Page 56 of Wrangled Up

“It should mean that I don’t think of Tucker as much as I think of you, but it’s not the case. I’m sorry, Christian.”

He brushed his lips over her hair as he shook his head. “Don’t be. He brought us together. He’s our roots. We couldn’t chop him out if we wanted.”

“Which means we need to bring him back to us.”

Christian flexed his arms around her, squeezing her tighter. He didn’t know how to do that, but he sure as hell had to try. For him. For Claire.

For the man who was on the run and needed to come home.

* * * **

The scents of cooking tomatoes clouded the warm autumn air. Claire ran a long wooden spoon around the edges and bottom of the big cook pot where the sauce bubbled.

Around her was the detritus of her foray into sauce-making. Crates upon crates of tomatoes, onions, garlic, green peppers and a big bag of jalapenos that provided Letty’s special kick. Basil and oregano filled two big jars—fresh-picked from the kitchen garden.

Letty sat at a folding table, chopping vegetables to put into the next batch of sauce. Christian had recruited a group of men he worked with on the road crew to help haul heavy crates and pots. They dotted the yard, drinking beer Christian had toted outside in a big cooler. One bottle set at Letty’s elbow, and occasionally she would take a long pull before resuming her chopping.

The more Claire stirred, the more her tensions flowed away. Tucker had been gone three and a half weeks now. When she orChristian called him, he never answered, and her hopes for his return were growing fainter.

She sighed.

Today they’d work hard to put up all of the tomatoes, and tomorrow they’d start picking apples. By the week’s end, they’d have full pantries. Some of the wares were going home with Christian’s friends, but he’d suggested that they donate a few crates to the local food bank.

So Claire’s contribution of the jars and canning supplies would go to a worthy cause.

The sauce thickened, indicating it might have scorched.

“Damn.”

“What’s the matter, Claire girl?” Letty asked without looking up from the papery skins of garlic sticking to her fingers.

“I think the sauce may be scorched, but I can’t taste anything but garlic. Chris?”

He shook his head. “I’ve got a chew in.”

Surprise flitted through her. Apparently he chewed tobacco in the company of his coworkers. She’d never seen so much as a pouch of it in his pocket.

She glanced at the next man, who shook his head.

“Anyone here without a chew in who can taste this?”

They all stared at Letty. Her aunt looked up over her wire-rimmed glasses. Suddenly, her cheek distended as she poked her tongue into the small pouch that held the wintergreen snuff she sometimes enjoyed.

“Nah, I’ve got me a wintergreen in.”

A few guffaws from the men rippled around the yard.

“That’d be me.” The low tone stood up every hair on Claire’s body.

She went dead still as Tucker’s voice washed over her from behind. Her heart thumped heavily. Slowly, she raised her head. Christian stood five paces away in her line of vision, his gaze fixed on the man they’d both yearned for.

As long as the stars burn.

Her throat went bone dry. Christian flicked his gaze to her, and she had to bite off a cry of pain.

His gaze was dark and penetrating—wounded—staring right through her.

A shift of a boot on gravel alerted Claire that Tucker was circling her. His worn Wranglers appeared in the line of her vision. Suddenly, her adrenaline kicked into high gear, flooding her system, and she had to move.

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