Page 29 of Claimed By the Cowboys

“Love you most.” I turn off the lights and stand in the hallway for a moment, listening to their breathing even out. The house is quiet, except for the low murmur of the TV where Mama is probably still sitting.

I lean against the wall and close my eyes again.

Two cowboys are thinking about me. They’re trying to reach me in my real life, not just waiting for the next time I slip away for a reckless night at the Dusty Boot.

And God help me… I want to let them in.

Despite the danger, and even though it could break everything I’ve worked so hard to hold together, I want them.

I touch the center of my chest and think about the faces of the two men who refuse to let me forget that I matter to them.

I linger in the hallway a moment longer, listening to the soft, even breathing coming from the kids’ rooms. Once I’m sure they’re both fully asleep, I head back to the kitchen.

The counter is still a mess from dinner and donut time. Crumbs and sticky patches cover the surface. I grab a damp cloth and start wiping in slow circles, trying to restore some order to the chaos.

A few scraps of donut remain on their plates: a piece topped with golden lemon glaze, and another chunk with a smear of strawberry icing. I glance toward the living room where Mama is dozing in front of the TV, then back at the plate.

I shouldn’t.

But I do.

I pick up the lemon piece first and slip it into my mouth. The bright, tangy sweetness explodes across my tongue. I wipe harder at a stubborn spot on the counter, scrubbing like I can erase the flutter in my chest.

Bo chose this one to represent himself. He stood in that bakery, thought of me, and came up with a way to give me something he enjoys. And he left a note. I never imagined he could be so sweet.

I lick a bit of glaze from my thumb and reach for the strawberry next. The cloth moves across the counter in steady strokes, gathering crumbs. The berry flavor bursts with bright, playful notes. It’s pure Jensen.

They truly want more than my body in a motel room. They want me, and it makes my heart ache in the most dangerous way.

I squeeze the cloth tightly over the sink, wringing out the dirty water with more force than necessary and washing away the crumbs, reminding myself that donuts are easy. A quick transaction. A thoughtful delivery. Anyone can do that.

Raising kids is hard. Providing is hard. Showing up day after day when you’re exhausted and scared and running on fumes is what matters. I can’t let pretty gestures and mind-blowing nights make me forget that.

No cowboy is going to want to shoulder the burdens that make my life hard but sweet.

I attack the stovetop next, scrubbing at dried sauce splatters until my arm burns, as if I can physically push away the warmth blooming in my chest. No point thinking about it anymore. I have responsibilities. The cloth comes away dark with the day’s dirt. I toss it into the sink with a quiet sigh.

The kitchen is clean again. Order is restored.

But the ache in my heart remains stubborn and impossible to scrub away.

I turn off the light and stand in the dark for a moment, fingers pressed to the center of my chest.

Two cowboys are thinking about me.

And no matter how hard I try to wipe it away, I can’t quite make myself stop wanting them.

Chapter 15

Jensen

I stand in the middle of the flower shop like a damn fool, staring at buckets of petals and leaves like they might jump up and bite me.

I’ve faced down angry bulls and broken fences in thunderstorms, but choosing flowers for Brandy has me sweating more than either of those ever did.

The place smells sweet and green, and the older woman behind the counter is watching me with an amused little smile. “First time buying flowers?” she asks kindly.

I rub the back of my neck. “That obvious, huh?”