Page 32 of Auctioned to the Cowboys

Friends? A sinking feeling quickly settles in the pit of my stomach instead. But it’s not my job to question, only to ensure everyone will be fed and watered. Maverick bought a good whiskey. Perhaps it’s someone’s birthday? He didn’t say.

At least I can lose myself in doing something I love. I set about grabbing ingredients from the cupboard. Beads of sweat are already pooling on my top lip and around my temples with the effort of fighting away my rising anxiety in the heat of the kitchen. As the window is already ajar, I attempt to open the door to the verandah, and at first, I can’t figure out what is going on. I try the handle again. But then the realization dawns on me: the cowboys have locked me in. Confused and alarmed, this time, I have no control over myself and just about make it to the sink before throwing up.

10

JESSE

A DREAM DENIED

I arrive back at the house with Clint and Maverick. We finished today’s work and decided to return earlier than usual to check that Taylor was handling the preparations for tonight.

Clint’s unhappy that I’ve invited the warden and his wife for dinner. He thinks it’s too soon, and Taylor needs longer to bed into our lives, but I want to show her our community and help her spread roots wider than just this ranch and the three of us. Barb is such a kind, warm woman, and I know she’ll naturally take Taylor under her wing. If Taylor’s going to want to stay, she’ll need friends of her own to replace the family that she’s left behind. The arrangement we have to share Taylor must remain a secret, though. Our community isn’t the kind who’d accept any type of alternative lifestyle, and I’m not the kind of man who wants to explain himself to anyone.

As I’m putting the key in the lock, Clint grabs my shoulder.

“What the hell, Jesse? You locked her in?”

His face is stony, and his grip vicious. “Of course. None of us were here. She could leave.”

“She’s not a prisoner. She’s my wife.”

I narrow my eyes at his possessive tone. She might have married Clint officially, but she belongs to all of us. “Right now, she’s a flight risk.”

“You can’t hold her hostage. And anyway, if she wanted to escape, she could smash a goddamn window. Where do you think she’d go?”

“Home,” I say. He’s right about her being able to leave if she really wanted to. My fear that she’ll go before we have a chance to build something worth staying for isn’t just about Taylor. It’s the shadow of my son’s departure and the loss I carry like a black hole in the pit of my stomach. My ex-wife left without warning. She was long gone before I could do anything to stop her. The gaps in the closet and the empty toy box echo in my memory, casting an arch of anxiety that braces my shoulders.

“How do you think she’ll feel about this,” Maverick says. “If we can’t show her trust, how can we expect her to trust us?”

I turn the lock, hoping to God that Taylor hasn’t tried the door. I rationalize that if she wasn’t planning to leave, she wouldn’t have discovered it was locked.

Inside, the scent of baking fills the air. Taylor’s at the stove, pulling out two circular tins. Her hair is loose around her face, hiding her expression.

Clint makes his way over to her, waiting as she puts the tins on the cooling rack. “Hey,” he says, but when he’s close enough to see her face, he twists to stare at me furiously before reaching out for her.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“The door—”

Taylor sobs and then swipes at her face roughly, twisting away from Clint and striding to the sink. She begins scrubbing dirty dishes furiously.

I’m frozen to the spot, but Maverick is quick to approach her. “Jesse made a mistake, muffin. He forgot you were inside.”

Her shoulders hitch, but when he rests his hand against her spine, her posture softens.

“Taylor.” My throat burns with regret, but the word sorry dies on my tongue.

She turns, and her gaze fixes on my face. “You thought I’d run.” Her forthrightness is like a stab in the gut. “At least be honest,” she says through gritted teeth.

“He didn’t want this to end before it started,” Maverick says softly. He brushes away a tear that’s halfway down her blotchy cheek. “It was wrong.”

“Don’t treat me like I’m your prisoner,” she half shouts. There’s more emotion behind her words but she’s trying to keep it contained.

“We won’t,” Clint says, leveling me with a glare.

“I’m not going to leave,” she says. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

Relief floods me, which makes me sicker with myself. I shouldn’t be happy to learn she’s alone in the world and that the only place she has to be is with three strangers. What kind of man does that make me?

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