Page 9 of Wrangled Up (Menage a Trouble #2)

Christian moved around Tucker’s kitchen, feeding the coffee maker some fresh water and fragrant dark roast. A smile continually returned, twitching the corner of his mouth upward.

This morning, he’d awakened to find Claire still slumbering in his arms, her sweet body conformed to his. Tucker was gone and his truck wasn’t in the drive, but he’d probably gone out to check the horses.

With the coffee pot filling, Christian hitched a thumb in his jeans pocket and drifted to the window to gaze out at the landscape. Pissing down rain. And Tucker was out in it. Poor bastard .

Last night had far surpassed any other ménage a trois that he and Tucker had ever participated in. Having Claire between them felt like having a third sharing an amplified jack-off session. Though Christian hadn’t even kissed her, it was enough that she’d slept in his embrace.

Warmth flowed in his veins.

In his back pocket, his cell vibrated. Fishing it out, he hit the talk button without checking the caller ID. It was probably his foreman calling to let him know they weren’t working in this filthy weather, as if Christian couldn’t have already guessed.

“Davis.”

“Christian.” Tucker’s voice filtered into his brain, causing a jerk in his lower abdomen.

“Yeah, what’s up? You coming in soon? I’ve got coffee brewing.”

There was a beat of silence. “Actually, no. Listen, I’m gonna be gone for a few days.”

“What?” Christian’s pulse thundered in his ears.

“Look, I can’t get into it. I just had to get some distance.”

“From Claire.” Christian bit the words off, fury and protectiveness mingling into one whirlwind of emotion.

It spun inside his mind, threatening to dislodge the dam holding back his cream-your-ass-and-wipe-the-floor-with-you tongue.

He’d spent his entire life trying to corral his mouth when he got hotheaded and in one sentence, Tucker had smashed his progress.

There was a clicking sound on the line, as if it took some effort for Tucker to swallow. Good.

“From her, yeah. And other things. Listen, I didn’t call to get my ass chewed.”

“Then what the hell did you call for?”

“To ask you to take care of my ranch while I’m gone.”

That sent Christian reeling in a new direction. “As in make sure it’s locked up and the windows are shut?”

“No, as in feed and water my livestock.”

Christian plowed furrows in his hair, one ear cocked to the small bumping noises coming from the bathroom. Fuck, the last thing Claire needed was to overhear this conversation. She was going to be devastated enough that Tucker was gone.

“Listen, you son of a bitch,” Christian growled low into the cell, “you get your weakling ass back here and make this right. I’m not picking up all of your pieces.”

Another stretch of silence, then, “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need your help.”

Christian ground his molars until his jaw popped. Damn him to hell. He knew exactly which card to drop onto the table to twist Christian all up. “Tucker…”

“Just take care of my horses, Chris.”

The line went dead.

Fingers tightened around the cell phone. His biceps flexed in readiness to hurl it through the goddamn window. Anger boiled in his chest, churned his guts.

“Mmm, coffee. Where’s Tucker?”

Christian whirled to face Claire. She wore only Tucker’s big flannel shirt, hanging mid-thigh and open to reveal her maddening seam of cleavage. Her half smile froze as she got a look at Christian’s expression.

Her words were hot with pain. “What’s wrong?”

How to tell her that the man who’d made amends with her last night had once again fled? Leaving Christian to glue her back together as well as look after God-knew-how- many horses? Not to mention chickens and an alpaca.

Claire’s curls bounced with a tremble and in one step, Christian was with her, hauling her into his arms. He burrowed his face against her neck, dragging in deep draughts of her feminine scent, which was mixed with his own and Tucker’s.

Damn that man to hell for leaving her.

“Where’s Tucker?” she asked against his shoulder.

When Christian couldn’t find the words, she pulled free of his embrace and looked him square in the face. “I should have known he’d do this…” Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes, threatening to fall and break Christian’s heart.

Trouble was, it was already cracked. A single tear would be the end of him. Using his thumbs to catch any drops before they tumbled down Claire’s satiny cheeks, he searched her gaze. Tried to convey that somehow, they’d be all right if they stuck together.

She shook her head and backed away from him. “He has holes in him, the kind you can’t mend,” she whispered, repeating the words he’d spoken days before .

“Yes,” Christian said raggedly.

“And he’s gone.”

“Gone,” he echoed, staring past her and through the window that framed the rolling pastures. Horses began to circle as a herd, restless for food and care that Christian was clueless about how to provide. He was equally lost as to how to make Claire whole again.

He continued to stare outside as the coffee pot hissed its finish.

“I’ll need a ride to the diner so I can get my car,” she whispered.

Christian turned. “Not yet. I…Tucker asked me to take care of his animals, but I don’t know how.”

Her brow crinkled. “How is it a man in these parts doesn’t know how to feed and water animals?”

He swiped a hand through the air. “I’m an asphalt cowboy. My dad’s an asphalt cowboy. Mom’s a banker. I’ve only ever been around dogs for any length of time.”

Her chest heaved with a sob-laugh. “Well, it isn’t much different.”

Stretching a hand toward her, he clasped her fingers. “We’ll work together. ”

What would he do if she walked out? Not only would he be left to stumble through daily ranch chores, but he was just as fucking lost without Tucker as she was.

As if feeling this too, she met his gaze and nodded. “But I don’t have any jeans or boots. I only have my uniform…” Her words trailed off. Was she recalling their session in the diner booth last night?

Christian swallowed hard. “Tucker has belts. Rubber boots. We’ll come up with something.”

After some digging, they unearthed a pair of clean jeans. When Christian tossed them to Claire, the scent of the owner wafted out.

Claire froze. Her gaze dropped. Then she eased her feet into the leg holes, heedless of the fact that she wasn’t wearing panties. Where had they left them anyway? She fastened the button and zipper, but the denim hung off her hips. “Belt?”

“Yeah.” Christian pulled his attention from her and rooted around in the closet. Three belts hung there. One cracked brown leather that had seen better days. Tucker had worn it during some of their first sessions together.

He shook himself .

The second belt had a big buckle that would swallow half of Claire’s midsection and sported the stamp of some rodeo from four years ago. The last belt was a thin strip of black. The glossy leather would have been worn with a suit. To a funeral.

Christian grabbed the cracked leather and Claire accepted it. He watched her feed the end into the belt loops. When she cinched it around her narrow waist, he smiled. Then she knotted the loose ends of the flannel shirt, creating an instant shape to her womanly form.

“Boots?” she prompted, and he realized he’d been staring.

“Right.” He led the way out of the bedroom. In the entryway, a metal tray was tucked against the wall, holding boots. He plucked the pair of rubber boots into one hand and flipped them over. “Size ten. It’s all we’ve got. I’d give you mine, but they’re an eleven.”

She dropped her gaze from the boots to his crotch for a second. A flush washed over her, but she ducked to put the boots on, effectively avoiding his stare.

Dressed and ready for chores, she paused on the front porch. The land was awakening, the clouds banked and every drop of rain seeming grayer than the next.

“When will he come back?” Her words were low.

“I don’t know.” With a shake of his head, he grasped her forearm and led her down the steps and across the grounds to the barn.

“We should let the chickens out first. They need to get a start on their scavenging for the day, and that will give me a chance to gather eggs without them coming after me. That big rooster can be mean.”

He changed paths, Claire’s wrist still in his grip. The fine bones under his fingers shifted, muscles tensed. He let her go.

I haven’t kissed her. She isn’t mine.

By the time they reached the chicken coop, the rain had plastered her hair to her skull. The wet ends curled, giving her a whimsical appearance.

“Sorry—should have gotten you a hat.” He opened the door of the coop and chickens flooded out, clucking and pecking before they hit the turf, which was full of bugs and seeds that comprised their diet .

The rooster made a rush at him, and he sent a boot out as a reflex.

“Don’t hurt him!” Claire dove between the chicken and Christian. The bird squawked and skittered away, following his harem into the grass.

Smooth. Saved by a girl.

Wiping a drop of water off his jaw, he located the egg basket. After five minutes, the basket was brimming. What the hell did Tucker do with all of these eggs? No man, even a hungry one, could consume that many.

“He must sell these or give them away,” Claire mused as she tried to balance one more egg on the top.

“I’m not sure.” Now what?

“We’ll just put these on the porch and then see to the horses, okay?” She turned her face up to his, lip caught in her teeth. A deep-seated ache took up residence in his chest at the sight of her blatant pain. Tucker had reclaimed her, only to leave her again.

And from what Christian knew about Claire, she wasn’t the type of girl to burst into tears. No, she went and found herself a weapon instead .

In the barn, she moved gingerly from stall to stall, talking quietly to the horses and tipping pellets into their buckets. He took his cues from her, moving slowly so as not to frighten the animals.

“You ever ridden?” she asked.