Keeping What's His: Tate (Porter Brothers Trilogy 1)

“He should be able to find his ass now, Holly.”

The two women burst into laughter while Greer remained silent, too wary of getting shot at again.

Logan came out of the house. “Can I go next, Aunt Rachel?”

“No!” Greer stormed off toward the river.

“Sure. Come on. I’ve got a target set up on that tree over there.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea? I really don’t like him playing with guns.”

This time, Holly got a reaction from both Rachel and Dustin.

“It’s a paintball gun, and there hasn’t been a Porter born who hasn’t learned to shoot the eye out of a squirrel at fifty feet.”

Sutton and Holly both blanched at Rachel’s bragging.

“Is she joking?” Sutton asked Tate as he and Cash returned with a string of fish.

Greer remained out of range of the paintball gun.

“No,” Tate and Cash both answered at the same time.

“Logan is not going to shoot the eye out of a squirrel,” Holly said empathically.

“I don’t want to shoot a squirrel.” Logan’s bottom lip began to tremble, and his eyes brimmed with tears.

“Don’t worry, baby; no one’s going to make you.” Holly picked the little boy up, patting him on his back.

“See? I told you she’s making a sissy out of him,” Greer yelled from across the yard.

“Logan, go inside and get yourself a freezy pop out of the freezer. I’ll be there in a minute.”

“She’s gonna make him fat, too!” Greer’s loud mouth made Sutton cringe.

Holly set Logan back on his feet, waiting until the door closed behind him before turning to Rachel, holding out her hand.

“Give me the paintball gun.”

“Why?” she asked suspiciously.

“Because I’m going to show him who the sissy is.”

Rachel took a step back, holding onto the gun. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. You might hurt him.”

“That’s the plan.”

“Give her the gun,” Tate ordered.

“Are you serious?” Rachel questioned her older brother.

“Yes, but give him a minute to get a head start.” Tate looked over at Greer. “Run.”

Greer took off like a pack of wild dogs was after him when Rachel reluctantly handed Holly the paintball gun. She shot off a couple of balls at him, barely missing the fleeing man. Tate, Cash, and Dustin burst out laughing at Greer.

Sutton shook her head at the nutcases surrounding her when even Rachel began to urge Holly on. Mumbling to herself, she decided to join Logan inside.

“Where are you going?” Tate called out.

“Inside.”

“Why?”

“To show Logan that normal people do exist.”

“We’re normal!”

“There are people in mental institutions more normal than you all are.”

“Don’t be that way.” He came to her side, slinging his arm around her shoulder. “We’re just having some fun.”

Sutton rolled her eyes at him. “You’re all setting bad examples for him. What if he grows up to shoot at people and fight all the time?”

Tate’s chest puffed up proudly. “Then he’ll be a Porter.”

“And that’s a good thing?”

“Could be worse. He could be a Hayes or a Coleman.”

Sutton turned to Holly who had quit shooting when Greer had finally managed to get out of her sight.

“Give me the gun.” She held out her hand toward Holly.

Tate’s arrogant smile slipped when Holly handed her the paintball gun, and she then trained it at Tate.

“Who’s laughing now?”

* * *

“Are you still mad?” Sutton had suffered Tate’s stony silence all evening after she had brought the paintball gun home at Cash’s urging. It seems the man didn’t want the weapon around if he pissed Rachel off.

She took off her robe and laid it on the chair beside the bed. Placing a knee on the mattress, she prepared to climb into the bed.

“That last shot was unnecessary, and it hurt like fuck.”

“You shouldn’t have tried to take it away from me. You were supposed to run.” Sutton’s eyes shied away guiltily from the bruise on his side.

“A Porter doesn’t run.”

“Greer did,” she reminded him.

“We think he was adopted.”

Sutton couldn’t help falling onto the bed, laughing. “What about the red hair?”

“It’s more brownish red.”

Sutton traced her fingers over the bruise then leaned over him, placing a gentle kiss on the angry mark. Tate settled himself, getting more comfortable against the pillows.

“That make it better?”

“Not yet,” he answered grumpily.

Sutton ran the tip of her tongue over it.

“That’s helping a little.”

She slid her lips to the right to the faint mark on his stomach. “Better?”

“Getting there,” he groaned.

Sutton tugged down the blanket that was covering his lower body, and then she delicately flicked her tongue against the flesh at his hip, moving down to the mark on his thigh, gently brushing the edge of her teeth over the mark she had left there.

“You’re missing the spot that’s really hurting.” He wrapped his hands in her hair, trying to guide her toward his cock that was straining upward.

“I don’t remember shooting you here.” Sutton traced the tip with her tongue before taking the head into her warm mouth.