Page 46 of The Cowboy Comes Home

Then, gently, she reached out and laid a hand over one of his. And her voice was impossibly soft and sweet when she said, “I’m very, very glad you didn’t get that wish.”

Time seemed to freeze in his mind, and all he could do, sitting there in the Texas summer sun, with the splashing and laughing and happy barking fading into the background, was acknowledge that he’d never felt anything quite like that simple touch.

Chapter Twenty-Two

If she’d wantedTucker to open up to her, she’d certainly gotten that. She knew a bit about reading body language and signs of discomfort, so she’d known right away when he’d sat down beside her that it wasn’t as easy for him. And hearing the story behind that was physically painful for her just as the movement had likely been for him.

Touching him, however, had an entirely different effect on her. And she was suddenly very glad she’d come to this gathering. And from the way he’d looked at her when she’d taken his hand, maybe, just maybe he felt at least a little bit the same. A snap. A spark. Something.

It was enough to make her risk asking something that had occurred to her while reading the profile of him. “Feel free to tell me to shut up, but after I read Lily’s piece about you, I wondered…”

He gave her a sideways look. “Tell a cop to shut up?”

She gave him a mock scowl. “I’m off duty. Take the chance while you can,” she suggested, pleased when it made him smile. “I just wondered…in Hollywood, wouldn’t a story like yours be a big deal? Why haven’t you been all over the place as a success story, overcoming your childhood, all of that? Why haven’t you had a movie made about you?”

He looked away, opened the cooler and took out a couple of cans of soda. He handed her one without a word, then stared out toward the trio in the water. So, he wasn’t going to tell her to shut up, he just shut down. That’s what she got for prying, she supposed. Good thing she usually had better luck prying on duty. Must be the uniform and badge.

Or lately, Lobo, she thought with an inward smile. And then, unexpectedly, and still watching Jeremy and the dogs, he answered her.

“Why am I not cashing in on my pitiful backstory, you mean?”

“I know you wouldn’t do that. Just wondering why nobody there wanted to cash in on it for you.”

“Except for Jackson, nobody there knows. I’ve never told anybody…all of that before. All the stuff about my mother, I mean.”

“Why?” she asked carefully.

He gave a half-shrug. Still not looking at her, he said, “Ashamed of it, I guess.”

She stared at him then. “Why on earth wouldyoube ashamed?”

Another shrug. A full one this time. “I used to think, back then, that if I’d been different…better, she wouldn’t have gone off the rails like that after Dad.”

“What’s your middle name?”

That startled him, and his head snapped around. “What?”

“You heard me.”

His brow furrowed, but he answered. “Jason. After my dad. Why?”

“Because I want this to have all the impact it should. Tucker Jason Culhane, you are out of your freaking mind if you think you could have done any more than you did to try and save her. And that—” she said it sharply when she saw him about to protest “—is not the opinion of a friend, it’s the opinion of a police officer who’s seen a few similar situations. Enough to say there wasn’t a damned thing you could have done.”

“But I wouldn’t even talk to her. If I had only taken that last call, then maybe…”

“And if you had, she’d have tried to reel you right back in again. It’s the nature of an addict, Tucker. Keep helping them and you’re enabling them to stay addicted. Until they find the strength to make the break themselves, they’ll suck the life out of anyone around them.”

He was staring at her now, and she saw that his breathing had kicked up a little. Was he angry with her now? Maybe contemplating the drawbacks of punching even an off-duty cop? She went ahead anyway.

“Ever heard of the three C’s?” She took his silence as a no and went on. She held up a hand and raised one finger at a time as she ticked them off. “You didn’t cause it. You couldn’t control it. And you couldn’t cure it.”

She thought she saw something shift in his gaze, as if something had registered. She hoped it had. Somehow it had become very important to her, easing his pain. She’d felt the need before, in her work, but this was different. This was someone she knew. Liked. Could maybe more than like.

But then he turned away, back to watching the splashing show. His jaw was clenched, she could see that. But after a moment, low and a little harsh, she heard him say, “I’ve always wondered if…she drained enough out of my dad that he…that night, if he…”

Her stomach clenched at the pain in his voice. But she was certain he’d never spoken about this either. It must feel like a boil that needed to be lanced, always hurting, always putting pressure on. And so she said what he couldn’t, what she somehow knew he was thinking.

“You wonder if she had him distracted enough that he wasn’t focused, and that led to the shooting that killed him?”

---