Unbroken: Country Fever, Book 3 (8 page)

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.

“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.”