Page 17 of Wrangled Up (Menage a Trouble #2)

A swift movement made him jerk his head around, just in time to see Claire slip onto the mare’s bare back. Her grip on the mane lessened, but the horse danced sideways at the unexpected weight.

“Claire.” The word came out hot and urgent. If she fell from that height or the horse threw her…

He swallowed the lump of fear in his throat. She dropped her chest, plastering her body to the animal. Her lips moved but he couldn’t make out what she was saying to the beast.

The mare stamped a front foot, and Christian tensed, prepared to leap forward and snag Claire out of midair if the horse tossed her.

“Jesus, don’t make any sudden moves.”

Claire turned her head and gave him a smile.

A genuine smile. One that sent her eyes dancing—two merry little coals burning with life.

His heart thumped heavily as he stared at her.

The untamed, wild beauty she possessed matched that of the horse she seated.

But to say he was petrified for her safety was like saying he had a little hard-on for Tucker.

He inched forward .

Suddenly, Claire applied pressure with her heels, sending the horse into a graceful trot. Unable to watch her move away from him on the four-legged hell train, Christian jogged alongside her.

Claire giggled, a joyous sound that sent a pang of want straight to his cock. He didn’t tear his gaze off her but continued to run beside her. “Don’t look so worried, Chris.”

Her use of his nickname gave him a new warm, fuzzy feeling, somewhat higher up in his anatomy.

“Letty taught me to ride when I was hardly able to walk without falling on my nose. She was a great rider, you know. Letty. A few years ago, she broke her ankle on some ice though. Two big pins in her spindly bones keep her from riding anymore.”

“Damn good thing.” He raked his gaze over another woman with fine bones—one he’d hate to see laid up with a cast. Then again, maybe it would be sexy to hook the plaster over his shoulder and pound into her tight, wet heat.

He scuffed a hand over his face. What was wrong with him?

“I’m going to take her for a gallop. ”

“Like hell,” he ground out.

Claire’s eyes widened, and she brought the mare to a walk. “You can’t be…you’re afraid something will happen to me?”

Her voice held something like wonder. Hadn’t Tucker ever told her how important she was in this world? Damn the man for worshipping a dead woman and ignoring the living.

Christian held out a hand to her. Her warm fingers clasped his, and he drew her off the horse’s back and into his arms. With all of his control stripped away, he locked his hands on her ass and lifted her against him even as he slammed his mouth onto hers.

She gasped at the contact. He drove his tongue between her lips, gathering her sweetness.

“You taste like oatmeal,” he growled and plunged in for more. A rushing noise in his ears might have been the wind ruffling the grasses, but was probably more like the blood flooding out of his head into his cock.

He pushed his shaft into her belly and she moaned in response. She knocked his hat off and cradled his head, angling her mouth to better receive his kisses .

The quiet rasp of his unshaven face against her silky skin set fire to his control, and any restraint went up in smoke.

“How charming.” A rough voice dug into the center of his psyche. Claire tore her mouth free, a tremor running through her.

That voice…so like Tucker’s, yet not his at all.

Christian swung toward the speaker and found two men leading horses. Now that he wasn’t drunk on lust, he noticed the whickers of Tucker’s horses, alerting him to the fact that two new stallions were in their midst.

He squeezed Claire’s waist and let her go. “Can I help you, gentlemen?”

The taller of the two narrowed his eyes and wrapped the reins more securely around his leather-clad fist. “I’m Leon Langley and this is my son Dale. Seems to me you folks are squatting in Tucker’s house.”

Christian didn’t like the way he said that. No, he did not. “He asked us to take care of his stock while he’s away.” Claire inched closer to his side.

Dale gave a start. “Away?” Suspicion dripped from each syllable .

“That’s right. Had some business up north.”

The strangers exchanged a glance. Leon released his reins and eased forward on boots that cost more than Christian’s entire wardrobe, plus Claire’s. The rustle of his leather drover coat probably wasn’t meant to be intimidating, yet Christian felt his menace.

“Listen, son.” Leon tipped his hat back so they could see his eyes. “This here is Langley land. Me and Tucker, we’re mixed up in deeds and coal contracts. So what happens on this land concerns me quite a bit. You understand?”

“Not following your train of thought, sir.” Christian squared his shoulders and looked the man in the eye.

“Don’t you think that my nephew would have mentioned he had business up north and that he’d asked two inexperienced and… impassioned friends…” he swept Claire with a gaze that had Christian’s hands knotting, “…running the ranch?”

Christian shifted his weight, pressing his thigh up the length of Claire’s. She trembled. “Seems to me that Tucker would have mentioned an uncle and cousin living so nearby, if he held any stock in that familial connection.”

Dale gave a harsh laugh and the horse tethered behind Claire pawed the ground.

Leon’s glare was icy. “You watch your tongue, boy.”

“I’m no one’s boy , and I’d ask that you take up any trouble with Tucker.

We’re just the ranch hands.” Christian took Claire’s forearm and turned her away.

Accusing him of taking over the ranch didn’t set well at all.

If he decided to take it up with the law, Christian had no proof that Tucker had asked them to keep his ranch running.

Then again, Christian, Claire and now Letty were squatting in his house, uninvited.

Without releasing Claire’s arm, he bent and swiped the water hose off the ground. Then he switched it on and trickled the flow over the horse’s hide. Behind him, the creak of leather and the stamp of horses moved away.

“They’re gone,” Claire whispered from the corner of her mouth.

Christian caressed her forearm and released her .

“I don’t know what to make of that conversation, but…I think he was threatening us or Tucker.”

“Or all,” he ground out. He had a feeling that if Leon went up to the house and saw Letty established in the kitchen, he’d shove the frail woman out the door. He dipped the scrub brush into the soapy water and employed it on the horse’s speckled flank.

“What are we going to do?” Claire’s voice dipped a notch, indicating her fear.

Christian caught her eye, wishing his hat wasn’t on the ground and the shadow of the brim could disguise any worry he couldn’t strain from his gaze.

He’d texted Tucker numerous times just to check on him, and he hadn’t bothered to answer either those or Christian’s voicemails.

Dammit, this wasn’t his problem. He’d gladly stand beside his friend in this fight, but he shouldn’t have to do it alone, operating half blind.

“Only thing I know to do is keep trying to contact Tucker. This is his problem.”

Even as he said it, he recognized it for a lie. If Tucker only thought of him and Claire as ranch hands, he wouldn’t be on the run. The man had fled from his emotions, pure and simple.

* * * * *

“I seen those apple trees are loaded. Another two weeks and we’ll be ready to harvest.” Letty wielded the paring knife on potatoes as if the spuds were intruders and she defending their dwelling.

A smile drifted over Claire’s face, but it didn’t remain long. Following the encounter with Tucker’s relatives, her nerves were shot. They could dump them off the ranch with ease. That wasn’t the true concern, but rather why Tucker had left if he was aware his family was grappling for control.

Maybe he really doesn’t know.

No, that couldn’t be the case. Tucker was one of the savviest judges of character she knew.

He’d once sat in the diner during her shift and people-watched, a mug of high test coffee in his fist. After she finished clearing tables for the night, he’d recounted the men who had looked at her too long and the women who darted jealous glances her way—Tucker’s way of telling her to steer clear.

Had it also been a bit possessive? Claire shook her head. She couldn’t allow herself to think that. Belonging to him was too much to hope for.

Letty dropped another potato into the pot. “Think that man of yours likes potatoes?”

She started. With Tucker on the mind, it took her a full minute to figure out that her aunt spoke of Christian. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen him eat anything but chili dogs.”

A squeak of mirth escaped Letty, more of a wheeze than a laugh. For twenty years, Claire had never heard any other type of laughter from her aunt, and it gave her a warm feeling.

“No wonder he hid his oatmeal in his napkin,” Letty said.

Mention of the oatmeal dragged up memories of the delectable, scorch-your-panties off kiss they’d shared in the yard. “I think he may give the oatmeal another try, Auntie.”

“I wonder if a bachelor like your Langley fella might have canning jars sitting around here? ”

Claire’s breath caught. Letty had just called Christian her man and Tucker her fella. Did she realize they’d shared a wanton night together? That it was all Claire could think about—being in bed, limbs entwined with two hard men?

She took a swallow of hot tea. The apple spice filled her head. “I’ll dig around in the basement for some canning jars. If he doesn’t have any, I’ll buy some.”

“You sure feel strongly that this harvest mustn’t go to waste, if you’re putting up your own funds.” Her sharp eyes missed nothing.