Page 35 of Claimed By the Cowboys

So today, I’m here to take pictures of Dalton for the little blog I started for the farm. It’s a good way to build up content with some of their target market, because while we can definitely snag people with great pictures, the blog gives us an opportunity to really dig into who each guy is and what they’re doing.

I’ve seen Dalton work with horses before, of course. He’s definitely a natural. Growing up around horse people, you can always tell when someone has a gift with them. Dalton definitely does.

I’m actually getting kind of hot and bothered just watching him. The copper-colored mare that he’s been working on training is ten pounds of dynamite in a five-pound sack. She’s a small horse, only about fifteen hands high, which puts her right above a pony. However, she makes up for her lack of height in pure attitude.

I’ve taken tons of great photos, and I’ve been laughing every time Dalton tries to get close to her. The mare is hilarious; she lets him get close enough to think she’s going to actually let him win before she dances away. Or tries to bite his fingers.

Through all of it, though, Dalton is totally calm and collected. He isn’t fazed by any of her antics, and I’m impressed by that.

He’s going to make a great father.

I push the thought aside. I have no idea how this is going to work. I guess if I do get pregnant, I’ll probably need a paternity test to know who the father is, because they’ll want to know. Right?

I chew on my lip. Like my sister, a couple of my girlfriends from college are in unconventional relationships with more than one man. I’ll have to ask them. But then I’ll have to tell them what I’m doing. And then they’ll offer me some kind of opinion, which will make me feel bad or second guess myself. And then?—

“He’s going to get kicked right in the chest by that little filly,” Tate says, coming up next to me to lean against the fence.

I shake my head. “No way. He’s doing great. She’s just spirited, that’s all.”

Tate grins. “Takes one to know one, huh?”

I roll my eyes. “I’m hardly spirited. You’re thinking of Blaire.”

Shaking his head, Tate leans against the fence, giving me a lascivious once-over. “I know which Cassidy sister I’m referring to, Piper.”

I flush, pulling the camera up to my eye. “Sometimes I don’t know if I should take you seriously, Tate Kirkland.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

I pull the camera down and look at him. He’s dressed like a chef today; he has a black henley on and his very manly-looking canvas apron over it. There’s flour on it, which makes me wonder what he’s been working on and if it’s tasty.

I wave a hand at him. “You know. Your whole ‘flirt with everything’ vibe.”

He tilts his head. “What makes you think I flirt with everything?”

“Um. The fact that you flirt with me every time you’ve seen me. Since we were ten years old.”

Tate’s oddly solemn right now, and when he looks back over, his blue eyes don’t have any of the glitter of mischief that they usually do.

“Why is flirting with you the same as flirting with everyone?”

“Um. Well. I just kind of assumed that since you did it with me, you did it with everyone.”

Tate’s facing me fully now. He studies me, then sighs. “Piper, did it ever occur to you that you’re the exception, not the rule?”

I blink. I don’t quite know what to do with that information.

Tate looks out at Dalton, giving him a wave. Dalton waves back. Tate turns to me, holding out a hand. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

His eyes sparkle now, almost a cornflower blue in the light.

“It’s my day, and I baked you something special to celebrate.”

Following Tate back to the kitchen, I’m almost as nervous as I was yesterday with Dalton. Well. Maybe even more nervous? I can’t tell. My emotions are bouncing all over the place like a toddler, and the only thing I can do is just… keep moving.

Breathe.

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