Page 19 of Branded By the Cowboy

One second, I’m staring at the man who’s somehow rewiring my entire life with nothing more than monosyllables and a gaze that feels like gravity…

And the next, he’s kissing me.

It’s not soft. It’s not cautious. It’sneed—sharp and hot and real.

His mouth crashes into mine, and something breaks open inside me.

He grips my hips before his hands slide up my back and into my hair, fisting gently at the base of my neck as if he’s memorizing the map of me and doesn’t give a damn if he gets lost.

He kisses like he works—intensely, with full focus and quiet conviction. I open for him with a gasp, and he takes advantage—tongue sliding deep, sweeping over mine with slow, deliberate strokes that make my knees threaten to give. His body presses into mine, hot and solid, and I clutch his flannel to keep me upright.

I feel him everywhere. In every breath. Every heartbeat. I swear I taste every heartbreak he’s ever swallowed, every hurt he’s never spoken.

And I give him mine in return.

When he finally slows, breaking the kiss enough to rest his forehead against mine, we’re both breathing like we just survived something.

Or like we’re about to drown in it.

“This is a mistake,” he mutters, voice raw.

Still, he doesn’t pull away.

Neither do I.

I lick my lips, tasting him. "Then why does it feel so right to me?"

It's as though something inside me recognized him before my mind caught up.

Angus doesn't answer. His eyes—dark and hungry—search mine for a moment. Then he presses one last kiss to the corner of my mouth like a promise, a warning, a line we’re already halfway over—and steps back before I do somethingreallystupid. Like trip him into the hay, tear his flannel open with my teeth, and give the horses a show they’ll whinny about for weeks.

This man doesn’t need a fairytale bride or sweet nothings. He needs a woman who shows up. Who stays when things get cold and quiet and hard.

And that woman is me.

He kissed me like I was the one thing he never let himself hope for.

But from now on, he won’t have to hope. Because I’m here to stay.

Chapter6

Angus

That evening, I pace the hallway outside the kitchen, jittery and restless—like a man wired on caffeine but starved for calm.

Shay is at the table, flipping through a baby name book the size of a phonebook. Henry’s off picking up lumber from McBride’s. The house smells like cinnamon and firewood and Luna’s shampoo. Vanilla and something soft and floral. Roses, maybe.

She’s on the couch wrapped in one of Mom’s old, quilted throws, reading a book I didn’t even know we still owned. Her knees tucked under her. Hair loose. Face lit by firelight. Looking for all the world like shebelongs.

She looks up as I hover in the doorway. “Need something?”

I shake my head. “No. Just passing through.”

She watches me. Calm. Steady. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” I say, backing up a step. “I’m sure.”

Another lie.

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