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
“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
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