Home > Books > Running Wild(Wild #3)(107)

Running Wild(Wild #3)(107)

Author:K. A. Tucker

“I’d believe it. I’ve seen quite a few cars heading into his place.” If Tyler is annoyed by the traffic, he doesn’t let on.

“Anything to save that kennel. I hope for Earl’s sake, he can. His father and I were good friends.”

“You’re good friends with everyone, Dad,” I tease.

“Can’t help being such a likable guy.” He winks. “Which reminds me … I was tellin’ my good friend Bill Compton all about your kennel, Tyler. Marie was raving about it. He would love to do a piece on you. Come out, ask you a bunch of questions. Maybe spend the day. Thinks it would be good for the sport. The bad apples have been getting way too much attention.”

I should’ve known there was an ulterior motive here. “Dad …” I give him a look. “Tyler doesn’t like doing interviews.” Something both he and Bill have learned already.

He shrugs. “Was worth a shot. I guess he can go to Harry. Lord knows that guy likes to talk about himself.”

“Hey, what happened with the Hatchetts, by the way?” Jim tears off a chunk of meat from the bone. “Sid says you lost their business?”

His choice of words and the very fact that he’s asking stiffens my spine. “Harry thought he had a say in how I run things, but he doesn’t. Nobody does,” I say pointedly.

“Still, that’s a lot of revenue gone.” Jim shakes his head as if in disapproval.

I grit my teeth against the urge to tell him to fuck off.

Even my father is annoyed. “Mind your business before she finds a new accountant, Jim.”

But my brother-in-law, as obtuse as usual, doesn’t take the hint. “Just pointing out the obvious, Sid. Especially now that you’ve got all these people to feed under this roof.”

“Tyler, you must want another beer,” my mom declares suddenly. “Marie, why don’t you grab your guest another from the fridge.”

I know what she’s doing—trying to fend off an explosive argument. For Tyler’s sake, I appreciate it.

But before I can even set down my cutlery, Tyler is on his feet, his palm resting on my shoulder to keep me in place. “I’ve got it. I’ll get you one, too. Can I grab anyone else anything?”

My dad waves his drained bottle in the air.

With a quick stroke of his thumb against my collarbone, Tyler collects the empties from the table and heads for the fridge.

I track his sleek, easy movements the entire way.

“Take notes, Jim,” Vicki murmurs under her breath, but loud enough for everyone to hear.

I snort, and the simple act helps alleviate some of my anger. Tyler’s lingering touch is also working its magic, a pleasant warmth that’s spreading through my chest and down into my lower belly. He may have meant it as an innocent move, for reassurance, for comfort. But to me, it’s also a promise of how good his hands would feel all over my body.

Liz’s gaze narrows as she cuts off the rest of Nicole’s meat for her. She knows her husband’s a lazy sack, but she always acts offended when anyone else points it out. “So, Vicki, are you actually going to finish your school hours this time?”

Vicki takes a deep breath, but I can almost hear her teeth grinding. “I’ve already spoken to my instructors about coming back.”

“Good. Because you won’t have time once the baby’s born. You think Molly is hard? Just wait until you have two.” Her laugh drips with a patronizing tone, her words a careless dismissal of our youngest sister’s struggles.

Vicki smiles sweetly. “But just imagine how hard it’ll be with three.”

I would be ecstatic with one, I acknowledge silently as Tyler returns with the beers and takes his seat next to me again, his thigh bumping against mine when he shifts in. “What are you going to school for, Vicki?” If the undercurrent of tension flowing through our dining room bothers him, he doesn’t let on.

“Hair design. I want to run my own place at home, in a garage or a back room. Somewhere I can take clients at my own pace while being able to raise my kids.”

I nudge Tyler’s side with my elbow. “I was thinking Vicki should come out to your place and cut Reed’s hair.”

He chuckles. “If she can pin him down long enough.”

“You know”—Jim taps the air with his fork, his attention on my dad—“you could convert that cabin into a salon for Vicki, and she can work out of there.”

The cabin. But … “I live in that cabin.” I stare at Jim with disbelief.