Page 48 of Claimed By the Cowboy
“Talking of kissing, how are things with Beckett?” Luna asks with a knowing look.
“You know what these ex-military men are like,” George says, shaking her head. “He still triple-checks the locks, polishes his knives like they’re museum pieces, and lectures me if I skip breakfast.” Her expression softens. “But then he drops off a cold bottle of water when I’m working in ninety-degree heat and looks at me like I invented oxygen, and I’m a puddle of hormones.”
I smile at the contrast—the mechanic who hides her tenderness under sarcasm but can’t disguise how much she adores Beckett.
Luna laughs. “That’s disgustingly sweet.”
“Don’t spread it around,” George deadpans. “I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”
Luna’s expression shifts, more serious now. “I still can’t believe Deputy Wade turned out to be such a creep. After everything…”
George’s jaw tightens. “Yeah. Corruption, bribes, tipping off traffickers—you name it, he did it. He hid behind his badge and made my dad look like a fool in his own department,” she says, referring to her father, Sheriff Lucas. “Not to mention, he used his position to corner me into something I didn’t want. Thought I’d be too scared to say no.”
My stomach knots, but George squares her shoulders, fierce and steady. “Guys like Wade don’t win in the long run. Beckett and I are proof of that. I finally stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop and let myself be happy. Feels damn good.”
Luna reaches out and squeezes George's arm. “You deserve it. Both of you.”
“Thanks.” George grins and pats Luna’s hand. “Now, I’ve got a tractor that thinks it’s possessed, and unless one of you wants to learn how to exorcise carburetors, I better get back to work.”
She saunters off toward the barn with her braid swinging, leaving us both laughing.
Luna and I continue to work in comfortable silence, Luna spacing the chamomile seedlings while I add compost to each little hole. It's peaceful work, the kind that lets your mind wander while your hands stay busy.
Wincing, I rub my forehead as my headache from earlier returns. Nothing dramatic—just that annoying pressure I’ve felt on and off the past couple of days.
“You okay?” Luna asks, seeing me wince.
“Just a little headache.” I reach for my water bottle, which I filled from the well earlier like I always do, and take a long drink.
By the time we finish work, the thumping in my temples gets worse. It isn’t unbearable, but it’s uncomfortable enough to make me squint against the bright Montana sunshine.
“I think I'll take a break,” I say, wiping dirt from my hands. “Maybeget some aspirin.”
“Good idea. We’ve been out here for three hours.” Luna stands, brushing soil from her knees.
We gather our tools and head toward the house, but halfway across the yard, something feels off. Not the headache—that’s still there, throbbing steadily—but something else. A strange flutter in my chest, like my heart is beating slightly out of rhythm.
I pause, pressing my hand to my sternum.
“Kitty?” Luna stops beside me. “What is it?”
I take a deep breath, but it doesn’t feel quite right. Not the sharp tightness of asthma, but as if my lungs aren’t expanding completely. “Nothing. Just... a bit breathless.”
Instinct kicks in. My hand dives into my pocket, pulling out the rescue inhaler I still carry everywhere. I shake it, bring it to my lips, and press the canister. The familiar puff fills my lungs. Relief should come within seconds.
It doesn’t.
I wait, pulse racing. Still no relief. The wrongness deepens.
“Kitty?” Luna touches my arm, her voice now edged with alarm.
“Doesn’t… feel like asthma,” I manage, tucking the inhaler back into my pocket. “It's probably nothing. Just need to sit down.”
Except it doesn't feel like nothing. It feels like something creeping through my system, subtle but wrong.The flutter in my chest increases as we climb the porch steps. And now I have a weird taste in my mouth—metallic and unpleasant.
In the kitchen, I down two aspirin with another glass of water while Luna makes sandwiches for lunch. The headache hasn't improved, and the strange taste is getting stronger.
My heart continues its irregular rhythm, and breathing is becoming more difficult by the minute.
