Page 15 of Auctioned to the Cowboys

“I’m going to take a look around the kitchen, I want to… to fix dinner.”

“Yeah, I bet you worked up quite an appetite up there. Clint’s a mess.”

I blush at his crassness and want to dissolve from his gaze. He winks and places one hand on my left shoulder. It’s warm and huge, his strength obvious in the gesture.

Strength that could hurt me, use me, break me.

He brushes his thumb over my bruised cheek and lifts my chin, searching my face with a questioning look. “What the—”

“Maverick! For Christ’s sake!” Jesse’s voice suddenly booms from another room, sending my heart haywire. “You can’t help yourself, can you? Let her get on with it.”

Maverick mutters something under his breath that I don’t quite catch before he shakes his head. I carry on to the kitchen, not wanting to add to Jesse’s ire. The annoyance in his voice spikes adrenaline through me, with an accompanying burst of frantic heartbeats.

The vastness of the kitchen is striking without the three men filling it with their bulk. There’s nothing cluttering the sideboards; the only thing on the windowsill is an empty vase. In the center of the room is what looks like an antique table, in good condition despite signs of heavy use. Without piles of soiled pans and dishes, I’m free to explore the pantry and cupboards. The huge refrigerator hums in the corner, and it’s my first stop. The door is heavy, and as it swings open, the smell of antiseptic wafts out. It’s clean and organized. The dairy on the top shelf consists of a range of cheeses and spreads, as well as a few tubs of sweetened yogurt, cream, and some sticks of butter. The middle shelf is packed with different cuts of meat, both raw and cooked, separated appropriately, and the bottom shelf has vegetables at different stages of freshness, right down to the wilting spinach leaves, which have seen better days. Inside the door is fresh milk and some orange juice, the kind with bits in. It’s nothing like the refrigerator at home.

“What are you looking for?” Jesse’s standing close behind me. I sense his body heat before his voice takes me out of my thoughts.

“Just meal planning.” I brace for harsh words about me stealing food or being so fat I don’t need to eat, but Jesse simply nods.

My cheeks are hot, and I feel like I’ve been caught in the act somehow.

“It’s all right, Taylor. You’re allowed to look in the refrigerator. In fact, you need to get comfortable in the kitchen. It’s going to be one of your main jobs, remember. And I can hear your stomach from here.”

Heat floods me again. “What should I prepare for tonight?” I risk looking up into his pale mountain-river-ice eyes.

“There’s some fresh beef rib, so how about that with potatoes and spinach?”

I nod, and he turns to leave the room. It’s important that I get this meal right. I can’t be a disappointment to anyone else.

“If you want to make some sauce to go with the beef, you’ll find some wild mustard out on the verandah.” Jesse pokes his head around the kitchen door, and once again, he is gone.

An hour later, I sit on a chair facing the oven. My mouth is watering at the smell of the beef as it spits and crackles in the heat. Medium rare will be best for this dish. I’m hopeful they’ll enjoy it. I’d eat anything at this point. I made a quick cake mixture as well which I’ll put in the oven just before we start on the main course. The pantry is well-stocked already. Everything is in place with just a few additional things I’ll ask for.

“Christ, that smells good.” Maverick swaggers into the kitchen, grabbing a beer from the fridge and pulling up a chair opposite me. I quickly stand and make for the drawer housing the silverware and begin to set the table.

“Be careful, Taylor. We’re going to get used to this real quick, and you’ll make yourself indispensable.”

The outside door swings open and Clint steps in, removing his light jacket and standing in the doorway in a fitted t-shirt which hugs his chest just enough to show the defined outline of his strong pecs and shoulders. His arm muscles twitch and tense as he hangs the jacket on a hook behind the door. My legs weaken and I wish I was still sitting. The place between my legs pulses as I catch the scent of him, flipping my tummy into knots.

My husband.

The concept is so unreal that I shake my head. He licked me. He touched me. He was inside me.

I immediately avert my gaze, unable to look back in his direction and hope that neither man will notice the inevitable redness from my panicked blush.

“You’re looking flushed, Taylor. D’ya want me to take it from here while you get yourself some fresh air? Put some distance between you and the man who’s making you the color of a tomato.” Damn it. Maverick needs to stop with the jokes. He’s only magnifying my embarrassment.

“How about a glass of cool water then?” He won’t let it go.

“Sorry, sorry, I mean no. No, it’s all right. It’s just the heat from the oven, that’s all.” My throat constricts, and Maverick smirks.

Clint doesn’t seem to have noticed and takes a beer from the fridge. The food is almost ready, and I’m feeling a mixture of anxiousness and anticipation.

The oven timer pings, and I turn off the burner beneath the carrots and broccoli I’m steaming. The roasted potatoes are crispy, and the meat is ready to rest. I quickly switch the meat and the cake and close the oven door, setting another timer.

Jesse arrives from another room, and all three men sit at the table and begin to talk, taking the pressure off me. I half-listen as I slowly carve the beef. The talk of wolves leaves me concerned but curious to know more. It’s not the kind of conversation I’m used to. My dad only cared about food, beer, going out, and making our lives a misery. In contrast, these men have an admirable sense of purpose and a hard work ethic. Based on the list and Clint’s comments, they expect the same from me. I hope Jesse won’t notice I didn’t do the spinach. It was in bad shape and beyond saving.

As I struggle under the weight of the laden plates, I allow myself a moment to gauge their reactions before retrieving my food from the counter. Their eyes widen at their plates, and without hesitation, they all tuck in. I lower myself into my chair with a ripple of relief. The first bite is perfect; it’s absolutely melt-in-the-mouth delicious, and I can’t remember the last time I ate anything quite this good—when Mom and Nana were alive, years ago now.

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