Page 41 of Wrangled Up

“Only thing I know to do is keep trying to contact Tucker. This is his problem.”

Even as he said it, he recognized it for a lie. If Tucker only thought of him and Claire as ranch hands, he wouldn’t be on the run. Theman had fled from his emotions, pure and simple.

* * * * *

“I seen those apple trees are loaded. Another two weeks and we’ll be ready to harvest.” Letty wielded the paring knife on potatoes as if the spuds were intruders and she defending their dwelling.

A smile drifted over Claire’s face, but it didn’t remain long. Following the encounter with Tucker’s relatives, her nerves were shot. They could dump them off the ranch with ease. That wasn’t the true concern, but rather why Tucker had left if he was aware his family was grappling for control.

Maybe he really doesn’t know.

No, that couldn’t be the case. Tucker was one of the savviest judges of character she knew. He’d once sat in the diner during her shift and people-watched, a mug of high test coffee in his fist. After she finished clearing tables for the night, he’d recounted the men who had looked at her too long and thewomen who darted jealous glances her way—Tucker’s way of telling her to steer clear.

Had it also been a bit possessive? Claire shook her head. She couldn’t allow herself to think that. Belonging to him was too much to hope for.

Letty dropped another potato into the pot. “Think that man of yours likes potatoes?”

She started. With Tucker on the mind, it took her a full minute to figure out that her aunt spoke of Christian. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen him eat anything but chili dogs.”

A squeak of mirth escaped Letty, more of a wheeze than a laugh. For twenty years, Claire had never heard any other type of laughter from her aunt, and it gave her a warm feeling.

“No wonder he hid his oatmeal in his napkin,” Letty said.

Mention of the oatmeal dragged up memories of the delectable, scorch-your-panties off kiss they’d shared in the yard. “I think he may give the oatmeal another try, Auntie.”

“I wonder if a bachelor like your Langley fella might have canning jars sitting around here?”

Claire’s breath caught. Letty had just called Christian her man and Tucker her fella. Did she realize they’d shared a wanton night together? That it was all Claire could think about—being in bed, limbs entwined with two hard men?

She took a swallow of hot tea. The apple spice filled her head. “I’ll dig around in the basement for some canning jars. If he doesn’t have any, I’ll buy some.”

“You sure feel strongly that this harvest mustn’t go to waste, if you’re putting up your own funds.” Her sharp eyes missed nothing.

“I hate to see it rot on the vine.” Behind the house was a small kitchen garden with tomatoes and beans, which still needed to be picked. What a bachelor did with all the produce was beyond her. She could barely unload the daily eggs from the chickens. Even the owner of the diner didn’t need more than a few dozen a day for the patrons.

“Be careful with that hot glue gun,” Letty advised.

On the table before her, Claire had a wooden plaque, two pots of different shades of pink paint, and a bunch of pink and silvergems. The glue gun set at her elbow, dripping goo onto a sliver of cardboard.

She took up the thin paintbrush and dipped it into the darker pink paint. In a flowing freehand, she wrote “Boom Boom”.

Letty came to look over her shoulder. “Always did have the prettiest handwriting, Claire.”

A faint smile touched her lips. She pushed the paint around the wood to thicken the lines. Then she used a second brush to highlight in pale pink.

“When I went into the craft shop in town, Marcella Evans couldn’t quit cackling at the reason for my buying these supplies.”

Claire slanted a look of amusement at her aunt. Half of Reedy thought both her and Letty eccentric. Growing up, girls had made fun of her, saying she was so weird that even her father didn’t want to be around her.

Her grip tightened around the brush as she added a final flourish under the alpaca’s name.

“Looks mighty nice. Think that animal will appreciate it?” Something in Letty’s voice told her that she lumped Christian and Tucker into said group of animals.

Tucker might not care, but I think Christian does.

She set aside the brush and swiped a curl out of her eye before taking up the glue gun. With her left hand, she pinched a hot pink star with tweezers and applied glue to the flat side.

Letty started humming a church hymn under her breath, and the pleasanttickof potato peels dropping into the wastebasket were soothing beats. After Claire had placed a row of pink and silver stars, she sat back to look at the name plate.

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