Page 87 of Wrangled Up

“It’s fucking different, all right.”

Letty smacked him on the top of the head with the newspaper. “Language, young man.”

“Sorry.”

Across the table from him, Tucker offered him a grin.

“What do you think goes into those cheap chili dogs you get from the Quickie Mart?” Claire asked, finishing off another bite.

“Those are all-beef franks.”

“You keep dreaming, Christian, just like I’ll fantasize that I’m twenty-eight again.” Letty took a big sip of coffee.

They all looked at her. “What would you do if you were twenty-eight again, Letty?” Claire asked.

The woman set her cup down and looked from one face to the next. “Why, I’d do what you’re doing here. I’d find me two good men to make me happy.”

Christian’s chest warmed with affection for Claire’s aunt. Not everyone would approve of their strange situation, but she only saw Claire’s happy face and accepted it.

He stole a look at his plate. The fried brains sat there, lumpy and staring at him. He could almost hear their piggy thoughts. But it couldn’t be helped.

He grabbed his fork and scooped some up. Before he could dwell on his action, he stuffed them into his mouth.

Silence weighted the air around him as three people gaped, awaiting his reaction.

He pinched his eyes shut, chewed rapid-fire and swallowed. A chorus of laughter pealed from the others. He opened his eyes and met Letty’s bright stare. If she’d ever love him, it was now.

“Good man. Now go on. I know you’re dying to drive down to that Quickie Mart.”

He hopped up from the table with an exaggerated enthusiasm that made everyone laugh again. Giving Claire’s hair a tug, he looked into her eyes then Tucker’s. Memories of their encounter last night filled him with renewed heat. But before he could spring an erection, he dropped a kiss to Letty’s soft puff of hair.

“Thanks for breakfast.”

She reached up and patted his closely-shaven cheek. “Wait until you see what I have planned for tomorrow.”

He suppressed a groan and left the house. Outside, the crisp air brought the scents of theranch to him. Sweet grasses at the end of their season, as well as fresh hay they’d spread in the stalls yesterday.

Long before breakfast, Tucker had freed the chickens and they milled around Christian’s feet like orange-red pets seeking attention. He scattered them and strode on to his truck.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a movement.

In a split second, he understood what he was seeing and was running full tilt.

Dale near the alpaca pen, ready to cut the wire fencing.

He caught sight of Christian bearing down on him and his eyes widened. He spun and made a break for it, but Christian was faster. He launched himself from several feet away, tackling the lanky guy to the ground.

All the breath whooshed from Dale as Christian’s bigger body slammed into his. With murder pulsing red hot in his veins, Christian grabbed his arms and yanked them behind his back.

A strangled noise exited Dale, but Christian ruthlessly jerked his hands higher on his spine.

“What the fuck are you doing on this land? You think you’re going to cut our fence?”

There was just a choking noise that indicated Dale wasn’t able to fill his lungs yet.

After a minute, he managed, “Don’t get Tucker.”

“Why the hell shouldn’t I?” Christian raged in a voice that was deadly with its softness. He applied more pressure to Dale’s arm until the shoulder joint flexed. Another inch and the ball would slip from the socket.

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