Page 77 of Claimed By the Cowboys

The guys exchange a glance. Brent, finally, turns. “I don’t think it was that.”

“Okay, what was it then?” I demand.

“Piper. You’ve been something that we all love. Someone we all love,” Tate says, looking at the other guys. They nod.

I, however, am stuck on one word.

Love.

“I know I’ve loved you since I was a kid. And no, I’m not talking about being a friend. I’ve been your friend, too,” he says quickly. “But it was always clear to me that you didn’t want to be more than a friend. That you wanted that friendship. And I was fine with that, because I wasn’t going to push your feelings any type of way. If you wanted to be friends, we knew we would be fine with it.”

“But then, with this…” Brent adds.

“We got the chance to show you that we could be so much more than friends,” Tate finishes.

Dalton grunts. “And that shit’s scary.”

I look between the three of them.

Brent sits on the bench, looking up at me. He’s so tall that even on the bench, our height difference is almost negligible. His eyes look a dark forest green in the night.

“I am worried we’re screwing this up, Piper. I’m worried that you’re going to realize you just want to be friends. That you don’t feel the same way about me, about us, as we do about you.”

“I don’t want to just be friends,” Dalton growls.

Tate gently takes one of my hands. “We love you. I love you. I love you so fucking much, Piper. Part of it is friendship. But I can’t tell you that I love you as a friend when I literally dream about fucking you every night, and during most of the day, too.”

I look at where his hand is in mine. I look at the three guys. And I burst into tears.

“Shit,” I hear Tate whisper. A second later, he’s tugging me into his arms, patting my back. “Shit, Piper. I’m sorry. We can go back to being friends. That’s totally fine. I’m not worried about being friends?—”

“I’m pregnant,” I sob.

All three of them go very, very still.

“Piper. You gotta help us out a little,” Brent says. “I thought you wanted to be pregnant?”

“I do,” I say.

“Okay. Okay. So. Why are you crying?” Tate asks.

I cry even harder. All three of them move to surround me. It’s like a wall of muscle and warmth and good smells, and I take some comfort in the fact that they’re there. And they aren’t going anywhere.

Eventually, the crying stops. I pat my eyes dry and look at them. I take a deep breath.

“I’m a week late for my period. I told you that I was going to meet you here because I needed to go into town and grab a test. And then I didn’t want to take it at the grocery store because how weird would that be? So I drove all the way back to my house. Ifed the chickens. I peed on the stick. I showered. And then when I got out of the shower, I saw this.” I rummage in my purse, pulling out the pregnancy test.

All three guys lean in. It very, very clearly says pregnant.

I still can’t believe it, if I’m being honest. So I take another look as well.

“So you saw the pregnancy test,” Tate prompts. “And then?”

“Then, I cried a lot. So, I had to redo my makeup. And then I came here,” I gulp. “And yes, I took a bunch of my clothes home because I was going to swap them out.”

“Not to leave?” Dalton asks.

I shake my head, putting my hand against his jaw. “Not to leave.”

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