Page 13 of Branded By the Cowboy

“That’s what we thought. At first. Or maybe a ranch hand being careless.” She pauses.

I frown, sensing something more. “But?”

She glances at me, her green eyes serious. “It’s happening more often. And not just here. A couple of ranches on the far side of the canyon have had problems too—including Jacob’s place.”

I frown. “Jacob?”

“Jacob Sutton. Ben’s brother,” she says, her tone careful. “Angus’s uncle. He and Ben don’t talk anymore—something happened years back—but Jacob’s boys still visit. They’re close with Henry, Angus, and Tom.”

She pauses, then adds, “They’ve been dealing with the same kind of sabotage. Fences cut. Damaged equipment. Livestock let loose in the middle of the night. Someone’s messing with things, but we can’t prove who without evidence.”

“Any suspects?”

“Plenty. Ben has kept it quiet, so it doesn’t scare off the veterans who stay at the cabins. But it’s getting harder to ignore.”

A cold knot tightens in my stomach. My eyes drift to the line of trees in the distance beyond the fencing. “Thanks for telling me.”

“You’re part of the family now.” She smiles, then grimaces and rubs her stomach. “I need to head back in. This kid is staging a rebellion in my bladder.”

I nod. “I’ll hang back. Do some exploring.”

Shay nods and I watch her go before heading to the edge of the property, near the tree line. The air feels thicker out here. The wind whistles low through the fence posts, and the ground squelches under my boots, soft with snowmelt and fresh mud. Thin sheets of ice still cling to the shady corners, but the air is softer now—cool, crisp, and smelling faintly of damp earth.

I walk the fence line, observing, mapping. This is how I learn new places—by walking them, feeling them under my boots, and letting the rhythm settle into my bones.

And as I go, Shay’s words come back to me.

You’re part of the family now.

They echo like a promise. Or maybe a challenge.

Something I want to believe. Desperately.

More than I probably should.

Because a family? I’ve never had one of those before.

Chapter4

Angus

I don’t sleep much. Not since Afghanistan. Notsince Mom died.

But the last three nights, I’ve slept worse than usual, and I blame the woman sleeping across the hall.

Luna Monroe.

She stepped off that bus carrying nothing but a beat-up duffel and a quiet stubbornness that sucker-punched the breath right out of my chest.

Heart-shaped face. Big brown eyes. Honey-blonde hair. Curves for days. When our gazes locked, something molten coiled in my gut. I had to clench my jaw against the unwanted reaction.

Her small hands clutched that duffel bag like it was the only thing tethering her to this world.

I expected someone tough, loud, sharper around the edges. But Luna is something much more dangerous. A woman strong in ways that can't be measured at a glance. Strength that comes from surviving when the world tries to grind you down.

One look at her and every broken, buried thing in me wanted to reach out. Hold her. Shelter her.

Which is odd because soft and gentle aren’t in my wheelhouse. I'm better at the hard things—fighting, fixing, bleeding and getting back up.

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