Page 40 of Auctioned to the Cowboys

She nods, grateful.

Taylor watches while we get to work, lingering in the shade of a broad tree with the horses and our lunch. She smears sunscreen over her skin, drawing all our attention away from the fences. Her face glistens prettily as she blows her hair away from her warm face. The taste of her lips is still clear in my mind. Maybe bringing her wasn't such a great idea if we're all going to spend the whole day lusting rather than working. Reinforcing fences is hard graft, even with three of us, but Maverick keeps us laughing with his jokes, and having Taylor nearby is a sweet distraction.

At lunchtime, Taylor sets out the food and we enjoy a cool drink of juice to rehydrate. With late Spring more like summer, I can't imagine what the summer season is going to bring, but I do know that I want Taylor to be here.

We eat all the savory food, and then Taylor passes the delicious baked goods around. I swear, if she doesn't stop with all the sweet treats, I'm going to go from a six pack to a one pack in less than a month.

“You're so good at baking,” Maverick moans, licking his lips lasciviously. Jesus. It's like the guy's acting out his very own porno.

“Thank you.” Taylor flushes and begins to pack away the rest of the picnic.

“I heard you mention something about starting a baking business last night,” Jesse says. It's not a question as such, but the way he leaves it hanging is a hint for Taylor to elaborate.

Taylor chews her bottom lip, looking at the dirt in front of her. “Taylor-Made Bakes,” she says, like she's confessing to a murder. I like the play on words.

“You don't need to work. You know that, right?” Jesse says. “We do enough of that for all of us.”

Taylor's gaze drifts to Maverick and then to me, searching for confirmation that we all feel the same. Do I want to lock her up in the house and fill her with children like Jesse? Not really. She's still young, and everyone needs something in their lives they're passionate about. Expecting a young woman to shelve her dreams so she can create domestic bliss for us feels shitty, like taking away a toddler's favorite toy.

And anyway, the first kid is Jesse's. That's what we agreed, or rather, he dictated.

I rise before Jesse has more time to put his foot in it, or Maverick can gloss over the disquiet with a joke. “If you guys can finish here, I'll take Taylor to the shelter. We have a few things to do.”

The staredown between Jesse and I is intense, but for once, he doesn't push.

I help Taylor pack the rest of the food containers away and strap the basket back onto Taffy. She clambers onto his back with more finesse than earlier, a fast learner.

As I lead the way back to the house, I wonder how there will be any kind of resolution possible between two people with opposing dreams.

13

MAVERICK

BAD BLOOD

“Happy birthday, man.” I slap Jesse’s shoulder and shove the bottle of booze I bought him on the shopping trip with Taylor toward him in a grand gesture. We’ve been working together all day but saved the gifts until we can relax.

Jesse takes the Copperworks Single Malt and studies the label, nodding with appreciation. “The good stuff.”

“Only the best for my brother.”

His expression switches to intense, the way it always does when we have a rare moment of acknowledging each other’s role in our lives.

“How many years has it been?” he asks gruffly.

“Too fucking many, as illustrated by this.” I grab his chin, the salt and pepper running through his beard more evident than it’s ever been.

“Trying to tell me I’m an old man?” He laughs as I withdraw my hand and shove it into my pocket. “You’re not that far behind me, don't forget.”

I rub my own clean-shaven and as yet unlined face. “Far enough.”

He snorts and rests the bottle on the desk. Clint has his own gift for Jesse: a framed picture of the house, taken in black and white.

“Happy birthday, man.” He claps him on the back in a manly bro-hug. Jesse studies the picture, eying Clint with surprise. It’s a thoughtful present. More thoughtful than mine. With all the friction between them since Taylor arrived, I wondered if he’d even bother, but that’s stupid. We’re friends until the end and no woman will ever come between us.

Taylor appears in the doorway with a muffin on a plate complete with a flaming candle. Her outfit is one I selected for her, and she’s used lipgloss and mascara, too, her beauty radiating with confidence. “Ready to sing?”

We all belt out a surprisingly tuneful and harmonized version of the Happy Birthday song. Jesse blows out the candle, grinning like a freakishly hairy toddler.

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