Page 42 of Claimed By the Cowboys

But here I am. Sam, the horse, munches on the untouched pasture grass while I get my ass over to where the hole in the fence is. I get out the barbed wire clippers and start hacking.

Fuck.

I don’t need this shit. I need the farm to be financially viable. We’re so fucking close to it.

And you’re a shit example for a kid when it comes to being financially independent.

The thought hits me like a runaway cow. I take a deep breath, my throat closing off as I think of the ways I’ve already fucked up.

I can’t be a role model to a kid. I’m the one who made all those shitty investments, putting us in this financial position to begin with.

God, I hope it’s not me. I hope it’s Tate or Dalton who…

“You’re gonna break the fence again,” Dalton rumbles.

I turn, pretending that I’m not startled by his presence.

“The fuck are you doing here?” I bark.

Dalton gets off of his horse. He doesn’t name them, so I have no idea who this one is, but it’s a beautiful dapple-grey roan with almost blue markings. The horse whickers, heading over to Sam, who gives them one fast look before returning to the grass.

My friend narrows his eyes. “You left early.”

“Needed to fix a fence.”

“I needed to take the dapple roan on a long ride.”

“Good. They do all right?”

“Yup. Gonna be a great horse for someone.”

I sigh. “You know, you could keep a horse, if you wanted to.”

That makes Dalton tense up. It’s an old argument, one we’ve had a million times. He’ll break and train a horse, but he won’t keep one. Thinks it’s unfair. Which, of course, is stupid as hell. He’s amazing with horses, and he deserves a good horse.

Dalton folds his arms. “Don’t fuck up with Piper.”

Anger, hot and red, descends over me. “What the fuck does that even mean, Dalton?”

“You know,” he mutters.

Jesus fucking Christ. I throw the barbed wire pliers down, glaring at him. “I swear to god, your whole stone-cold thing just fucking annoys the shit out of me. Say more, motherfucker.”

Dalton tenses, and I know I’ve hit a nerve. He gets nervous about talking out loud. Dalton went quiet in about the second grade, when he begged his uncle to stay over Christmas, and he left, anyway.

I huff. “Sorry. That was low.”

“Yup.”

“But seriously, Dalton. What the hell do you mean, don’t fuck it up with Piper?”

Dalton stares at me for a minute, his eyes searching mine. Finally, he straightens, like he’s steeling himself to do something hard. “Piper. She wants to be a parent. Bad.”

“Dude. Clearly. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have asked us to… help her with that.”

“She wants to make things different for our kid.”

Our kid.“Different how?” I ask, after realizing that the ‘our’ rattled my bones.

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