Page 86 of Cowboy Bull's Promise

A. Baby. Fucking. Bjorn.

He’s got her strapped to him like she’s a six-pound fashion accessory with hooves.

I don’t say a word. Just raise a brow.

Jed chews on a piece of straw and grins around it like this is completely normal ranch attire.

I’d call him out if I was in my human skin and if I had the energy or if the image of him burping a goat baby wasn’t the only thing keeping my soul from cracking apart at the seams.

He moves behind me and starts unstrapping the plow from my back, his motions efficient, practiced.

The harness comes off with a few sharp tugs, and the iron weight lifts from my big bovine back and shoulders like it never belonged there in the first place.

Too bad I can’t say the same for the weight in my chest.

I step away and shift back to skin, bones creaking, air slapping cool against my sweat-slicked body as my bullish hide gives way to flesh.

“Just checked the seedlings in the greenhouse,” Jed says, tossing me a towel without looking. “We can get ‘em in the ground this weekend if the weather holds.”

I nod, too breathless from the exertion and everything else to answer. I wipe the sweat and grime from my face, then wrap the towel low around my hips.

No point in traumatizing anyone.

Used to be, back in the early days of the ranch, we Shifters didn’t give a single fuck about modesty.

Never have.

You just shift, you walk around bare-assed.

That was the way of things.

Simple. Natural. Raw.

But now? Now there are mates here. Women.

Soft, beautiful, mated women.

And if even one pair of dainty eyes dares glance at the full glory of my post-shift equipment, I’d have a jealous Crew member huffing down my neck like I’d offered to massage their soulmate’s thighs.

It’s not worth it.

Even if I am hung like a, well, you know—like a Bull.

Normally that’d make me smirk, toss out some cocky quip, maybe tease Jed about whether that Baby Bjorn comes in extra-large sizes for more adult purposes.

But not today.

Not when my chest is splitting open from the inside.

Not when every thought circles back to her.

Arliss.

My mate.

The woman I claimed.

And maybe the woman I never should’ve touched.

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