Page 22 of Claimed By the Cowboy
God, he’s beautiful. All lean muscle and easy confidence, like he owns every inch of this mountain and knows it.
“My thoughts aren’t worth a penny,” I say, proud that my voice stays steady while my insides tremble at the sight of him.
“I’ll be the judge of that.” He pushes off the tree and ambles closer with that loose-hipped cowboy walk that should be illegal. “Mind if I sit? These old bones need a rest.”
I snort. “You’re only thirty. Hardly ancient.”
“Tell that to my knees.” He settles on the boulder beside mine, close enough that I catch his scent—hay and leather and something woodsy that makes me want to lean closer. “So what’s got you looking like you lost your best friend?”
The casual question hits too close to home. Because that’s exactly what I’m about to do, isn't it? Lose my sister to a man I want for myself.
“Just thinking about changes,” I say carefully. “Big ones.”
“Change can be good.” His voice carries that warm rumble that makes my toes curl. “My mama used to say that what sometimes looks like an ending is really a beginning.”
“Your mom was a wise woman.”
“She was.” Pain flickers across his features, quickly hidden. “Also stubborn as a mule and twice as ornery. Woman could spot trouble from three counties away.”
“Must have been handy, having someone whocould see the future.”
“Handy, hell. It was downright inconvenient most of the time.” His grin transforms his whole face, making him look boyish and mischievous. “Hard to get away with anything when your mama’s got eyes in the back of her head and the uncanny ability to know when you’re fixing to do somethin’ stupid.”
The easy humor in his voice makes me smile. “Sounds like you did plenty of stupid things.”
“Oh, darlin’, you have no idea. I once convinced Angus to help me relocate a rattlesnake that had taken up residence in Dad’s workshop. Figured we’d just scoop it up real gentle-like and carry it to the creek. Used Mom’s good salad tongs.” His eyes dance with mischief. “Snake didn’t appreciate the relocation efforts. Angus didn’t appreciate getting bit. Mom didn’t appreciate her kitchen utensils being used for reptile wrangling.”
“You got your brother bit by a rattlesnake?”
“Just a little bite,” Tom says with exaggerated innocence. “Barely broke the skin. Though to hear Angus tell it, he was practically at death’s door.”
“That’s terrible!” But I’m laughing despite myself, charmed by his easy storytelling.
“Mom made me muck stalls for a month. Said if I was gonna act like a jackass, I might as well shovel up after ‘em.” He tips his hat back further, eyes crinkling. “Worth every minute, though. Dad still won’t use those tongs.”
The story shouldn’t be funny, but the way Tom tells it—with self-deprecating humor and obvious affection for his family—makes it impossible not to smile.
His expression sobers. “We nearly lost Angus for real a few years ago in Kandahar,” he says, eyes fixed on a distant point in the trees. “He was deployed with the SEALs, clearing a compound when the whole thing went to hell. Got caught in an explosion.”
My breath catches. “Is that… is that how he got the scar?”
Tom nods slowly. “He was lucky to make it out at all. Spent months in a military hospital. We didn’t know if he’d walk again, let alone come home.” His voice cracks a little on those last two words.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.
He shrugs, but it’s not casual—it’s a deflection, a way of hiding what still hurts. “He made it back. Married Luna. Now he’s building a life with her. But it changed all of us, you know? Having your brother nearly die… It puts a lot in perspective.”
I knew the three brothers followed in Ben’s footsteps by joining the Navy, but it seems that each of them had very different experiences. Henry returned home to find his first wife in bed with another man. Angus barely made it home in one piece. And Tom…
“I get it now,” I say softly.
He frowns. “Get what?”
“Why you joke so much.”
Tom turns to look at me, eyes shadowed but soft. “If I don’t, the memories get too heavy.”
I reach out and lay my hand on his. “You don’t always have to carry it alone.”
