heart drops. I’m probably the least capable person in the world to help him with any of it.
Once Tucker’s gone,I can’t fall back to sleep. Too many thoughts whirling around in my head.
I might as well be productive. First task at hand is to salvage what I can from my suitcases. I should have gone through everything last night. This morning everything smells musty.
I’m happy to discover a second washer and dryer behind one of the doors next to Tucker’s room. I put in a load and then, uncomfortable with procrastinating any longer, make my way down to the kitchen in one of Tucker’s T-shirts and my yoga pants.
Maggie is sitting at the counter on a barstool, reading from a laptop and drinking coffee.
“Good Morning.” I send a tentative smile in her direction. “Any more where that came from?” My gaze flickers toward the steaming brew.
She nods but doesn’t smile. “Help yourself. Cups are in the cupboard right over the maker.”
I go rummaging until I’ve located an appealing cup. Because the cup matters almost as much as the coffee. I don’t want one that’s too thick, or too smallish. Ah, here’s one that’s just right. I’m glad I drink my coffee black, that way I don’t need to go searching through the large refrigerator for creamer. “Did you sleep well?” I’ve always been something of a master at small talk. This woman would make a great poker player, though. I have no idea whether she’s wishing me to perdition, or simply reading something fascinating online.
She finally meets my eyes. “Haven’t had a good night’s sleep in two years.”
“No! That’s horrible. My mom gets really bad restless leg.” Maybe I can get her talking about this. I’m a good listener and people tend to like a good listener.
She frowns. “I just don’t sleep like I used to.” And then I seem to recall that Tucker’s father passed away about two years ago.
