Page 41 of Claimed By the Cowboys

I blink, surprised, but don’t contradict him. It’s not worth the awkwardness of pointing out that I'd like to choose something with more vegetables. This is the thing about first dates. You can find out a lot about a man by sitting back and letting him show you who he is.

A big game is playing on the main screen behind the bar. James keeps glancing over my shoulder every few seconds, his eyes lighting up when something happens.

“Did you see that?” he says excitedly during one play, half-rising out of his seat. “What a pass!”

I nod and smile, picking at the nachos. When there’s a lull in the game, I try to steer the conversation.

“So the kids have been keeping me pretty busy,” I say. “Naomi’s really into space right now and Elijah—”

“That’s great,” James cuts in, eyes flicking back to the screen. “When you get married, will they stay with your mama? Or do you have other family who can help? Because I’ve always pictured having my own kids one day, you know? Starting fresh.”

I stare at him, the nacho in my hand hovering halfway to my mouth, forgotten.

He talks about my kids like they’re an inconvenience to manage and not the center of my world. He makes them sound like a worn coat I could shrug off as soon as a man came along holding a brand new one.

Bo and Jensen wouldn’t do that. They’re good men. They ask about my babies with real care and consideration. But letting them into Naomi and Elijah’s lives wouldn’t be simple.

I might want them for myself, but they’re white men and there are things those babies may face growing up that the Caldwell twins have never had to think about. Things I can’t pretend don’t matter just because they make me feel safe.

But the strange thing is, I don't think they'd pretend to understand.

I think they'd listen. I can picture them doing what they can to support and help.

They’d put the kids first, not try to push them out of my life.

The rest of the evening passes in a blur of James talking about his career, his church volunteer work, his perfect Christian upbringing, and how he’s “ready to settle down with the right woman with traditional values.” Every few minutes his eyes drift back to the game, making me feel boring and discarded.

None of it’s right.

Not how he orders for me or talks at me instead of with me. Not the casual way he assumes marriage and “starting fresh” would involve me abandoning my life, my children, and my responsibilities, like they’re background details to be left behind.

At the end of the night, when the check comes, James glances at it and says casually, “Should we split this?”

I blink, surprised but not, and nod. “Sure.”

We split it evenly down to the last cent.

Outside the sports bar, the evening air is cool. I struggle into my coat, with one arm caught in the sleeve, and James stands next to me, checking his phone instead of helping. I finally get it on and turn toward his car.

That’s when I see Jensen.

He’s outside the Dusty Boot across the street, laughing at something the man beside him said. The moment his eyes land on me standing next to James, still in my date-night clothes and fancy new hair, his face falls. The easy smile I love so much vanishes, and for a split second, raw hurt flashes across his features before he schools it.

My gut twists so hard, I’m nauseated.

I want to run to him. I want to cross the street and throw myself into his arms and explain that this wasn’t my choice, that I don’t want to be here, that I’ve been thinking about him and his brother every second since I left the ranch.

But I can’t.

Mama would find out. The whole town would talk. I can’t risk it.

James opens the car door for me. I force my legs to move and climb inside. When I turn back, Jensen is watching everything and my heart withers.

We’ve made no promises to each other, but if the situation were reversed, I know how sick I’d be. Even though I’ve done nothing with James other than share a meal and some awful conversation, it’s still a betrayal.

The drive home is stifling. James talks about the game some more. I make the appropriate sounds, exhausted by being spoken at, and riddled with a terrible sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. When he pulls up to my house, I thank him politely and slip inside as quickly as I can.

Mama is waiting, her eyes bright with expectation.