Unbroken: Country Fever, Book 3 (7 page)

Christian slid his arms around her, gathering her trembling body close. The coarse hair of his friend’s legs brushed Tucker’s, sending a warm splash of wanting against the walls of Tucker’s heart.

Without warning, more images of Heather rose in his mind’s eye. No, he couldn’t feel these things for anyone else. She was it for him. Forever.

Claire collapsed fully into Christian’s arms, and he drew her down onto the mattress, cradling her with his body from head to foot. A lump of jealousy formed in Tucker’s throat, but he had no right to feel it. Slinging a forearm over his eyes, he fought down rising panic.

Nothing had changed tonight between him and Claire. He couldn’t give her his heart, because it was buried in a cemetery on the south side of Reedy. He’d been wrong to toy with her emotions, but maybe something good could come of it.

Judging by the way Christian had clamped her to him, some feelings were stirring there. But could Tucker handle that? Knowing Claire was in Christian’s bed, giving him those smoldering you’re-my-universe looks? And if Christian had her, that meant he wouldn’t come around Tucker’s place as often.

Controlling a weighty sigh, he blew it out in small increments. A slideshow of happy moments with Claire slid through his mind. The time she stripped off her boots and ran barefoot through the mud, uncaring of it splashing up her tight calves, until he caught her around the waist and swung her off her feet. They’d crashed to the ground together, rolling in the mud as he delivered lingering, open-mouthed kisses. Or the time she’d jumped the fence to chase Tucker’s dog, Rocky, romping like a child.

Christian gave a stuttering sigh that indicated he might be falling asleep. Tucker opened his eyes wide to strike away the images of his friend shooting hot droplets all over his fist and Claire’s round breasts.

Too much, he loved seeing that son of a bitch come. When had Christian’s pleasure gotten all tangled up with Tucker’s? It was like they were a goddamn
unit.

The drip outside increased. With a jerk, Tucker realized his mind was on the people in his bed, not with Heather on this rainy night. Guilt wove into his chest. He scrambled for a memory of his sweet little fiancée—any memory. Threads waved in his mind, but he couldn’t catch one.

Guilt transformed into anger directed at himself. He locked his jaw and glared at the black pane of glass until a thin band of light appeared on the horizon.
If I stay here with them, I’ll lose her.

The notion materialized like a ghost walking out of the swirling fog.

Easing out of bed, Tucker quietly crossed the bedroom. As he drew on his clothes, he stared at Claire’s lovely features. Blue light played over her long brows and cast shadows in the hollows of her cheeks.

Tucker’s heart was too full—his head too full. He needed to strip these images of Claire and Christian from his mind and fill it once again with Heather. There was one place in particular where he could do that.

Her family’s house.

Clutching his boots and hat, Tucker crept out of his room, in search of the ghost that haunted him.

Driving through Reedy in the pre-dawn hours afforded him some calm. Heather’s family lived on the outskirts, up in the mountains. The twisty road was a gray ribbon, unfurling for him, greeting him like an old friend. He’d driven this road countless times.

By the time he reached the homestead, the sun’s golden fingers were stretching into the dusty blue sky. Just as he expected, the two-story house was lit up as the family sat around a big, scrubbed table and shared a hearty breakfast before a hard day was put into caring for the animals and working the land.

He reached the front door and raised his fist to knock, but the door opened. Heather’s mother stood there, neat and tidy as ever in jeans and an apron, her warm brown hair shot with silver and pulled off her face in a low ponytail.

This is what Heather would have looked like in thirty years.

His heart turned over and his voice came out rough, bruised. “Mornin’.”

“Tucker. Come and have some coffee. There’s plenty.”

“I hoped you’d say that.” Stepping into the house was like embracing his lost love. Scents of baking had always clung to her, even after Tucker had marked her from head to toe with his scent.

When he entered the kitchen, Heather’s dad and brother looked up. Her older sister had gotten married a year after he and Heather should have and was now living in the next town.

“Mornin’, Tucker,” her dad said gruffly.

Tucker gave a nod and moved to pull out a ladder-back chair. His eye caught the family photographs plastered on one wall, homing in on the spot where his and Heather’s engagement photo had hung.

The space was filled with a new picture of Heather’s sister and her new husband.

His heart squeezed so violently, he thought he’d throw up. Dropping his head forward, he gripped the chair back for support. “Where’s our picture?”

The coffee pot hissed. Outside, the rain pattered the old windows.

But no one spoke.

Finally, Heather’s mother sighed. “We need to talk about that, Tucker.”

Dread washed over him, turning his fingers to ice. If he tried to pry them off the chair now, they’d splinter. He had to touch this wood. Heather had touched this wood.

Heather’s mom placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “We think it’s best to start moving forward. We’ve had some time to grieve—we’ll always grieve. But…”

“But you put her wedding gown away, didn’t you?” His tone had a sharp edge.

Her mom nodded, eyes downcast. “It couldn’t hang in her room forever, waiting for her, Tucker. And you can’t hang around here forever either. She’s not…she’s not coming back, son.”

The use of the word “son” plucked at the strands of his control. Tears scorched his throat and lay salty on his tongue. “What are you saying, Mrs. Lander?”

Mr. Lander spoke up. “It’s time you get movin’ on in your life too. You have years and years ahead of you to laugh again, love again—”

“No,” he barked.

“It’s best this way,” Mrs. Lander said with tears in her voice. “Time to let go.”

“And you don’t want me here anymore?” A giant fist punched through Tucker’s chest, grasped his heart and yanked it out still beating.

And I thought it was buried.

Mrs. Lander patted his shoulder. “Time for you to go.”

Through a fog of pain and betrayal, Tucker scoured Mr. Lander’s face, Heather’s young brother’s face, the old tabletop where he’d sat through countless meals and games of cards.

Jerkily, he pivoted on his boot heels and ambled to the door, resisting the urge to clutch his guts to hold them in.

They don’t want me. They put away her weddin’ gown. Oh, Heather.

Somehow he’d gotten behind the wheel of his still-dented Ram. He looked out across the landscape, suddenly despising Reedy and all of Wyoming. Was the sky a different color in other parts?

Stomping on the gas, he pointed the truck north, away from everyone who could possibly cut themselves on the shattered shards of his being.

Chapter Four

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.