Page 11 of Knot what I want for Christmas
Tucker tells him and I describe the work I did mending the fences out on the lower northern pastures.
“How was your day?” Tucker says, dropping down into a chair and leaning forward, forearms resting on his knees, a big grin on his face.
“Just fine,” Clay says, not quite meeting our packmate’s eyes.
“Had fun at the airport?”
Clay shrugs.
Tucker examines him for a moment, then leans right back on his chair and rests his hands in his lap. “Nash thinks she’s pretty.”
“Nash thinks every woman on the planet is pretty.”
“I do not,” I protest. “But I do happen to think Hollie is pretty.”
“What do you think, Clay?” Tucker asks.
“I think that’s a judgement you should make for yourself, Tucker,” he says.
“I haven’t met her yet,” Tucker bounces his leg on the spot, “but I’m definitely interested to meet her after catching her scent in the house. Man,” he groans, “that – that omega smells like –”
“Be more respectful,” Clay snaps.
Tucker erupts into a peal of laughter.
“I’m serious,” Clay says. “She’s my sister’s best friend.”
“That’s what I said,” I tell him. “She’s not some toy you can mess around with.”
Tucker groans like he’s just been told by the teacher that, indeed, he can’t play with the toy he’s been eyeing and had better put it the hell away. “How many omegas are there in Silver Creek?” he asks us.
“Three,” I answer.
“Exactly, three,” Tucker repeats. “And how many of those are actually single?”
“Zero,” I state.
“Zero,” he repeats again. “Zero available omegas.”
“There are hundreds, thousands of omegas in Colorado,” Clay tells him. “Plenty for you to fuck around with.”
“Yeah, but I’m working – working hard, Clay. Damn hard.” Which is true. Tucker may be a bit of a joker, a bit of a ladies’ man. He may have a reputation as a playboy, but he’s one of the hardest working men I know. It’s why the three of us get on so well. It’s why we bonded. It’s why we work so well as a pack. We’re all dedicated to the job, to the work. We all want to see this ranch last for another one hundred and fifty years. We want ourchildren to inherit it from us, and then our grandchildren, and their children, and their children after that.
“Where do I get the chance to meet omegas?” Tucker continues. “And now there’s one here, landed right in our laps–”
“She’s not landing in anyone’s laps,” Clay snaps.
“Figure of speech,” Tucker says with one of his charming smiles. The kind of smile that has a lot of ladies dropping their panties.
“Fuck around with Hollie Bright,” Clay tells Tucker, “and I will beat your ass.”
“And what if she wants to fuck around with me?” he says.
“Unlikely,” Clay tells him. “Hollie Bright’s not interested in alphas.”
“She’s an omega,” I state. “Of course she’s interested in alphas.”
Clay shakes his head. “She’s not. She dates betas.”
