Page 43 of Claimed By the Cowboys

I close the distance in three long strides, cup her face with both hands, and kiss her hard. She makes a soft, broken sound against my mouth and I lift her clean off the ground. Her legs wrap around my waist on instinct, arms locking tight around my neck. I hold her there while Jensen steps in close and strokes her hair with gentle fingers.

“No explanations needed,” I say against her lips when I finally pull back. “We already talked. You’re here. That’s enough.”

“But my mama…”

“She has ideas for your life. We get it. We’re not mad,” Jensen says.

“But how can you not be?”

She doesn’t seem to get it that we know where she wants to be. She’s told us that with every action she’s taken since that first night.

“Brandy, baby. Relationships don’t have to be riddled with jealousy and possessiveness. The ones that are don’t survive the bumps in the road,” I say.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Jensen says, adjusting his hat. “I hated seeing you with him. But mostly because everything about you screamed that you didn’t want to be there. I don’t ever want you to do things you don’t want to do. Do you hear me?”

“I didn’t want to be there… but Mama’s worried. She doesn’t want me veering off the path. She needs me to be more responsible than my sister.”

“And you are. Every day,” I remind her.

She shakes her head. “I’m a terrible person. I spend hours each day jealous of my dead sister because she got to live her life for her, and go for what made her happy, even if it didn’t work out in the end. I feel shackled, and it’s terrible. My life is blessed in so many ways, but…”

I cup her face and brush away the tears that have slipped from her eyes with my thumb.

“Beautiful girl,” I say. “It’s okay to want more than you have right now. It’s okay to feel like you’re shouldering more than you signed up for. You can love those kids with all your heart and still feel overwhelmed. Hell, most parents do, and they chose to bring children into the world.”

“I love them so much,” she says. “They’re like my own. But I’m never going to be able to spread my wings into my own life… what man is going to want to take on a ready-made family?”

“Plenty of men are willing to step up,” Jensen says. “Kids are a gift. A house is empty without them.”

“If they love you, they’ll be willing,” I say. I want to say so much more, but she’s too emotional for confessions. She’ll run at the thought of us stepping in to shoes her mama has already set out for another man.

She shakes her head. “That date my mama set me up with… he was asking who would take the kids when I get married.”

More tears spill down her cheeks.

“Asshole,” Jensen says, meeting my eyes and raising his shoulders in question. We agreed to take this slow and not scare Brandy with sweeping confessions, but should we hold back now when she’s breaking under the weight of unjustified fears?

It feels like now’s the time to take a step forward because she needs to know that we’re not like that man.

“If you were with us, we’d never make you choose, Brandy. We know you come as a package deal, and that would be okay with us.”

She clings to me, breathing hard, face buried in the side of my neck. She’s wound so tightly, it’s like she’s close to snapping. Jensen’s hand moves slowly over her back in long, soothing strokes.

Part of me wants to carry her straight upstairs. An hour is plenty of time to take her apart and put her back together how she needs. Maybe she thinks that will repair a crack from yesterday. But she feels vulnerable and exhausted in my arms, clinging to me like I’m the only solid thing left, and that tells me something very different.

She doesn’t need to be fucked right now, even if the release and physical closeness would be healing.

She needs to be shown in quieter ways that everything is fine.

I set her down carefully but keep one arm around her waist. “Come on. Let us show you around properly. Fresh air and wide-open spaces are good for the soul.”

Jensen heads for the barn while I lead her across the yard. My gelding is already tacked from morning work. I help Brandy into the saddle, my hands firm on her hips, then swing up behind her, settling her back against my chest. Jensen mounts his buckskin and falls in beside us.

We take it slowly.

The late-afternoon light turns everything soft and warm as we ride the perimeter of the property. Dust rises in soft puffs under the horses’ hooves. I point out the new fencing we finished last week that’s straight and solid, with posts that still smell of fresh-cut wood.

“That stretch used to wash out every time it rained hard,” I tell her. “Took us three days, but it’ll hold now.”