Wrangled (Steele Ranch 2)

“Well, um…getting to know each other?” I replied.

“You were going to say fucking,” Boone countered, crossing his arms over his chest.

I shook my head. “No. It’s more than that.”

“That’s right,” Jamison said moving to lean against the wall. I recognized his casual stance, but it was anything but. When he was bothered by something, he grew quieter, not louder. “It’s more than fucking. It’s loving. We’ve been loving you.”

Blood drained from my head and I had to sit down. Loving. On shaky legs, I moved to the steps, sat down on one of the worn pine treads. I had to imagine how many times Jamison and his brothers had flown down these steps to get some of that pot roast.

“You never said—”

“What?” Boone asked, walking over and squatting down before me so we were at eye level. “That we loved you?”

I nodded. Tears burned the back of my eyes and I blinked them away, yet Boone still blurred before me.

“We told you with every touch, every hug. Kiss. With everything we are.”

The tears fell then, hot, down my cheeks. When I wiped them away, blinked, Boone held something before me.

A ring.

“Oh my god.”

“We can go to the courthouse, make this all legal, but it won’t make a difference. Not to me.”

Jamison pushed off the wall, moved to the steps, sat beside me so our sides touched.

“A piece of paper doesn’t mean anything.” Jamison turned, put his hand on my chest so his pinkie rested on the swell of my breast. His touch was reverent, not sexual. “It’s what’s in here that matters.”

Jamison reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out a ring of his own. Both were simple bands, nothing fancy. Jamison’s was gold, Boone’s platinum.

“Marry us, Kitten. Be our wife. To have and to hold and everything else,” Boone said.

“Babies. Lots of them.”

“And pot roasts.”

“Lots of them,” Jamison added and I couldn’t help but laugh.

The tears were still falling now, but joy filled my heart. I’d never felt so happy, so whole. So…complete.

“I…I love you. Both of you.”

I’d never said the words before. There hadn’t been anyone who I’d felt enough for to have earned those words. Who deserved them. I thought I loved my mother. I’d ached for her acceptance, her approval, for my entire life. I’d craved love from her. But since I’d never received it from her, not once had I ever felt that she loved me, and I never had it for her in return.

But what Boone said was right. They hadn’t said the words, but they’d shown me their love. In everything they did, in every look, touch. Breath.

“Those are the words I’ve longed to hear. Hoped for. I’ve waited for you, the woman we’d share, love and grow old with, for thirty-eight years,” Jamison said. “I love you, too.”

“Ah, Kitten, I love you, too,” Boone added. “Marry us.”

I nodded, my throat clogged with tears. They waited, as usual, with their never-ending patience for me to pull myself together. “Yes. God, yes, I’ll marry you.”

“We claimed you that first night and you have been ours since then. When we took your virginity, we told you forever then and meant it when we filled you with our cum, with our baby.” Boone slid his finger on my ring finger.

I didn’t know I was pregnant. Not for sure. But he believed we’d made a baby. With all the love between us, I had no doubt it was possible. I felt no different, but we’d know in a few days.

Jamison took hold of my hand, slipped his ring on so the two were side by side. Proof that I belonged to both of them.