Page 1 of Claimed By the Cowboy
Chapter 1
Tom
The root canal was supposed to take an hour.
That was three hours ago, and my face still feels like someone stuffed it full of cotton balls soaked in Novocain. The dentist keeps apologizing in that overly cheerful way they dowhen they’ve basically performed oral surgery with a jackhammer, but all I can think about is the bus arriving at two o’clock with my future wife aboard.
“Try not to bite your tongue,” the dentist says, patting my shoulder like I’m five years old. “The numbness should wear off in a few hours.”
A few hours. Perfect. Nothing says “Welcome to Montana” like greeting your mail-order bride witha face that won’t cooperate and words that come out sounding like I’ve been hitting the whiskey since breakfast.
I check my phone as I stumble out of the dental office. Twelve-thirty. An hour and a half to get to the bus station, and I still need to swing by the ranch to grab the truck that doesn’t sound like a dying rhinoceros when it hits third gear.
My phone buzzes with a text from my brother Angus:More fence damage. North pasture this time. We need to talk.
My jaw clenches—or would if I could feel it. The sabotage has escalated over the past few months. Luna, my brother Angus’ wife, barely escaped a fire in the old barn a few months ago and is still healing. It wasn’t an accident. It was arson.The sheriff’s report found that an accelerant was used.
The perp still hasn’t been found. Some protector I turned out to be, bringing a woman straight into a potentially dangerous situation.
I text Angus back:After I get Delaney. Emergency?
Angus’s reply is immediate:Can wait. Good luck, Romeo.
Romeo. Right. I touch my cheek gingerly—still nothing. I’m about as much of a Romeo as a wooden post, and twice as articulate.
But the woman stepping off that bus will become my wife in a matter of weeks, and I’ll be damned if some dental work stops me from doing what’s right and securing the ranch.
The drive back to Havenridge Ranch takes fifteen minutes on a good day. Today, with my mouth as numb as a block of wood and my blood running hot as I think about meeting the woman who could save our family legacy, it feels like an eternity.
Mom’s will deadline sits on my chest like a stone—thirty days to marry or lose the ranch. Even thinking about losing my home makes something primitive and possessive rise in me. Four generations of Suttons have worked this land. No way in hell am I losing it.It’s not just land; it’s blood in the dirt and memories in every goddamn corner of the ranch house.
Ruth Sutton had a hell of a sense of humor. Mom had her reasons—she always did. But trusting her posthumous matchmaking feels like jumping off acliff in the dark and hoping there’s water at the bottom instead of rocks.
The ranch comes into view, and my chest loosens slightly. Home. Mine to protect, mine to fight for. The woman arriving today needs to understand what she’s stepping into—a legacy worth defending by a man who’ll do whatever it takes to keep it.
I park near the main house and jog toward the barn where I left the good truck. That’s when I hear it—a sound between a rusty gate and a bull with its tail caught in barbed wire.
“MAAAAAAHHHHHHH!”
I round the corner of the barn in time to see our prize goat standing on top of Henry’s brand-new Silverado, all four hooves planted firmly on the hood, bleating like the world is ending.
Cheese Puff.She’s a Boer goat the size of a small pony.
“Get down from there, you hairy menace!” I shout, which comes out sounding more like, “Geh dow frodere, you hairy mehah!”
Cheese Puff swivels her head toward me, yellow eyes glinting with pure mischief. Actually, I’m pretty sure she’s a demon in goat form because her only response is a stomp of her hoof and a loud fart.
One wrong move and that goat could do serious damage to Henry’s truck. My SEAL training kicks in automatically.
I edge closer, using a calm, commanding voice that worked on enemy combatants. “Easy. Nice and slow.”
Cheese Puff tilts her head, considering. Then she launches herself off the truck with a joyful bleat, lands hard on all fours, and takes off toward the main house like her tail is on fire.
I chase after her, my boots slipping on the gravel. “Come back here!”
The goat bounds up the porch steps and through the front door that someone—probably Luna—left open. I hear a crash, followed by Dad’s distinctive bellow.
“WHAT IN THE HELL?—”
