Page 8 of Branded By the Cowboy

Not because it’s fancy—no manicured lawns or magazine-perfect porches—but because it’s solid. Real.

The barn nearest the house is big and weather-worn, the boards silvered by years of sun and storm. Smoke curls from the chimney of the main house, the windows reflecting the last patches of snow retreating into muddy fields. A tire fixed to a tree swing twists slowly in the breeze, looking like it’s survived a hundred summers.

I don’t say anything. I don’t let myself hope too much as the truck crunches over the gravel drive and Angus cuts the engine.

Three men wait on the front porch.

The oldest stands in the center, tall and broad, arms folded across his chest. His hair is silver at the temples and thinning a little at the crown, but it only makes him look more solid, more rooted—a man who's weathered every kind of storm and is still standing. His face is lined with age and a life spent outside, and his eyes—bright, sharp blue—miss nothing.

To his left—grinning like he’s been waiting all day for this moment—is a younger man with messy hair and a crooked smile. He looks like a guy who says yes to every bad idea first and thinks about the consequences sometime next year.

The man on his other side removes his hat as we pull up. He leans against a porch post, his posture easy but alert. His build is leaner, more whipcord than bulk, and his gaze tracks every movement with a quiet, thoughtful intensity.

I clutch my duffel tighter. “Well,” I mutter to Angus, “nothing says warm welcome like a wall of Sutton men.”

He doesn’t smile. But he doesn’t correct me either.

Chapter3

Luna

Angus grunts, cuts the engine, and climbs out.

I follow, pulse hammering in my throat.

The older man steps down from the porch first, his movements steady and unhurried. He stops a few feet away, giving me a nod that’s somehow respectful and assessing. “I’m Ben Sutton,” he says, offering his hand. His voice is low and rough in a way that’s earned, not affected. “Father of these three hooligans. Welcome to Havenridge.”

I shake his hand—his grip is firm, roughened by work—and force a smile. “Thank you.”

The man with the hat steps forward next, offering a quick, easy handshake. “Henry Sutton. Angus’s older brother.” His gray eyes throw me for a second, striking against his tanned skin, and I wonder if he inherited the color from his mother. “My wife Shay wanted to be here to meet you, too, but”—he scratches the back of his neck sheepishly—“her morning sickness isn’t limited to the mornings.”

“She’s excited to meet you, though,” the younger man pipes up, descending the porch steps two at a time. He’s light on his feet for such a tall man. His eyes are bright and full of mischief, the same shade as Angus’s and Ben’s, though they carry a completely different kind of trouble.

He grabs my hand. “Tom Sutton. The handsome one.”

Henry snorts under his breath.

“Humble, too,” I deadpan before I can stop myself. My cheeks burn hot. “I’m sorry, I?—”

Tom laughs, easy and big, as if I’ve already passed some unspoken Sutton test. “Don’t apologize,” he says, releasing my hand with a wink. “You’ll fit right in around here. Especially once my bride shows up. Then we can start a whole support group.”

I blink. “Your what?”

Henry shakes his face like he’s heard this a dozen times already. “Tom’s got a mail-order bride on the way,” he says dryly. “Expected sometime this summer. Assuming she doesn’t read his emails first and run for the hills.”

“Rude,” Tom mutters. “I’m very persuasive. Also, I have goats.”

I bite my lip to keep from laughing. Whatever I thought this family would be like… this isn’t it.

It’sbetter.

Messier. Louder. Genuine.

Even standing here with my heart thudding against my ribs and my future a giant, terrifying question mark—I feel lighter than I have in years.

“Well, we have work to do,” Henry says, shoving his hat on his head. “We’ll leave Angus to get you settled.”

I shift my duffel higher on my shoulder as Ben and Angus’s brothers head toward the barn, suddenly aware of how heavy it feels and how tired I am.

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