Hitched(44)

Because the St. Claire cousins are swiftly headed toward some kind of nuclear explosion.

I have to put a stop to it.

And hug my wife.

Because she’s safe.

I charge up the steps, startling Kyle enough to make him stumble. He grabs for the railing to steady himself, while I grab for Hope, pulling her into my arms and hugging her tight.

“They’re taking Chewy,” she sobs into my neck.

“He’s rightfully mine,” Kyle says.

“The hell he is,” I snap, glaring at him over Hope’s head.

“They’re taking him because you slept at the winery and I slept here,” she says, breath catching as she clings tighter to my shoulders. “I tried to explain but they won’t let me and I—”

“Shh, it’s okay, baby,” I promise, cradling her head in my hand, fingers snagging in her tangled hair. She’s a mess—still in last night’s clothes with her hair wild and her eyes puffy from crying.

And she’s beautiful. Perfect.

“Husbands and wives sleep together,” Kyle declares with a sneer. “Any court of law—”

“Hasn’t fucking declared you the owner of that alpaca, so you can just hand him back over right now.”

Fury courses through my veins.

I don’t get pissed.

But I’m fucking livid right now.

Kyle doesn’t seem to realize he’s in danger. “You’re wasting everyone’s time, and you’re costing me money. The courts call it abandonment. You won’t win, so stop trying to convince us this marriage is real.”

“You think this isn’t real?” I’m clinging to Hope so I don’t put my fist through Kyle’s face. “I. Love. This. Woman. And on top of that, who the fuck gets married just for an alpaca? No one. That’s who. So don’t stand there telling me my marriage isn’t real. It’s as real as the sun coming up in the morning and as real as you being a pompous asshole who only cares about money.”

“He cares about his elephant dick too,” Cara calls. “And so do I.”

We all momentarily gape at her, and Hope, who’s gone completely still in my arms, sob-shouts, “I have a UTI!”

Kyle swings back around. “What?”

“Baby—” I start.

“If you’d let me explain,” she continues, twisting in my arms to glare at Kyle, “I could have told you before why I left Blake at the winery. I woke up in the middle of the night in pain and had to come get medicine.”

“Ugh, UTIs are the worst,” Cara says. “I get one every time I have too much sex.”

“Exactly,” Hope says.

We all pause again, once again looking at Cara.

“Cara, go wait in the car,” Kyle snaps.

“So if sex is how you judge a marriage,” I say, “and my wife is getting an infection from too much sex, and yours isn’t…”

“We’re having so much sex.” Hope swipes at her eyes, her voice getting stronger. “Sex in the shower.”

“Sex on the floor,” I add. “And on the kitchen counter.”

“And in your truck.”

“And your truck.”

I scrub a hand across my chin, pretending to search my memory before nodding as my temper cools and I relax into our story. Not too hard, since I’ve fantasized about making love to her all these places. “Yep, sure did. And in the stables.”

“And the barn,” she says, turning a watery grin up at me. “Totally worth the hay in tender places.”

“And in the family bathroom in the square, and—”

“Okay, okay,” Kyle says, propping a hand on his hip. “So you’ve allegedly banged a lot. But you still slept apart last night, and that’s admissible in a court of law.”

She nods to me. “I told Blake to stay there since he had some work to do first thing.”

I’m starting to catch on. “But I forgot my toolbox,” I say, cutting in before Kyle can say something stupid, which, judging from the sneer still curling his lip, he’s eager to do. “And good thing. If I’d come home to find you’d stolen our animal, I would have had to call the sheriff and that certainly wouldn’t look very good for your case, would it?”

“You can’t steal your own property,” Kyle says. “And all I’m hearing is a bunch of lies and excuses.”

“You think my wife’s lying about having a urinary tract infection?” I ask, glaring at his pompous face.

“I mean, not to be gross about it,” Hope adds, “but they do call it the honeymooner’s disease for a reason.”

“I want to see a doctor’s note,” he says. “Or at least a prescription.”

“And I’d like you off our property before I have to go fetch my shotgun,” I say pleasantly. “My wife’s medical history is none of your business. And neither is our sex life or our married life or anything else. The only important part is that it’s real.” I squeeze her hand before letting it go and descending the steps slowly, giving Kyle plenty of time to dread the moment when I reach him.

Long before I even get close, he takes a step back, clearly reading the warning in my eyes.