Page 39 of Branded By the Cowboy

So I stack the wood. I fill the pots. I light the candles and tighten the windows and keep busy. Because if I stay moving, I won’t have to think too hard about the cold place in my bed.

Outside, the wind screams through the trees like it’s got a grudge. The power flickers again. The men went out hours ago to secure the livestock and double-check the fencing. Ben barked orders. Tom made jokes. Henry gave Shay a long kiss and told her not to lift anything heavier than the baby growing inside her.

I glance at Shay, who sits curled on the couch, one hand resting on her just-starting-to-show belly, her eyes flicking toward the window every time the wind slams against it.

“You okay?” I ask.

She nods, then winces, one hand pressing a little firmer against her side. “It’s nothing.”

Jingle whines where he’s tucked against Shay, licking her arm as if he senses her discomfort.

I’m beside her before I realize I’ve moved. “That didn’t look like nothing.”

She blows out a slow breath. “It’s probably just stretching pains. Normal stuff. The baby’s only the size of a lemon.”

“You sure?”

She shrugs one shoulder, brave but not convincing. “Feels a little crampy, that’s all. Could be cupcakes.”

I squeeze her shoulder. “You need anything?”

She shakes her head, but it’s the kind of shake that leaves room for doubt. “I'm fine. Just crampy. Probably stress. Worrying about the men in the storm.”

"You sure it’s just that?"

She forces a smile. "Pretty sure. I mean, it’s way too early for anything else."

I nod, even though my stomach twists. “I’ll stay close.”

Shay reaches for my hand and squeezes. “I’m glad you’re here. It’s nice having another mail-order bride around this place. Although Henry didn’t pick me, not exactly. Tom and Angus… Well, they bought me. Sort of.”

My brows lift. “Sort of?”

“There was this auction,” she says, waving a hand like that somehow makes it normal. “It was meant to help the town or the veterans’ program or something. But Angus and Tom bid on me for Henry without telling him. And suddenly, here I was.”

I stare at her. “And you stayed?”

“I did,” she says, eyes distant for a second. “At first, because I didn’t have anywhere else to go. But then, he looked at me one day like he finally saw me. Like I wasn’t just part of the will. I was his.”

The words hit somewhere deep and a little raw. That quiet ache I’ve carried since childhood sharpens into something harder to ignore. “That man loves you. It’s clear every time he looks at you.”

Shay smiles. “Yeah, he does. The man would walk barefoot through a snowstorm to bring me pickles and then give me a foot rub.”

I laugh, but it comes out a little watery.

She tilts her head. “What about you? Why’d you come?”

I hesitate. Then, quietly, “Because I wanted something that couldn’t leave.”

Shay doesn’t say anything, but her fingers squeeze mine again.

“You ever had that?” I ask. “Somewhere you belonged?”

She’s quiet for a long moment. “Not before here.”

I nod, trying to swallow around the lump rising in my throat. “Me either.”

“It takes a little time,” Shay says softly. “But this place… it has a way of making people stay.” She leans her head back, eyes fluttering closed, hand free hand resting over the slight swell of her belly. Her voice drifts softer, like she’s not talking to fill the silence—she’s sharing because she wants me to know. “My parents… they didn’t do love well. Lots of yelling. Lots of silence. My dad was an abusive alcoholic. And my mom took it. I used to think that was normal. That love was supposed to hurt a little.”

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