32. Piper
Piper
R anch life suited me.
It was early afternoon, and Maisie and I were prepping some potatoes and veggies to add to the large stew pot I had simmering away. One thing about cowboys and ranch life was that there was never a shortage of beef.
There were two chest freezers in one of the outbuildings full of cuts of meat. I had picked out some cube steak and thrown it in a stew pot for the day so it got all tender. I planned to serve it with buttery mashed potatoes and add carrots, onions, and green beans to the stew.
I was basically a cliché—barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen—but I loved it.
Maisie's favorite spot in the kitchen was the little wooden stool she would stand on so she could help me at the counter. Every time I was cooking, she wanted to be up there, giving me a hand.
Teaching house was quickly becoming one of my favorite hobbies. Anytime we did any cooking or baking together, we worked on her numbers. I may have been slightly biased, but I was convinced she was a tiny genius.
“Okay, can you put these in the pot with gentle hands?” I asked Maisie, handing her a few chunks of carrot.
She plopped the carrots into the stew, turning to me with a smile. “Done!”
“Well done. Now we have all these carrots left over,” I told her, picking up the ends and peels. “Why don’t we go give them to the horses?”
Maisie nodded eagerly, scrambling off the stool and taking off her apron with shocking speed. Laughing, I took off my own apron and placed it on the counter. The stew was simmering in a slow cooker, so we could leave the kitchen safely and go to the barn for a bit.
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, “Had special cuddles with 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.
Clay cleared his throat. “Yes, such childish actions. They’re more immature than Maisie.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Why aren’t you moving?”
“What do you mean?”
“That post has four sides, and you’re blocking one—Clayton! Don’t tell me you’re taking part in this?”
His eyes widened. “I-uh—no!”
“I suppose it’ll be no bother to move, then,” I said, crossing my arms and tapping my foot.
His ears started to turn red.
Embarrassment.
The ass!
“Nope, I’m good here,” he insisted.
Stepping forward, I attempted to shove him out of the way, but the alpha stood firm. I was tiny compared to him, and there was no way I would be able to move him if he refused.
I glowered at him. “You have to move eventually!”
“Not anytime soon.” He shrugged. “You really want to see who is more stubborn?”
“We know it’s me,” I growled.
We didn’t, but I wasn’t going to back down from the challenge.
“Daddy! Bass stole my carrot!” Maisie shrieked.
The sound of our daughter slightly upset was all it took. Clay turned to see what she was doing, and I saw the carved tally marks under his initials.
Glaring at him, I glanced over to Maisie to check if she was okay—she was already feeding Bass another carrot, not hurt or upset, so I turned back to Clay.
“I thought better of you,” I said, my eyes trailing from the very sheepish-looking Clay to the tallies.
“Anyway, you’re tallying the wrong thing.”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
I cocked my head to the side, taking a moment to let the anticipation for my words build. He wasn’t the only one who could have a little fun.
“Well, one of these guys has made me finish a lot more than the rest, if you catch my drift?”
Clay’s face fell, and I bit back a laugh. “Who?”
I shrugged. “You would know if you were keeping track of the right thing—Maisie! Has Bass had all his carrots? It’s time to go finish dinner,” I said, raising my voice.
She turned to us, beaming. “Okay! Bass is all done!”
I shot one final smile at the dumbstruck-looking Clay before scooping up our girl and walking out of the barn, my head held high.