Page 26 of The Untamed

“In case you misunderstood, I own the land as far as the eye can see in every direction and then some.” Dad ripples with irritation. “Unless you’re prepared to travel weeks to trade game for goat cheese, I’d say it looks like you’ll be on your own.”

Logan takes it in stride, not getting insulted. He flashes me another quick wink that has my blood running hot and straight south to my dick. Casually, I thread my fingers together and let them rest in front of my crotch so no one sees just how much this man affects me. Logan slightly lifts a brow, not oblivious like my father and brother, and smiles.

To everyone around us, it’s a friendly smile, but I see the dark, filthy glint in his eyes that promises more.

Holy shit.

Logan is into me. He’s really into me and it’s not a case of wishful thinking on my part. The urge to escape somewhere quiet with him is overwhelming. Would he kiss me? Would he work his large hand into my pants and stroke my cock?

I stifle a groan, only picking up pieces of the conversation that’s continued without me. They’re discussing the first snow of the year. Not a topic I even care about. I’d much rather daydream of ways to get Logan’s smiling lips around my dick.

A whistle, sharp and loud, pierces the air just outside the fence. Logan whistles back, three times in quick succession. Then, two men step through the gate. Dad and Rowdy tense, weapons ready if need be. The two men see Logan and nod, ambling their way toward us. As they approach, I can tell the one with ruddy dark red hair with streaks of silver is Logan and Jace’s dad while the man with auburn hair and the same silver on his head must be CJ’s dad. Opposite of their children, the two men don’t wear playful smiles.

Wariness of my family and their guns has them frowning. Both men are tense but don’t draw their own weapons or turn around and run.

“Michael Greer,” the one I’d pegged as Logan’s dad says. “I see you’ve met my sons, Logan and Jace.” He claps a hand on the other man’s shoulder. “This here is my younger brother, Owen, father of that little shit over there.”

CJ being the little shit in question.

“Reed Jamison,” Dad grunts. “My sons Rowdy and Ronan. The other two over there are Raegan and Ryder.”

Owen sighs in exasperation. “I see my son’s already in love.”

Dad ignores him, getting straight to business. “You have a woman who’s in labor?”

“My wife, Stacey,” Michael says, nodding. “Since she’s only seven months, I sure as hell hope not. We’ve been walking for weeks, not stopping to camp but a night or two. I’m hoping she’s just tired and suffering from Braxton Hicks. The alternative is scary as fuck. Considering you have four kids, I’d say you know the worry of childbirth in the wild with no medical assistance.”

“Eight,” I chime in, refusing to look at Dad or Rowdy and the daggers they shoot my way. “There are eight of us kids.”

“Damn.” Michael whistles. “I guess it’s safe to say you know a thing or two about delivering babies.”

Dad gives him a brief nod. “Where is she?”

Michael and Owen both tense. It’s safe to say they’re just as untrusting of us as we are of them. Owen scans the yard, clearly looking for threats, but then relaxes when he doesn’t find anyone lurking.

“The others are nearby,” Owen replies. “Don’t want to overstep our welcome.” His gaze falls on Fleabag braying from the goat pen. “I know a couple of little ones, though, who would be thrilled to see that goat.”

“How many people are in your camp?” Dad asks, still not giving an inch to these people.

“We’re up to twenty-eight now—” Michael’s words are cut short when a kid, maybe five or six, comes barreling through the gate.

“Goat!”

A woman, not much older than Rowdy, with long, curly, auburn hair chases after the kid. She snags him up before he reaches the gate. When she turns to us, her face is bright red and she’s equal parts embarrassed and terrified. The latter makes me feel like shit.

We’re not bad people.

Dad just likes scaring others into thinking that’s true.

“Hellie,” Michael calls out. “Come say hello to Mr. Jamison, who’s so kind as to allow us on his land.”

With the little one’s hand tightly clasped in hers, she approaches, eyeing my brother and father warily. I want to assure her no one here would hurt her, but Dad actually beats me to the punch.

“Reed,” he says, offering a hand for Hellie to shake. “Who’s this little guy?”

“I’m Nicky,” the kid says. “Can I play with your goat?”

“I’ll do you one better,” Dad replies, finally relaxing. “I’ll bring my son Dakota out. He’s almost six. I’m sure he can show you all sorts of cool stuff.” Then, to Michael, he says, “Go get your wife. I’ll get mine. We’ll see if we can’t make her more comfortable.”

---