Page 17 of The Cowboy's Close Quarters Claim

"Figure it this way, O'Leary; what do you trust me least with? Her? Or your damn cows?" His eyes flicker to Clem before narrowing back on me.

"We'll be doing a head count, so don't trying anything stupid."

With both my feet back in the Gator, I slip it into gear and head for the road.

Clementine snorts beside me. "Not that we can't pick out our Limos from their Herefords, but you do know there are trackers in their tags, right?"

"Looks like I need to put one on you. Why the hell didn't you call me?"

"Try to put a tracker on me and I'll gut you. I'm not your property." Clem adjusts her pressure against her chest and does her best to keep from getting bounced around too much.

"You may not belongtome, Clem, but you know damn well you belongwithme."

"You've known me for one hot second, Gunner, what makes you so sure?"

The nearest emergency room is still fifteen miles out from the ranch, so it's best we swing by my place and get the truck.

Pulling onto the Delta O in a vehicle clearly marked with the Flying R brand earns me all kinds of curious looks as I blow past the barns and out to the row of private residences where my own house sits on an acre lot at the end of the lane, next to Dean's place.

Dean stands out in his driveway and watches me pull to a stop beside my truck.

"We starting a feud with the Ralstons, now?" My youngest brother grins, nodding toward the Gator as I circle around before Clem has a chance to climb out on her own.

"Just get it back to them," I holler back at him. "Grab a couple of hands and go help Riley-- he's back on the far west border."

"Stop fussin' over me, O'Leary," Clem grumbles as I pick her up and carry her to the passenger side of my truck.

She doesn't need my fussin' and I know it, but damned if something primitive in me isn't determined to prove to her that I can take care of her. That I always will.

And I hate that Ralston had his hands on her, even if it was for good reason.

"It's not the first kick to the gut I've taken. It's not likely to be the last."

She snarks, but she doesn't fight me; slips her arm around my neck as I carry her and lets me buckle her in when I get her in the truck.

"Damn straight it'll be your last," I grumble at her.

She says 'kick to the gut' and I can't help but think about her carrying my child-- but I know this is the wrong time to be bringing that up so I keep it to myself. There'll be plenty of time to fight with her over it when she can chase me down again.

I never thought I'd find myself wanting to put a baby in a woman; but I do. I want to real bad with Clementine.

"You gonna get me to the ER, O'Leary, or just stand there swooning over me like a puppy?"

"Don't pretend you don't like it."

She can sass me all she wants, but I see the soft look in those pretty brown eyes of hers.

I back out of the driveway and throw the truck into gear, heading for the main road into town when I feel Clem's hand on my thigh.

"You gettin' frisky in the truck with a couple of cracked ribs and probably a leak in your lung there?"

My free hand drops down and covers hers, liking the feel of it under mine.

"Just practicing," she murmurs. "Got a feeling I'm gonna have to get used to it."

8

CLEMENTINE

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