Tucker's Crossing. Marina Adair
Dear God, this was not how it was supposed to happen.
Cody stood in his mama’s kitchen, his own scared eyes looking back at him, and the past was closing in with every breath he took. His mind raced through all of the implications.
The cute nose, cornflower eyes, and dusting of freckles might have been Shelby’s but everything else was his. Right down to the stubborn gleam flashing in the kid’s eyes and the thick, dark curls he and his brothers had hated growing up. Even the protective jut of the boy’s chin, which said he’d take on anyone who tried to mess with his mama, was a carbon copy of his own.
Son of a bitch. He had a son.
Cody Tucker, the guy who’d sworn off ever having kids for fear of the kind of man he was deep down inside, was a father.
This is my son. My own flesh and blood. A feeling too difficult to articulate and so unfamiliar overwhelmed him. Until he saw the accusation staring back at him.
Bile rose up, churning with anger and sheer impotence. Doing a quick calculation, Cody estimated the boy to be around nine. Nine years of bedtime stories, tossing the ball around, riding the range—gone. Nine years of his son not knowing who, or where, his father was.
Why the hell hadn’t Shelby ever told him?
An image flew into his head, bringing with it a harsh slap of reality. He remembered the terrified look in Shelby’s eyes as he straightened her clothes and grasped for the words to make what he’d done okay.
Scared and drowning in Tucker rage, Cody had just come back from The Crossing, where he’d found Beau a bloody mess. And for the first time in his life, Cody had given his old man a taste of his own temper.
Silas had been a mean bastard ever since Cody’s mom had died, starting with humiliation and swiftly moving on to fists. But nothing had prepared Cody for the mess that his dad’s final drunken rage had made of Beau.
After knocking Silas out cold, Cody packed up his kid brother, only seventeen at the time, took him to the hospital, and prepared to make good on his vow never to let Beau go back to that house.
With Noah stationed overseas, and not wanting Beau to wake up alone, Cody had kept a silent vigil by his bed, only leaving when the nurse convinced him to go home and clean up.
High on adrenaline and amped with fear, Cody pulled into Shelby’s place long after midnight. The minute he saw her standing there all warm and welcoming, worried out of her mind—over him, covered in two generations of Tucker blood—he’d lost it.
His self-control snapped and instead of showing her what he hadn’t been able to tell her with words, he took her against the wall. No finesse. No foreplay. He took her hard and fast and frantic and probably scared the shit out of her. She never once complained, but that look on her face said it all.
Too ashamed to look at her afterward, he’d zipped up his pants, straightened her nightgown and bolted. Checked into a motel, showered and returned to Beau’s side, scared that deep down he was just like his dad. And that even if he hadn’t managed to hurt her this time, the day would come when he would. It was in his blood.
But how would he reconcile this?
“Cody.” Shelby’s voice jerked him back. She placed her hand on the boy’s shoulder, as if trying to offer him the courage to get through the next few minutes. He saw her eyes mist over and her throat work to swallow. Looking over the boy’s head, she softened her features, pleading with him to make this okay. “This is Jacob.”
Jacob. The backs of Cody’s eyes burned. Shelby had given their son his middle name.
Still numb and scrambling to act normal, Cody squatted down on his haunches and extended a hand toward the boy, figuring the best place to start was with respect. “It’s nice to meet you, Jacob. I’m—”
“I know who you are,” Jacob said, giving Cody’s outstretched hand nothing more than a glance. When Shelby nudged him from behind, he dutifully added, “Sir,” in that polite kiss-my-ass tone only a Tucker could pull off. And if Cody hadn’t been concentrating on the fact that he was face-to-face with his own son, he would have laughed.
Jacob turned to talk to his mom, presenting Cody with his back. “Coach said anyone who’s late today has to give him a monster for every year old they are.”
With mock horror obviously meant to ease the growing tension between the two, she said, “Well then, I guess we better get a move on. Wouldn’t want you to have to do nine whole monsters!”
After a casual ruffle of his brown curls, one that made Cody feel like more of an outsider than he could have ever imagined, Shelby crossed the kitchen and opened the fridge. “How about I pack up a cheese stick and juice box while you go feed Bandit and grab your gear?”
“Okay. But hurry.” Jacob gave Cody one last glare, grabbed his backpack and an apple, and let the screen door slam on its hinges behind him.
Cody and Shelby stood silent, each second more painful than the last.
“This isn’t how I wanted it to happen.”
What was he supposed to say to that? Genuine regret or not, she’d just served him up a blow harder than anything his old man had ever dished out. Still reeling, he didn’t realize Shelby was leaving until she was halfway through the door.
“Hold up. You can’t drop that on me and then just walk out. I want answers.”
She stopped at the threshold. “You don’t think I know that? I get it, trust me. But right now I need to be Mama to a confused little boy.” She finally turned to address him, her eyes hollow. “Besides, I’ve never had a problem with running. That’s your M.O.”
“Eat up, kiddo, you still have to shower and do homework,” Shelby said, more to start a conversation than to speed up supper.
She wouldn’t mind stalling until she was good and sure Cody had eaten and they wouldn’t be forced to sit at that table in strained silence. Or worse, get into it in front of Jake. Which was partially why she’d brought Jake to The B-Cubed, so they could talk without having to hold back. Not that he was talking.
“Not really hungry,” Jake mumbled, smashing a fry with his finger.
Normally after a day of school and football, Jake inhaled a meal twice his size. Tonight though, he seemed sullen and withdrawn, picking and pushing at, more than eating, his food. He’d been this way since they left The Crossing and Shelby didn’t have to guess why. But it still hurt her heart.
Jake was a kid who liked to see what was coming. A side effect, Shelby thought sadly, that came from living with a man like Preston. If Jake knew what to expect, he could prepare himself for the letdown.
Cody showing up, right after Jake had accepted that his daddy wasn’t coming, had been hard to take. Especially on the heels of losing his grandpa. But to see his parents together for the first time, only to have them arguing . . . well, Shelby would just add it to her ever-growing list of stupid decisions where Jake was concerned.
“That was a great throw you made today.”
“Pass.” Jake said to the table, making ketchup doodles across his plate with a fry.
“Fine, it was a great pass you made.”
“It sucked. Jason didn’t even catch it.”
“Language,” Shelby corrected.
“He caught Ryan’s.” Jake finally met her eyes, looking heartbroken all over again, as if he would never be good enough.
Shelby was about to comment when Faith Loren, waitress, busgirl, bartender, and sometime-biscuit-baker at the oldest “establishment” in the county, approached the table.
“You all finished here?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jake said and Shelby wondered when the slight Southern drawl had woven its way into her son’s