Page 7 of Claimed by the Cowboy (Havenstone: Mail Order Brides #3)

Kitty

I’m going straight to hell.

The thought hammers through my skull as I pace Delaney’s room like a caged animal.

It’s been ten days since we arrived at Havenridge Ranch—ten days of warm sunrises and big breakfasts, of goat chaos and cattle tours, of evenings where I sit at the kitchen table pretending not to notice the way Tom’s eyes find mine when no one’s looking.

Ten days of falling for a man I have no business falling for.

The worst part? I love it here. I love helping Luna in the kitchen, coaxing color back into Ruth Sutton’s overgrown herb garden, and learning the rhythms of ranch life I never thought I’d be a part of. I love being around Tom, even when it hurts.

And it does. Because with every passing day, my feelings grow deeper… while Delaney plans a wedding with him.

What kind of sister does that make me?

The worst kind, apparently.

Worse still, I’ve seen what real love looks like.

I see it every time Shay walks into a room and Henry’s whole face softens like he’s watching his heart beat outside his chest. I hear it in the way he says her name, like a prayer.

That kind of love doesn’t leave room for confusion.

It doesn’t come from arrangements or timelines. It just is.

And this thing between Delaney and Tom? It isn’t that.

“Stop wearing a hole in the floor,” Delaney says without looking up from her perfectly organized pile of laundry. “You’re making me dizzy.”

I force myself to sit on the bed, hands clenched in my lap. “Sorry. Just restless.”

“I know coming here has been a big change.” She folds a blouse with military precision. “But the Suttons have welcomed us with open arms, and Tom seems decent. The kind of man who’ll provide stability.”

Her clinical assessment makes my stomach churn. “Do you even like him?”

Delaney’s hands still. “Kitty, this is an arrangement that benefits us both. Love is a luxury neither of us can afford.”

And there it is—that quiet resignation I’ve heard since our parents died. I hate it. Hate that she honestly believes safety is the best we can hope for. She’s spent years sacrificing her dreams to keep us afloat. Somewhere along the way, she stopped believing she deserved more than survival.

“I just…” I swallow the lump rising in my throat. “You shouldn’t have to settle.”

Her expression doesn’t waver. “Settling is what keeps a roof over our heads.”

“But what if you could?— ”

“What?” The brown eyes so like mine pin me in place, and her mouth twists into a wry smile.

“Are you suggesting I throw away my only chance at security for a fairy-tale romance? What if I decide I deserve some grand passion, and we end up back in a run-down apartment where the landlord thinks he’s owed more than rent? ”

The bitter edge in her voice cuts deep. She’s right. For years, our lives have been about making practical choices that keep us fed, clothed, and out of reach of predators.

“I need air,” I mutter, grabbing my jacket.

“Don’t wander far. And if you see any wildlife?—”

“I’ll scream and run. I know.”

Delaney hesitates, then adds, “Do you have your inhaler?”

I roll my eyes, though my chest warms at her concern. “Yeah, yeah, it’s basically my fifth appendage. But honestly, I’ve been so much better since we got here. Must be all this clean Montana air.”

Her mouth softens, but she still looks unconvinced. “Just… humor me.”

How many years has Delaney been protecting me from imaginary dangers while I ignored the real ones?Which now includes falling for my sister's intended husband.

“I will.” I paste on a smile before slipping out.

The ranch sprawls before me in afternoon gold, and despite everything, my chest loosens. This place calls to something deep inside me—the part that’s been suffocating in cramped apartments and gray city blocks.

A narrow trail leads toward the sound of running water, and the need for a physical outlet sets my feet in motion. I follow it through whispering aspens and sun-dappled clearings, the air scented with pine and wildflowers. Maybe if I keep walking, I can sort through the chaos in my head.

Tom Sutton is off-limits. He’s Delaney's future, our security, the answer to problems I can’t solve on my own.

He’s also the first man who's ever looked at me like I matter.And the first man I’ve ever kissed. I felt that perfect kiss in every part of me. Not just the spark, but the ache as if my body was waiting for that exact moment. For him .

I should regret it. But I don’t. And that’s the problem.

We’ve been around each other constantly since that day at the barn—hard not to, when we’re living under the same roof. Meals. Chores. Late evenings sitting around the firepit with Luna and Shay, where our knees almost touch, and I pretend not to notice.

And even though nothing’s happened since, the tension between us hums like a live wire. Every glance feels loaded. Every brush of his hand, every shared smile, feels like a secret we’re both too scared to name.

Tom’s the joker of the family. Always quick with a wink, a joke, or some ridiculous story that gets the whole table laughing. He makes it easy to forget the weight we’re all carrying.

But sometimes, when he thinks no one’s watching, I see the shadows behind his smile. The way his jaw clenches when he talks about his mom. The quiet moments when his laughter fades too fast, like the joy was only ever borrowed.

And I can’t help but wonder what put those shadows there. What he’s lost. What he’s still holding onto when the world isn’t looking.

Whatever it is, I want to reach for it. For him.

Even when I know I shouldn’t.

I keep waiting for it to fade. For the feelings to dull. But instead, they grow sharper, more dangerous, with every passing day.

Because the more I see of him—the way he teases Luna, the way he helps his dad without being asked, the quiet way he watches over everyone—the more I realize the truth.

I’m not just falling for him.

I’ve already fallen.

The path winds through tall grass and scattered trees before opening onto a hidden creek.

Water flows clear as glass over polished stones, wildflowers painting the banks in shades of purple and gold.

I sink onto a fallen log at the water's edge, grateful for this quiet refuge where I can pretend my life isn't completely falling apart.

I settle on a sun-warmed boulder and pull off my boots and socks, digging my toes into the grassy bank.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Tom’s voice makes me jump, though some traitorous part of me isn’t surprised he found me. I turn to see him leaning against an aspen trunk, hat pushed back, eyes the color of the July sky.

God, he’s beautiful. All lean muscle and easy confidence, like he owns every inch of this mountain and knows it.

“My thoughts aren’t worth a penny,” I say, proud that my voice stays steady while my insides tremble at the sight of him.

“I’ll be the judge of that.” He pushes off the tree and ambles closer with that loose-hipped cowboy walk that should be illegal. “Mind if I sit? These old bones need a rest.”

I snort. “You’re only thirty. Hardly ancient. ”

“Tell that to my knees.” He settles on the boulder beside mine, close enough that I catch his scent—hay and leather and something woodsy that makes me want to lean closer. “So what’s got you looking like you lost your best friend?”

The casual question hits too close to home. Because that’s exactly what I’m about to do, isn't it? Lose my sister to a man I want for myself.

“Just thinking about changes,” I say carefully. “Big ones.”

“Change can be good.” His voice carries that warm rumble that makes my toes curl. “My mama used to say that what sometimes looks like an ending is really a beginning.”

“Your mom was a wise woman.”

“She was.” Pain flickers across his features, quickly hidden. “Also stubborn as a mule and twice as ornery. Woman could spot trouble from three counties away.”

“Must have been handy, having someone who could see the future.”

“Handy, hell. It was downright inconvenient most of the time.” His grin transforms his whole face, making him look boyish and mischievous. “Hard to get away with anything when your mama’s got eyes in the back of her head and the uncanny ability to know when you’re fixing to do somethin’ stupid.”

The easy humor in his voice makes me smile. “Sounds like you did plenty of stupid things.”

“Oh, darlin’, you have no idea. I once convinced Angus to help me relocate a rattlesnake that had taken up residence in Dad’s workshop.

Figured we’d just scoop it up real gentle-like and carry it to the creek.

Used Mom’s good salad tongs.” His eyes dance with mischief.

“Snake didn’t appreciate the relocation efforts.

Angus didn’t appreciate getting bit. Mom didn’t appreciate her kitchen utensils being used for reptile wrangling. ”

“You got your brother bit by a rattlesnake?”

“Just a little bite,” Tom says with exaggerated innocence. “Barely broke the skin. Though to hear Angus tell it, he was practically at death’s door. ”

“That’s terrible!” But I’m laughing despite myself, charmed by his easy storytelling.

“Mom made me muck stalls for a month. Said if I was gonna act like a jackass, I might as well shovel up after ‘em.” He tips his hat back further, eyes crinkling. “Worth every minute, though. Dad still won’t use those tongs.”

The story shouldn’t be funny, but the way Tom tells it—with self-deprecating humor and obvious affection for his family—makes it impossible not to smile.

His expression sobers. “We nearly lost Angus for real a few years ago in Kandahar,” he says, eyes fixed on a distant point in the trees. “He was deployed with the SEALs, clearing a compound when the whole thing went to hell. Got caught in an explosion.”

My breath catches. “Is that… is that how he got the scar?”