Page 53 of Auctioned to the Cowboys

I head upstairs, pausing outside Taylor’s closed door, listening to the hushed whispers between the sisters.

Clint sits on his bed with a glass of water clutched in one hand. Dressed in his sleep shorts and covered with long-faded tattoos, he still cuts an impressive and daunting figure. Maverick appears in the adjacent doorway. His usually cheerful expression has been replaced by fatigue and concern. He nods towards Clint’s room, and I follow him inside. He closes the door behind us.

Clint stands, glancing between us with concern lining his face. “What?”

“We need to give Taylor the option to annul the marriage,” Maverick says.

“What?”

Clint’s shock mirrors my own.

“I know we want her, but this is all wrong.” When Maverick shakes his head, his unease is stark.

I lean against the wall, feeling like he kicked me in the gut.

“She needs us,” Clint says. “Now more than ever.”

“That isn’t what I’m talking about, though. I’m not saying we should put Taylor and Molly out onto the street. There’s no way I’m letting those two girls out of my sight after what they’ve been through. But Taylor didn’t choose this. She didn’t choose to enter the auction. She didn’t choose Clint as her husband. She certainly didn’t choose the four-way relationship we’ve encouraged her into.”

I sigh, knowing what he’s saying is true but not wanting it to be. Taylor’s happy with us, isn’t she? She won’t want to break apart what we’ve been building.

“Won’t this shake her foundations? She needs us to be strong for her. She needs stability.” Clint grips his hand over his mouth and chin, eyes lowered somberly.

“And we can offer her all of that as friends. But we can’t just keep going as we are.” Maverick shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans and widens his stance as though he needs more stability to face up to this hard truth. “I don’t want to be with a woman who’s only with me because of dire circumstances. I need her to have a choice about what she’s doing with her life.”

“And what if she says she wants out,” I say. “Could you accept that?”

“It would hurt,” Maverick admits. “Of course it would. I don’t want to lose her. But maybe we never had her—not truly in a way that counts.”

I don’t want to lose Taylor. I want to hear her sing while she bakes and laugh at Maverick’s stupid jokes. I want her to understand Clint’s reserved nature and see past my ornery exterior. I want her to know us, like us, respect us, and love us. I want what I planned for us all.

But Maverick’s right. I can’t control everything. Taylor has to choose us, or this will never work. She’ll just be looking for ways to get out, and I couldn’t deal with her leaving, not after we become even more invested. At least, like this, we’re doing the right thing.

“Who’ll talk to her?” I ask.

Maverick puts his hands up, palms forward. “I can, but I think you should.”

Clint nods in agreement.

“Even though she’s your wife?” I ask.

“She’s my wife, but this was your idea. This is your ranch. It has to be you.”

“You trust me not to mess this up?”

They both nod.

“Okay. I’ll do it tomorrow.”

For the first time since Taylor arrived, she doesn’t wake up to make breakfast. I understand why. She’s emotionally wrung out and exhausted. Instead, we do what we did before she made this house a home: fix ourselves toast, and glug down extra-large mugs of coffee to keep us awake.

When we return at lunchtime, Taylor and Molly are in the kitchen. Taylor’s fixing a meal that scents the air richly, and Molly is currently decorating cupcakes which smell like sweet apples and cinnamon. She has her wispy blonde hair tucked behind her ears and is biting her bottom lip in concentration. Everything about her is so childlike, even though she’s only a few years younger than Taylor.

“Hey,” I say.

Molly’s eyes widen at the sight of me as I remove my hat and leave my boots by the front door. Has Taylor told her about our relationship? Would she be mad about her sister being involved with us or relieved to have a safe roof over her head? Maybe she’s as fearful of us as she was of her father. The thought moves through me like a poisonous cloud. Clint and Maverick do the same, moving with more care and less noise than usual. It’s like we’re all treading on eggshells.

“Lunch will be ready in twenty minutes. I’ve already boxed up sandwiches, fruit, and cake to take to the workers.” Taylor points to a box at the end of the counter.

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