Page 58 of Claimed By the Cowboys

“Brandy,” she whispers. “Who was that man? The one who carried Naomi in?”

I swallow. “Just someone who was nearby. He helped.”

“He seemed to know you.”

“We’ve met before.”

It’s not a lie, but it tastes like one. Mama doesn’t push, but I know the conversation isn’t finished. Right now she cares more about the little girl in bed than about the tall, rugged cowboy who appeared out of nowhere like a knight in distressed denim.

Naomi stirs and whimpers. I lean closer, brushing her forehead.

“I’m right here, baby,” I whisper. “You’re okay. The doctors are taking care of you.”

I speak in the same tone I use at work when everything is falling apart, and I still have to keep moving, but inside I’m hollowed out. The terror of Naomi’s seizure, the days of silent heartbreak, the shock of seeing that woman, and the way Bo looked at me like he still had the right to comfort me… It’s just too much to hold together.

A doctor steps in and starts explaining the next steps: bloodwork, possible infection, and overnight observation. I nod at the right moments. I ask the right questions. I sign the forms they hand me. Every action is automatic, like someone else is moving my body while I stand a few feet outside of it.

When the doctor leaves, the curtain is still half-open. I risk a glance toward the hallway.

Bo is gone.

The relief is sharp and immediate. So is the ache that follows it.

I don’t want him here. I can’t want him here. Not after what I saw. Not after a week of telling myself it was over and forcing myself to believe it. But some traitorous part of me still hoped he might stay anyway.

Stupid woman.

I sink into the second chair beside Naomi’s bed and drop my head into my hands.

Mama’s voice is softer now. “You should call out of work tomorrow.”

“I will.”

“And you need to eat something. You’re shaking.”

“I’m fine.”

I’m not fine. Nothing is fine. My niece is hooked up to machines. The men I let myself fall for already have someone else. My mother is watching me like she’s waiting for me to crack and spill the full story, and I am so tired I can barely keep my eyes open. If I could click my fingers and disappear, knowing everything left behind would be alright, I would. I need time and space away, somewhere by myself to recharge my batteries and find the strength to carry on.

Elijah mumbles something in his sleep. Mama shifts him higher on her lap and starts humming the same old hymn under her breath she used to sing when Jasmine and I were sick as children. The sound should comfort me. Instead it makes my eyes burn all over again.

I reach out and take Naomi’s small hand, careful of the IV.

“I’ve got you,” I tell her, even though she can’t hear me. “I’m not going anywhere.”

It’s the only true thing I have left to say. I could never leave these babies. They are my heart and my life.

Everything else has to stay behind the curtain I pulled shut for good.

Chapter 31

Jensen

I’m outside getting some welcome fresh air after hours confined in a tiny bay. The hospital parking lot is half-empty this late, and the lights from the overhead sign cast strange shapes across the asphalt. I’ve been leaning against the truck, trying to clear the tightness in my chest, when a woman with neatly curled hair and pressed clothes stops in front of me. Her skin is the same warm brown as Brandy’s, and the resemblance sits in the shape of her eyes and the set of her mouth.

“I wanted to say thank you for earlier,” she says. “For carrying my grandbaby inside.”

I straighten, realizing that I was right. This is Brandy’s mama. “That was my twin brother, ma’am. Bo.”