Page 21 of Claimed by the Cowboy (Havenstone: Mail Order Brides #3)

Kitty

A month after the poisoning, I’m stronger than I’ve ever been. Not just physically—though the mountain air combined with Tom’s insistence on feeding me three hearty meals a day has given me curves I never knew I could have—but inside too.

I’m stronger in ways that matter, confident, secure, and ready to claim my place as an equal partner in this marriage.

After I was poisoned, the whole family was tested for metals, and everyone came back clear.

Turns out, it was only the well near the barn that was affected, not the main house supply.

The county sent specialists to test every spigot and well on the property, and Tom made sure filters were installed everywhere.

A few of the vets who drank from the barn tap showed mild symptoms, but they’re recovering well.

Henry—overprotective to his core—had insisted Shay stick to bottled water since her pregnancy began. Thank God, because I don’t even want to imagine what might have happened otherwise.

And now? I’m happier than ever—if only my husband would stop treating me like I’m made of spun glass.

“Tom Sutton, put me down this instant!”

My protest comes out breathless with laughter as he sweeps me off the porch steps, grocery bags and all.

“Doctor said no heavy lifting,” he says, blue eyes dancing with mischief. “These bags must weigh fifteen pounds each.”

“They’re full of snacks like cheese! And crackers! How dangerous could crackers possibly be?”

“Very dangerous if my wife strains herself carrying them.” He kicks open the front door with practiced ease. “Besides, I like having you in my arms.”

I can’t argue with that logic, especially when he settles me on the kitchen counter and steps between my spread knees, his large hands braced on either side of my hips. This position puts us at eye level, and the hunger in his gaze makes my pulse skip.

“You know what I think?” I loop my arms around his neck, fingers playing with the hair at his nape.

“What’s that, darlin’?”

“I think you’re addicted to rescuing me.” I lean closer until my breath fans across his lips. “Even when I don’t need rescuing.”

“Maybe.” Tom's palms stroke up my thighs, thumbs tracing small circles through my jeans. “Or maybe I can’t get enough of touching you.”

The honest admission sends heat pooling low in my belly, but I force myself to stay focused. We need to have this conversation, even if his proximity makes it difficult to think.

“Tom.” I cup his face, forcing him to look at me. “I love that you want to protect me. I love that you care enough to worry. But I’ m not going to break.”

Tom’s hands tighten on my thighs. “Kitty?—”

“I want a partner, not a bodyguard.” I let my fingers trail from his lips to trace the strong line of his jaw. “I want a husband who trusts me to be strong enough for ranch life.”

“You are strong enough.” The words come out rough. “You’re the strongest person I know.”

“Then prove it.” The challenge in my voice makes his eyes sharpen with interest. “Stop carrying my groceries. Stop hovering when I work in the garden. Stop checking on me every twenty minutes like I might collapse.”

He sticks out his bottom lip. “I don’t hover.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Yesterday, you brought me water four times while I was weeding the herb garden. Four times in two hours.”

“You need to stay hydrated.”

“I need my husband to trust that I know when I’m thirsty.” I lean closer until our foreheads touch. “I need you to believe I’m not going anywhere.”

He’s quiet for a long moment, fingers stroking absently along my legs while he processes what I’m saying. When he speaks, his voice carries a vulnerability that only I get to see.

“I came so close to losing you. Closer than I ever want to come again.” He lifts a hand to cup my neck, tracing his thumb over my pulse point like he’s reassuring himself that my heart is still beating. “Maybe I have been a little overprotective.”

“A little?” I laugh softly. “Tom, you tried to cut my meat for me at dinner last night.”

“You were using your left hand because your right was sore from garden work?—”

“And I’m perfectly capable of cutting my food with my left hand.” I press a quick kiss to his lips. “I think I can handle a steak knife.”

He sighs, pulling me closer until I’m pressed against his chest. “You’re right. It’s just...”

“What?”

Vulnerability flickers across his face. “I should have anticipated?—”

“Stop.” I press my fingers to his lips, cutting off the self-recrimination. “You can’t protect me from every possible threat in the world. And I don’t want you to try.”

This is why I love him—this fierce devotion, this absolute commitment to my wellbeing. But it’s also why we need to find a balance.

“I’m yours,” I murmur, nipping at his lower lip. “Completely, absolutely yours. But that doesn’t mean I’m helpless.”

“You’re mine to protect.” Tom cups my face. “Everything in me says to keep you safe, but my instincts need some convincing.”

“Then let me convince them.” I slide a hand down his chest, savoring the ridges of his abs, until I reach the bulge straining the front of his jeans. “Starting now.”

He groans. “Kitty?—”

“Nope.” I press my finger to his lips again. “No more arguments. No more hovering. Trust me to know my own limits.”

The internal struggle plays out across his features—protective instincts warring with respect for my autonomy.

Finally, he nods slowly.“Okay. I’ll try.”

“Good.” I kiss him properly, pouring all my love and gratitude into the contact. “Because I have plans for this afternoon that?—”

The front door bangs open without warning, and Daniel’s voice cuts through the cabin like a blade. “Tom! We’ve got a problem!”

Tom immediately shifts, moving to put himself between me and the door while his hand instinctively reaches for where his sidearm would be if he were wearing it.

“This better be life or death, Daniel,” he mutters, tension radiating through his frame.

Daniel appears in the kitchen doorway, takes one look at our intimate positioning, and has the grace to flush red. “Sorry to interrupt, but we just got word from the federal task force. They made arrests this morning.”

“That’s good news, isn’t it?” I ask.

“Would be, except the men they arrested were hired hands, not the masterminds.” Daniel’s jaw tightens. “And before they got taken into custody, they sent a message. Said this was a warning shot. Next time, they won’t care about collateral damage.”

Tom’s expression transforms from protective husband to something cold and dangerous.“Well,” he says with terrifying quiet, “I guess we know where we stand.”

He turns to me, his mask slipping to show the fear beneath. “Kitty, darlin’, I need you to pack a bag. You’re going to stay somewhere safe until this is resolved.”

“Absolutely not. I’m not running at the first sign of trouble.”

“This isn’t running. It’s being smart.”

I hop off the counter. “I won’t be separated from my husband because some corporate bullies want to scare us.”

Daniel watches with admiration. “She’s got a point. Splitting up makes us more vulnerable.”

“You’re not helping,” Tom growls.

“Actually, he is.” I touch Tom's chest, feeling his racing heart.

My husband runs a hand through his hair, the gesture betraying his internal struggle. “If something happens to you?—”

“I'm not the scared girl who stepped off that bus three months ago. I’m Kitty Sutton now, and Suttons don’t run.”

The fierce pride flickering in his eyes tells me I’ve said exactly the right thing.

“You’re not going to budge on this, are you?”

“Not a chance.” I lean into his touch.

Daniel clears his throat. “I’ll coordinate with Beckett on security protocols. Things have been happening at our place, too, and Kitty’s right—we handle this as a family.”

After Daniel leaves, the kitchen falls silent except for the sound of our breathing. Tom’s thumbs stroke across my cheekbones, and I can see him wrestling with the need to protect me and the growing understanding that protection doesn’t mean separation.

“I'm strong enough to handle everything my husband can give me.” I let my voice drop to something sultry. “All of it.”

The promise in my tone makes his eyes darken with hunger mixed with something fiercer—the need to claim me, to reassure himself that I’m his and safe and not going anywhere.

I press my body against his, feeling his immediate response to the contact. “I want my husband, not a nursemaid.”

“Kitty—”

“I want you to fuck me like you trust me not to break.” The crude words make his pupils dilate with shock and hunger. “I want you to claim me as the equal partner I am.”

Tom’s mouth crashes down on mine, no longer gentle or careful, but claiming me with desperate hunger.

“Tom,” I breathe, arching into his touch.

“Right here, darlin’. Not going anywhere. Not letting you go anywhere either.”

“Good, because I want to be yours. Completely yours.”

“You are.”

He lifts me effortlessly, and I wrap my legs around his waist as he carries me to our bed.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs, placing me gently on my feet and dragging his shirt over his head. “Are you nervous? Or aroused?”

The sight of his muscle-packed chest elicits an immediate reaction. My heartbeat accelerates, and my breasts grow heavy. “Both,” I admit breathlessly. “But I want you more than I want safety.”

He shakes his head, looking at me in awe. “Christ, you’re incredible.”

Warmth floods me at his praise. I smile as my gaze slides over him, lingering where his erection presses against his jeans. “Back at you, cowboy.”

His fingers pause on the buttons, and he inhales deeply. “Ah, I think my wife wants what’s in here very badly.”

God help me, I do. Because I know how good he can make me feel .

He unfastens his jeans, and his shaft pops free, the head moist, as if begging for my tongue.

Then my husband is standing before me naked and magnificent in the afternoon light filtering through the window.

His broad chest heaves with his breath. His cock juts proudly from his body, his sac hanging heavily beneath it.

“Is this what you want, Kitty?” he asks, gripping himself in one big hand and stroking.

Every fiber in my body tightens with lust. “Yes,” I reply huskily.

“Are you sure?” His eyes darken. “Because I want to kiss you until your lips are swollen. I want to spank your plump ass until it’s red and hot, then soothe the ache with my tongue.”

My sex throbs, and my nipples tighten painfully.

“I want to say dirty words in your ear. I want you to come a dozen times, but only when I let you.”

My lips part, my eyelids becoming heavy.

He reaches forward, clamping his hand around my nape. “And when I finally climb between these luscious thighs, I want to know that you’re as desperate for my cock as I am to give it to you.”

I’m panting now, my breasts rising and falling, my nipples straining for his hands and mouth. Lifting my chin, I hold his hungry gaze. “Then do it. I can take it.”

I gasp as he grabs my shirt and tugs. Buttons fly off in every direction, one bouncing off the bedside lamp with a resounding ping that would be comical if I weren’t so turned on.

He makes quick work of the rest of my clothing, stripping my jeans and underwear from my body with urgent efficiency until I’m naked and trembling before him.

“Fuck, you take my breath away,” he rumbles, drinking in every inch of me. “All soft curves and sweet hollows.”

I climb onto the bed. Lying back, I reach out my arms for him. “I’m waiting, husband.”