Tucker's Crossing

By Marina Adair

Sweet Plains, Texas, wasn't so sweet to Cody, Noah, and Beau Tucker. But now the Tucker boys are men, ready to take on the questions that have haunted them since they left home. . .

Cody Tucker shook the dust of his two-bit hometown off his boots ten years ago--right about the time his college sweetheart, Shelby Lynn Harris, married his so-called best friend. But when his dad dies, Cody finds himself home again and knee deep in the past. Except now his rowdy beer buddy is the sheriff, his housekeeper is a blue-ribbon chili chef, and the family ranch is in the red. The only thing that hasn't changed is Shelby Lynn. . .

Shelby Lynn has gone through a lot of heartache thanks to Cody. But that's all over now. She just wants a chance to live the life she's made for herself in peace. The trouble is, the Sweet Plains chili cook off is heating up, the Ladies of Sweet are as riled as hornets, and as soon as Cody gets near, she's forgets all about peace. Cody is pure temptation--and she knows just how good it feels to give in. . .

"A perfect mix of heart and heat, Adair keeps the pages turning." --New York Times bestselling author Jill Shalvis

105,000 Words

• Language: English
• Publisher: eOriginals
• Release date: Aug 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781601830197

Marina Adair

Marina Adair is the bestselling author of beloved romances such as The Eastons series; the Heroes of St. Helena series; and the Sequoia Lake books, It Started with a Kiss and Every Little Kiss. Her St. Helena Vineyard series was the inspiration behind the Hallmark Channel original movie Autumn in the Vineyard. Marina enjoys writing contemporary romance novels in which the towns are small, the personalities are large, and the romance is explosive. She holds a master of fine arts in creative writing and lives with her husband, daughter, and two neurotic cats in Northern California. She loves interacting with her readers. You can follow her on Twitter @MarinaEAdair and sign up for her newsletter on her website at www.MarinaAdair.com/newsletter.

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Chapter 1

Sweet Plains, Texas

I could sue you for breach of contract.

There was never a contract, Shelby Lynn Harris countered, knowing her good friend was just blowing smoke. I said I’d think about it.

You said thanks for the generous offer to use my apartment and then went on and on about what a great friend I am, Gina Echols argued, sinking into an enormous bite of her Blue Burger, the house specialty.

The Bluebonnet Burger, Bar & Biscuit, known as The B-Cubed by locals, was still relatively quiet. It was eleven fifteen, too early for lunchers and not early enough for the hangover crowd. Which, considering the forthcoming topic of conversation and the town’s incessant penchant for prattle, made her relax a little.

Every Wednesday when Shelby’s shift at the clinic ended, Gina insisted they meet here, in the all-in-one saloon, with its hull-covered floors, bar-top tables, and always-past-midnight lighting, whose motto was Come for the burgers and beer, you’ll still be here come biscuits. Gina claimed it was because the dive sat a block down from her office in the county courthouse, but Shelby knew better.

Yeah, the thanks was in regard to the offer, not me accepting it.

It was a verbal agreement. It would hold up in court.

Gina had offered up her condo in Austin and Shelby had seriously considered it, but in the end decided that there was no way she was leaving. Located an hour north of Austin, and with a population of nine thousand, Sweet Plains was large enough to support its own courthouse, kids’ football league, and medical clinic, but small enough to feel safe.

Shelby had lived in more than her share of towns in her thirty-one years, but this one was her favorite. Folks called you by name and cared about your well-being. It was a town that had book clubs and Fourth of July parades and had somehow become her home. Even more important, she intended for it to stay that way.

I’m guessing by the lack of makeup and the excess whine, Cody was a no-show?

That’s okay, so were his brothers. I thought for sure Cody would come home after the reading of his dad’s will. Shelby shrugged. So what now? Plan B, right? She tensed, ready for Gina to rip into her because, they both knew, there was no plan B.

Gina had warned her that Cody wouldn’t come back and wasting time wishing otherwise was a lesson in insanity. But Shelby had, stupid as always when it came to him, waited, certain he would come home for his dad’s funeral and to do the right thing. But the time allotted in the will had come and, as of today, gone.

Now Shelby had to admit—Cody Tucker wasn’t coming back.

This is where you tell me I was too stubborn and blew it.

Mouth’s too full, Gina mumbled around the bits of burger stretching her cheeks.

Maybe they’ll all just stay gone and there won’t be any problems.

Or instead of sitting here, week after week, stressing out and ruining my lunch, you could . . . gee, I don’t know, maybe mail him the contract.

This time Gina wasn’t referring to alternative living arrangements; she was talking about the agreement that Silas, a year before he died, had insisted she have a lawyer draw up. Shelby had procrastinated and now the only Tucker who was on her side was dead. And the only Tucker who could help her had made it clear ten years ago that he never wanted to see her again.

What if he says no?

That’s why you have to put it out there. It’s the only way to put this all to rest and move on.

I doubt I could even find him.

I call bullshit! Gina’s eyes narrowed, assessing Shelby like a witness on the stand, her voice as severe as her tightly coifed bun. And right then, Shelby understood how her sweet friend had become one of the most feared prosecutors in the great state of Texas. The man is sitting pretty in Austin, with a small fortune, mind you. And you’re here. Hiding out and driving a diesel. All you have to do is say the word and I’ll have his ass subpoenaed. Problem solved.

Shelby fiddled with the hem of her work scrubs. That’s not how I want to handle this. There’s a right and wrong way to deal with Cody. If he feels cornered, he’ll just up and run before I get the chance to explain.

Which would be different from your current situation, how?

Gina was right. After two years together, Cody finally opened up, let go of that control he clung so tightly to, and gave her the best night of her life. She’d been expecting a ring, but before she even had the chance to pluck her panties from the ceiling fan, he was bolting out the door and out of her life. Taking her heart with him. That was ten years ago.

Wow. You’re seriously upset. Gina rested her elbows on the table. I thought you said you were over him?

I am, she whispered, glancing around the diner, hoping it was the truth and knowing that if it wasn’t Gina would be able to tell.

You ready to settle your bill? the proprietor of The B-Cubed, and the last woman in town you wanted on your bad side, cut in before Gina could call bullshit again. Mrs. McKinney’s voice was as sugary as sweet tea but the way her plump hands stabbed into her hips, she wasn’t asking, she was demanding.

Can I finish my food first?

As long as you’re paying cash that should be fine. Mrs. McKinney stuck out a hand, expecting payment immediately.

"Should be fine? Gina asked. I’ve been coming here for thirty years. Since when do I have to pay cash? And before I finish eating?"

Since you seem to be having a problem with settling your debts. Mrs. McKinney jerked her chin toward the window, her crop of white hair bouncing in the process.

Gina looked through the generously stenciled panes, her eyes pinching into two pissed-off slits. Oh no, you don’t!

Grabbing a butter knife, Gina threw her napkin on the counter and stalked out the door, the bell jingling angrily in her wake. Because there, across the main strip of road that went through the heart of Sweet Plains, next to Bub’s Feed & Tack and directly in front of the sheriff’s office—where everyone in town was already gathered and those who weren’t would soon hear about it—sat Gina’s red sports car about to be accosted by a dirty yellow tow truck. And next to the curb, holding a department-issued clipboard and weighing in at two hundred pounds of armed good looks, was Gina’s reason for eating at The B-Cubed. Sheriff Logan Miller.

Oh, boy. Shelby scrambled out of the booth, grabbing her purse.

Mrs. McKinney reached out for her arm. The total is eighteen, ninety-four. Plus gratuity.

Shelby tossed a twenty on the table and, ignoring Mrs. McKinney’s reminder that twenty percent was the Southern way, raced out to stop Gina before she went from misdemeanor to felony with a deadly butter knife.

A blast of hot air hit her as she walked outside. Crossing the street, she waved at Beatrice Brice, of Bea’s Quilting Barn. A handful of howdy’s and a sun’s so hot it’s like a turkey on Thanksgiving out here later and Shelby was at the scene of the soon-to-be crime.

You don’t even have enough cars to use up all the spaces, Logan, and you know it! Gina accused.

Logan focused on the task at hand, writing out a ticket in that little notebook of his, not even sparing Gina a glance, which irritated her more. But Shelby noticed that under his hat his eyes were crinkling at the corners, fully aware that he was pushing each and every button Gina possessed. And enjoying it.

Plus, I work for the county. Just like you! This is abuse of power!

Logan looked up, pushed his hat back and jerked his head to the side. Sign right there stipulates patrol cars only. And you, sweetheart, are a lawyer, not a deputy. Maybe living in the big city things were different, but here the law’s pretty straightforward. Logan tore off the ticket and held it out. Would think with that fancy degree you’d be able to figure it out on your own, especially seeing as how we’ve had this talk before.

She grabbed the ticket, ripped it into a dozen pieces, took off his hat, shoved them inside and slammed it back on his head. Wouldn’t want a littering ticket now, would I?

The car jerked forward as Mister engaged the winch to pull it onto the flatbed of the truck. Running to the front of the car, wedging her body between the bumper and her symbol of big-city success, Gina splayed her hands over the hood, trying to stop its movement.

Mister, you stop this right now or I’ll tell Ms. Luella I saw you eating a slice of Mrs. McKinney’s peach pie at The B-Cubed last week. With ice cream.

Mister hesitated, for just a moment, his mouth going a little slack. Shelby’s mouth, on the other hand, gaped open. Was Ms. Luella seeing Mister? And was Mister blushing? She really needed to pay more attention if she was ever going to become a small-town girl.

Now, you wouldn’t do that. Ms. Luella would be serving Rocky Mountain oysters for supper, and they’d be mine. Mister took off his trucker’s hat that read Mister’s Auto and Body: Certified Mechanic and Acupuncturist, tipping it respectfully. Sorry for the language, Shelby.

It’s all right. Shelby laughed, understanding his fear. Ms. Luella can get a little . . . competitive over her baking.

Competitive? Hell, the woman downright scares me. Haven’t eaten out once since we started seeing one another. Afraid she’d accuse me of cheating. Only went to The B-Cubed ’cuz Ms. Luella’s a purist, which I admire, but with it being so hot out I really wanted some ice cream on my pie.

Well, if you still want to walk come morning, then you’d better release my car, Gina threatened, pulling out her phone and scrolling to Ms. Luella’s number.

Stop bullying Mister. He’s just doing his job, the sheriff said.

Come on, Logan. Gina pocketed her phone. Let me off with a warning. Most people would take her begging and sunken shoulders as a sign of defeat, but Shelby knew her friend was just changing tactics. You can’t impound my car. I’ve got court today.

Walk.

It’s the Olsen case. I’ve got all that physical evidence to carry.

That case is so tight you don’t even need to show up. The guy practically convicted himself.

I promised I’d take Sidney to see that new Winnie-the-Pooh movie.

Boom, a direct hit. Logan stopped at his daughter’s name and ran his hand over the back of his neck. A few years ago he’d been married to his college sweetheart, recently elected sheriff, and a proud new papa. All it took was a dark county road, one drunk driver, and a blind turn to leave Logan a widower, Sidney motherless, and Gina a twin without her other half.

Logan’s world was Sidney and he would do just about anything for her. Including toss out a parking violation, which was more about teaching his impulsive sister-in-law a lesson than upholding the law.

All right, promise not to park in my men’s spot anymore and I’m willing to deal.

I knew you’d cave. Plus, I have a request in with the city to redistrict some of those spots to the county prosecutor’s office.

"You are the county prosecutor’s office."

Gina shrugged.

It’ll never pass. Anyway, do you want to hear my deal?

Gina circled her hand impatiently, indicating that he continue.

We’ve got a problem with the Summer Sweet Spectacular. According to Opal Peterson, she went and had herself a stroke, rendering her incapable of speaking. Logan put up a disbelieving hand. "No proof exists to support her claim, which she called to inform me of. Hell, as far as I can tell she hasn’t been to the hospital in over a year, plus I saw her doing water aerobics at the community pool on Monday. But, since I can’t call a woman who has been in my mom’s knitting club since before I was born a liar, we’re once again short an event chair."

What? Wait, are you suggesting that I organize the fair? No way! You know I don’t play well with others. That’s why I’m a lawyer.

Your car for a few hours of your time. Take it or not, I don’t care.

Shelby sent up a silent prayer of thanksgiving that Logan hadn’t just conned her into organizing the Summer Sweet Spectacular. She may have made Sweet Plains her home only three years ago, but even she knew how much time, patience, and referee skills it took to organize the Sweet Plains’s annual school fund-raiser.

The biggest downside of small-town living was the school district. Fewer kids meant less funding from the state. So every year, right around the time school was winding down, the town got together and held a fund-raiser. Complete with a Miss Sweet pageant, cook-off, father-son football game, and auction, the fair usually raised enough money to fund the kids’ art and sports programs. And every year the reigning organizer either quit, left the state, or—apparently—tried to claim a brush with death to get out of doing it.

Gina swallowed, her eyes boring into Logan’s, pleading with him to change his mind, offer up another alternative. When he didn’t, Gina succumbed. Fine, but don’t come crying to me when the Ladies of Sweet raise their mint juleps in protest. Because if I do this, I do it my way. I won’t be threatened into throwing the results of a contest or crowning the wrong princess. And there won’t be any frilly decorations.

No frills. Got it. Mister, you can let Gina’s car loose. Logan smiled in a way that made it clear so much more was on the line than a silly fair. With a tip of his hat he said, Ladies, and disappeared into his office.

Are you crazy? Shelby asked, thankful that no one had gotten the blunt end of a butter knife but floored that Gina had put herself in a situation where she would have to work closely with her former brother-in-law, a man she usually avoided if at all possible. You know you’re going to have to actually play nice with the sheriff?

Yeah.

And that the position requires you to attend teas, wear pastel, and socialize with the Ladies of Sweet, Shelby said, referring to the self-titled group of women who, because of power, money, and deep local roots, dictated the social agenda of Sweet Plains—and the Miss Sweet Pageant.

I can be refined when I want.

Didn’t they kick you out?

No, I quit. Which was short for driving a Harley through the middle of the crowning ceremony while sporting leather, a biker, and the finger. Plus, Dawn was a Lady of Sweet. Hell, my great-grandmother was one of the founding members.

Ah, Shelby said, suddenly making the connection. Let me guess, your sister was Miss Sweet and that’s how she won the sheriff.

This has nothing to do with Dawn. Or how she married Logan, Gina shot back. Go there and you’ll find my guest room conveniently booked for the week.

Shelby put her hands up in surrender. You win. No more Logan and Dawn talk, so don’t get any ideas about changing the locks. They have me pulling a double in the ER the night before and after my normal shift. There’s no way I could make it back to the ranch without falling asleep. And what? You can pry into my life, but I can’t even ask about yours?

Damn straight!

Chapter 2

Gravel crunched under his tires, pelting the paint job of his car, as Cody Tucker sped down the same country road he’d driven a thousand times over. Giant oak trees lined the winding lane, gnarled and intertwined, creating a canopy of mottled green. Passing through those iron gates only confirmed that he was back at the one place he’d sworn he’d never return—Tucker’s Crossing.

Besides the surprising lack of cows, the once-thriving cattle ranch looked exactly the same. Tens of thousands of acres of gently rolling hills spotted with scrub oak that made a century of Tuckers seem insignificant. Despite the years of pain and disappointment, the raw beauty of The Crossing never failed to steal his breath. Like it or not, this land was in his blood.

But where the hell were all the cows?

His great-great-granddad was one of the founders of Sweet Plains. Packed up his young wife and headed west from Georgia with the dream of raising cattle. And that’s what he did. What Tuckers had done for four generations. So how the hell could someone run a beef ranch with no cows?

Rounding the last curve, Cody swore when the yellow ranch house tore through the tranquil view. Two stories of history and tradition were held in by the white porch. Massive windows spanned the lower level of the house. And a porch swing, his mama’s favorite place to end the day, rocked silently—empty.

He’d always known his father was a controlling son of a bitch—he just hadn’t known that his old man could still screw with him from the grave. After the reading of Silas Tucker’s will, Cody had loaded up his car and set out for the family ranch at Tucker’s Crossing.

Their mama had loved that house, put every last piece of herself into making it a home. Cody would be damned if his father destroyed that too. Being that there were only three Tuckers left, he knew that if he didn’t step up he’d not only let his mama down but, worse still, one of his brothers would come, determined to make things right. And that was not going to happen.

Noah, two years younger and several inches taller than Cody, was a Texas Ranger in the middle of a career-making assignment. Beau, the youngest and only Tucker who had ever come close to being called charming, as he could charm women into bed and horses out of the chute with one damn grin, had nationals to think about. Plus Cody couldn’t get his mind off of the way his baby brother had looked when Mr. Parnell, the executor of Silas’s will, got to the part about someone having to live at the ranch house. Beau didn’t even blink at the demand but hidden beneath the courage and swagger that comes from being a champion bulldogger, Cody saw something he hadn’t seen since the night he’d gone back for his kid brother—fear.

He wasn’t about to let either of his brothers make that kind of sacrifice just to satisfy their old man’s last attempt at control. He, on the other hand, could work from the ranch and put the plan they’d mapped out into action.

Five years ago, tired of making other people rich, Cody had founded Tucker Industries. What started out as a boutique commodities producer and trading firm quickly went from sweat equity to something that made his family’s wealth look like small change. Now he had the freedom, and the money, to work from wherever. He’d just never imagined wherever would ever encompass Sweet Plains or Tucker’s Crossing. But after a lifetime of protecting his kid brothers, it was a hard habit to quit.

Cody pulled up to the house, cut the engine, and rested his head on the seatback. His eyes locked and held on the three wooden steps that led to the front door. He dreaded the prospect of twelve months of hard time in a place that brought up nothing but bad memories. What a mess.

He grabbed his bag and headed up the walkway. The afternoon sun scorched the earth, cracking the soil into canyons and deep valleys, reducing everything else to dust. Triple-digit temperatures were synonymous with summertime in Sweet Plains, but when they came on as early as May it meant trouble for ranchers and farmers. And Cody had enough trouble on the horizon.

The last thing he wanted to do was go inside that house. He’d spent the past decade working hard to be respected and feared in a cutthroat industry. But right now, looking at that brass doorknob, Cody felt no better than the cowering, snot-nosed kid he used to be.

He knew one thing though—if he turned tail and headed back to Austin, his father won.

Silas, dead set on ruining his kids’ lives, included a stipulation in his will, forcing one of the Tuckers to inhabit the family homestead for a minimum of 365 consecutive days. If they didn’t comply, Cody and his brothers could kiss all claim to the land good-bye. That wasn’t something Cody could live with.

So there he was, ready to get to work. First order of business: clean house. And he wasn’t talking about the floors and windows.

Pushing through the door, he took in the family room. The house was airy and large by normal standards. Then again, nothing Silas ever did was small.

Everything in the place was the same: the perfectly hung portraits, the meticulous rows of leather-bound books—hell, even the porcelain rooster that his mama bought at the summer auction when he was eight was still sitting on the coffee table, looking like the day she brought it home. He half expected to find the old man reading in the recliner.

Hanging his jacket on the rack and wanting to get settled, Cody made his way up the stairs and down the long hallway toward his bedroom. At the third doorway he stopped. Grown man or not, his hands still went clammy when he looked into his parents’ room—well, his mom’s room. His father had stopped sleeping in there when Cody was just a boy.

A flowered sundress hung from the back of the antique vanity. The worn cotton swayed gently, dancing in the breeze that skated through the opened window and bringing with it memories of a happier time and the faint scent of honeysuckle.

God, how long had it been since Cody had set foot in this room? It was the night he’d come home and found Beau in a pummeled heap on the floor, unconscious and barely breathing. He’d carried him to his truck and promised his brother that neither of them was ever coming back.

And he’d be damned if he went back on his word, even if Silas Tucker was dead.

Cody grabbed the handle to close the door when he spotted something that sent his instincts on high alert. Steam was coming up from under the bathroom door.

He reached inside his bag and extracted his Remington .45, letting the bag crumple to the floor. He’d purposely given the housekeeper the day off and told the foreman to send everyone home early so that the house would be empty.

Someone obviously hadn’t gotten the message.

Safety off, he quietly cracked the bathroom door and scanned the room. The rose wallpaper, colored glass bottles, and lace-edged towels were a lot to take in. He could practically hear the sound of the water lapping against the tub wall, feel the burn in his throat, taste the bile, and remember the sight of his mama, her head resting against the ledge, eyes staring into heaven.

Scented steam curled up from behind the curtain, frosting the mirrors and window. The spray of water on porcelain slowed and stopped with a final trickle.

The curtain was pulled back, inch by inch, second by second. Unable to focus past the gauzy haze, his lids widened as one feminine leg stepped onto the bath mat, followed by another, until finally, out from the fog emerged . . . Shelby Lynn?

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Shelby’s nerves jerked into action as the familiar, masculine voice blasted her. The towel spilled from her fingers to pile at her feet, her eyes ricocheting off the gun and into the dark, molasses pools of her past.

All she could do was blink wildly, unable to make sense of what she was seeing. Then it all came into focus and she inhaled so hard she was afraid she just might pass out. Facing down six-plus feet of coiled muscle could do that to a girl.

Unable to think—well, at all—she couldn’t decide if she should answer his question or disappear back into the safety of the shower. Working on pure instinct, she rushed to splay her hands over her most vulnerable parts, contorting her body to appear smaller. Then she met his gaze, those whiskey-brown eyes that had haunted her, and she couldn’t help but remember every masculine detail of the man she had thought she’d lost forever.

No way. This could not be happening. Shelby had waited nine years, eleven months, and twenty-seven days for this moment. She had prepared a speech. Even practiced it once on one of the cows. But all of the words she might have said, had rehearsed in her mind, vanished. Out of the countless scenarios she’d mentally played out, never once in all that time had she imagined that her reunion with Cody Tucker would take place with her as naked as a centerfold, staring down the barrel of a .45.

She felt her skin flush from toes to cheeks, and up to her other cheeks. Reaching for her robe, she mentally planned her escape. If she was going to do this, she would damn well be dressed.

Don’t even think about moving, Cody said in that sexy drawl that sent all kinds of unwelcome sensations shooting through her body. He tipped the gun toward her robe, cocky as ever. Not ’til you answer my question.

Shelby swallowed back a frustrated scream and resisted the temptation to kick him. Was he serious? She might have been a yes-girl once upon a time, but she’d changed. She was here to settle the past and fight for her future, and that didn’t include being pushed around.

Tough, she said, acutely aware of her nude state. I’m tired, got a gun pointed at me, and dripping water all over the rug. Just because you’re finally ready to talk doesn’t mean I’m going to stand here naked to let you do it. You hear me?

Oh, I hear . . . His eyes traveled the entire length of her very exposed body, as if taking detailed notes of the changes since his exodus from her life. "And see you, perfectly."

Ignoring the gun, and that killer smile, Shelby gathered her robe and the courage needed to see this through. She’d answer his question, get him to agree to her proposal, and then he’d leave. And Shelby could get back to her life before her heart was any the wiser.

Cody leaned comfortably against the door frame. He looked pretty damn good for a guy pointing a gun in her general direction. She, on the other hand, looked a fright. Her skin was all blotchy and she resembled a drowned kitty.

Cinching the belt of her robe, she did her best to keep her shoulders squared and her expression natural—ignoring Cody’s glare.

Didn’t your mama tell you that playing at Goldilocks is illegal? he asked.

Never breaking eye contact, Shelby took a challenging step forward, then another one, her chest stopping just short of the barrel. All she’d wanted was to kick her shoes off, take a long shower, and enjoy a moment of peace on what had ended up being a crazy day. Was that so much to hope for?

Didn’t your mama teach you it’s rude to point a gun in someone’s face?

The minute the words were spoken, Cody shut down. According to Ms. Luella, this bathroom was where, after a horrendous battle with cancer, Cody’s mom had opted for a nice long bath and a bottle of sleeping pills, never imagining a nine-year-old Cody would come home early from school and find her lifeless body.

But the way he just stood there, the epitome of cool, while Shelby was shaking all the way down to her terry-cloth robe, made her want to knock that arrogant grin from his face. But not like this.

Then Cody’s gaze met hers, a familiar expression firmly in place, reminding her that her concern was unwarranted. He was, as she remembered him, in control and completely untouchable.

Get out, he said, his voice calm and quiet.

Ridiculous as it might be, his words cut so deep, Shelby felt them clear down in her bones. This was the man who’d promised to come back for her. Vowed to love her for all time. Then he broke her heart, disappeared, and—for heaven’s sake, had he just threatened her life?

Despite all that, she just wanted to walk into his arms, tell him how much she’d thought about him over the years, and then shove him into a pile of horse chips.

I’m not going anywhere. And you could have knocked.

Why the hell should I have to knock? It’s my house. The foreman assured me the place would be empty when I got here.

Sam Holden, the ranch foreman, knew her and Cody’s past. Knew why she was here. She felt a sense of betrayal that he hadn’t bothered to warn her.

Yeah, well, Sam should have told me you’d decided to finally pay us all a visit! Without another word, Shelby shoved past Cody and left, desperate to get space between them before she did something stupid, like shoot him.

She stayed calm enough to lock herself in one of the guest rooms, step into her dress and tell herself she was all right. She could handle this. But after three failed attempts to zip up the back, she gave up pretending.

Three years ago, Shelby had come to Tucker’s Crossing, desperate for a safe place to regroup and rediscover the woman she had once been. Cody’s dad had given her that, and a place to call home. Then he’d died and she’d buried him, grieved for him, all the while preparing for Cody’s return.

As expected, he never showed up. She finally had to resign herself, once again, to the idea that she might never get the chance to make things right for herself, for Cody—for her family.

Shelby fumbled with the zipper of her dress. This was bad. Really bad. Because when she had stepped out of the shower and saw him, looking exactly like she remembered, her heart started racing just the way it used to. And Shelby was terrified.

Not because she’d had a gun pointed at her. No, Shelby felt like her chest was about to split open because the one man she needed on her side had finally come home—and she’d somehow managed to piss him off. And she was afraid he was two seconds away from hightailing it out of there, away from Tucker’s Crossing, away from Sweet Plains, and away from her, only to disappear for another decade.

Cody yanked his bedroom door shut and threw his bag down. Was this some kind of a sick joke? His old man’s last laugh? It