Page 52 of Claimed By the Cowboys

I think I’m supposed to be teasing. But the whole room freezes as soon as it comes out of my mouth.

Piper’s face heats, and she turns to me, more than a little mad. “I’m not asking strangers for sex, Tate. Also, how dare you assume that?”

Shit. “Piper, I didn’t?—”

“Seriously, the nerve.” She stands, grabbing her stuff. “I’m going to go back to my house. I’ll see you three next month,” she snaps.

For a small woman, her footsteps make a remarkable amount of noise as she stomps out of the farmhouse. Her truck rumbles to life, and a cloud of dust is all that’s visible in the picture window of the kitchen as she peels down the driveway.

The silence that follows is deafening.

Dalton and Brent turn to me, two sets of faces that are dark with anger.

Dalton speaks first. His lips move, forming two words.

“Fix it,” he snarls.

Brent stands, as quickly as he can, his hands smacking down on the table.

“Or else.”

CHAPTER 14

Piper

The nerve.

I’m still mad at Tate as I pull up to my house. Still mad as I feed my chickens, the poor girls upset by all the comings and goings that I’ve been doing. Still mad as I let Reginald chase me around the yard a little, since I can tell he’s been missing me, too.

Honestly. How dare he? Does he really think that I’m going around, just trying to sleep with every stranger that I meet so I can get pregnant? Not that there would be a problem with that, I guess. If all parties were well informed. But the way he made it sound makes me feel… cheap. Low. Like I’m doing something I shouldn’t.

Instead of working on the marketing for the farm, or a post for my own social media accounts, I sit on my living room couch, waiting for the plumber. I’m absolutely fuming still when I hear a truck pull up.

Gotta get it together, Piper.Mary Marco would never answer the door in such a state.

I suck in a breath, trying to compose myself. Smile pasted on, I head over to the door.

“Thank you so much for—” I stop as soon as I see who it is. “Oh,” I say, giving Tate the meanest look I can muster. “It’s you.”

“Hey,” he says. His hands are behind his back. I’m dying of curiosity to know what he’s holding, but also, I’m mad.

I turn, walking into the house. “Go home, Tate.”

“I will. Right after I apologize.”

I snort. “Apologize? Really? That’s all you’re going to do?”

“I brought these,” he says.

I turn. Tate produces the biggest bouquet of wildflowers that I’ve ever seen. My eyes go round looking at them. “Tate. Where did you get these?”

“In town. Florist shop. Not one of them is local, but they look good, right?”

Typical, cocky Tate. I could just scream at him, because I’m so annoyed.

Annoyed. Not mad.Hmm.

Noting the downgrade in my irritation, I examine the flowers. They really are gorgeous, and they’d look fantastic in a jewel-blue vase that I recently thrifted…

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