Page 18 of His to Own

“I already know where we’ll be living. As for the nursery, I’ve got a couple of things planned out, and I’ve been working on the macrames I’ll be making as well.” I’ve downloaded a few patterns for the walls, a toy hanger that can be nestled in the corner, and then of course a mobile with feather and flower designs.

“Good, so this weekend, then?” Tully pushes.

“Hush, you’re ruining my sweet treat,” I say around a mouthful, letting the flavors rush over me. The girls laugh, and I’m about to grab my second dessert. If I can’t have as much caffeine as I want, I may as well enjoy another cupcake.

TWENTY-TWO

LAWSON

“Are you shitting my dick right now?” Our bull is on the wrong side of the fence and is currently heading straight for the neighbor's heifers. Plural. That damn horny bastard won’t stop until he damn near falls over. Which is another issue in itself. Getting the big guy loaded in a trailer is going to suck.

“Damn it, Amos is going to kick my ass.” Amos Ellison has been Trey’s friend forever, similar to how Fletch is for me, except they’ve known each other a hell of a lot longer. Amos runs and operates his own ranch, passed down from his dad. His mom had passed when his sister, Sienna, was ten, and now that his dad is gone, well, he’s doing the bulk of the work and trying his damnedest to keep the farm running.

“You act like you opened the damn fence for Renegade to go on his land. We’ll figure this shit out.” These types of things happen. It sucks, but we all do our part. Since it was our bull that trampled two sets of barbed wire fence, it’ll depend on Amos what he’d like to do. In the past, we’d pay a fee but get first choice of a baby once they are born.

“Renegade is a pain in the ass. Tell me again why we didn’t take him to the butcher?” It’s a running joke that he’s more of a nuisance than a stud, until calving season rolls around, and then he produces.

“Because he makes us a lot of cake. Call Amos. I’m going to call Dean and Lane to bring the truck and trailer.” I was out checking fences with Trey when we noticed the break. A quick look and it was clear as day, we saw what had happened. There’s no such thing as a day off when it comes to working a ranch.

“Yeah, I will.” We stay mounted on our horses. I’m on Ghost, my black quarter horse, and Trey is on Mist, a quarter horse as well, except her coloring is that of a blue roan. Trey almost shot his shit when she became available, one of the rarest colors, and he had no problem driving three states to get her either.

Trey starts ringing Amos, so I unlock my own phone for a call as well. A few rings later, Dad picks up. “We’re already on the way. Amos called, ripping Lane a new one, pissed as hell because he’s doing some kind of damn experiment with a new bull this season. It’s a good thing Sienna has the brains in the family. She told her brother to shut up, and they’d catch my flies with honey rather than vinegar.”

“Thanks, Pops. Looks like Amos is on his way down here as we speak.” He’s galloping for all he’s worth, phone nowhere near his head. Apparently, Trey didn’t get ahold of him. “You might wanna hurry. Not sure how I’m going to diffuse the situation even with Amos being Trey’s friend.”

“I was afraid of that,” Dad replies before hanging up. There’s no need for pleasantries. Time is of the essence and all that shit.

“No answer, I presume?” I ask Trey. He gives me a look that says what the fuck do you think? I’m about to send a text to Juniper, telling her tonight is probably going to be a long one for me and to take my truck to whichever fucking house we're staying at. My patience on coming and going to two places is wearing thin, but after yesterday, I’m pretty sure she’ll have an answer shortly.

“Lawson, Trey.” Amos pushed his horse as fast he could to reach us, only slowing down when he got closer. Trey and I are a good bit away from Renegade and his rutting.

“Amos, didn’t think we’d be starting the day off with a show,” Trey says as Amos comes closer, each of us nodding at one another.

“Yeah, well. Renegade should have been renamed Mischief Maker.” He takes a deep breath, the anger on his face simmering down, probably because we’re about to pay one hefty-as-fuck fee, and knowing Trey, he’ll make some damn bet or pact. We saw how well that worked out the last time. He can keep that between him and Amos.

“Mom and her penchant for names. You can take it up with her if you want,” Trey replies.

“No offense, but your mother scares me.” Amos arches an eyebrow.

“Sorry about that, Amos. Didn’t think he’d get out with the new fence.” We just replaced a whole shit ton of it, and it’s hot, too. Renegade probably didn’t feel a thing with his blood circulating to his dick.

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath. A blue heeler is darting for the cows, and Sienna is running like the flames of hell are nipping at her heels.

“Goddamn it, what’s she doing here?” Apparently, Trey didn’t know Sienna is back for good this time. Amos pushed her to get out of Arrowleaf. He didn’t want her to feel obligated to a farm. Even if that shit is so ingrained in our blood, Amos wanted differently for Sienna, but she chose to come back, and it seems Trey has been kept out of the loop.

“Lucy, get back here! Don’t you do it!” Sienna is screaming, but the blue heeler doesn’t listen. Famous for their penchant to herd any animals they can. Trey is off his horse and running toward Sienna faster than I’ve ever seen him move. She’s busy going after her dog, and he’s busy going after her.

“Lucy!” Sienna’s voice bellows through the air. Trey wraps his arms around her, picking her up off the ground, holding her tightly. Amos grabs the dog by the scruff, holding and pulling him into his chest as the heeler tries like hell to get away. All the noise has Renegade disengaging from the heifer. He turns around as fast as lightning, and before I can so much as move out of the way, I’m being clipped in the side. My ass hits the ground, lights go bright behind my closed eyelids, and my last thought is I’m going to shoot that fucking bull the minute I’m up off the ground.

TWENTY-THREE

JUNIPER

“Hey, Trey, what can I do for you?” I answer the phone, swallowing around the last bite of my dessert. The girls and I had a good visit, each of us laughing about which man does the absolute worst thing ever. Dean’s is leaving the toilet seat up. Tallulah fell in the toilet in the middle of the night and has since plastered a note above and in front of the porcelain now. Lane apparently snores to high heaven on nights when he’s worked hard, and Birdie has had to push him off the bed a few times in order for him to stop or hit him with a pillow. She even said it was tempting to suffocate him with it, except she’d lose his dick so that was never going to happen. Lawson, well, he leaves dirty clothes everywhere. Socks, boxers, shirts. He disrobes as he walks in the house, and where he drops them is where they stay. It has been our biggest argument, especially when both of our houses have laundry hampers and I’ve got no problem doing laundry. In fact, I prefer it over doing the dishes or cleaning toilets. He sweet-talks his way out of our argument like he usually does, with an orgasm. Then I’m okay until the next time. We were about to say our goodbyes when the phone rang.

Unfortunately, that meant I had to devour the lemon-flavored cupcake instead of savoring it like I usually would.

“The girls with you still?” Trey asks, his voice sounding ominous. The food I just ate sits heavy in my stomach, threatening to come up.

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