Page 4 of Claimed By the Cowboy
“Pineapple, pineapple, pineapple,” she repeats, pressing her hand to her nose.
Damn, if she’s not the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.
Despite the nerves and the deadline, I find myself grinning. Or trying to—probably looks more like a grimace with my swollen jaw.
The blonde’s eyes widen at my mangled smile. She takes a step forward, and our eyes meet across six feet of cracked asphalt.
And every protective instinct I’ve ever had roars to life.
It’s not the stress or the deadline or the fear of losing the ranch that’s making my chest tight.
It’sher.
She trains those warm brown eyes on me like I’m something worth seeing. My gaze roams over her, taking in the delicate curve of her neck, the soft swell of her breasts beneath her worn sweater, and the way her small hands flutter nervously at her sides.
Mine.
The knowledge hits me like a freight train, bone-deep and undeniable. This tiny, fragile woman with her ridiculous pineapple remedy and her shy smile is mine. Not Delaney. Her.
It’s not simply physical. Something quieter and stronger pulls me toward her.
I take a step toward them, then another, my heart doing something strange and unfamiliar in my chest.?
I’m supposed to marry Delaney in two weeks. The woman who answered my ad and agreed to save the ranch. The woman who’s exactly what I need.
This is not going accordingto plan.
I'm in trouble.
Big trouble.
Because I’m staring at her sister like she’s my whole damn world, with every possessive instinct screaming that I’ve found the woman I’m going to marry.
Chapter 2
Kitty
The cowboy walking toward us moves like he owns the world.
Long-legged strides eat up the cracked asphalt, broad shoulders filling out his blue flannel shirt in ways that make my mouth go dry. Dark hair falls across his forehead, and when he gets close enough, I can see his eyes are the kind of blue that makes you think of summer skies and deep water.
I should not be staring at him like this. He belongs to Delaney. Not me.
I step back, bumping into the warm metal of the bus, and another wave of sneezes threatens to embarrass me further.
The cowboy stops about ten feet away, and when his gaze finds mine, heat unfurls low in my belly. He’s not simply looking at me—he’sseeingme. Like I’m worth his attention.
When was the last time a man looked at me like that?
Um, never.
“Tom Sutton?” Delaney asks again, though she already knows the answer.
He nods, then winces a little, rubbing his jaw. “Yesh,” he mumbles, his voice thick and slurred.
Delaney’s brows draw together. “Are you… drunk?”
He shakes his head quickly and gestures to his cheek. “Rooh cahnal thish morning. Mouth’sh shtill numb ash a board.”
