Tucker's Bride by Lois M. Richer

Author:Lois M. Richer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2013-09-09T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

“Okay, guys, that’s it for tonight.”

“Hey, we haven’t got half of the stuff done!” Tom glowered at Marty and Tucker, his stance deliberately belligerent.

“No, we haven’t. But what we do have is a very good basic framework to begin our club and a semifinished clubhouse.” Tucker met the glare with a warning look. “We also have a curfew coming up, and if that’s broken, this club is history.”

“Stupid curfews!” Kent kicked a clod of dirt six feet into the air.

“It’s life, kid. Get used to its rules. Only at my age, we call them deadlines.” Marty grinned, ruffled his hair and made a notation on the pad he carried. “If you guys can find odd jobs folks around town want done, that would help raise some funds for our plane. We can’t fly it without a motor.”

“I saw a shaggy ol’ lawn by my house. I could ask about mowing it.”

“Yeah, and there’s that woman with all those flower beds by me. Somebody’s gotta dig ’em for her.”

The boys all joined in, and the list of things grew exponentially.

“You’ve got the general idea. See you on Friday.” Tucker waved them off and turned to Marty. “You go ahead. I want to get some of this mess cleaned up. If Ginny’s dad goes for a walk, he’ll kill himself on our odds and ends.”

“Thanks, man. By the way, how’s the column coming?” Marty blinked at him innocently, pretending they were in total agreement on the subject.

“It’s not. One write-up. That’s all I agreed to do.”

“Tucker, your first column was fantastic! Just wait till people get a chance to read it tomorrow, and you’ll see how great you are at this stuff.”

Great. Yeah, right. He’d prattled on about the landscape in Africa, the lush forests and the sparse poverty. He’d stayed away from discussing his job. He wasn’t going there. No way!

“I’m serious. The way you describe things makes them personal, close. People like that. They feel like they can see the world through your eyes.” He clapped a hand on Tucker’s shoulder. “It’s a gift, man.”

“Yeah, a gift.” Now that was funny.

“That fund-raising group Ginny’s leading will want to know more. You know that, don’t you? You’ve only whetted their appetite.”

Tough. Tucker wished he’d never allowed himself to be conned into it in the first place.

“You could always discuss somewhere else,” Marty suggested. “You’ve traveled all over the place.”

Tucker nodded. “I guess.”

But Africa was his beat, his favorite place in all the world. And now it had been ruined, tarnished, stained by something that should never have happened.

“I don’t think I can write any more, Marty. I’ve got enough on my plate as it is.” He kept his voice low, avoided the other man’s eyes and the pity he knew he’d find there.

“It’s up to you, of course. But I’d really appreciate it. So would the rest of Jubilee Junction.” Marty waved a hand and walked across the street to his car. Seconds later he was gone, and Tucker was alone.

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