Page 20 of Wrangled Up

Christian moved around Tucker’s kitchen, feeding the coffee maker some fresh water and fragrant dark roast. A smile continually returned, twitching the corner of his mouth upward.

This morning, he’d awakened to find Claire still slumbering in his arms, her sweet body conformed to his. Tucker was gone and his truck wasn’t in the drive, but he’d probably gone out to check the horses.

With the coffee pot filling, Christian hitched a thumb in his jeans pocket and drifted to the window to gaze out at the landscape. Pissing down rain. And Tucker was out in it.Poor bastard.

Last night had far surpassed any other ménage a trois that he and Tucker had ever participated in. Having Claire between themfelt like having a third sharing an amplified jack-off session. Though Christian hadn’t even kissed her, it was enough that she’d slept in his embrace.

Warmth flowed in his veins.

In his back pocket, his cell vibrated. Fishing it out, he hit the talk button without checking the caller ID. It was probably his foreman calling to let him know they weren’t working in this filthy weather, as if Christian couldn’t have already guessed.

“Davis.”

“Christian.” Tucker’s voice filtered into his brain, causing a jerk in his lower abdomen.

“Yeah, what’s up? You coming in soon? I’ve got coffee brewing.”

There was a beat of silence. “Actually, no. Listen, I’m gonna be gone for a few days.”

“What?” Christian’s pulse thundered in his ears.

“Look, I can’t get into it. I just had to get some distance.”

“From Claire.” Christian bit the words off, fury and protectiveness mingling into one whirlwind of emotion. It spun inside his mind, threatening to dislodge the dam holding backhis cream-your-ass-and-wipe-the-floor-with-you tongue. He’d spent his entire life trying to corral his mouth when he got hotheaded and in one sentence, Tucker had smashed his progress.

There was a clicking sound on the line, as if it took some effort for Tucker to swallow.Good.

“From her, yeah. And other things. Listen, I didn’t call to get my ass chewed.”

“Then what the hell did you call for?”

“To ask you to take care of my ranch while I’m gone.”

That sent Christian reeling in a new direction. “As in make sure it’s locked up and the windows are shut?”

“No, as in feed and water my livestock.”

Christian plowed furrows in his hair, one ear cocked to the small bumping noises coming from the bathroom. Fuck, the last thing Claire needed was to overhear this conversation. She was going to be devastated enough that Tucker was gone.

“Listen, you son of a bitch,” Christian growled low into the cell, “you get yourweakling ass back here and make this right. I’m not picking up all of your pieces.”

Another stretch of silence, then, “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need your help.”

Christian ground his molars until his jaw popped. Damn him to hell. He knew exactly which card to drop onto the table to twist Christian all up. “Tucker…”

“Just take care of my horses, Chris.”

The line went dead.

Fingers tightened around the cell phone. His biceps flexed in readiness to hurl it through the goddamn window. Anger boiled in his chest, churned his guts.

“Mmm, coffee. Where’s Tucker?”

Christian whirled to face Claire. She wore only Tucker’s big flannel shirt, hanging mid-thigh and open to reveal her maddening seam of cleavage. Her half smile froze as she got a look at Christian’s expression.

Her words were hot with pain. “What’s wrong?”

How to tell her that the man who’d made amends with her last night had once again fled? Leaving Christian to glue her back together as well as look after God-knew-how-many horses? Not to mention chickens and an alpaca.

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