Page 4 of Claiming Cowboy
Chapter 3 - Paige
He keeps glancing my way as he saunters off—unbothered, unashamed, radiating confidence. I get why they call him rodeo royalty; he clearly knows what he’s doing. But why me? He could have anyone here—girls who actually fit in, who look the part. The idea that he’s focused on me feels impossible. Even if I like the attention, even if it sends a thrill through me, it’s still too much to take in. He’s cocky, commanding—the kind of man who always gets his way and knows it. So why me?
“Well, he lives up to the hype every time, huh?” Maya teases, nudging me with a grin.
“What do you mean?” I ask, trying to ignore the weight of his gaze—and everyone else’s—by shrinking a little further into myself.
“Wild rides most people can’t handle and a way with women,” she says, eyes sparkling.
I rub my shoulder, and against my better judgment, my gaze finds him again. He’s leaning casually against the wooden railing, arms spread, an unlit cigarette resting between his lips. When he catches me looking, he smirks and tips his hat.
I tear my eyes away. Ignoring him is safer. I’ve already told myself I’m not looking to date, and his looks aren’t about to change that. Even if I’m clearly not immune to him.
“People say he wouldn’t know commitment if it bit him,” Maya says, leaning closer with a mischievous smirk. “Word is, he’s got a new woman waiting at every stop on the road. Never has to fight for them, either—half the time they’re the ones doing the chasing. And apparently,” she adds, pausing just long enough to make me squirm, “he lasts a whole lot longer than the wildest bull ever could.”
She’d already filled me in earlier—how he’s from around here, got noticed at sixteen, and never looked back. The kind of man who floors the gas whenever he wants something. No hesitation, no obstacles too big. He bulldozes through or leaps right over them, and somehow, you just know he enjoys every second of the chase.
The fact that he’s looking at me—really looking—has my belly flipping and my pulse racing so fast I have to press a hand to my chest, as if I could steady it or hide it from Ryder’s piercing eyes. My whole body hums, torn between wanting the feeling to stop and desperate for it to never end. Maybe it’s excitement. Maybe it’s panic. Probably both.
“I think I’m ready to go,” I murmur.
“What? But there’s still more to see—and a man who clearly wants to win you over,” Maya teases.
“It’s been a lot of fun, Maya. But I’m just exhausted. It’s been a long day,” I say honestly, leaving out everything else that’s clawing at my insides.
Because I know better. Whatever’s going on in his head, it’s probably just another part of the show. The look, the smirk, the charm—it’s what he does. I don’t want to be one of the womenhe beds and forgets by the next town. I’m not built for that kind of casual, and with the way I’m feeling, who knows what I’d say or do if he came any closer. He’s too wild, too sure of himself. And no matter how much my heart begs me to stay, my brain has to win… even if walking away feels like losing something I never really had.
Even as I tell myself to go, a small, traitorous part of me hopes Ryder will appear—will stop me, tug me into his arms, and give me a reason to stay. But he doesn’t. It’s just me and the fading light, the sound of my keys clinking in my hand because I can’t quite bring myself to get into the car. I have to leave. For every reason I don’t want to, I have to.
Feeling this much for a man I don’t even know is absurd. I’m the kind of person who relies on logic, not sparks or fantasies. Infatuation, attraction, instant love—it’s thrilling, sure, but it also makes me question everything I thought I understood about myself. Because men like him don’t look twice at women like me. I’m not insecure; I know who I am, and I’m fine with it. But I’m also realistic.
So I make myself move. I get in the car. I start the engine. I drive home because it’s the only thing that makes sense. And when I park outside my apartment, I climb out before the sunset can tempt me to turn around—to chase something that was probably never real to begin with.
I like my routine. It’s simple. I’m happy. Everything moves at my pace, steady and predictable, and that’s good for me. It’s safe. I’m not ready to test my balance with someone like him—someone larger than life, with a reputation for being as wild as the bulls he rides and as direct as the way he already looked at me.
I’m content with slow, quiet, easy living.
Which works through dinner, through a shower, through my nightly rituals, until I’m laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about how easily Ryder rode the bull. The way his hips rolled, his thighs tightened, how he kept total control without even a hint of doubt lingers in my mind.
His shirt clung to his chest, outlining every muscle, the fabric riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of skin above his belt, a teasing glimpse of the trail disappearing beneath his championship buckle. Ryder’s eyes had been pure wildfire, and the mix of power and heat in that moment still scorches my skin.
Something low and hungry stirs inside me, a need I can’t quite name. Even if my mind can’t make sense of him, my body doesn’t seem to care because when sleep finally comes, it brings him with it.
I dream of him walking into the bakery and backing me against the wall. His mouth is hot, tasting faintly of grass and smoke as it brushes along my jaw, down my neck, across my shoulder. My clothes seem to melt away under his touch.
The shop is empty, lights dim, the hum of the fridge the only sound between us. I should tell him we’re closed, that he can’t be here—but my voice catches when his fingers trail down my arm, tracing the flour still dusted on my skin.
“It’s after hours,” I whisper.
“I know,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough. “That’s why I came.”
He lifts me onto the counter, and the scent of sugar and heat swirls around us. Every time I blink, another piece of his clothing is gone, until it’s just him—strong, steady, all heat and want. I try to speak, to say something normal, but he stops me with a kiss that’s anything but. His hands grip my thighs, dragging me closer until I can feel his cock. Hard, warm… big.
I feel like he’s burning through me in the best way, branding himself on me in a way I can never forget. He pants in my ear. “I said you’re mine, Paige. You want to be, I see it, and I’m not in the habit of denying a beautiful woman.”
His mouth is intense, hungry, and his hands just as demanding. He slides between my thighs, pressing closer until the counter digs into my back. When I arch toward him, his lips trail over my breasts—kissing, tasting, biting softly as he murmurs against my skin that he’s marking me, making sure no one else can take me from him.
“Ryder,” I breathe.
