Page 75 of Claimed By the Cowboys

“Okay, I see where you’re coming from, but also, this is definitely not my fault, so?—”

Tate stops. A familiar vintage blue Ford is rumbling into the parking lot.

My heart is in my throat as Piper climbs down from the truck. She looks over at us, and her smile is… weak. Her smile is fucking strained and weak, and I’m pretty sure that Tate is absolutely not right. Dalton is.

Piper’s going to leave. And there’s not shit we can do about it.

I’m trying to grapple with this when she walks up to us. “Hey, guys. Sorry I’m late.”

She looks… good. She’s wearing a little yellow sundress that shows off her toned arms and delicate shoulders. I don’t recognize it, which means that she went back to her house to get it. Which means she showered there. And not with us. Not at home.

My stomach drops.

Her brown hair is down, but it just makes me want to gather it with my hands so I can tug her head back and kiss her. However, none of us move to kiss her. And she doesn’t come to kiss any of us.

“It’s all good, Pipes.” Tate smiles at her. “Are you ready to go eat the most mediocre food you’ve ever had in your life?”

“Sure,” Piper says.

We all stare at her as she walks inside.

Tate looks at me. “She didn’t even get on my case about being nice about the food.”

“Told you. Something’s fuckin’ wrong,” Dalton growls.

I take a deep breath. I point to Dalton and Tate.

“Let’s go figure out what the fuck is wrong with our girl,” I rasp.

We tuck into a corner booth at the bar.

Tate is next to Piper. Dalton is next to me. Dalton and I are staring at Piper like she’s about to grow wings and fly away. And Tate is staring at us.

When it comes time to order drinks, I go to order Piper a gin and tonic, but she cuts over me. “I’ll have a soda. Ginger ale, please.”

The rest of us ask for beer, and then Tate looks at Piper. “Are you feeling okay?”

She shakes her head. “Yeah. Um. I am. I think.”

Alarm bells are screaming in my mind.

Piper looks at each of us. “So, there’s something I want to?—”

She’s interrupted by the waiter. It’s the most awkward silence I’ve ever heard in my life. He hands each of us a drink, then steps back.

“And for food?” he asks.

I am going to lose my fucking shit on this guy. If he doesn’t fucking leave…

“No food,” Dalton grunts.

Piper frowns. Tate looks alarmed. And I nod, desperately hoping the waiter is going to pick up on the fact that all of us are absolutely going to fall apart if he doesn’t get the complete and total fuck out of here.

The waiter, still not understanding the obvious tension, just smiles. “Do you want to hear about some specials today?”

To everyone’s surprise, it’s Tate that snaps. “No. I do not want to hear about specials. Unless you want me to get my ass back to the kitchen and cook something worthwhile, do not tell us about any goddamn specials.”

The waiter panics. He zips away, and the three of us look at Tate.

---