by Mari Carr
“Hope.” Clayton drew her attention to his white-knuckled grip. “He’s not going to approve of me bringing you to our bunkhouse. I don’t give a shit. He’s too weak right now to fight us. Trust me. I can hold him. If you have to, just go for it. Examine him. Do what you’ve gotta do. I’ll cover your back.”
She swallowed hard.
“He’d never hurt you, honey. Not on purpose.” Clay must’ve caught her hesitation. “He’s just not used to letting anyone see him with his guard down. He’ll hate every second. Likely, he’ll try to escape. When we won’t let him, he’ll lash out. It’s his way. A show to make you run. However he can. Don’t believe a word that comes out of his mouth. It’s not true, though that might not make his poison hurt any less. Ignore his words, look into his eyes. You’ll be able to get an honest read from them no matter what he says. Promise?”
“Yes. I understand.” She regretted that her situation had caused either of them this pain in addition to the emotional discomfort she was about to inflict on Wyatt. Not to mention the melancholy in Clay. How many times had Wyatt pushed him away that he knew the drill so precisely? “But I think he’ll find that people underestimate me. Never a wise move with a Compton.”
“Amen.” A hint of Clayton’s dazzling smile returned when he measured her.
Both of them kept quiet and prepared themselves for what waited as they skidded into the worn dirt patch where the guys typically parked their truck. Clay hopped down and rounded the hood as she gathered her supplies. Before she could slither from the bench seat, his broad fingers were encircling her waist.
He lowered her to the ground gently. Both of them gasped when he rubbed her along every inch of his body. Electricity arced between them. Something to consider. Later.
Wyatt attempted to sit straighter and suppress his shivers. Finger-combing the hair stuck to his forehead in sweat-soaked clumps was impossible given the raw state of his hand. Who knew one banged-up set of knuckles could reduce a guy to this? Okay, so he hadn’t exactly been able to keep the dressing clean, or even on, while working the ranch. Shoveling shit was actually part of his job description on occasion.
Another wave of blackness washed over him. Holy shit.
He didn’t scare easy, but he’d be lying through his clenched teeth if he said he wasn’t freaking out inside. Another hour or two and he’d be begging Clay to take him to the emergency room even though they both knew that if he ran into anyone from Monday night at Two Lefts, he’d start swinging again.
It must have been bad for Clay to ignore his demands and retrieve the one woman he had struggled to hide his pain from.
Hope marched toward him. Instead of the pity he feared, he saw anger. It looked sexy on her. So different from the docile woman he’d assumed she was inside as well as out. The fire she’d kept hidden did freaky things to his head.
Unless that was another side effect of the germs raging through his bloodstream.
He had to get rid of her quick, before things got out of control. She couldn’t handle him, and definitely not both him and his best friend. Look what had almost happened to her just from discussing a fantasy. Compton Pass wouldn’t be her safe haven anymore if she got tangled up with them. No way would he have that on his conscience. One innocent girl was plenty to torture him for life.
“Are you stupid?” She shook his shoulder. “Is this how you take care of yourself?”
“I’m not the one who was dating some asshole who threw you to the dogs.”
She winced. Maybe because of his classless reminder of her bad choice, or maybe because of the fear shimmering in her gaze at the memory of what had nearly happened in that dump.
“Ah, fuck.” He reached for her, but the bone-deep ache in his knuckles stopped him from making contact. “Didn’t mean that.”
“He’s crankier than a stallion with his nuts in a vise.” Clay glared at his partner. “Probably ’cause he’s hurting so bad. Not that he’s got much patience to start with.”
Despite his harsh proclamation, the unusual grooves bracketing Clay’s sinful mouth declared his partner’s anxiety loud and clear. “I’ll be fine. Just tell me you’ve got some medicine. Or know where to find some on the ranch.”
“My mom…” Hope began to offer, her pretty smile erased when he shuddered and locked his jaw to stifle a groan.
“No. She’ll tell the foremen.” Wyatt shook his head with enough vehemence to make the world rock inside his feverish brain. “Can’t afford not to work.”
“You’ve earned time, haven’t you?” Innocent, she obviously believed in the system.
“He has.” Clay developed that stubborn set to his shoulders. The one that turned Wyatt on any other time. Even did a little now, not that he could do much about it.
“I don’t call off,” he snarled. “Ever.”
“If you think you’re going to survive the pasture in the next week or so, you’re nuts.” Hope bent at the waist to get right in his face. The angle gave him a nice peek at her cleavage and the top swells of her pert breasts.
“Watch me,” he growled. The aggression might have been more effective if it hadn’t turned to something like a whimper midway through.
“He needs intravenous antibiotics. Something way more potent than these.” Hope extracted a bottle from her messenger bag.
“Please, may I have them?” Wyatt gritted out an appeal.
Both Clayton and Hope turned to stare at him.
“What’re you looking at?”
“Just making sure hell hasn’t frozen over.” Clay blinked. “Don’t think I’ve ever heard you say the P word.”
“Yes, you may.” Hope made herself at home, rummaging in the bathroom off the bedroom he shared with Clayton until she found the cup they used when brushing their teeth. If she noticed that only one of the beds in the room was rumpled and had far too many pillows for a single man, she didn’t give any indication.
“If Little Miss Innocent here can trash talk around us, I figure it’s only fair.” He attempted to snatch the glass and pills from her but missed entirely. His vision had started to double and the resulting halo made him dizzy.
Two of Hope Compton was a hallucination he didn’t mind.
Lustrous hair fell in rich chestnut waves to her waist. Her compact, dainty build made it hard to believe either Silas or Colby could be her father. The pretty almond eyes she focused on him were rimmed with thick lashes. And the ghost of her black eye.
The reminder of what had almost happened wrung his guts.
“Clay.” The other man understood as always. He grabbed Wyatt when he lurched toward the bathroom and held him steady as he emptied his stomach. Again.
Right about the time he wished someone would be kind enough to put him out of his misery, he heard Hope’s sweet voice in the background. “Mom, I need you.”
Oh no. Another round of oily sickness assaulted him.
“Yes, please hurry. He’s going to need something like cefazolin, I think. No, stronger. I’d give him the penicillin to start, but he’s not going to be able to keep it down.” A pause sealed his fate. “I think he’s afraid of the hospital. Or it could be a financial thing. I’m not sure. There’s no time to argue about it, though. Would Dr. Hill make a house visit? We owe Wy enough to call in some favors.”
“You’re all right now.” Clay added to his humiliation by rubbing his back and hauling him up from where he’d melted into a heap. His partner wiped his face with a cool cloth and tried his best to soothe Wyatt. It worked. The guy always knew how to reach beneath the surface and calm his demons. Why should now be different?
“Thanks, Mom. See you soon. Love you too.” Hope’s phone beeped as she disconnected.
When Wyatt stumbled from the bathroom, leaning heavily on his other half, he didn’t know what to say to the dark angel standing before him. She took away his uncertainty and bridged the gap for him. “Help is coming. Go ahead and try to get comfortable. I’ve got some iodine and cream to clean out the wound. I
won’t lie, it’s going to hurt.”
“More than it already does?” Clayton put himself between Wyatt and Hope.
“Yes. It’ll be a little worse before it starts getting better. Sorry.” She winced as she peeked at the mess his hand had become.
“I can handle it. Do what you have to. Quit talking. Start working.” He collapsed into bed, ready to howl when the heavy hand flopped onto the quilt by his side.
“Be nice or I won’t be gentle.” Hope administered the iodine from one of those new pen-style dispensers that kept excess from pouring all over while targeting the area in need of sterilization.
“Mother fucker!” He arched off the bed. Or would have if Clay hadn’t practically sat on him to keep him in place.
“And just so you know…my dad says you’re suspended with pay until my mom gives you the all clear.”
Wyatt didn’t know if it was her decree or the next splash of healing fire that pushed him over his limits. Unnatural midnight crept closer until it claimed more than just the periphery of his vision.
“No, don’t wake him. Let him slide under.” A soft hand covered Clayton’s large one on Wyatt’s cheek. “It’s better if he doesn’t feel this. Let his mind protect him.”
She couldn’t know about the hell waiting in his dreams.
Clay whispered in his ear, “I’ll be right here. You’re safe.”
The reassurance allowed Wyatt to sink below the surface of his consciousness.
Chapter Five
Clayton had tried his best not to pull his hair out in clumps while he watched Hope’s mom rig Wyatt to a fancy IV infusion system. Once Dr. Hill arrived, it only got worse. Whatever they did must have been for Wyatt’s own good. They wouldn’t hurt the man. Still, his unconscious lover’s groans drove Clay insane. He wanted to hold Wy. Whisper that he wasn’t leaving no matter what. Except he couldn’t. He didn’t have that right. Not with this audience, and Wy’s insistence that they keep their relationship quiet around work. Which was bullshit.
How much longer could he hide the enormity of his lust and admiration for his best friend? Why should he have to?
Clay marched from the room and plopped onto their hideous olive green couch. He’d never assessed the shabbiness of the revolting-yet-good-enough furniture until Compton royalty occupied his and Wyatt’s private domain.
Spartan, sure. Functional, though. Homey and welcoming without extra frills.
The dilapidated cushion sank despite the slight weight that could only belong to Hope as she settled next to him. He didn’t dare open his eyes. A man could only take so much torture before he lost his shit. “I know I should offer you something, but I’m pretty sure you’re not into beef jerky and beer. Maybe a can of beans to round out the sides.”
Ten tons of worry weighed Clayton down. He couldn’t even lift his head from the cushion to read the disappointment he was sure he’d find on Hope’s pretty face.
“That’s not necessary. Really. Though you shouldn’t assume you know what I like without asking. You might be surprised.” She scooted closer and laid her tiny palm on his knee.
Maybe Wyatt was right. They’d hurt her if they weren’t careful. If they didn’t keep their distance. Considering the damage they’d done to Boone, neither looked forward to that kind of fallout in the near future. Or ever again.
Her sweetness wasn’t helping to curb his appetite though.
“Actually…” Her daddy, Colby, joined them while Lucy finished up with Wyatt and her other husband, Silas, stood guard. “Hope should whip up some grub. She’s a great cook, even when the pickings are slim. A warm meal might do you good. You look like hell, kid.”
“Thanks, Foreman.” Clay couldn’t help his chuckle. At least he could trust the guy’s word. He didn’t try to sugarcoat stuff. “And, no. Your family has already gone to enough trouble.”
“It’s nothing,” Hope volunteered. “Besides, I like to play around in the kitchen. This sounds like a challenge. You’ve got to eat. When’s the last time you had something?”
His stomach rumbled its opinion on the matter. Good thing there was no way to measure the hunger inspired by the mental flash of Hope playing around in an apron with nothing beneath it. The foreman would deck him if he could read minds.
“See.” Hope patted his leg then bounced off the uneven springs toward their kitchenette. “Great idea, Daddy.”
Clay winced when Colby traded places with his daughter. The man’s inscrutable stare unnerved Clayton. What if he could see thoughts after all? Uh oh.
“It’s a hell of a lot harder to be the guy without control. The person watching while your partner suffers.” The foreman kept his insights low enough to stay private while his daughter rummaged through barren cabinets, scavenging an assortment of imperishable odds and ends from the recesses of the pantry—some soup, a can of corn, half a bag of rice and who knew what else.
Neither he nor Wy had bothered to take up Boone’s culinary slack after things had gone to shit. Right about the time Wyatt cracked and kissed a woman who’d practically assaulted him at their usual hangout, Spurs. It hadn’t been Wy’s fault, really. All three of them had known he couldn’t go pussy-free forever. But it was another disaster Clay had been powerless to stop.
Taking the backseat for his entire life was starting to unravel him.
He scratched the thickening stubble on his chin. Shaving hadn’t been a priority in the past twenty-four hours.
“I’ve spent enough time with you two to see you’re too damn much like Silas and I were back before we knew better. Before Lucy broke through to him. It’s gonna be okay, kid.” Colby didn’t relent. “Trust me. Hanging in there is worth it in the end. You’d have split by now if it wasn’t the real thing. It might be fucked up, but it’s there. You can work on it together. He’ll admit to himself what you’ve got soon enough. Until then, you have to be the stronger man.”
Clay refused to succumb to the burning behind his eyes. “How can you be so sure?”
The thick, heavy hand Silas Compton dropped on Clay’s shoulder from behind the couch shocked him speechless.
“Because a man can only be a blind fool for so long when everything in the universe steers him toward his destiny.” The cowboy cleared his throat, then moved past as if he’d said all he intended to on the subject.
A giant grin eroded Silas’s intimidation factor a bit. He monitored Hope’s ingenuity and the kind spirit his family had nurtured in her. The glance he tossed over his shoulder screamed his love and appreciation for the pair who’d been awfully patient with him if even a tiny fraction of the ranch legends were true.
Lucy rounded the sofa last, settling easily into her first husband’s arms. “Wyatt’s sleeping peacefully now. He’ll be out for a long time. Don’t let that frighten you. His body is fighting for him.”
“He’ll be okay?” Clay asked.
“Yeah. He’s lucky you were here to get help. His hand will recover fully. The rest is up to him. And you. I know this look, Clayton.” She surprised him by reaching over to kiss his cheek.
Even worse was Silas’s grunt at the stare Hope shot them. Were those green sparks he caught in her eyes?
Clay couldn’t restrain his curiosity another moment. “Did you really write a letter to Silas every day for ten years?”
“I’m persistent like that.” She nodded and snuggled into Colby’s chest.
For a second, Clay hated them. They had everything he needed so desperately. In a way the ranch, the land and the wealth they possessed never had, their intimacy riled something disgusting in him. The ugly thought turned to relief as he deliberately tamped bitterness from his soul, replacing it with joy that someone had found their greenest pasture.
But how much longer would he be able to win that fight against ingrained pessimism?
It got harder every day.
He was tired.
Fucking exhausted.
His lids fluttered closed.
“If it’s ever too much
, you can come talk to us. We understand.” Colby’s generous offer had him about to smile before he grimaced.
Not like he could reciprocate their openness. Especially since he envisioned Hope as the link he and Wy had been missing—the female touch Wyatt needed and he enjoyed.
“Thank you.” Regardless of the unlikeliness of him taking them up on it, he worked hard to explain himself. “Since we came here, you’ve been damn good to us. Today. This. It’s more than we could ever repay.”
Lucy shushed him. “We don’t keep score around Compass Ranch.”
“But if we did, you’d still be miles ahead.” Colby beamed as he watched their daughter with Silas.
Priceless, her innocence and the joy of life shone from within until it kind of hurt to look at her.
“Almost done.” She turned to smile at him as the microwave counted final seconds to full temperature on her concoction.
“I think we should leave you to your dinner.” Lucy rose. She tugged her husband along behind her.
Clayton appreciated them sparing him. Being an awkward spectacle as he ate the single serving of dinner didn’t sit well with him. He only regretted that Hope would disappear with the trio of ranch leaders.
Silas joined his lovers, enfolding one of their hands in each of his. He nudged them toward the door as a unit while Hope used a threadbare towel to deliver Clayton’s meal to the coffee table made of milk crates and an old board they’d found in the barn.
Fragrant steam drifted up from the modified stew.
“There’s enough for you to have a second bowl.” She wrung her hands in front of her waist. “If you like it. When you’re done, pour the rest from the pot into your bowl and give it forty-five seconds in the ionizer.”
He didn’t bother to correct her. They still had an ancient microwave in the bunkhouse.
“Hope.” Silas interrupted before Clay could reassure her he’d savor every drop because she’d bothered to make it for him. “Maybe you should stay.”
Clayton’s eyebrows climbed probably about as high as Hope’s had.
