Page 1 of Claimed By the Cowboys

CHAPTER 1

Piper

June

Ijust love the farmers market.

Honestly. I know it might be kind of cliché, but as I finally settle in behind the table I just finished setting up, I take a deep breath and let the cool early summer air into my lungs.

Yeah. I love it here.

“Hey, Piper! What did you bring today?”

I smile at Kevin, the dairy farmer who’s in the neighboring booth. We’ve worked out a couple of trades already this year, and I can see him eyeing the pickled asparagus I brought for this week.

“Oh, I still have some beets and pickles, a couple of jars of the candied jalapeños from the greenhouse, but I managed to get the asparagus canned, and that’s really the feature of this week.”

Kevin saunters over. He’s an older guy, sporting his semi-permanent outfit of Carhartt overalls and a very grimy plaid shirt. He eyes the neatly stacked jars that I have on the table,then looks at me. “How many gallons for a couple of jars of each?”

I shrug. “I’d do a full gallon and a couple of containers of heavy cream?”

“Sold,” Kevin grins. He makes his selection and hands me my goods. I can’t help but notice that they’re already set aside in a cooler, and it makes me smile even more.

It’s part of what I love about the farmers market. We’re a community. We look out for each other; we know each other.

It’s like having a really big family. Which, I guess, is the only family that I really have at the moment.

The thought sends a ripple through me, like a cloud over the sun. The smile drops from my lips, and I look down, taking a deep breath to move through the old pain.

I’ve always wanted a big family.

Growing up, it was just my sister, Blaire, and me. Our parents died in a car accident, and we were raised in a small town in Colorado by our grandparents. They were pretty standoffish when raising us, but I owe my love of gardening (and my extensive knowledge of canning) to them. Even though my sister and I practically raised ourselves, I truly believe my grandparents did the best they could, because they weren’t prepared to raise two little girls again.

Blaire and I experienced this very differently. I liked being part of a small town and the community that came with it. Blaire, on the other hand, decided to run as far away as she could, as quickly as she could. She became one hell of an investigative reporter.

I never really wanted to do that. When I graduated from the University of Colorado Boulder, I earned a degree in marketing, with a half-hearted effort. I really wanted to get married and start a family, but no one at CU really caught my eye at all.

Somehow, after graduation, that half-hearted degree turned into a really big job in tech in San Francisco. With like… a lot of money.

All the money in the world, however, couldn’t fix my terrible dating history with men.

When our grandparents passed, I pooled some of my earnings and my small inheritance, and I bought a farm in Montana. And now, I grow lots of things. I pickle and can lots most of those things. What I don’t pickle or can, I take pretty pictures of, and I sell. I have an Instagram account that does reasonably well, in terms of reach and value. It’s nowhere near what I did in San Francisco, but for now, it works.

I’m just here to heal. I’ve sworn off men entirely, and I’m embracing my life as the weird garden lady.

I take a second to re-arrange my jars after Kevin goes back to his booth. The layout is very important, after all. Having an appealing spread entices people to come and browse.

It’s one of the very important lessons I’ve learned from my idol, Mary Marco. Lots of people don’t know this about her, but she was a badass long before she was an icon of home décor. Like, my girl traded stocks with the big boys before it was even a thing for women to trade on Wall Street. Then, when she decided she was bored of that and wanted to cater food for her friends, her catering business became a multi-million-dollar sensation overnight.

Never underestimate the power of a woman who knows how to lay a table, is all I’m saying.

The bell rings, heralding the start of the market, and I put a genuine smile on my face. It’s literally so cute that they ring a bell to start the market.

I love it here. I really do. And if I keep telling myself that, like it’s going to patch over the hole inside of me that I feel around accepting the fact that a big family isn’t part of my futureanymore? That my voluntary man-diet (which is absolutely necessary) is keeping me from having kids, which I am desperate to do?

It’s fine. It’s all fine.

I keep my head high. I make sure that the beets catch the morning light just right, so everyone can see how beautiful and ruby-red they look.

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