Page 21 of Wrangled Up (Menage a Trouble #2)

The imaginary Tucker didn’t respond, so Christian did the only thing he knew would take his mind off his friend—he threw himself into his work.

* * * * *

The old Buick sputtered, and Claire stomped on the gas to keep it running.

The car grumbled and threatened to stall as she approached the one red light in town.

Main Street was filled with tourists at this time of day, buying hats too big for their heads that they’d never wear once they got home, and filling their cars with antiques and handmade crafts from the local vendors.

Another loud rumble alerted her that the engine was about to sputter again, so she put it in park and gassed it. Several people in the crosswalk shot her terrified looks.

She bit down on her lip, fighting a laugh. Poor pedestrians and poor old car. Claire really needed to try harder to find a new job. Trouble was, she was completely happy at the diner. She’d never seen herself as a college graduate. Never wanted to go away from Reedy .

But her wages and Letty’s pension weren’t conducive to buying new vehicles. Besides, she didn’t need much in life.

Except two men.

She released a long, low sigh. The sound mingled with the whir of air in the vents. How had she gotten so entangled with Christian? And what would happen when Tucker came home?

If he comes home.

No, he would. His ranch was probably worth a couple million dollars. No one could walk away from that indefinitely.

The traffic light changed, and she eased the Buick forward with a light touch on the gas.

Too much and she’d stall for sure. As she progressed slowly through town, past the library where she had an overdue book and farther out to the local grocery, she mentally ran through the list of supplies she needed to put up the harvest.

Jars, large mouth and small, quart and pint-sized. Lids. Seals. Yesterday Letty had run home to their old house to lug their big canning pot out of the storage closet, but she didn’t have any spare jars to use for Tucker’s harvest. So after her shift at the diner, Claire would go buy the items.

Out of the corner of her eye, a light flashed. She turned her head to the sparkling facade of the local nail salon. The front was studded with shiny tiles and the sign had more bling than Boom Boom’s ankle cuffs.

Which looked pretty damn adorable, if Claire did say so herself.

Five cars were parked in front of the salon, and as she rolled past, one woman with blonde waves down to her waist strode out on teetering heels.

Ugh. Reedy was like a depository for alien life forms. Nine out of ten women in this town looked as if they’d stepped off a runway—from fresh-faced country girls who could grace the pages of a Country Outfitter ad to women who could fit right into the Playboy mansion.

Even that woman standing in front of the antique shop was gorgeous in a pinup-girl way—curves and blonde locks. As Claire drove past, a tall man she recognized as the town’s orthodontist wrapped his arms around the woman from behind.

Jealousy panged in Claire’s soul. She ran her fingers through her kinky hair. What Tucker or Christian had seen in her at the start, she had no idea. She’d only had Tucker for two months and spent the last few weeks wanting him with a hunger that was almost primal.

When she approached the Quickie Mart, her heart thudded, then a goofy grin spread over her face. Christian’s truck was parked in the lot.

A laugh bubbled up her throat. “Christian, you little liar.”

This morning, Letty had made a big spread of pancakes and homemade blueberry topping, but Christian had rushed out, saying he needed to see to the lame horse in the upper field. As she had watched him running out to the truck, she and Letty had dissolved into hysterical laughter.

“That man hates his breakfasts,” Letty wheezed.

“Not if it involves a high fat content and a bun,” Claire said.

Claire slowed the car. As she sailed by the Quickie Mart, Christian emerged from the building, armed with a large-sized soda and a small bag, probably filled with greasy breakfast sandwiches or donuts .

Her smile didn’t stop all the way through her shift. Even though she heard about a man’s foot operation, detail by gruesome detail, and a young mom talked about how frazzled she was with raising her two-year-old alone, Claire offered nothing but smiles and support.

Maybe that was the reason Christian was in her life.

He lifted her spirits, which she could then pass on to others.

Spread the love. Even if he was stubborn to the nth degree.

Besides refusing Letty’s home-cooking, he was getting more and more protective of Claire, telling her to go inside while he worked into the night.

Whenever she tried to insert herself in the task, he’d kiss her mindless, pat her on the bottom and send her off to the house.

Before she realized he’d bewitched her again, she was already inside.

By the time the breakfast and lunch rushes were over, she was eager to get out of the diner. As she passed the night shift waitress, she smiled and gave a nod. “See you tomorrow, Anna.”

“Hey, wait up a sec.” The gentle lady stopped Claire with a hand on her arm.

Claire looked up from the cell she held. No messages from Tucker. In fact, Christian hadn’t even texted her. Not unusual for either, but she still felt a letdown. “Sure, what’s up?”

Anna was in her mid- thirties and had two kids by a truck drivin’ man.

She was lonely and the kids missed their dad—something Claire could easily identify with.

When she’d come around to Anna’s house for cookouts or holiday drinks, Claire always made it a point to take a little gift for the kids to let them know they were special.

Claire stared into her friend’s face. Anna shifted her blue gaze away.

“Have you talked to your daddy lately, hon?” Anna asked.

“Um…” She thought back. When had she and her father actually spoken?

After years of him being on the road, his destinations blended in with his phone calls.

She didn’t know if he called on a Wednesday from San Francisco or Saturday from Missoula.

All she knew was that he’d been strange during their last conversation, probing about where she’d been staying and if she had a boyfriend.

Anna moved closer and lowered her voice. Though the mad lunch rush was over, four old gentlemen still held down the stools at the counter, and they were sometimes more gossipy than old women.

“My Rodney crossed paths with your father two days ago. Guess they sat down together and had a few beers.”

“Okay,” Claire said slowly.

“That young man you brought around here a few times… Tucker, was it?”

Claire’s heart convulsed. The blood drained from her face, giving her a dizzy feeling. “What about him?” Her voice came out a breathless whisper.

Anna kept her hand on Claire’s arm, a concerned crinkle alighting between her eyebrows. “I hear tell that your daddy did some talking to Tucker.”

Claire jerked. “What?” They were together? Talking? And where? When Tucker’s relatives had come nosing around yesterday and told her and Christian that they’d heard from Tucker, Claire had known a dark jealousy unlike any she’d had before.

Except right now.

Tucker didn’t have the decency to get in touch with the two people he’d fucked and left with all of his work, but he could hang out with her father?

“What would they have to talk about?”

Anna’s eyes saddened. “You, honey. I guess your father told him what a good catch you are.”

Claire’s sinking feeling transformed to one of instant irritation. She rolled her eyes. “Damn him for interfering.” But she had to ask the one question burning in her heart. “How did he look—Tucker? He’s all right?”

Anna lifted a rounded shoulder in a dainty shrug. “Men don’t notice things about other men like that. But you know, I guess he was doing fine.”

Claire felt herself nodding—an autonomic reflex akin to breathing. Nod, smile, let everyone know I’m okay.

I’m not okay.

She fought down the knot bobbing in her throat and gave Anna’s arm a pat. “Thank you for letting me know. Now, have a good shift. Don’t take any crap from Mr. McGinley. His supper does not need to be sent back to be warmed. You hear?”

Anna looked uncertain .

Claire provided one of her bravest smiles and then fled the diner. Ordinarily, she might have checked her phone one more time for messages from Tucker. Instead, she shoved her cell into her purse.

The air was cooler outside, a shifty breeze that smelled of wild things, growing things.

Dying things. Her love with Tucker had been born in the summer, when the world was ripe with promise.

Autumn was upon them, and his loss and refusal to come back were killing off every sweet emotion she ever held for him.

She ripped open her car door and tossed her purse onto the passenger seat. For a long minute, she stared at the side of the diner. The concrete blocks had been painted a retro baby blue a few shades darker than the washed-out sky.

Somewhere out there, Tucker was talking about her with her father. Two men who thought they knew enough about her to deserve the right to speak of her.

Tears welled in her eyes. She dropped her forehead to the steering wheel and tried to conjure any image but that of Tucker seated beside her dad sharing beers and talk of her .

Before her mind’s eye, she brought forth the picture of Christian with his contraband breakfast and Letty’s jovial laugh when he’d practically run from this morning’s pancakes as if they were ninjas.

And Boom Boom. Such a silly, dim-witted creature, but one she loved.

She sniffed back the sting of tears and raised her head.

Pulling her lips tight against her teeth in some form of a smile, she drove out of the parking lot and down the road toward Reedy’s hardware store.

There she spent forty-five minutes at the cash register while Marla Crump, the old owner’s daughter who had the misfortune of losing her beauty to a house fire as a child, poured her lonely heart out to Claire.

So by the time Claire left the store armed with all the supplies needed to harvest Tucker’s crops, she was once again thankful in her heart for the things she had, and her watery smile was almost real.

* * * * *

Tucker’s heart groaned as he glanced at his phone and found two missed calls from Claire.

“Dammit.” He threw himself into the hard-backed chair in front of the shabby laminate hotel desk. Lacing his hands behind his head, he stared up at the popcorn ceiling. Ugly space. Goddamn ugly excuse for a human being was living in it too.

What was he doing, drifting between diner and bar and hotel room, as if this was all he needed in life? The wide open plains called to him. An itch to return to his life had long ago begun deep in his blood, but he ignored it. He was good at ignoring things.

He let his hat tip off his head onto the floor and played connect the plaster dots on the ceiling. Was it his imagination, or did they create a big L pattern over his head? L for loser.

Hurting Claire like this ate at his soul. She loved him, and fuck, if he didn’t feel something for her too. How had she gotten past his steel defenses?

All of a sudden, he jackknifed forward, elbows digging into his thighs, head in his palms. Jake Mickelson was getting under his motherfucking skin with his damned talk about his daughter. Relating stories of Claire’s good deeds and her sweet disposition. As if Tucker didn’t already know.

His cell buzzed in his lap again, and he growled in frustration. His resistance was too low as it was—if he saw her name on his digital display, he was damn well going to pick up.

But it wasn’t her. His uncle’s name flashed across the screen.

Tucker ground his molars until his jaw popped. With the flick of his thumb, he stabbed the talk button. He jerked the phone to his ear. “Yeah?”

“What a surprise that you’re answering your phone two days in a row.”

“Get to the point, Leon. I don’t have a lot of time.” All I have is time. What was he going to do with the gobs of time on his hands? His horses would be tucked into their stalls back on the ranch. And what of Christian? Was he sprawled on a recliner, cock in fist?

He had to put it from his mind. Drawing a deep breath, he carefully spoke. “Listen, Uncle, I know you’re waiting for me to come home and sign those papers— ”

“Damn straight. When’s that gonna happen?”

If his weasly relative were in front of him right now, Tucker would fit his hand very precisely around his throat and squeeze ever so slightly. At least until the man’s eyeballs bulged.

“You’re gonna be waiting a long time, because I ain’t signing those papers. Bradley Coal is not getting another piece of my land, no matter how big or small.”

“And the money?”

“I don’t care about the money. Never did.”

“Then what do you care about? If family is so unimportant to you, and your friends even more so—”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Tucker leaped to his feet and did a quick rotation of the cramped room. Past the bed, bathroom door, back to the laminate desk.

“These so-called friends of yours who are living in your house. They claim you haven’t been in touch with them.”

“Jesus, you’ve been there? For what? Hassling them.” The last was a dead statement. Of course Dale and Leon would be riding out to Tucker’s ranch. He was an idiot for overlooking that possibility in the first place. It must have been the reason for Claire’s shaky voicemail.

There was a beat of silence, while Tucker envisioned the smug look on his uncle’s face.

“If you trouble them, so help me…”

“What? You’ll find your balls and come home and man up to your responsibilities?”

That was exactly what Leon wanted. Also what Tucker should do. Dammit, how galling that his manipulative relative was right in this matter.

“Just keep yourselves on your own property, Leon. Christian and Claire—” his voice broke in speaking their names, “—they aren’t part of our ongoing discussion about Bradley Coal.”

“Oh? Seems you might want to get back and see what’s happening on your ranch, nephew.” With that, Leon clicked off.

The roar of frustration erupted from Tucker’s chest. He hurled his phone to the bed and paced three more rapid-fire loops around the room. Then he sank slowly to the bed and stared at his hands. Hands that should be caring for his own animals and crops.

And caring for Claire.

He drew a deep gulp of air and lay back on the mattress again to find new letters in the plaster of the ceiling.

A pair of C’s taunted him—so close yet so far away.