Page 34 of Auctioned to the Cowboys

When we wrap up our third game, I offer to get everyone coffee, and as I leave the back room, I slow as I reach the kitchen. Barb and Taylor are talking, and I can’t resist the urge to listen in for a bit.

“After that, we just couldn’t make it happen again. The doctors told us it was impossible. It’s been something that I have carried with me always.” Barb’s voice, choked with tears, tugs at my heart, and I have to steady myself. I realize that she’s telling Taylor about her pregnancy loss and resulting problems, which meant they could never have children. It’s why they always treated me and my sister like their own. We filled a need. Mitch and Barb have had to go their whole lives with an empty nest.

They’re silent for a moment, and Barb composes herself before speaking again. I have to really strain to hear her. “Do you think you will want children, honey?”

Taylor clears her throat a little awkwardly. “You know, I haven’t really thought about it. I’m young right now. There are things I want to do first.” My stomach lurches at her words. I stifle a cough and steady myself on the doorframe.

“What would you like to do more than being a momma then, honey?”

“Have my own little business. I love baking. It’s what I’m good at. I used to work in a bakery, and I loved it.”

“Well, you know what they say about the way to a man’s heart. I think you’re on the right track.”

“I hope so.” She’s quiet for a moment. “I’ve even got a name for the bakery: ‘Taylor-Made Bakes.’ What do you think?”

“That’s adorable. I think with how you bake and how lovely you are, you’ll achieve anything you put your mind to, honey!” The tenderness in Barb’s voice is so sweet and genuine, and I wish I could feel the same way about Taylor’s plans. She deserves to be happy, but her plans run contrary to what I want.

Maybe the others are right. Maybe she’s too young. Maybe I should have bid on someone older. Or maybe I should have been upfront with her about what I want from our relationship.

I just had a feeling about her. A feeling I can’t explain even to Maverick and Clint who know me better than anyone. When I picture another one of the girls from the auction in this kitchen, it doesn’t feel right.

I cup the back of my neck, pressing against the tension. I shouldn’t have imagined that any girl would be an unmolded piece of clay just waiting for my hand, and listening in on this private conversation is tipping me into negative territory again.

When I enter the kitchen, Taylor’s eyes seem to search my expression. Am I wearing my disappointment, or is she still thinking about the locked door and resenting me? All I want to do is wrap my arms around her and convince her that being a momma to my children is the only dream she needs.

I’m an asshole.

“Coffee?” I ask.

Taylor immediately jumps to her feet, but I motion for her to sit. “I can manage coffee.”

I stand against the kitchen counter with my thoughts still racing, setting the machine in motion. My son’s face flashes into my mind, his sweet, rounded cheeks and fluffy hair. I never had the chance to be a father to my son, but should that loss drive me to push for something Taylor might not want? When we had sex, she didn’t ask me to wear protection, though. Could she be ignorant of the mechanics of how women get pregnant? Or is there something else going on?

Barb asks Taylor for her carrot cake recipe as I take a pastry from the cooling rack and savor the flavor of almonds and cherries in flaky, buttery pieces.

Taylor has a dream worth pursuing. What kind of man would I be if I suppress that for my own needs? Not a man my mom or Barb would be proud of.

But I know what I want.

And I will have it.

11

TAYLOR

SEEKING FORGIVENESS

After the coffee and pastries are demolished, we walk the Lackeys to their car. Barb giggles like a tipsy teenager as Mitch helps her inside, a little drunk from whiskey, wine, and whatever sweet drink I poured her after dinner.

Jesse hovers, watching them leave while the rest of us walk inside. I’m walking on eggshells, picking up his disquiet. After our discussion earlier, he’s been wary of me. I should regret being so emotional and direct, but I wasn’t thinking clearly at the time, and I’m proud of myself for letting them know how I feel.

The fear that lingered from dealing with my father’s outbursts has ebbed a little with Clint and Maverick. Clint’s aloof and brooding but he seems to be on my side. Both were quick to step in to back me up.

But Jesse’s different.

I keep catching him staring at my midriff, and it aches from me holding it in all night. Is he disgusted with how I look? When we had sex, he kissed me there, so I don’t really understand the change of heart.

He’s holding himself as though he has a rod up his back. Combined with bunched shoulders, it feels as though he’s braced for a fight.

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