Rough, Raw, and Ready (Rough Riders #5)(71)

The clicking stopped. So did Chassie’s heart.

“Oh God. I can’t do this…I can’t…he’s not…not Cam…not one of mine. Not mine.”


Chassie gently set the knitting aside and circled her arm around Carolyn’s shoulder as she sobbed. Chassie cried silently right along with her, her emotions ripped into shreds.

A cracking noise sounded, followed by a grunt as Carson crouched in front of Carolyn.

Her uncle’s face wasn’t the usual blank mask, but pinched and pale. Haggard. He paid no attention to Chassie; his sole focus was on his wife. Picking up Carolyn’s hands from her lap, he kissed her fingertips. “Sugar?”


Carolyn met his gaze. “What?”


“Are you—”


“Don’t you ask me if I’m all right or I swear to God I’ll scream.”


“O-o-okay,” Carson said evenly. “Maybe you oughta—”


“Don’t you dare suggest I go lay down either, Carson McKay, or so help me God I’ll—” A great gasping sob erupted.

“Hey, now, hush.” Carson tenderly kissed Carolyn’s palms and the tips of her fingers, then rubbed her knuckles over his razor-stubbled cheeks like her skin was the finest silk. His actions seemed to calm them both a little.

“Sorry,” she said. “What were you gonna say?”


“I thought you might wanna give your poor fingers a break for a bit.”


“I’m fine. I’ve gotta get this done.”


“I’m sure. But grandbaby number four ain’t gonna appreciate you bleedin’ all over his blanket any more than I would.”


Chassie should’ve excused herself. But this sweet, solicitous side of her brusque uncle staggered her. She’d never seen Carson McKay as an affectionate man, least of all with his wife. She hadn’t thought him capable, given what Chassie’s father said about Carson being the coldest, most calculating SOB he’d ever known.

But how much of her father’s perceptions were borne out of jealousy? Uncle Carson, while unfailingly polite to her, always made himself scarce when she’d visited his home.

In truth, he may’ve been all touchy-feely and she wouldn’t have seen it.

“My fingers aren’t bleeding, Carson.”


“Not yet. Caro, please give ’em a rest.”


“I need something to do with my hands. I’m goin’ crazy—”


“I know, sugar, me too.” Carson closed his eyes as Carolyn touched his face. The harshest, tightest lines around his mouth relaxed and he sighed as she rubbed his neck.

“You’re strung just as tight as me, McKay. Should I give AJ a call and see if she’d swing by and give you a massage?”


“Maybe.” His steely blue eyes opened and held a hint of challenge. “If you do something for me first.”


When Carolyn arched an eyebrow, Carson grinned. A flat-out bad boy grin, just like the one he’d passed onto his sons. “Not that.”


“That’d be a first,” Carolyn murmured. “What do you want me to do?”


“Eat something.”


“I’m not hungry.”


Carson kissed Carolyn’s knuckles. “I thought you might say that. But Chassie brought cookies. It’d be rude not to try ’em after she went to all that trouble to bake ’em fresh and bring ’em over here first thing this mornin’.”


Chassie bit back a smile. Carson McKay was a sneaky man. Using Aunt Carolyn’s innate politeness against her. It had the desired affect because Carolyn caved.

“Maybe just one or two.”


“That’s my girl.” Carson helped Carolyn to her feet. “And some milk.”


“Coffee.”


“Huh-uh. You’re too wired as it is. No coffee.”


“Fine, bossy man. Juice.”


“Fair enough.”


All at once Carolyn seemed to remember Chassie. “Keely’s up in her room.”


“Thanks.”


Carson curled his weathered hands over Carolyn’s shoulders, keeping their bodies close as he directed her toward the kitchen.

The McKay house was large enough to have two sets of stairs—a formal set in the front and a narrow set leading upstairs and into the cellar. Chassie took the front set and ambled down the long hallway, pausing to look at the pictures adorning the walls.

Everything from Carter’s stunning paintings, to family photos dating back to the turn of the century, to Kyler’s preschool handprints. She’d always loved Aunt Carolyn’s mixed-up, stylish yet personal, decorating style.

She passed several closed oak doors, knocking at one in the middle.

Keely flung open the door with spit in her eye. Her rigid posture relaxed when she realized it was Chassie. After a quick hug, she motioned Chassie into the room. “Thank God it’s you.”


“I hope that nasty look wasn’t meant for your mom or dad.”


“No. It was for Colt.” Keely frowned at her desk. “Sorry there’s no other chairs in here. You’re gonna hafta sit on the bed.”