Page 46 of Claimed By the Cowboy
“Miracle,” he insists. “Though if you don’t brand one with Cheese Puff’s face, I’ll be disappointed.”
I giggle into his chest, picturing a goat-shaped bar of soap. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously proud of you, maybe.” He kisses the top of my head. “We’ll make it happen. You’ll have your garden, your goats, your soaps. Your dream.”
Warmth floods me, brighter than the morning sun. The faint throb behind my eyes lingers, but not enough to dull the joy. Still, I press my forehead against Tom’s shoulder, hoping his steady heartbeat will chase it away.
He nuzzles my hair. “Now… how about breakfast before I keep you in this bed all day?”
I smile. “Breakfast sounds good.”
An hour later, I’m kneeling in the rich Montana soil with Luna as we transplant delicate chamomile seedlings, the morning sun warming our backs. The herb garden sprawls before us in various stages of restoration—wild bergamot already thriving, rows of mint perfuming the breeze, and echinacea and red clover transplanted from the pastures standing tall, their blossoms like little flags of resilience.
Honoring Ruth’s memory by taking something she loved and bringing it back to life has become my passion. Tom says she would’ve adored seeing hergarden bloom again, and somehow, that makes me feel closer to her.
I wish I could’ve met her—not just the ranch matriarch everyone talks about with reverence, but the woman who loved these plants enough to carve out a space for them in the middle of Montana cattle country. I feel like I know her a little from reading her careful notes about the herb garden, and I sometimes imagine her here beside me, hands in the soil, teaching me what each leaf and petal meant to her.
“This is going to be stunning once it all fills in,” Luna says, tucking a stray blonde curl behind her ear as she pats down the soil around a seedling. “Angus promised the greenhouse would be ready by the fall. Between your herbs and my veggies, this ranch’ll be the best-fed corner of Montana.”
I grin at her enthusiasm. “You’re starting to sound like me—counting plants before they’re grown.”
“Better than counting cows,” she quips. “This garden is going to be magic,” she adds, brushing soil from her hands. “Ruth would be so proud of you.”
I smile. “I hope so. Honestly, I’ve been thinking… I want to do more than just grow them. I’ve been researching classes online—herbal studies, natural skincare, things like that. What if I blended what I’m learning with the goats’ milk from the ranch? Soaps, lotions, maybe even tinctures. Natural products made right here.”
Luna’s eyes light up. “Kitty, that’s brilliant. People would eat that up—well, not literally, unless you made cheese, too.” She laughs, then leans closer, practically bouncing with excitement. “We could do it together! You with herbs, me with greenhouse produce and flowers. We could make a whole line of ranch-made goods. Jams, teas, soaps, skincare. We could sell them at the farmer’s market in town or even online.”
The idea takes root instantly, blooming in my imagination. “You think people would buy it?”
“Buy it?” Luna scoffs. “They’d line up down the road for it. I mean, Havenridge Ranch is practically a brand already, what with the vet program. And everyone loves the goats.”
I grin. “I told Tom about my idea this morning,and he suggested I use Cheese Puff’s face for advertising.”
Luna laughs so hard that she nearly spills her tray of seedlings. “Oh, that’s genius! She’s already famous since the Clover Canyon Herald ran that article about me rescuing her from the barn fire. And it would be hilarious.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “We can call it Klitty’s Chamomile Soap. Who wouldn’t want to buy a bar?”
I roll my eyes then laugh with her. “Knew I’d never live down that introduction.”
Warmth hums in my chest as we work in comfortable silence. I have the sun on my shoulders, soil under my fingernails, and a husband who shows me every day how much he adores me.
This happiness is new, fragile in its unfamiliarity, but I’ll be damned if I’ll anything spoil it.
Chapter 14
Kitty
“Looking good out here!”
We glance up to see Delaney approaching, carrying a tray of steaming coffee mugs. She’s transformed since we first stepped off the bus—sun-kissed skin, muscles taut from hard work, an ease in her smile that makes her look younger, freer.
“Thank you,” I say, gratefully accepting a mug and sitting back on my heels.
“Saint Delaney,” Luna sighs happily, wrapping her hands around hers. “If you keep bringing me caffeine like this, I’ll never let you leave.”
Delaney snorts, lowering herself onto an overturned bucket. “Don’t tempt me. Between inventory lists and payroll, I barely leave the office as it is.”
“How’s the supply inventory going?” I ask.
Her eyes narrow slightly. “I swear that man could organize dust motes if you gave him a chart.”
