Unbroken: Country Fever, Book 3 by Em Petrova Page A

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