Page 11 of Auctioned to the Cowboys

I busy myself in my room, doing my best to tame the hurricane of a mess that’s built up over the past week. If anything good is going to come from today, it’ll be having a woman around to keep me in line. I fix my hat hair, wetting the curls so they twist again.

When I think Taylor’s had enough time, I head out into the hall. She’s standing in the doorway, wearing the loose-fitting, white summer dress. Her feet are bare, and she’s run damp fingers through her hair, tucking it behind her ears. She’s done her best to look the part with her limited resources. Truth be told, she’s pretty as a picture with all the glow that comes from a girl in the early bloom of womanhood. She makes me feel old, even though thirty-two is still considered young these days. She hasn’t experienced long days working in the sunshine like I have. I hope she hasn’t lived through the grit of a childhood like mine, either.

“Perfect,” I tell her, and she flushes.

“I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You don’t need to do anything except follow me down the stairs and stand next to Clint. Okay?” I start walking, hoping my momentum will give her some.

Jesse’s waiting at the bottom of the stairs and his eyes widen when he glimpses Taylor. I know that look. He’s attracted to her, but it’s more than that. He’s seeing past her, into the future he always wanted but was snatched away. She’s like a portal into his twenty-five-year-old self. The reality is she’s fifteen years and too much trauma too late.

Clint is still at the table, with his hands hanging at his sides. Where Jesse’s having a spiritual experience, Clint looks like a man facing the gallows. He’s going to need to climb those stairs and make this marriage official in ten minutes. I can’t help him with that.

“All right, all right. Let’s get this show on the road.” I sound like a cheesy gameshow host, but fuck it. Weddings are supposed to be light and fluffy. This one needs all the humor I can shoehorn into it.

Clint rises, and Taylor approaches. They stand too far apart, so I urge them closer with one hand on each of their upper arms. “The happy couple,” I quip.

Behind me, Jesse makes a low, growling sound of disapproval. “Quit ye jawin’, Maverick.” He’s not always a fan of my fun attitude.

Before anyone can bolt—and it looks like it’s a serious possibility—I read through the vows. The happy couple say, ‘I do,’ and the ceremony is over. I get them to sign the documents and Jesse witnesses. We take a quick photo for posterity. And that’s it. Done. Taylor is now Taylor Lawson, the official wife of Clint, the man who never wanted to get married.

When the ink is drying, I shake Clint’s hand and lean in to kiss Taylor’s soft cheek. She smells of peach pie, my favorite, and for the first time since she climbed into the truck with us, I wish I was the one getting to take her upstairs. Instead, I have to urge my best friend into some awkward conjugals. “Time to take your bride upstairs.”

Clint glares at me, then starts toward the hallway, forgetting to lead his bride. Taylor shuffles after him, her feet padding softly against the hardwood floor. They make such an odd-looking pair that I shake my head.

When they’re out of earshot, I turn to Jesse. “This is going to end in disaster.” I shake my head.

He scowls, blocking out any alternative view to his own. “For a man who spends his life acting the joker, you sure are one miserable asshole today.”

4

CLINT

CLAIMING WHAT’S MINE

Taylor stands in my bedroom, clasping her arms across her body. She looks as excited to be here as a cow being ushered into the slaughterhouse.

God only knows what I look like right now.

I swipe my hand through my hair, frustration burning inside me. If I didn’t owe Jesse my life, there’s no way I’d have agreed to his stupid-ass plan. We’ll find a wife, he said. We need someone to help around the house. Someone to bring a feminine touch to the place. He has other ideas, too. Ideas he hasn’t chosen to share with the poor girl practically cowering near the doorway.

I know what I need to do. I need to make this marriage official, and I need to make Taylor feel good about it. I’m a terrible person in a lot of ways, but I draw the line at making a woman do something she doesn’t want to do. I mean, she’s here. She’s chosen to go through with a wedding. She’s not so innocent that she doesn’t know what happens between a husband and his wife. Sex ed is a requirement in all high schools, isn’t it? But we haven’t even kissed yet. How the hell am I supposed to lead her into comfortable-feeling sex?

“Close the door,” I tell her as I unbutton the cuffs of my smart button-down. The stiff collar has been strangling me all day.

Taylor’s almost a blur as she moves to carry out my instruction.

“This must be strange for you.”

She shrugs her shoulders, returning to her defensive pose.

“But you want this, right? You want a husband?”

She bites her lip, and her throat moves in an almighty swallow, then she nods.

“Right. Good.” I moisten my bottom lip with my tongue. “Come here.”

I continue unbuttoning my shirt, tugging it from my body, and tossing it over a chair. By the time Taylor crosses the room, her cheeks are flushed red, and her mouth is pressed into a worried line.

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