Page 17 of Branded By the Cowboy

But when I glance over, I notice his hands—mud-slicked and scraped raw from the wire. Fresh wounds over old ones. And maybe I shouldn’t… but I reach into my coat pocket and pull out a clean rag.

He watches as I wrap it around his knuckles.

“Wire bite,” I murmur, knotting it loosely.

My breath hitches as our fingers brush. The distant sounds of birds chirping and leaves rustling disappear. For a second, the whole world seems to hold its breath too.

“Thanks,” he says gruffly.

I clear my throat, suddenly all too aware of his body—how big he is, how close we’re standing.

“You’re welcome,” I say, stepping back before I do something stupid. Like press my lips to his scarred, beautiful hands.

The morning breeze catches my hair, lifting it from my shoulders as I look up at the vast Montana sky.

“The sky’s so open here,” I murmur, lifting my face toward it. “Like someone took the lid off the world.”

Angus doesn’t answer, but I can feel his gaze on me. Warm. Weighty. Like a blanket straight from the dryer.

And for the first time in a long time, I take a full breath.

It doesn’t fix anything. It doesn’t erase the years or the scars. But it fills my lungs with something tangible.

Something that tastes like hope.

* * *

Later, I find him in the stables, checking inventory. The horses shift restlessly behind him, big bodies full of muscle and patience. I lean against the stall rail, gloves tucked in my back pocket.

“Your mom?” I ask, nodding toward the photo nailed to one of the beams.

He turns, and his face does something strange—softens and hardens all at once. “Yeah. Right before I left.”

“Left?” I echo gently.

“For the Navy,” he says, clearing his throat. “I enlisted out of high school. Served with the SEALs for a while. Didn’t make it home much after that.”

My eyes widen. I knew he was ex-military, but… “A SEAL?”

“Was. Retired after I took a hit overseas.”

My gaze drops to the scar on his cheek, piecing it together. “Is that when you came back here?”

He nods. “Came back. Stayed.” He looks past me, out toward the open pasture. “Figured if I was gonna limp through life, might as well do it on familiar ground where I can do some good.”

I lean my elbows on the stall rail, boots crossed at the ankle like we’re just two people swapping stories, not two strangers about to become man and wife.

“You don’t limp,” I say simply. “You stand tall.”

He swallows hard and looks away.

The horses shift behind him, hooves scraping against the wood, and the barn smells like hay, old leather, and a life that’s still trying to be good, even after everything.

“I’m glad you stayed,” I say before I can stop myself.

That earns me a look. Not surprise, exactly. More like… suspicion, as if he’s not sure what to do with kindness that doesn’t come with strings.

I tug my gloves from my pocket and pull them on. "You need a hand with inventory?"

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