Page 68 of Claimed By the Cowboys
We both put on our boots at the front door. Maisie’s were pink and mine were a hard-wearing brown boot. The guys had insisted I use proper footwear when I went out on the ranch because there could potentially be snakes or sharp things, so my usual sandals wouldn’t cut it.
Maisie clutched the bag of horse snacks to her chest as we ambled down to the barn. The horses were only a short walk away, so it was okay for Maisie’s little legs.
“I’m gonna give Bass the biggest carrot!” she said as we reached the barn.
Clay was standing there, filling one of the stalls with hay when he saw us. “Well, this is a nice surprise! What brings my girls here?”
“We got treats for Bass!” Maisie declared, holding up the bag.
Clay brushed some hay off his jeans before approaching. “That looks lovely; why don’t you go give it to the horses in the pasture?”
Maisie frowned. “Bass is here,” she said, pointing to his stall.
Unease was emanating through the bond, and I raised an eyebrow at Clay. “Is everything okay?”
“Of course! Why wouldn’t it be?” he asked, his voice tighter than usual.
“Bass!” Maisie toddled over to the horse, grabbing some of the carrots in her chubby little fist.
She was used to feeding horses, so I wasn’t concerned about her feeding Bass a few feet away from me.
I turned back to Clay, narrowing my eyes at him. “You’re acting shifty—I can feel it through the bond. What are you up to, Clayton Blackwood?”
The bond was really quite useful.
“Oh, nothing.” He waved off my concern. “I just smell like horse!”
“No you don’t…” I approached him, and his shoulders obviously tensed.
When I took a step to the left, I noticed the writing carved into the wooden post he was leaning against.
“What’s that?” I asked curiously.
There were initials and several tally marks.
D had 3, and walking around, I noticed M had 2 and Z had 3.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out those initials were for members of the Blackwood Pack.
“What are they keeping score of?” I asked absentmindedly.
Clayton stayed rooted to the spot.
The numbers…
“Clayton Blackwood!” I hissed, whirling round to glare at him. “Are these what I think they are?”
“I’m sure they’re not, why?” he asked too innocently for my liking.
“These tallies just happen to match how many times the others and I have—” I glanced at Maisie. She was in earshot, so I had to censor my language somewhat, “Hadspecial cuddleswith them.”
“Special cuddles?”
“You want me to speak profanities around our daughter?” I asked, crossing my arms.
His face softened as he repeated, “Our daughter.”
“I can’t believe them…” I muttered, walking around the post.
