Page 33 of Claimed By the Cowboys

I don’t hesitate. I stride toward the porch, heart pounding harder with every step. Brandy hasn’t noticed us yet, sitting in profile to the direction we were approaching from. She’s still rocking gently, looking peaceful, but when my boot hits the bottom step, she startles and looks up. Her eyes widen, then soften with something that looks a lot like relief.

“Bo,” she breathes.

I stop at the top of the steps, taking her in: the exhaustion in her expression, the tightness of her fingers around the arms of the rocking chair, and her flushed cheeks, not quite believing she’s real.

“You’re here,” I say, voice rough.

She nods, biting her lip. “I… I didn’t plan to come. I got in the car after work and ended up here. I hope that’s okay.”

I take another step closer. “It’s more than okay, sweetheart.”

She looks up at me through her lashes, vulnerable in a way that makes me want to wrap her up and never let the world touch her again.

“I got the flowers,” she says softly. “And the donuts. They were… perfect. Thank you.”

I crouch down in front of her chair so we’re eye level. “You’re welcome. We’ve been thinking about you. A lot.”

Her breath catches. For a moment I’m scared she’s here to tell us to stop. To lay off the gestures. To leave her alone so she can go back to her life. Instead, she reaches out and touches my jaw with trembling fingers, like she’s confirming I’m real.

“I can’t stop thinking about you either,” she whispers. “Both of you.”

Relief floods through me so strongly my fingers tremble as I cover her hand against my face.

“Then stay a while. Let us take care of you tonight. No pressure for anything more. Just… be here with us.”

She searches my eyes for a long moment, then nods.

“Okay.”

“The kids?”

“I told mama I’m working late. She’ll take care of them.”

I stand and pull her up into my arms, holding her close right there on the porch as the sun dips lower. She melts against me like she was made to fit there, and my weary body is filled with renewed energy.

Jensen will be here soon, and for tonight, at least, Brandy is exactly where she belongs.

I take her hand and lead her inside, brushing my thumb over her knuckles. The house is different with her in it. I guide her into the kitchen and pull out a chair for her at the old oak table.

“Sit,” I say. “You look like you’ve had a long day.”

She sinks into the chair with a grateful sigh. I grab a glass, fill it with sweet tea from the pitcher in the fridge, and set it in front of her.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, wrapping both hands around the cold glass.

I lean against the counter, watching her. “Rough shift?”

She nods, taking a long sip. “We were short-staffed. The usual.” She glances around the kitchen, letting her eyes drift over the worn wood table, the photos on the walls of the horses, and the old cast-iron skillet hanging above the stove. Her fingers trace the grain of the tabletop, following the whirl of a knot. “This is a nice place. It’s… homey. Lived in. Comfortable.”

The simple compliment is reassuring. “Good. We want you to feel comfortable here.”

We talk more about our days while she sips her sweet tea.

“Today was brutal,” she says, tracing the rim of her glass with one finger. “One of our residents passed out during their transfer. Then I ended up covering two wings. It felt like I was running the whole day.”

“You get any breaks at all?”

“Not really.” She gives a tired smile. “But Mrs. Bell snuck me a peppermint from her secret stash, so that helped.”