Page 23 of Claimed By the Cowboys

“Says the man who got bucked off yesterday,” I shoot back, grinning. Sweat trickles down my back under the flannel shirt as I work.

I draw in a lungful of air that smells of warm earth and sweet hay, the best smell in the world apart from Brandy.

Bo grunts and adjusts his hat. “That was a warm-up buck. She’s got spirit. Like someone else we know.”

I can’t help the stupid smile that spreads across my face. “Brandy.”

“Yeah.” Bo’s voice softens. “Brandy.”

The mare finally settles. I let her walk a few circles while my mind wanders straight back to the motel. To warm brown skin, thick curls, and the sweetest sounds I’d ever heard a woman make.

“Think she’s sore today?”

Bo shoots me a look. “She was walking carefully when she left. We weren’t exactly gentle.”

“Worth it,” I say, unapologetically. “There’s no way she regrets a thing. She screamed our names five times in total. I’m sure a couple of days of sitting uncomfortably would be worth that. But we can’t keep dragging her to motels. She deserves better.”

Bo nods. We turn the mare loose and move on to fence repair, grabbing tools from the back of the old blue pickup parked near the barn. The ranch is alive around us, as the wind rustles through the tall grasses. A hawk circles overhead, distracting me momentarily. Majestic and free. Hawks don’t have to worry about what other people think of their desires or relationships. They just live their lives.

“So what’s the plan, big brother?” I ask, yanking a loose staple free with the pliers. The wire fence runs along the edge of our twenty acres, separating our small holding from the national forest land beyond.

Bo hands me another staple. “We court her properly. Show her we’re serious. Privacy first. We can’t risk town gossip. We keep this between us until she’s ready.”

I nod. “Anonymous gestures? Things that make her life easier without adding pressure?”

“Yeah.”

We work our way down the line, the rhythmic clink of tools mixing with the occasional snort from the horses in the nearby pasture.

“Donuts,” I suggest, wiping sweat from my forehead. “She mentioned loving them. We could drop some off at the care home. Or have flowers delivered anonymously to her station.”

Bo’s mouth twitches. “Anonymous donuts. Romantic.”

“Better than nothing,” I say.

Bo considers it as he tightens a strand of wire.

“Another idea,” I continue. “A private trail ride here on the ranch. Just us, the horses, and a picnic by the creek. No one around for miles. She can breathe and see how good this place would be for her.”

Bo nods slowly. “We could fix up the little guest cabin out back. Soft blankets. Good pillows. Tell her it’s hers whenever she needs to escape.”

I whistle. “You’re really thinking long-term.”

He gives me a steady look. “I am. She’s not a fling. I want what we had last night every night. And the day. I want the day, too.”

“Same,” I admit, hammering in a new staple.

We finish the fence line as the sun reaches its peak, and both of us are filthy, sweaty, and more determined than ever.

“Step one,” I say, tossing the tools into the truck bed with a metallic clatter. “Anonymous donut drop tomorrow. Step two: private trail ride this weekend if she’s free. Step three: slowly show her she doesn’t have to choose between us and her life. She can have both.”

Bo claps me on the shoulder. “We take it slow. She sets the pace. But no point in making the donuts anonymous. We want her to know it’s us.”

I grin, looking out over our little piece of heaven: the freshly painted barn, the horses grazing peacefully, the creek sparkling in the distance, and the solid house waiting for someone special to make it a home.

Brandy doesn't know it yet, but we’re going to do everything in our power to make her life softer, sweeter, and a whole lot less lonely.

Even if we have to start with one donut delivery at a time.