The rest of the conversation ran through his mind.
Was it more to do with Rue’s other desires?
Blowing out a breath at what that could mean, his gaze narrowed on the phone.
He wasn’t the matchmaker; his mate was. He hadn’t wanted to interfere, except sending them all to the ranch hadn’t just been for team building for his sons. Close proximity could work wonders.
Had he miscalculated, given how miserable Rue sounded?
Derick was sure that Rue was holding back something vital about last night for him to be this upset.
“Did Rue call?”
Lane’s question made him jerk his gaze to the man who’d somehow come into the room without alerting Derick to his presence. A feat most never achieved, which revealed the level of concern he felt for Rue.
He frowned at his husband's drawn, worried expression and reached to tug Lane onto his lap, inhaling the familiar scent, allowing it to settle him.
Lane rested his head on Derick’s shoulder, slinging one arm around his neck. “That bad?”
“Something is up, and he believes it’s not fixable.”
“Is it to do with Monty?” Lane stroked a hand up his chest, while the other played with the hair at the nape of his neck.
“Love, I told you, no interfering in this. I mentioned what happened because—”
“You needed my wisdom.”
Derick kissed the top of Lane’s silvery hair and groaned. “Let’s go with that.” He was defenseless against Lane when he used his wiles to get what he wanted. They both knew it.
Lane moved to meet his gaze. “He’s in love with Monty. You can see it, I can see it. I’m sure Monty can see it, too.”
Derick pinched his husband's chin, shaking his head. “Rue can’t see it, that’s the point here.” He kissed Lane’s pouty lips, resisting deepening it when he could hear Bessie bustling about in the next room. Of late, it was impossible to resist him, and Derick couldn’t trust himself not to shock the housekeeper with his antics.
“I think he needs more,” he said instead.
Concern clouded Lane’s gorgeous gray eyes. “What do you mean?”
Derick hesitated; it wasn’t a conversation he’d had with Lane when Rue had been very drunk when he’d confessed about Monty. Only it wasn’t the only thing he’d confessed that night. Derick was pretty sure that Rue had no recollection of the latter part of the conversation as he’d continued to down half a bottle of whiskey. Derick, thinking it unwise to speak about it when Rue was sober, had let it be. Again, he questioned whether he’d made a mistake.
“You know something. Give it up!”
Derick swallowed the groan at the glint in his husband’s eyes that threatened retribution if he didn’t spill. Torn, he hesitated. He released a resigned sigh when Lane’s hand moved to the buttons on his shirt.
“Rue’s tastes differ from our other sons. He needs more than one mate,” said Derick. And if he considered the reason Rue hadn’t come home last evening was because he might have found a third to bridge the gap between him and Monty, in Bayfield, he was keeping that quiet when he needed to do some investigating of his own.
Lane, who had two buttons open, paused, blinking slowly. “Well, I never! Would that be an alpha, beta or omega?”
Trust his husband to get straight to the heart of the matter. “That I can’t say, which means you need to leave this alone,love,” he warned, already seeing it was futile but felt he needed to try for Rue. “I mean it this time.”
Chapter Twelve
Monty
Monty had showered quickly, and he’d managed to avoid Rue thus far, because he was more confused than ever by the recent turn of events. Why had he thought that Rue would somehow be different? No one could give an asshole a transplant personality overnight, could they?
No!
Slipping on his boots, he grabbed his Stetson off the bed and ran out the door. He was eager to face up to the music and then move swiftly on. The sun blinded him for a second, and he collided with a solid chest as hands took hold of his arms to steady him. For a brief second, he thought it was Rue, but the smell was all wrong.
