Free Taking Her Time by Cait London Page B

all, this was Gary, the guy she wanted to nab and who was “sensitive,” unlike himself. Tucker didn’t like the savage jealousy burning and driving him. Unaccustomed to every emotion he didn’t want hitting him at the same time, he said, “She’s in jail because she wanted to have sex with me—I’m her ex-husband—and she attacked me on the front lawn of my house. The sheriff had to run a hose on her to cool her off. I’d sure be grateful if you could come collect her.”
    Tucker hung up and noted that Carly’s laptop was still humming. He touched it and it sprung to life, leaping with complex graphs and numbers beside a page layout, advertising for a high-priced car dealership. “Download complete” remained on the screen. Another touch brought up a cost-effective list and Carly’s notes on marketing to unique groups…she was very good. The yellow notepad beside the laptop contained a neat, thoughtful outline.
    He turned off the laptop, watching it do its don’t-want-to-die thing. When the need arose, Tucker was still borrowing his brother’s office computer, and Carly had hooked up to her office’s mainframe in another state.
    All he’d wanted years ago was the girl he’d always loved, a stay-at-home wife and a mother for his children, a good safe home for them all. He wanted to protect and love them and—
    And Carly had fixed that…she’d gone off and learned how to be a—what? A wrangling, competent, competitive businesswoman with a boyfriend named Gary?
    Tucker sat again and rubbed his chest, inhaling the feminine scent beneath the beer’s tang. He tried to still the slow hurting ache of love gone wrong—it was then that he noted the drawer askew in the table beside him. He opened it and noted that the papers inside had been rifled.
    Still uncovered, Livingston was silent, his beady eyes locked on Tucker. The bird could say more with silence and a beady look than any human Tucker had ever known.
    Fifteen minutes later, he was standing behind the town jail, watching Carly clean Norma’s supper. The old tenderness was there for the girl he’d known, his first sweetheart. He leaned against the brick wall, nodded to Tanner and Gavin who had followed Norma. The boys had collected five more friends, and they watched the town legend clean fish. “She’s good at it, isn’t she, Tucker?” Tanner asked.
    â€œReal good. And fast. We used to all go fishing and Carly could clean the whole mess in a half hour flat. We used to time her. She could outswim most of us, too. Her jackknife dive was a thing of beauty. Better go on home now, boys.” He glanced at Norma who was standing with one hand on her pistol butt. The pistol probably didn’t have any bullets in it. Norma’s other hand rested on her pepper spray, ready for a potential prison break.
    Reluctantly, the boys rode away, still discussing how the jailbird would escape. Norma studied Tucker as he walked to the jail’s back porch. “I guess she’s cooled down enough now. What do you want me to do with her?”
    Carly was obviously ignoring him, and Tucker’s heart tightened at the sight of the tear streaks messing up the mud splatters on her face.
    She had rinsed her hands in the bucket of fish water and dried them on the borrowed shirt. She handed the bowl of neatly cleaned and scored fillets to Norma. Then Carly sat with her knees up. Her head rested down on her crossed forearms.
    Norma shook her head and spoke quietly. “She’s way down, Tucker. Don’t pick on her.”
    â€œI’ll take it from here, Norma, if that’s okay.”
    With a nod, Norma stepped inside the jail and closed the door.
    â€œGo away, Tucker,” Carly whispered unevenly.
    That’s what he usually did when Carly was angry or upset—he left, unable to face her need for intimacy of the talking-relationship kind.
    He