Tuck was convinced his head exploding wouldn’t hurt as much as it did now. It was throbbing, relentlessly, reminding him why he didn’t get drunk often.

“If you think I’m covering for you because you just had to tie one on last night, think again.”

Tuck groaned as each of Shane’s words stabbed him in the temples. Not answering, he pulled his pillow over his head and tried to remember how many shots he’d had. Vague recollections of the ranch hands dragging his sorry ass to Seth’s truck and then the ride home flashed through his head. Hadn’t they stopped at least once so he could puke on the side of the road?

Shit. He’d broken a rule Shane’s dad had told him to keep when he’d first been hired as the ranch foreman—never let your employees see you out of control. It was a good way to lose their respect. And if they didn’t respect you, they wouldn’t respect their job. Shit just went downhill from there. Yeah, there’d been times when Tuck had gone out drinking with his workers before, but he’d always made sure he switched over to cola or sweet tea before he got too wasted. Even after Sarah had died, he’d somehow stayed in control—Shane and Arianna probably had been the cause of that. He was a father, husband, and boss, and had to remember that at all times.

Sleep was pulling him under again, and he was just about to succumb when a loud clanging filled the room. It vibrated through the pillow and into his skull. “Shut it off,” he mumbled, when it registered the racket was coming from Sarah’s old-fashioned-styled alarm clock with its two bells and clapper—unfortunately it wouldn’t stop on its own for a full minute.

“Shut it off yourself.”

Agony ripped through him when he pulled his head out from under the pillow and opened his eyes into mere slits. Shane was striding out of the room and closing the door behind him, leaving the offensive clock sitting on the dresser—well out of reach. He’d also left on every lamp since their room didn’t get the morning sun. Bastard.

Kicking off the covers, Tuck sat up too fast and immediately regretted it as the room spun viciously. “Uuuuuggghhh.” His eyes slammed shut, as his stomach threatened to revolt, and dropped his head into his hands. When he thought he could stand without the floor coming out from under his feet, he trudged over to the alarm and silenced it, but the noise still echoed through his brain. Using pieces of furniture and the door jamb to steady himself, he made it into the bathroom. After relieving himself, he turned on the faucet, washed his hands, and then cupped them. Gulping water, he tried to saturate his parched tongue and throat, but had to slow down when it almost came back up.

When he caught his reflection in the mirror, he didn’t even recognize himself. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair in disarray, and his skin paler than he ever remembered it being. Death warmed over was an understatement. As much as he wanted to crawl back into bed for the rest of the day, he couldn’t. If any of the ranch hands called in sick due to overindulgence, he’d give them a ton of shit, so he had to practice what he preached.

Returning to the bedroom, he checked the time on the alarm clock. If he skipped breakfast—which wouldn’t be a hardship with the way his stomach felt—he could go back to sleep for an hour before he had to head out. Not even bothering to shut off the lamps, Tuck tumbled back into bed and buried his head under his pillow once more.

Almost an hour later, he reached into the shower and turned on the water, happy in the knowledge they had a backup water heater, so Shane couldn’t have let it go cold on purpose. It would have taken him running a shower or faucet for well over thirty minutes to do so and that would have also left Paige without hot water.

Once he was finally dressed, Tuck strode into the kitchen, much cleaner, but in no less pain. Shane spared him a brief, annoyed glance before taking a sip of his coffee and going back to yesterday’s local newspaper. Since it wasn’t delivered until after they started their day, he was often a day behind.

The smell of the coffee had Tuck’s stomach roiling again, and he turned away from the half-full carafe on the counter. His gaze caught sight of several bottles lined up on the table—acetaminophen, water, and Gatorade. Next to them sat several individually-wrapped, hard candies.

“Paige left them for you,” Shane said, not bothering to look at him. “If it were up to me, I would’ve hidden it all. The candies apparently have ginger in them—she said they’ll help your stomach.”

Tuck reached for the painkillers and water. “You told her I was hungover?”

“Nope. She figured it out for herself after you woke her up with your lousy singing while trying to open the bar with your car key. By the way, you get to tell Drake why the beautiful cabinets and shelves he spent weeks making by hand have deep scratches in them.”

“Shit.” He dumped three pills into his hand, then threw them into his mouth, washing them down with the water. He’d been singing? His aching brain scrambled to remember, but the last thing he could recall was puking on the side of the road. Yeah, now that that image had filtered back into his mind, he remembered Seth had pulled over just in time. Wonderful.

“Uh-huh. He’s going to be pissed, to put it mildly, and I’m throwing your fine ass under the bus for this one.” Drake Hadley was one of Shane’s oldest and best friends, ever since they’d met in the first grade. He was an incredible artist when it came to turning plain planks of wood into masterpieces. “Just be grateful our daughter sleeps like the dead; she didn’t hear the commotion you made.” Shane stood and dumped the last of his coffee into the sink. Grabbing his straw cowboy hat from the coat rack by the backdoor, he set it on his head, then walked out of the house without a backward glance. Yup, he still had a burr in his saddle.

Tuck’s empty stomach growled. Hopefully, some toast would stay down. He opened the bag of bread that was sitting on the counter and popped two pieces into the toaster. It was then he noticed a paper-towel-covered plate. Lifting the edge of the towel, he thanked the gods above. Bacon. Greasy, delicious bacon. One of the best cures for a hangover, second only to a little hair of the dog, in his opinion. There was no way there’d been bacon left over if it’d been on the dining room table for the ranch hands—there was rarely any food left after they finished—so Paige must have set some aside for him. Shane definitely wouldn’t have done it, as angry as he was.

Stuffing a full strip of bacon into his mouth, Tuck stepped over to the refrigerator and found the butter. Within minutes, he was having a bacon and butter sandwich on toast, with two more pieces of bread being browned for another one.

The front door opened, and, seconds later, Paige strolled into the room. Dressed in a comfortable, red T-shirt, jeans, and well-worn boots, she looked like she’d fit right in with the rest of the residents of Hazard Falls. Hadn’t Shane said she was from a rich area of California? She sure didn’t dress like some high-society gal. If she was pissed he’d woken her up last night, it didn’t show.

She smiled when she saw him. “Hi. Glad you found the bacon—one of the best things for a hangover. Can I get you anything else?”

“Um, no. Thanks. Did you get Arianna on the bus okay?” Their daughter always took the bus to school, but for the past few weeks, since Hannah had left, Tuck’s sister had dropped her off in the afternoon, making sure at least one of the two dads was home. Sometimes they got sidetracked and emergencies popped up, and they hadn’t wanted Arianna to get off the bus and not have someone waiting. Now with Paige there, she’d be able to ride home with her friends again.

Turning on the faucet, she started washing the dishes piled in the sink. “Yes, she did. I’ll be there when the bus drops her off at ten to three.”

“Good.” After putting together his second sandwich, he tossed the butter back into the fridge. Grabbing the rest of his breakfast, including the bottle of Gatorade she’d left out for him, he took his hat from the hook by the door. “Thanks for leaving out all the hangover remedies. I’m . . . uh . . . sorry I woke you up last night.”

She gifted him with a brilliant smile as she rinsed a large ceramic bowl. “No worries—I hope it all helps. And I wasn’t really asleep when you got home—I was into a good book on my Kindle and was still reading.”

“Still, I apologize. I’m not normally like that. I’m sure it was a shock on your first night here.”

Her shoulders went up in a quick shrug. “Stuff happens. Again, no worries. Just remember to drink lots of water and Gatorade today.”

Tuck nodded. “I will.” When she didn’t respond further, and he couldn’t think of anything else to say, he opened the door, walked out onto the porch, squinting when the morning sun hit him in the eyes. Muttering a curse, he gently dragged a hand through the long strands of his hair, placed the hat on his head, then got ready to start the work day.