Page 57 of Claimed By the Cowboys

Bo

Brandy’s little girl is sick, and she barely looks like the same woman. Her face is drawn tight with fear, her eyes are red and swollen, and her hair is disheveled. She’s dressed in ratty sweats and an old T-shirt like she left the house in a rush, and is holding onto the side of the gurney like it’s the only thing keeping her upright. When I step closer and try to put a hand on her shoulder, she shoves me back hard.

The force of it takes me by surprise.

I drop my hand and take a step away, heart thudding. For a second I stare at her, stunned at the foreignness of the rejection, and the sharp pain that comes with it. Then I force myself to rationalize it. Brandy is beside herself with worry. Her mama is right there watching. I overstepped. This isn’t the time or the place.

The nurse moves in to insert an IV. I use the moment to step away. I’ll give Brandy some space and find a way to approach her later.

I find Claire and Jensen in a curtained bay, a short walk down the hall where I left them. Harrison is propped up on the bed with a small bandage on his forehead. He fell off the porch step earlier chasing one of the chickens and knocked his head pretty good. Brayden sits cross-legged next to his brother, both leaning over Jensen’s phone watching a cartoon with the volume low.

Claire looks up when I approach. I hand her the phone she left in the car.

“Thanks,” she says, taking it. “I’m gonna call Jackson. Any word on how long we’ll be?”

“Not yet.” I glance at the boys, then lower my voice. “Brandy’s here. Her niece is sick with a high fever. She had a seizure in the parking lot.”

Jensen’s head snaps up. He’s already moving like he’s about to stand. “Where? I’m coming—”

I put a hand on his shoulder. “I tried to get close. She shoved me back. Hard.”

His face falls. The easy warmth he always carries drains away, replaced by a tight jaw and worried eyes. “That doesn’t sound good, Bo.”

I shrug, but I got a bad feeling from that shove. It felt like there was more behind it than simple worry and frustration. There was anger behind it. But over what?

Jensen rubs a hand over his mouth and stares at the floor for a long second. Neither of us speaks. We haven’t seen Brandy for a week, and she hasn’t replied to our messages. It felt like she was pulling away, but we didn’t know why or how far.

Claire glances between us, reading the tension, then stands. “I need the restroom. Can you stay with the boys?”

“Yeah,” Jensen says quietly.

I leave him there and walk back toward Naomi’s bay. Claire falls into step beside me as she heads for the restrooms. The hallway smells of antiseptic and stale recycled air, making my nose dry. Fluorescent lights hum overhead, too bright for this time of night, making the atmosphere more high-energy than it should be.

When we pass the open curtain, Brandy is standing at the side of the bed with her hand resting on Naomi’s arm. She looks up at the sound of our footsteps. For a brief second, our eyes meet.

Then she notices Claire walking beside me and turns away so sharply it’s like a door slamming shut.

I stop in the middle of the hallway as my chest tightens. There is definitely something wrong.

Claire continues, unaware of the full weight of what happened. I stand there a moment longer, watching Brandy’s rigid form, and the protective curve of her body over the little girl in the bed.

What we had is slipping through our fingers, and I need to find out why.

Chapter 30

Brandy

I keep my back to Bo. Even after the footsteps stop in the hallway, and I know he’s still standing there, I don’t turn around. My hand stays on Naomi’s arm, feeling the heat of her skin through the thin hospital gown. The IV is in. Fluids are running. An oxygen mask half covers her pretty face. A nurse checks the monitor and murmurs that her oxygen levels look better. It’s a relief that she’s improving.

Now, all I can think about is the blonde woman walking beside Bo.

It’s the same woman I saw, hanging pretty, matching lingerie like she lived at their ranch. The same woman who looked like she belonged in their world without effort or complication.

And now she’s here with him.

My stomach twists so hard I feel sick.

Mama sits in the plastic chair against the wall with Elijah half-asleep in her lap, his head tucked under her chin. She keeps glancing between me and the hallway, her expression tight with questions she hasn’t asked yet, but I know are coming.