Hard to Handle (Caine Cousins #2)(29)

“Everything cool?” Wolfe asked when Lynx started for his truck.

“Yep,” he answered, trying to keep his voice from reflecting the hurt currently swarming him. “Just dropped off those chairs. Headin’ home. What’re y’all up to? Besides, you know, shackin’ up together.”

Wolfe’s smile was so fucking bright Lynx almost had to look away. He liked seeing his cousin happy. Not that he wasn’t usually, but there was definitely something different about Wolfe these days. The guy seemed to be walking around on a fucking cloud, despite the danger they all knew to be lurking nearby.

“Rhys gonna be packin’ his shit up, too?” Lynx asked when Wolfe didn’t respond.

“We’re workin’ it out.”

“Right. So that’s a yes.”

“It’s a … yeah. He’s got a lotta shit goin’ on right now. He’s tryin’ to stay focused, but that’s where I want him.”

Lynx chuckled. “I get it. Hard to focus when he’s spendin’ all his time naked, huh?”

“Shut it.”

“Well, I gotta run,” Lynx told him. “Gotta go get Cope. He’s prob’ly goin’ crazy right about now.”

Wolfe nodded toward the house. “And I need to get inside, see if I can help with somethin’.”

“You do that.” Lynx stopped. “Oh, and while you’re in there, check out the water heater. Reagan said it’s actin’ up.”

“Uh … yeah. Okay.”

“Check ya later, hoss.” Lynx offered a half-ass wave, then hopped in his truck without looking back at the house.

Half an hour later, Lynx pulled up in front of his house. Officially it was his uncle’s place, but ever since Wolfe’s momma passed away two years ago, Calvin Caine had moved into the apartment above the store. Said it was easier that way. Back when Lynx and Tammy had split, Lynx offered to move into his uncle’s house to keep an eye on it. Since he was already doing the upkeep on his grandparents’ old place, he’d figured it really was easier, not to mention he had needed to get as far from Tammy as possible. The woman was like a damn tick.

Thankfully, it seemed as though she’d moved on. At least since the day she’d stolen his truck, anyway.

It had only taken Lynx wiping out half the money in his personal account for her to finally stop hounding him, but as far as Lynx was concerned, it was worth it. The money didn’t mean shit if he had to spend the rest of his days dealing with the woman who’d personally planned to make his life a living hell.

“You live and learn, Cope,” he said to his dog when he climbed out of the truck, greeted by the three-year-old German shepherd. “Whatcha been up to, man? Chillin’? Lickin’ your balls? What?”

Copenhagen pushed his big head against Lynx’s thigh, nudging him.

“All right, I get it. I won’t talk about your balls no more.”

The two of them traipsed up the stairs to the farmhouse and Lynx found himself eyeing the porch. There were no rocking chairs on this front porch. Not yet, anyway. Maybe not ever if things didn’t work out the way he’d planned.

His mind drifted back to Reagan, to how fucking hot she’d been in his arms. And then her words had hit him like an uppercut, nearly knocking him sideways. The woman was out of her ever-loving mind if she thought once was going to cut it. As it was, when the time came that Lynx got her in his bed, he might not ever let her leave.

“You hungry, boy?” he asked Copenhagen. “Come on, then. Let’s get you fed, then we’ll run over and check on the old man, see what’s up.”

After that, Lynx would find something else to do to pass the time. It was Saturday, which meant he should’ve been planning to head over to Reagan’s for a couple of beers later in the evening.

“Not tonight,” he muttered to himself.

He couldn’t remember the last Saturday he hadn’t gone over to the bar, but after today… Lynx figured it was time to give Reagan some of that space she’d been asking for.

If for nothing else, so Lynx could maintain a little bit of his sanity.

Otherwise…

No. He wouldn’t even go there.

Not this time.

Patience was key to this game. He just had to remember that.

“What’s up, old man?” Lynx called to his father when he and Copenhagen walked into the house. Although it was three in the afternoon, it was dark as hell with all the blinds closed.

“Whatcha doin’ here, kid?” Cooter called from somewhere in the house.

Copenhagen took off.

“Hey, Cope! Good to see you, boy.”

Lynx found his father in the kitchen, a bowl of fresh tomatoes on the counter in front of him.

“That from the garden?” Lynx asked.

“Yep.” The man looked so proud.

Cooter hadn’t left the house, aside from going out into the garden in the backyard or the occasional afternoon spent on the porch, for ten years now. Not to the grocery store, not to get gas, not even to the doctor. At first, it had seemed odd, but eventually it became the norm. Lynx picked up his dad’s groceries, he brought fuel for the mower when it was time to cut the grass around the house, and he’d found a doctor willing to make house calls.

Cooter wasn’t opposed to company and plenty of people stopped by. Although Cooter had extricated himself from the world outside of his house, the people in this town hadn’t given up on him. That was part of living in a small town. Friends became family.