Page 22 of Wrangled

Okay, now I was pissed. It was bad enough that Kevin and I had to sneak around. The last thing we needed was someone spying on us. Someone I didn’t know. I picked up the flashlight I’d brought and shone it in his face. My anger dissipated when I saw the bruises. “Holy crap, what happened to you?”

He swallowed. “How about…I got in a fight with a barn door?”

I arched my eyebrows. “Wanna try that again?”

Another sharp swallow. “I ran away from home, all right?”

“Someone at home do that to you?” When he didn’t answer, I took a step closer. “I’m not gonna hurt you, okay? Now talk to me, kid. Who did this?”

Christ, his eyes… So much pain.

“My dad. I’m used to it. It… it happens every day.”

“Your mom does nothing about it?”

He snorted. “Fuck no. She’s too scared of him. She gets the same treatment.” His chest heaved. “My dad always said I was too chicken-shit to run away.” He squared his skinny shoulders and raised his chin to look me in the eye. “I guess he hit me one time too many.”

He sounded like a smart kid. Brave little bastard too.

I put down the rifle. “You come with me.”

His eyes widened. “Why? What are you gonna do with me?”

I cocked my head to one side. “How about I give you some breakfast? When did you last eat?”

His stomach chose that moment to erupt into a loud growl.

“Guess that answersthatquestion. Okay, let’s go.”

He stared at me. “I don’t know…”

I bit back a smile. “Well, you can either stay here and wake everyone up with that grumblin’ belly of yours, or you can come with me up to the big house, and fill your face. We’ve got eggs, bacon, pancakes, biscuits…”

I figured the menu was what finally got to him. He nodded.

“You got anything with you?”

He scanned the ground, then picked up a backpack.

“Okay, follow me.” I headed for the door, and as he stepped out of the barn, I stopped him. “What’s your name?”

“Teague. Teague McKay.”

I patted his shoulder. “I’m Robert Thorston. My dad owns this ranch.” And he was probably awake by now.

“Thank you,” Teague murmured.

“We’ll talk more when you’ve got some food inside you.”

He followed me up the long path to the house. As soon as I opened the back door, I heard Dad humming to himself in the kitchen. He never could wait for the cook to make him coffee.

We walked into the warm room. Dad stood in front of the coffee pot, his back to us. I cleared my throat, and he spun around. “Lord, you almost gave me a—” His eyes widened when he caught sight of Teague. “Christ on a cracker, what happened to you, boy?”

“You can ask questions later, Dad. Right now he’s real hungry.”

Dad caught on fast. He pointed to the coffee pot. “Grab yourself a cup.”

“I don’t drink coffee, sir.”

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