Page 5 of Branded By the Cowboy

The woman taps my ticket against the counter, giving me a look like she wants to say more—like she’s the kind of person who watches true crime shows and spots the killer in five minutes.

Finally, she shrugs. “Guess not. Long as you know where you’re headed.”

Oh, I know exactly where I’m headed: One way to Clover Canyon. One marriage contract. Zero backup plans.

The bus wheezes to a stop, coughing smoke like it’s tired of running too. I take my ticket and straighten my spine.

“Fake it till you make it,” I mutter as I head outside.

I step onto the bus and slide into a cracked vinyl seat. When the engine rumbles back to life and the station slides away behind me, I don't look back.

No point.

I'm not going that way anymore.

Even if this ends up being just another stop in a life full of short stays.

I check my phone. Still nothing from Marlie, which means Angus Sutton hasn’t changed his mind.

He had three days to back out. He didn’t.

Neither did I.

I open the notes app on my phone, scanning the sparse details Marlie sent over one last time. It’s not much. Just enough to make the decision feel real.

Name: Angus Sutton. Age 33.

Occupation: Rancher, ex-military

Location: Havenridge Ranch, Clover Canyon, Havenstone, Montana.

Personality Notes: Quiet. Straightforward. Not interested in romance. Prefers clear expectations.

Stability Level: High. Landowner. Family nearby. Looking for a long-term arrangement.

And then, the last line:

Reason for marriage: Inheritance clause—terms not disclosed.

That part still makes me pause. Something about his mother, Marlie said. Ruth Sutton passed away six months ago, leaving behind a legal stipulation in her will that forced her sons to marry.

Marlie didn’t know the details—or if she did, she wasn’t sharing—but her tone said enough. Something unconventional. But whatever it was, it must’ve mattered. Enough for a man like Angus to agree to a contract.

Marlie said he was a good man—rough around the edges, maybe even emotionally unavailable—but steady and unflinching. A man who says what he means and means what he says.

I’ve never met anyone like that before.

Still, it’s hard not to wonder—what kind of man agrees to marry a stranger from a digital catalog? What kind of man doesn’t even ask for a photo?

And what kind of woman says yes?

I do, apparently. The one with no fallback plan, no savings, no family—just a duffel bag, an overdeveloped survival instinct, and a willingness to sign my name on the dotted line if it means not having to look over my shoulder every damn morning.

My fingers drift over the lock screen. My reflection stares back—tired eyes, chapped lips, hope buried under too many disappointments to count.

I close the app and lean my head against the window, letting the vibration of the road hum through my bones.

He had three days to back out,I remind myself again.He didn’t.

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