Page 10 of Wrangled Up (Menage a Trouble #2)

“Couple times.” But he didn’t know tack from the sharp kind that got stuck in the sole of his boot.

She reached the final stall. “These are Tucker’s prized horses used for breeding.

But there are a lot running free in the fields.

We need to check on their troughs, make sure they’ve got enough water.

It’s raining like crazy, but it would take a day of rain to provide enough water for this amount of horses. ”

“He’s got a big tank in the back of an old pickup out back.”

She nodded. “That’s what we need.”

Christian put her into the truck, but she crowded against the passenger door, too far away. After last night, his emotions were in a jumble. She felt like his, but she wasn’t. No, she was Tucker’s, and his friend had abandoned her .

She turned her face to the window. Silence stretched.

How could Christian bring her back to him? To let go of this girl meant he might never see her again. She would drift away in a fog of pain—pain they both felt.

He opened his mouth to speak, but words tumbled from her. “Ever notice that the smallest birds sing the prettiest songs?”

The windows were up and the rain would keep the birds tucked into their nests, so the question caught him off guard. He searched the landscape for signs of a bird. Then he realized she might be talking about something entirely different.

“Tucker…he doesn’t talk a lot.”

Instant understanding took him. How Christian “got her” was beyond him, but it was as if he channeled her meaning.

Tucker was far from a small man—his body, personality, presence—all larger than life.

But he kept to himself, so he had the ability to blend into the background.

But when he did unglue his lips, he had something important to say.

Either that, or he fucking rocked someone’s world, yanking him in with a growled apology or sexual command .

What did he say to Claire when they were alone? Had he told her that he loved her?

Christian reached across the seat and caught a wet curl between his fingers. He gave it a slight tug, and she looked at him. “We’ll water these horses then check on Boomerang.”

That brought a smile to her lips. “I’ve never really cared for an alpaca before. I grew up on my aunt’s farm, but we only had a few animals. Nothing like this.” She swept a hand in front of her to indicate the rolling land Tucker owned.

Christian pulled up along the fence. A big old porcelain bathtub used as a trough set against the fence.

He jumped out and found only a bit of rainwater in the bottom.

“I’ll get this,” he started to say, but Claire was already rounding the truck.

She climbed into the bed and grabbed the hose they’d use to fill the trough.

As rain soaked them both, he could only think of what he would like to do with her after these chores were finished. Take her inside and run a hot bath for her. Look on as she soaked in the depths and relaxed.

What was it about this little country girl that had so thoroughly worked her way under his skin? A sharp splinter he’d never felt going in. Now it itched but he never wanted to get rid of it.

With efficient movements, she lowered the hose to him. He fed it through the split rail and into the trough. Then she shoved on the release valve. Water flooded the old bathtub.

Christian threw her a grin over his shoulder, which she returned. But her eyes were hollow.

Damn Tucker for fracturing her.

Five troughs later, they headed back to the house. The water tank was empty. If Tucker didn’t come home tonight, Christian had no idea where to go to fill it again. But he’d worry about that later.

He had to get that spark back into Claire’s eyes. The last time he’d seen it was while discussing Boomerang.

After parking the truck, he climbed out with the intention of opening her door, but she beat him to it. What was he thinking? This wasn’t a date. This was two people who had spent a mind-blowing night in one man’s bed, and were now thrown together out of circumstance .

Christian hadn’t even kissed her.

Without looking back, Claire strode toward the small pen where Boomerang was kept. The animal was drenched, too stupid to get under the shelter it was given. When Claire approached, it trotted up to the fence.

She reached to fondle the strange puff of hair on its crown, a white afro over a curious face. Boomerang blinked at her, unmoving, its mouth shifted to the side in a totally laughable expression.

Claire did laugh. The musical sound washed over Christian, warming his skin against the cold sting of rain. “Get out of the rain, Boomerang,” she said.

When it didn’t move, she hooked a leg over the fence, preparing herself to jump in.

Christian lashed his fingers around her arm. “Is that safe?”

She laughed again. “What’s she going to do? Attack?”

He swung his gaze to the animal, whose tongue now lazed out between its lips. “All right. What do you feed it?”

“I think I see a feed bag in that shed.” She jerked her jaw toward the shelter .

“Okay, I’ll carry some buckets of water for it.” Christian left her to go in search of buckets. When he returned, she’d managed to lure the animal into the shelter with her and had her arms around it. Her face was buried against its side and her shoulders shook.

Christian slowed his step, a stitch in his heart. “God,” he breathed as he set the buckets outside the fence. Bracing one hand on the rail, he vaulted over, easily landing in the mud and slop.

With care, he approached Claire, using his new knowledge of animals. The last thing he wanted was a skittish woman. Hurting her was out of the question.

At the sound of his steps, she raised her head, staring him down, eyes ablaze with tears. “Why can’t those holes be mended, Christian? Why?”

He drew her into his embrace. With her wrapped solidly against his chest, he listened to the fat rain splat on the metal roof of the shed. He had no answers, but she didn’t seem to need them.

* * * * *

The first thing Claire did once inside The Hellion was to make a revolution of the bar, tables and dance floor, searching the sea of faces for Allie, the blonde who had spent the night with Tucker and Christian.

A new pang of jealousy smashed into Claire full force. Now that she knew the joys to be had in that bed between two men, she didn’t want to know about another woman having experienced it too.

Hell, Claire still felt that drunken high as the memories assaulted her.

The low country twang of George Jones rushed from the jukebox. Soon the DJ would kick things up and the dance floor would crowd with bodies.

She loved to dance but not tonight. Her heart ached. Two days without Tucker was an eternity. Knowing he was out there somewhere, alone and hurting too, shoved a knife deep in her guts.

I can’t compete with a memory.

If she kept telling herself this, her love-fogged brain might someday accept it and move on .

To someone like Christian?

The thought blindsided her. She’d spent two days with him, caring for the animals and making sure the ranch was operating smoothly. In those two days, she and Christian hadn’t spoken much, but a quiet camaraderie held them together. Two people working toward a common purpose.

And they worked well together. Cleaning stalls, holding a horse still while Claire examined its hoof.

There was something more to Christian. He was steadfast, calm. He eased her with his presence alone.

And Lord knew the man was walking sex poured into worn jeans and a T-shirt. Watching his back ripple with muscles as he shoveled manure or forked hay tempted her body.

Satisfied that Allie was nowhere to be found in The Hellion, Claire went to the bar to get a drink. While she waited for her usual Long Island iced tea, the man on the stool beside her started chatting her up.

“Ever wonder why people come here, little gal? ”

She shot him a sidelong glance. She felt a story coming on and wished she could run. “I suppose it’s for entertainment.”

“Entertainment or fellowship?” he asked, his voice raised a notch like a preacher’s. “Was in the early 80’s when I came down here, looking for a friend. I’d just lost my brother. Had a good relationship, we did, talked every day. Lost my best friend when I lost Brian.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, taking a fortifying sip of her drink. She eased one foot away from the bar, prepared to take flight the instant she got an opening.

“I didn’t find a friend that day here at the bar, but I did take a sweet little woman home with me. She needed money bad, had a little ‘un to feed, so I looked at it as helping out a fellow human, not as paying for sex.”

Great. Why do half of these stories end with sexual escapades? She had no desire to hear about how many times he plunged into the woman or her flexible feats.

“Turned out the woman and I had a lot in common. We’d shared sex, but I ended up falling for her. Hard. ”

“Excuse me, I just have to head back to my table. I think I see my friend.” She smiled at the man and turned away.

Her breath caught as she came up against the burning hunger in Christian’s eyes.

He stood five feet away, his expression burning with want even though she’d just had her heart carved out. Anger bubbled up inside her.

She reached over the bar and snagged the hose used to dispense soda. With a yank, she drew it over the bar top and aimed it right at Christian’s groin.

“Looks like you need something to cool off.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but she sprayed him before he got a word past his kissable lips. The club soda shot out and soaked his fly. She aimed lower, thoroughly wetting him.

“Son of a—Claire, what the hell’s the matter with you?”

Satisfaction replaced her irritation, and she handed the soda hose back to the bartender with an exchanged grin. Then she strode away from the bar, drink in hand .

Christian was on her instantly, snapping at her heels, his voice angry in her ear. “What the hell was that for?”