Page 40 of Claimed By the Cowboys

“Look in the mirror and tell me what you think.”

I rise and cross the room until I’m standing in front of the long mirror in the hallway. I look a little crazy with my hair in disarray and one long tight box braid clutched in my hand, but Mama’s work is neat, and the braid incorporates my real hair and the extension seamlessly.

“Mama, this is great,” I say. “But are you up to the hours it’ll take to finish it all?”

“I could try to do half tonight and the rest in the morning. Would that work?”

“It would.”

“You’ll look so beautiful for your date,” she says.

I stare at my reflection, trying to picture James greeting me and appreciating my hairstyle. Bo and Jensen seem to like my natural hair. They’re always getting their hands tangled in it and letting the curls twist around their fingers. But maybe they’ll like my braids too.

It feels like it’s time for a change.

Mama works for the next two and a half hours, repeating stories from her childhood that she told me before, and I smile and laugh at the right parts, relishing the return of a part of our lives that felt long gone. She finishes half my head with surprisingly nimble fingers, dipping the synthetic ends in hot water to secure them.

“Tomorrow will be quicker,” she says. “I can’t wait to see James’s reaction.”

“Yeah. Thanks, mama.”

I rise and head upstairs to change while my stomach twists itself into knots.

I sit on the edge of my mattress, staring at my phone. Bo's note is still tucked in my nightstand drawer. I pull it out and read it again, thumb brushing over the simple words. Thinking of you, sweetheart. Our place is yours anytime you need to breathe. We’re yours, anytime you need us.

I close my eyes, and I’m back on their porch, back in their kitchen. Back between them in the shower, coming apart so completely I forgot my own name.

They’ve hooked me.

They’ve reeled me in so deep I don’t know how to swim back to shore.

And now I have to sit across from a perfectly nice man named James and pretend my body isn’t still humming from the memory of two cowboys worshipping and staking claim to every inch of me.

I lie back on the bed and press the heels of my hands against my eyes.

Just one dinner, I tell myself. All I have to do is smile. Be polite. Get it over with.

But even as I think it, I know the truth.

My mind and body are tethered somewhere else now.

And no matter how hard I try to fight it, I’m already counting down the hours until I can find my way back to them.

***

On Friday night, James is waiting on the porch when I step outside in my bright jade satin top and black pants, feeling fancy with my new braids completed. Mama wasn’t lying about how tall he is, or about his warm brown eyes and friendly, open smile. At first sight, he looks like exactly the kind of man she’s been praying I’d meet: Black, clean-cut, polite, wearing a crisp button-down and slacks.

“Brandy,” he says, extending his hand. His grip is firm but gentle, his palm perfectly dry. “It’s really nice to meet you finally. Your mama speaks very highly of you.”

“That’s a mama’s job, isn’t it?” I force a smile. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”

He tells me he’s taking us to a sports bar he must be familiar with. It’s one of those loud places with dozens of TVs, noisy groups, jugs of beer and giant sharing platters. Not the kind of place I’d pick for a first date, but then I wasn’t given a choice. In the car, we listen to some old soul music that soothes my nerves a little, and he tells me about his move into the area.

At the restaurant, the moment we sit down, he starts talking again.

“So I’ve been at the middle school for three weeks now. I teach eighth-grade history. The kids are a handful, but I love it. Last year, at my old school, I coached the basketball team, and we made it to the district finals. You should’ve seen the final game. We were down by six with thirty seconds left…” he says, barely pausing as the waitress approaches.

When the waitress attempts to hand us menus, James doesn’t even give her a chance. He orders for both of us without asking what I want, telling her brusquely, “We’ll take the loaded nachos platter and the buffalo wings to share. And two sweet teas.”