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“Why did you need something to relax you?”
“What?” I asked, feeling a little warm under his assessing bonfire of a gaze.
“You said crochet is relaxing… Were you feeling…notrelaxed?”
I straightened. “I don’t even know how to relax. Gimme.”
He stared at the hand I held out, then opened his mouth as if to ask another question. But then he must have thought better of it because he closed his mouth with a snap and handed it over.
“You ready to head inside?” he asked.
I returned his stare, then spun on my heel, taking a seat on a swing against the wall of the house. Then I got my yarn and sweater situated, looping a strand around my hook and slippingit into a stitch like we had all the time in the world. "Yep. Just as soon as you tell me what we’re lookin’ for.”
He leaned against a porch post, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "I told you last night. We’re looking for my client’s stolen property.”
“How am I supposed to help you find it if I don’t know what I’m lookin’ for?”
He stayed quiet, but me? More yarn pulled up and looping, more stitches stitched. It was a stitchy standoff, and I was determined to win.
“If I tell you, how do I know you won’t search it out yourself and keep it?” he asked.
"You think I'd do that?" I feigned offense, pressing a hand dramatically to my chest before going back to my sweater. "I'm just tryin' to protect my friend's property, is all. For all we know, it’s rightfully hers."
“It’s not.”
“Says you.”
“Says my client,” he said through his teeth.
I snorted, eyes on my stitches. “That’s even worse.”
"You’re not letting me into that house until I tell you, are you?" Tucker asked with a smirk evident in his deep voice.
I shook my head, trading my crochet hook for my coffee mug from the table beside the swing. I held it in both hands as I took a sip, watching him over the rim of the mug. It was the caffeinated version of eating popcorn while waiting for the show, and I was more than ready.
He clicked his tongue. “You know, I could just leave you out here with your yarn ball and walk right in.”
“You could, but somethin’ tells me you won’t.”
I had no idea why I thought that. Nothing was stopping him from doing so. Even if I tried, I wouldn’t succeed, and we bothknew it. He’d probably just pick me up by the tops of my arms and move me aside if I stood in his way.
Plus, based on the scar I’d seen above his eyebrow when he’d lured me in with my yarn ball, I had a feeling a crochet hook wouldn’t scare him much after apparently surviving a knife fight.
Finally, he gave in. "Here's the story: my client is the rightful owner of 1.2 million dollars in actual pirate treasure. But it was stolen from him, and then the thief gave it to Hope's grandpa for safekeeping."
My mouth popped open. “Sorry, I think I have yarn in my ears. Did you just say pirate treasure?”
“Yep.”
“Like…”
“Gold doubloons.”
I laughed. “Hush.”
“I’m serious.”
“Where the heck…” I set down my coffee, stunned. “When you talked about treasure last night, I thought you were bein’ snarky.”
