Page 11 of Branded By the Cowboy

Shay’s warm reception is instantly comforting—like the human version of an Afghan blanket. I didn’t realize how tightly I’d been holding myself until now.

I stand and step farther in, careful not to trip over the dog now sniffing my boots with great interest. “Congratulations. Henry mentioned you weren’t feeling great yesterday. Something about morning sickness not limited to the morning?”

Shay groans dramatically. “Ugh, it’s like my stomach has a personal vendetta against joy. But thanks. We’re excited. Nervous. But mostly excited. And I think the news has given Ben a new lease on life. Losing Ruth…”

She trails off for a moment, eyes flicking toward the window.

“Losing Ruth hit him harder than he lets on,” she continues softly. “I never met her, but I feel like she’s still here somehow. Not just in the stories—they talk about her like she was the glue holding everything together—but also in the way this place runs. In the way they live.”

She smiles wryly as she wipes her hands with a towel. “And apparently, she was the mistress of long-game meddling. That clause in her will—the one that forced Henry to marry me or risk losing the ranch? That was all Ruth.”

I blink. “Seriously?”

“Dead serious. And now, thanks to a sneaky littlesub-clausenone of us knew about until recently, Angus and Tom have to tie the knot too.”

A surprised laugh slips out of me. “Wow. That’s... impressive. And mildly terrifying.”

I silently thank Shay for the warning. The last thing I need is to be blindsided by another of Ruth Sutton's posthumous plots. Who knows what other surprises might be in that will? At least now I'll be prepared.

“Right?” Shay grins. “You hungry?” she asks, gesturing to a tin of cookies on the counter.

I hesitate. “I don’t want to intrude?—”

“Luna,” she says, cutting me off, “this is a Sutton kitchen. If you don’t eat something, youwillinsult the ghosts of our ancestors, and frankly, I don’t have the energy to deal with a haunted oven before lunch.”

A startled laugh bubbles out of me as I sit at the table. “Okay. Cookies it is.”

Shay hands me a cookie and a coffee and sits across from me with her mug of what smells like peppermint tea, her green eyes kind and curious but not invasive. She doesn’t ask about my past or why a girl like me chose a marriage of convenience with her brother-in-law. Instead, she asks, “How’d you sleep?”

Jingle settles beside me, resting her chin on my foot like we’ve known each other for years. “Better than expected.”

“That’ll change when the baby gets here,” she says with a wink. “This whole house will be like a chicken coop.”

I smile and tuck my hair behind my ear. “I don’t mind noise. As long as it’s the good kind.”

Shay nods like she understands more than I’m saying. “You let me know if you need anything, okay? Angus is a good man, but he’s got the emotional range of a potato. You ever need a grumpy cowboy translator, I’m your girl.”

I chuckle. “I appreciate that.”

Shay lifts the cookie tin and sets it between us. “Good. Now eat two more of those, or I swear Ruth’s ghost will knock over every pan in this kitchen.”

The tension in my chest eases. Not gone but cracked enough to let in the smell of cinnamon, the warmth of kindness, and the smallest, fragile hope that I’m allowed to stay.

Shay grimaces, rubbing her stomach. “I’m barely four months along and already feel like a whale. But I think this baby gives us all something to look forward to. Even more of a reason to protect this place and the family legacy.” She smiles and shakes her head. “And Henry—well, he’s already got spreadsheets for swaddling techniques and a whiteboard of potential middle names. He won’t admit it, but the man is full-on nesting.”

A soft laugh slips from me. “That’s kind of adorable.”

“It’s dangerously adorable,” Shay says, grabbing a cookie and biting into it. “We’re one nervous breakdown away from him bubble-wrapping the stairs.”

I laugh as she stands and stretches, her back cracking faintly.

“Okay. Time to check on the drama queens—by which I mean the goats.” Shay grabs her coat from the hook by the door and winks. “If I’m not back in ten minutes, assume they’ve formed a union and elected a spiteful rooster as their leader.” She pauses, raising an eyebrow. “Wanna come with me? Do a quick walkaround? George is here today, too, so I can introduce you.”

“George?”

“Georgina Lucas, but everyone calls her George. She’s a mechanic and services all our machinery. James Hayes, our county sheriff, is her father. But don’t hold that against her. George is very much her own person.” She flashes a grin. “And she’s probably about ready for a caffeine hit.”

I watch Shay pour coffee into a mug and add milk and sugar before handing it to me. “Here, we’ll take this out to her.”

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