Page 1 of Claimed by the Cowboy (Havenstone: Mail Order Brides #3)

Tom

The root canal was supposed to take an hour.

That was three hours ago, and my face still feels like someone stuffed it full of cotton balls soaked in Novocain.

The dentist keeps apologizing in that overly cheerful way they do when they’ve basically performed oral surgery with a jackhammer, but all I can think about is the bus arriving at two o’clock with my future wife aboard.

“Try not to bite your tongue,” the dentist says, patting my shoulder like I’m five years old. “The numbness should wear off in a few hours.”

A few hours. Perfect. Nothing says “Welcome to Montana” like greeting your mail-order bride with a face that won’t cooperate and words that come out sounding like I’ve been hitting the whiskey since breakfast.

I check my phone as I stumble out of the dental office. Twelve-thirty. An hour and a half to get to the bus station, and I still need to swing by the ranch to grab the truck that doesn’t sound like a dying rhinoceros when it hits third gear.

My phone buzzes with a text from my brother Angus: More fence damage. North pasture this time. We need to talk.

My jaw clenches—or would if I could feel it. The sabotage has escalated over the past few months. Luna, my brother Angus’ wife, barely escaped a fire in the old barn a few months ago and is still healing. It wasn’t an accident. It was arson. The sheriff’s report found that an accelerant was used.

The perp still hasn’t been found. Some protector I turned out to be, bringing a woman straight into a potentially dangerous situation.

I text Angus back: After I get Delaney. Emergency?

Angus’s reply is immediate: Can wait. Good luck, Romeo.

Romeo. Right. I touch my cheek gingerly—still nothing. I’m about as much of a Romeo as a wooden post, and twice as articulate.

But the woman stepping off that bus will become my wife in a matter of weeks, and I’ll be damned if some dental work stops me from doing what’s right and securing the ranch.

The drive back to Havenridge Ranch takes fifteen minutes on a good day. Today, with my mouth as numb as a block of wood and my blood running hot as I think about meeting the woman who could save our family legacy, it feels like an eternity.

Mom’s will deadline sits on my chest like a stone—thirty days to marry or lose the ranch.

Even thinking about losing my home makes something primitive and possessive rise in me.

Four generations of Suttons have worked this land.

No way in hell am I losing it.It’s not just land; it’s blood in the dirt and memories in every goddamn corner of the ranch house.

Ruth Sutton had a hell of a sense of humor. Mom had her reasons—she always did. But trusting her posthumous matchmaking feels like jumping off a cliff in the dark and hoping there’s water at the bottom instead of rocks.

The ranch comes into view, and my chest loosens slightly. Home. Mine to protect, mine to fight for. The woman arriving today needs to understand what she’s stepping into—a legacy worth defending by a man who’ll do whatever it takes to keep it.

I park near the main house and jog toward the barn where I left the good truck. That’s when I hear it—a sound between a rusty gate and a bull with its tail caught in barbed wire.

“MAAAAAAHHHHHHH!”

I round the corner of the barn in time to see our prize goat standing on top of Henry’s brand-new Silverado, all four hooves planted firmly on the hood, bleating like the world is ending.

Cheese Puff.She’s a Boer goat the size of a small pony.

“Get down from there, you hairy menace!” I shout, which comes out sounding more like, “Geh dow fro dere, you hairy mehah!”

Cheese Puff swivels her head toward me, yellow eyes glinting with pure mischief. Actually, I’m pretty sure she’s a demon in goat form because her only response is a stomp of her hoof and a loud fart.

One wrong move and that goat could do serious damage to Henry’s truck. My SEAL training kicks in automatically.

I edge closer, using a calm, commanding voice that worked on enemy combatants. “Easy. Nice and slow.”

Cheese Puff tilts her head, considering. Then she launches herself off the truck with a joyful bleat, lands hard on all fours, and takes off toward the main house like her tail is on fire.

I chase after her, my boots slipping on the gravel. “Come back here!”

The goat bounds up the porch steps and through the front door that someone—probably Luna—left open. I hear a crash, followed by Dad’s distinctive bellow.

“WHAT IN THE HELL?—”

I burst through the door to find Cheese Puff standing in the middle of the living room, a shattered lamp at her feet, and her teeth firmly clamped around the TV remote.

Dad stands frozen in the kitchen doorway, coffee mug halfway to his lips, wearing the thousand-yard stare of a man who's seen too much goat-related chaos.

“Your goat,” he says calmly, “is eating our electronics.”

“Not my goat,” I mumble through my numb lips, lunging for Cheese Puff.

The goat sidesteps with surprising grace for her size, the remote still dangling from her mouth like a rectangular cigar. But I’ve tracked insurgents through the Afghan mountains—one spoiled ranch goat isn’t going to outsmart me.

“Tom,” Dad says, his tone making me pause mid-lunge. “You okay? ”

“Root canal,” I explain, or try to. It comes out as “Roo cahl.”

Dad’s expression softens. “Ah. Bad timing.”

That’s an understatement. “The bwide... Delaney... awiving in an hour.”

“She’ll understand.” Dad steps around Cheese Puff, who’s now investigating the slippers beneath the coffee table with intense interest. “Unless she’s the shallow type, in which case you’re better off knowing now.”

The thought hadn’t occurred to me. What if Delaney takes one look at my lopsided face and decides Montana isn’t for her after all? What if she’s expecting someone smooth and charming instead of a battle-hardened cowboy who can’t feel half his face?

The possessive streak in me flares. According to Marlie from the agency, Delaney has experienced her fair share of adversity—one of the reasons she should be a good match for me and this ranch.

“Dad...” I start, then stop. How do you ask your father if he thinks you’re worthy of love when you can barely pronounce your own name?

But Dad’s always been good at reading between the lines. He sets down his coffee mug and looks at me the way he used to when I was a kid, steady and knowing, like he can see straight through to what's eating at me.

“You’re worried,” he says. It’s not a question.

I nod, swallowing hard around the numbness in my mouth and the tightness in my chest.

“About the ranch, or about her?”

A month ago, I would have said the ranch, no question.

The ranch is everything—our history, our future, the veteran program that’s helping guys like Angus heal after being discharged from their service.

But watching Henry fall for Shay, seeing the way he looks at her like she’s his whole world, and then Angus finding Luna. ..

“Both,” I admit.

Dad nods slowly. “Your brothers found the real thing. Not some business deal dressed up with vows.”

“Yeah, but dey didn’t have firty days to make it happen.”

“Love doesn’t run on schedules, son. It happens when it happens.” He pauses, glancing at Cheese Puff, who’s now chewing on the corner of the throw pillow. He firmly guides Cheese Puff away by the collar. “But sometimes, if you’re open to it, it happens faster than you think.”

My gaze sharpens on his face at the certainty in his voice. “You fink I’ll fall for her?”

“I think,” Dad says carefully, “that your mother was a lot of things, but she wasn’t wrong about love...”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but he doesn’t need to. Ruth Sutton had a way of seeing into people’s hearts, of knowing what they needed before they knew it themselves. Maybe this forced arrangement could become something real.

Something that’s mine.

“I should go,” I mumble, checking my phone again. One-fifteen. “Before she decides small-town Montana isn’t worth the trouble.”

Before she takes one look at this place and heads straight back to the city .

Cheese Puff chooses that moment to knock over the magazine rack, sending issues of Ranch & Rural Living cascading across the floor.Dad sighs and starts gathering the magazines.

“Tom.” His voice stops me at the door. “Just be yourself. If she can’t see what a good man you are, she’s not the right woman.”

I want to remind him that we can’t afford to be picky.

“Don't keep her waiting,” he adds without looking up.

I nod and head out to the truck.

The short drive to town gives me too much time to think about everything riding on this meeting. The ranch. The deadline. And my prospective bride.

Delaney Phillips, twenty-six, juggling multiple jobs to support her younger sister, looking for a fresh start in Montana.

That’s about all I know, courtesy of Marlie’s Angels and their thorough but cryptic matchmaking client files.

Marlie, the agency’s owner, was reassuring on the phone yesterday.

“She’s perfect for you, Tom,” she said in that knowing way of hers. “Just trust the process.”

Easy for her to say. She’s not the one whose family legacy hangs in the balance, whose brothers both managed to find their soulmates while I’m scrambling to find anyone willing to take a chance on a cowboy with thirty days to spare.

But the primitive part of me has been restless and hungry since my brothers settled down.

That part of me stirs with hungry anticipation.

Soon , I’ll meet the woman who could save or doom us.

Falling in love with my bride like my brothers did with their wives seems highly unlikely.

Once is a fluke, twice a charm... but three times? That would take a miracle.

The bus station comes into view—a small building that’s seen better decades, with a parking lot that’s more pothole than asphalt. A crowd waits outside, which means the bus is on time.

I park and check my reflection in the rearview mirror. The swelling’s gone down, but my smile is still crooked, and when I try to say “hello,” all I manage is “hewwo.”

Perfect.

I climb out of the truck and lean against the tailgate, automatically scanning the area for threats. Old habits from my SEAL days—know your exits, identify potential problems, protect your back.

The bus rounds the corner with a hiss of brakes and a cloud of diesel exhaust.

This is it. In a few minutes, I’ll be face-to-face with the woman who might save the ranch. A stranger who will become my wife and might—if I’m lucky—become mine in every way that matters.

The bus doors open with a mechanical wheeze, and passengers start filing out. An elderly man with a cane. A woman with two screaming toddlers. A teenager with purple hair and enough piercings to set off a metal detector.

A dark-haired woman steps forward, scanning the crowd until she spots me. Her hair is pulled back in a severe bun, and her shoulders are squared like she’s braced for battle .

That has to be Delaney. Strong, capable, exactly what Marlie described.

“Tom Sutton?” she calls, her voice carrying clearly across the parking lot.

“That’s me,” I call back, which sounds more like “Thash me.”I push off from the truck and make my way over to her.“You must be Delaney.”

The dark-haired woman nods as I draw closer. She tries to smile, but it doesn’t cover the worry I see in her brown eyes. Is she that nervous about meeting me?

Of course, she’s nervous. You’re a stranger, yet she’s agreed to marry you.

That's when I see her.

A smaller woman steps out from behind Delaney, and every primitive instinct I possess goes on high alert.

She's tiny—perhaps five-foot-two in boots—with blonde hair that catches the afternoon light like spun gold. Despite their differences in height and coloring, their resemblance is unmistakable. Same brown eyes, high cheekbones, and stubborn chin.

Before anyone can say another word, the blonde suddenly doubles over in a sneezing fit that looks like it might launch her into orbit.

“Ah-choo! Ah-choo! AH-CHOO!”

She straightens, her face red with embarrassment, and mutters, “Pineapple, pineapple, pineapple.”

I blink. Is that some kind of sneeze code?

“Pineapple, pineapple, pineapple,” she repeats, pressing her hand to her nose.

Damn, if she’s not the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.

Despite the nerves and the deadline, I find myself grinning. Or trying to—probably looks more like a grimace with my swollen jaw.

The blonde’s eyes widen at my mangled smile. She takes a step forward, and our eyes meet across six feet of cracked asphalt.

And every protective instinct I’ve ever had roars to life.

It’s not the stress or the deadline or the fear of losing the ranch that’s making my chest tight.

It’s her .

She trains those warm brown eyes on me like I’m something worth seeing. My gaze roams over her, taking in the delicate curve of her neck, the soft swell of her breasts beneath her worn sweater, and the way her small hands flutter nervously at her sides.

Mine.

The knowledge hits me like a freight train, bone-deep and undeniable. This tiny, fragile woman with her ridiculous pineapple remedy and her shy smile is mine. Not Delaney. Her.

It’s not simply physical. Something quieter and stronger pulls me toward her.

I take a step toward them, then another, my heart doing something strange and unfamiliar in my chest.

I’m supposed to marry Delaney in two weeks. The woman who answered my ad and agreed to save the ranch. The woman who’s exactly what I need.

This is not going according to plan.

I'm in trouble.

Big trouble.

Because I’m staring at her sister like she’s my whole damn world, with every possessive instinct screaming that I’ve found the woman I’m going to marry.