Page 21 of Wrangled and Tangled (Raven Peak Ranch #1)

B riar really doesn’t pull any punches.

“Well, you’re right, I’m not actually engaged to her,” I chuckle, looking at her father. Spencer doesn’t spare me a glance. Instead, he plates the bacon on three separate plates, pulls a bowl of eggs from the counter along with an empty one, and starts cracking.

Scrambling up a few of them, he pours them into the hot pan of butter waiting on the stove.

They sizzle when they hit the hot butter and simmer once he stirs.

I could watch him cook any day of the week.

His tattooed arms working the spatula, the muscles that shift in his back.

Gray sweatpants–which, thank fucking God, exist–stretched tight across his thighs.

“She’s too, what’s that word you like to call rich people, Dad? Ritzy! That’s right, she’s too ritzy for someone like you. You need someone who isn’t afraid to get dirty.” Briar quips.

I couldn’t agree more, and the man for the job is standing at the stove. Whether he wants to admit it or not, we have a connection. Something I’ve never bothered to try and find in any hookup over the years.

A raccoon zips through the room, and I immediately go into capture mode. The black and white creature zooms across the living room, clattering and scratching its paws across the floor for traction.

“Thelma!” Briar shouts, and damn it, if the animal doesn’t stop and look at her. She’s got something dangling from her mouth, and from her side of the room, it looks almost transparent.

Realization dawns, and my cheeks heat.

Spencer’s bedroom door is open, and I’d bet my bottom dollar the raccoon has the condom we used the other night hanging out of its mouth.

“What d’ya have now, Thelma?” She asks, walking toward the animal.

“Uh, Spencer,” I’m frozen in place, unable to move or even think about anything other than the fact that I don’t want this girl touching the condom her father and I used. “Spencer!”

He finally turns, and all the color in his face drains. “Briar! Don’t–”

I guess he doesn’t know how to finish his sentence either because he’s darting across the space just as his daughter bends down to her knee and gasps.

“Oh gross, really, Thelma?” She says around a gag that turns into a giggle at her father’s distress.

Spencer pulls Thelma’s mouth open as she chitters in rebuttal.

Unhooking the latex from her teeth, he crumbles the condom up and shoves it into his sweatpants pocket.

Briar scoops Thelma up and walks over to the table. Plopping down in the seat, she strokes the raccoon's fur and says, “You know you aren’t allowed in Dads room. I hope you’ve learned your lesson because I never want to see that again.”

Spencer looks down at the floor with a shake of his head.

“That raccoon’s your pet?” I ask, still embarrassed that it had our fucking condom in its mouth.

Briar looks up, “She’s a cutie, right?”

“She’s somethin’,” Spencer grumbles, standing and making his way back to the kitchen where he washes his hands before noticing his eggs are sticking to the pan. “Briar, go wash up.”

Laughter pours out of me the second she’s shut the door behind her. “Was that–”

“Keep your voice down,” Spencer spins, pointing the spatula at me. “It was exactly what you thought it was, so would you shut my damn door before Thelma digs anythin’ else outta the trash?”

He’s scooping eggs out of the pan onto everyone’s plates, so I do as he asks. Returning to the kitchen, he offers up a floppy piece of bread. “Uhm, sure?” I mumble, staring at the offered carbohydrate in his hand.

“I’ll toast it, but I wanted to be sure you eat carbs before I made too many,” he rolls his eyes and lets out a breath.

“Yeah, toast would be great,” I nod as if I totally understand his floppy bread offer to make toast. “And for the record, I eat everythin’,” I say with a waggle of my eyebrows, and he huffs and turns back to the toaster.

Briar opens the door to the bathroom and steps out. Walking to the fridge, she smirks as she passes me and grabs the orange juice pitcher. Taking it to the table, she returns to a cabinet closest to the fridge and removes three glasses.

The toaster pops, and two pieces of perfect toast sit ready to be buttered.

“Jam, butter, both?”

“Both, please!” Briar says from the table, answering her dad. She mutters something under her breath, and Spencer whips his head her way. She smiles and tilts her head as if she didn’t say anything.

“Butter, please,” I reply.

It feels like a normal Sunday morning, something I could see us doing every day. The thought gives me goosebumps.

It sounds crazy, even in my mind. I’ve known Spencer for just over a week and Briar even less. But I can’t help being drawn in by everything about them. I want to know more about their regular life.

I want to know how Spencer feels about what his sister is going through with Levi’s death, how he takes his coffee in the morning, and if he has any allergies.

I want to know how Briar is enjoying summer vacation.

I want to know all the things a partner would know about his family, and I want it with them.

I feel like my life’s a puzzle, and these two are the pieces that I’ve been missing for a long time now.