Page 66 of Claimed By the Cowboys
Clay, Zeke, and Dakota took Maisie to the park and on a few errands around town with the understanding that we’d all meet up at Evelyn’s diner after the appointment.
Even though it had been mostly smooth sailing—apart from the bouts of morning sickness that Piper had soldiered through up until a few weeks ago—I was still nervous as hell.
I sat, tapping my foot manically on the floor as Doc Cochran squeezed ultrasound gel over Piper’s stomach.
Gently, Piper reached out and laid a hand over my knee, stopping its bounce.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t be fidgeting like this when you’re the one in the chair,” I apologized, lifting Piper’s hand from my knee to lay a kiss across her knuckles.
“It’s okay to be nervous—that tapping was just driving me crazy,” she laughed, and I laughed too. Doc Cochran was already looking at something on the grainy black-and-white screen beside us.
“Well, there’s nothing to be worried about. Both Baby and Mama are looking remarkably healthy.” Doc did his best to quiet our fears, a grin creeping in at the corner of his mouth. “Now, would you like to know the baby’s sex? Or are y’all looking to keep that a surprise?”
I found myself about to answer, to ask Doc to tell me everything I could possibly know about our unborn child, so that I might better plan and prepare to make everything perfect for my kid. For Maisie’s younger sibling.
Then I thought about what Piper might want. She was the one carrying and growing a tiny human inside her body, so I kept my mouth shut and looked to my mate. She looked back at me before turning to the screen, deep in thought.
“Oh, I think…I think that maybe for now we should keep it a surprise.”
I nodded slowly, trying not to show my distress while Doc Cochran wiped the leftover aquasonic gel from her belly.
“You’re doing the control freak thing right now where you can’t handle not knowing all the factors, aren’t you?” She giggled a bit, reaching out to stroke my face.
“Why do you ask?” I smiled, doing my best to appear cool as a cucumber.
“Because you’re white-knuckling it over there, Monty dear.” Piper’s eyes dropped to my hands, which were balled into fists on top of my knees, the knuckles bloodless white.
When my eyes lifted to meet hers again, we both let out a little laugh.
“Take a deep breath, son.” Doc barked a laugh, clapping me warmly on the back. “As you already know, fatherhood is quite the adventure! You’ve gotta just go with the flow.”
When we got to the diner, Evelyn was already standing by the big booth in the back corner, Maisie and the rest of us Blackwood boys chatting away. Everyone’s heads snapped up to look at us. Not just Evelyn and the family, but Emmy, Lucas, and even Judd at his place at the griddle.
“Afternoon, Evelyn.” I pulled my pinchfront off my head and held it against my chest as I bobbed a small bow at the diner’s owner and namesake.
“Afternoon, Montana, Piper,” she said, greeting us with a knowing smile. “You both want your usual?” She pursed her lips, rounding away from the full table to meet us as we wove our way through the diner tables.
“Yes, ma’am!” Piper chirped back happily, “But, Evelyn, can you ask Judd to add me a side of chili fries with extra pickled jalapenos,” she added sheepishly.
Evelyn knew that we were here to have “the talk” with Maisie today as long as the appointment went well, so she was careful to choose her words when she said, “Someone is into all the spicy things lately, huh?” while looking pointedly at Piper’s growing belly.
“She made me go out and buy three different kinds of spicy cheese puffs and a jar of pickles the other night because of the cravings,” Dakota confirmed on a laugh.
“All right, Montana I’ll be back with your burger and side salad—and Piper, I’ll make sure those fries come out before your turkey club.” Evelyn winked before disappearing into the kitchen.
When we sat down in the booth, Maisie was busy with a handful of crayons and a large section of butcher paper for her to draw on.
“What are you making over there with those crayons, Maisie-doodle?” I asked, kissing the top of her head before plunking down into the booth next to Piper.
“I’m drawing a picture of our family,” Maisie answered, casual as can be, one of her stubby little fingers pointing proudly to a green stick figure man with a crudely drawn cowboy hat. “That’s Daddy Monty,” she began her list, moving to a similarly sized blue stick figure man with a cowboy hat and what I was certain was meant to be the pair of work gloves always hanging out of Dakota’s back pocket.
“And there’s Papa Kota,” she said, identifying him proudly.
“There’s Daddy Clay.” Next, she traced her finger to an orange stick figure man. She had drawn Clayton with a clear height difference, much to my chagrin.
Maisie beamed before moving on to the most massive of the stick figure men, drawn in red crayon with a cowboy hat and a little triangle around his neck, which undoubtedly represented Zeke’s signature bandana look. Even though they ended up caked in dirt and soaked in sweat, most of them started off a clean red and white paisley.
“Daddy Zeke!” She confirmed my suspicions with a high-pitched squeal.
