Page 30 of Claimed By the Cowboys

She chuckles. “What’s she like? Tell me about her, and I’ll help you select something perfect.”

I hesitate, then the words come easier than I expect.

“She’s… strong. Real strong. Works doubles, raises her late sister’s kids, and holds her whole family together without complaining. But when she smiles it lights up the whole damn room. She’s got curves that make a man forget his own name and a fire in her that matches her scarlet lipstick. But she’s soft, too. Funny and sweet.”

The florist’s expression softens. “Someone special, huh?”

“Yeah,” I say quietly. “She is.”

She moves around the shop with purpose, pulling stems with confidence. “Pink roses for that softness you mentioned. And red ones for the fire.”

I grin. “You’re good.”

She arranges them beautifully in a sturdy white box with water at the bottom, so they’ll stay fresh. When she’s done, the bouquet looks the perfect blend of bold and sweet, tied with a simple white ribbon.

I write a note and slip it into a tiny envelope, tucking it between the blooms, then pay, thank the kind florist twice, and head straight for the care home with the box on the passenger seat like it’s made of glass.

The note doesn’t seem enough.

Thinking of you, darlin’. Jensen and Bo

I almost went with the honest version, but figured ‘Don’t keep us waiting anymore, we’re feral for you,’ might scare her off.

An older nurse I’ve never met opens the door. She takes one look at me, the flowers, and my nervous face, and her mouth curves into a knowing smile.

“These for Brandy?” she asks, already reaching for the box. Word must have gotten around. I wonder how Brandy feels about that.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You the one from last time, or the other one?”

She knows about us enough to ask. That makes me smile.

“The other one.”

She takes the bouquet gently. “I’ll make sure she gets them right away. She’s with a resident at the moment, but I’ll put them in the break room, so they stay nice.”

I nod, feeling strangely exposed. “Thank you.”

As I turn to leave, she calls after me, “She’s worth the trouble, cowboy. You know that, right?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” I say. “She sure is.”

I climb back into the truck with a tight chest. The gesture feels like too much and not nearly enough. I want to give Brandy the world, but right now all I’ve got is flowers and patience.

Halfway home, the truck suddenly jerks hard and starts thumping. Flat tire. Just what I need.

I pull over onto the shoulder, get out, and press my foot against the blown tire once for good measure. When I check the spare in the bed, it’s flat too. Perfect.

I call Bo, then settle into the truck bed, resting my hat over my face for shade. Normally a double flat would have me cursing up a storm. Today? I keep thinking about Brandy seeing those blooms and her expression when she reads the note. I think about how badly I want her to drive out to our ranch one day and stay forever and I’m strangely calm.

Twenty minutes later, Bo’s truck appears. He pulls up behind me, hops out, and eyes the situation with his usual measured expression.

“You’re smiling like an idiot.”

“Can’t help it,” I admit. “Brandy’s got me wrapped around her finger, and she doesn’t even know it yet.”

Bo straightens, eyeing the tire. “Same.”