Page 53 of Wrangled Up

The horse swung its head around and gave him a baleful look. Christian patted its nose. “I know. It sucks to be lame.”

A year ago, he’d spent six weeks of the spring laid up with a broken foot, caused by a slip in a ditch. A minor break that had cost him money in his trimming business. Mostly, it had driven him wild to be out of commission.

“I sympathize. Lemme have a look.” He ran his hand down the horse’s leg, and it allowed him to fold it upward to look at the hoof. With the pick, Christian scraped away the debris around the frog. The horse’s hide shivered, and it gave a snort.

“Tender, I see. Wonder what the hell a person does to fix that?” He probed the area above the hoof and didn’t see anything amiss, but it was a strange color compared to the others.

Gently, he lowered the hoof to the ground. The horse stamped a foreleg and snorted.

“Okay, I’ll consult with someone.” Who, was another question. Alone, he couldn’tafford to call a vet in, but Tucker’s money had been dumped into his account.

Nope. Not using it.

There had to be a hundred old timers around these parts willing to give sound advice. Letty might even know.

He patted the horse’s flank and loped off toward the house again. The chickens were hard at work, foraging for food. Several scattered out of his path. On the way to the house, he picked up the basket of fresh eggs. Letty had proved herself with oatmeal, and today she’d likely try to ply him with eggs and biscuits and gravy, but what he really wanted was a fountain drink and a couple of donuts. Hard to sneak off to the Quickie Mart without the ladies of the house taking offense though.

He started across the yard to the house, but a noise in the barn brought him around.

Singing.

A clear, high voice. Claire crooning to the animals. His smile spread like fire licking dry kindling. Heat surged in his chest.

He set the egg basket down and stepped into the dark depths of the barn. Dust motes swirled crazily in the morning light slantingthrough the vents. He turned automatically toward the sound of her voice.

Her tone dipped to a husky murmur, and the scuff of her boots on floorboards kept beat. She paused in her song to speak to Noddy, the oldest mare among the stock. Not that he’d know—he was going off her words.

“Let’s dump out this old grain and get you new, eh, girl?” As the pellets hit the trash bucket, she resumed her singing.

Christian’s eyes finally adjusted, and he picked out the lines of her body. Round hips in a denim skirt. Slim T-shirt ending just above her waistband. As she moved, skin flashed, making him harden painfully.

He strode in and caught her up mid-line of her song. Her eyes widened as he slammed his mouth over hers. He bent her back over his arm. The feed scoop clattered to the floor, and she spun her arms around his neck.

“Need you. Now.” He slanted his mouth over hers again and again, each pass growing in intensity.

She moved close, her body locked to his like Velcro. He laughed into her mouth, and she bit his lower lip.

With a growl, he reared back. Her eyes were dark with lust, her lips swollen. Fuck, he needed to find out if she was wet.

“You’re gonna pay for that, sweetheart.” Sliding his hand down her taut belly, he moved lower, fumbling under the hem of her skirt.

Her slippery folds met his fingers, unhindered by panties.

“Jeezus,” he gasped, mind whirling with lust and passion and so much more. “You’re slick and ready for me.”

“That dream-kiss we shared this morning had me all worked up.”

“And you thought you’d let me find this soaking wet treasure, hmmm?” He bathed her lower lip with his tongue, teasing the corner of her smiling mouth. She darted her tongue out to meet his, and they wrangled for another long minute.

He walked her backward, aware of a hay bale against the wall. A horse blanket hung on a nail, and he snagged it. His fingers were still wet with her cream, and he wanted nothing more than to draw them under his nose and inhale her need.

Soon.

Not soon enough. He tossed the blanket over the hay bale, gripped her shoulders, and spun her to face away from him. Planting a hand on her lower back, he pressed her down until she was bent over the bale, ass up.

Her breath came in short pants, but she didn’t beg. Not yet. Hell, he couldn’t wait to make her ask him to fill her.

Shuddering, he stared at the fine curves of her thighs. The skirt rode high, inches from her wet slash. He slipped his fingers into that crevice and met with even more wetness.

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