6. Dalton
CHAPTER 6
Dalton
T he mare in front of me is hell on wheels. She’s a fiery copper red color, with a mane that’s black as pitch. Her ears are permanently back on her head, and if you’re not careful, she’ll bite your fingers right off if she gets the chance.
I fucking love her.
Every day, I head out to the ring to work with her. I’m trying my goddamn best to bond with this horse, but I swear she’s been sent straight from hell just to put me through my goddamn paces. And I love every second of it.
She snorts, and I stand, holding my ground as I stare at her.
“Look,” I murmur, my voice as low as possible. “I have some carrots in my pocket. If you don’t bite my fuckin’ hand, you can have them.”
The mare’s nostrils flare.
Horses don’t speak. My uncle made that abundantly clear. But I learned while watching him that they might not speak English. They definitely do say shit, though
Right now, for example, this mare is telling me to fuck all the way off. She’s telling me that she’d rather snack on the meat of my hands than any goddamn carrot, and she’s fuckin’ pleased at the concept. Still.
Gently, I take a carrot out of my pocket. It’s a long one, so that I can give myself as much space as possible before her teeth descend on my hand. I hold it up gently, offering it to her.
“You want it?”
The mare scratches at the ground, her hoof snapping against the dirt. Still, she’s looking at the carrot with some interest.
Come on. Do it.
Slowly, she moves forward. Her nostrils flare again, and I hear the deep, snuffling breaths as she arches her long neck forward to smell the carrot. Silently, I hold my hand out, aware that she’s interested, but clearly skeptical.
Eventually, curiosity overcomes her, and she snatches the carrot from my hand before dashing over to the opposite fence. A hearty crunch lets me know that she does, in fact, like the treat. And at least this time she didn’t try to go for my fingers.
I don’t let her see, but I walk away smiling.
My phone is buzzing in my pocket, and when I pick it up, I can’t help the kick of my heart in my chest.
Piper: Hey, guys. Wanted to see if we could talk soon. I’m headed to your place, and I have some thoughts on everything.
Fuck. She’s going to back out. She won’t want to actually do this. She won’t…
“You fucking done here or what?” I hear Brent holler at me from across the barn.
I need to put the mare up, a task that can be easy or Herculean, depending on the mood she’s in, but yeah. I’m fucking done here.
Brent makes his way to the house, the ATV roaring as he speeds off, and I do my best to get her into the stall. She doesn’t bite, which is progress, and soon, I’m following after him.
The entire time, my mind is whirling with thoughts.
Piper is the brightest spot in my entire world. I’ve known that since I first met her through Tate and Brent. When my uncle worked in other states as a traveling farrier, he would dump me with either Tate or Brent, and I’d spend months wondering what the hell happened to him. Whether or not he was okay, or if he had died in an accident, just like my dad. Or if he’d just… left. Like my mom. Either way, I spent the majority of my time worrying about him. And why the hell he didn’t want me around.
Piper was like a breath of fresh air. Her parents had passed away, and she and her sister were raised by their grandparents. Piper was the only person on the planet who knew what it felt like to be me. And I hung onto that like a lifeline.
Tate and Brent are like brothers to me. They always have been. I’ve spent my life being raised by them and their families. We’re thicker than blood.
But Piper is my world. And for some reason, she tolerates me.
I’ve never known why. It’s probably because Brent and Tate make her. It’s the only logical explanation, because I don’t have shit to offer her. I barely graduated high school. Didn’t go to college. Been working with animals my whole life, to the point where I do better with them than I do anything that walks on two legs. I tend to fuck up my words and shit when I’m around people. So I just don’t say much.
Which is why this whole situation is so much fucking harder. Because if I had the words I wanted, then I’d tell Piper that I would help her have a baby, raise a baby, marry her if she asked me to. That shit would be easy. I’d go to the fucking moon and gather up some dust if she needed it for a prop for one of her photos. I’d get my ass on a boat and go to that place in the middle of the ocean where you’re closer to the international space station than you are to other humans, and I’d bring her a glass of the goddamn ocean.
There’s nothing that I wouldn’t do for Piper. Giving her everything is my sole fucking function in life. But every time I open my mouth to say that, there’s fuck all that comes out.
I can see her truck parked in front of the house by the time I roll up. Mentally, I understand that I’m going to have to talk to her, because she wants to talk. If only my goddamn mouth would get on board.
I don’t bother to change. It’s early afternoon, and I know that I’ve been working up a sweat in the sun as I try to develop my relationship with that mare. I probably stink like sweat and horses. Again.
Fuck it.
Piper is more important, and no one expects anything from me that’s fancy like showering anyhow.
The door squeaks as I throw it open. Got to get the goddamn WD-40 for that shit.
Piper is on the couch. She has a bunch of stuff spread out over the coffee table. Looks like calendars and pictures and shit. She smiles at me, and I think my heart stops for just a second. “Hey, Dalton.”
“Darlin’.” I smile at her. I can’t help it when Piper is around. I really can’t.
“How were the horses today?”
I shrug, settling onto the chair across from her. “Horses.”
“Well, that sounds eloquent.”
I chuckle. “Mare’s coming closer. Didn’t bite me today.”
“Oh, good. She’s stunning. That copper-colored coat is something else.”
“Bay,” I respond.
Piper tilts her head.
“It’s called bay. Hers is just real red,” I mutter.
What the fuck, man? Here I am, talking about horse coat colors, and not saying jack shit that I want to say. I’d give you as many babies as you want, Piper. You just gotta fuckin’ say the word.
Piper makes a little humming noise and leans back. It makes my balls ache, because if she makes a little hum like that when she’s just agreeing, what does she sound like when she’s splayed out, her pussy tight as she’s about to come?
“Hey, Piper,” Tate breezes in. “Brent’s coming, he just wanted to shower first.”
Her nose wrinkles. “I bet. Cows?”
“Cows,” Tate confirms.
I subtly try to sniff my shirt, but I catch the glitter in Tate’s eyes. Fucker noticed.
“Well, while we wait on him, I have some ideas for your marketing. First, I think we should really focus on what it’s like to be you,” she says.
Oh. Fuck me. I grunt, looking at the pictures she has down on the sheet.
They’re all pictures from her social media, but they show… her. Piper. Piper doing things around the farm. Piper canning asparagus. Piper putting a goddamn chicken into a tub with a little hole cut out for its head. Piper’s the one who is front and fucking center, and like hell do I want to do that.
I shake my head, leaning back nervously. “No.”
“No what?” Piper asks.
I point. “That.”
Tate leans over, giving me a look. “Dalton. Bro. She’s the expert. We kind of have to do whatever she says.”
The panic in my chest rises, and I make a growling sound.
Piper interjects. “Well, we’ll find something that works for all of you. Yes, this is very focused around me, because I’m my brand. Each of you have the thing you’re contributing to the ranch, so I thought that would be a good place to start. If that’s not something you’re comfortable with, Dalton, we’ll figure it out. Sound good?”
It sounds like it fucking sucks, but I’m not about to say that.
“Wait, you started without me?” Brent asks, breezing into the living room.
I glare at him. He looks… clean. Nice jeans, nice shirt. Not covered in horse and sweat like I am.
Shit. I should have showered. I bet Piper is thinking that I’m such a slob.
“We didn’t do much. I was just reviewing some marketing ideas,” Piper says. She leans back, and I can tell that she wasn’t nervous for that part. But she is nervous for this one. “I… um… wanted to talk about the other stuff, too.”
Brent, Tate and I look at each other. Brent sits next to Piper on the couch.
“Like what?” he prompts.
Piper sucks in a huge breath. “I think I want to make sure that there are some… rules.”
“Rules?” Tate clarifies. I don’t miss the note of disappointment in his voice.
Hell, I’m disappointed, too.
“Look, I’d never want to lose you all as my friends. Your friendship means the world to me. And I kind of figure that we can like… keep that, you know? Still be friends. Who have a baby together,” she says.
The guys and I exchange a look again. I think all of us are just damn tired of hearing Piper say that she only wants to be friends, but…
Fuck. What’s the alternative? Not having her around? Fuck that.
“So anyway. We have some options. We could be very… clinical and go to the sperm bank in Helena for a… donation,” she stammers.
Fuck. That.
“Or,” she says in a rush, “we could just try to do it the old-fashioned way first.”
I blink. Clearly, Brent is on the same page as me, because he leans forward, his hands on his knees. “The old-fashioned way?”
Piper nods.
“Piper. When you say the old-fashioned way, do you mean, like, sex?” Tate asks.
She nods again. I think we all take a minute to process what she’s saying, because the room is so silent, I can hear everyone breathing hard. Then, she screws her pretty green eyes shut and starts talking.
“Look, I’d want to make sure that there’s nothing too intimate so we can stay friends. Like no kissing or anything. But um… it might be easier, and cheaper, than the clinical way.”
Shit. Shit. Fuck me.
My mind is tripping over all of Piper’s words. Old-fashioned way. I’m barely able to listen to her next words, my mind is in such a dirty place. Eventually, though, I manage to get my shit together enough to listen to her.
“And I don’t want you to like… well, I can’t pick just one of you,” Piper says. The blush rising in her cheeks is fucking adorable, and the fact that she can’t open her eyes is…
Well. Not adorable, but I can’t fucking think because I’m thinking about how it looks so good spreading across her cheeks.
“I don’t want this to be something that gets weird, and I can’t pick one of you. So um. I made this.” She unfolds a piece of paper with shaking hands.
Brent leans forward, then up at Piper. “Is this a schedule?”
“You know, it’s actually like weirdly not as easy to get pregnant as people think it is. Because you only have like twelve hours every month where it’s like, an option, so the timing has to be kind of good, and you can see that around those three days, um, I put you in each. For one day,” she murmurs.
Fucking hell.
“Piper. You made us a sex schedule?” Tate says.
I can tell he’s trying to keep his shit together, and so am I.
“It’s not… I mean… I just don’t want you to think that I’m picking one of you,” she clarifies.
I think it’s hot in here. I’m definitely warm.
Piper takes a deep breath. “So. I was thinking that we should just… take turns.”
And that little sentence. The idea of taking turns with Piper. The vision of us having sex with her on a rotation. That is where I lose my shit.
And I walk the fuck out of that conversation.