Page 7 of Auctioned to the Cowboys

Another hush descends, and the man at the microphone comes into clearer view. In his seventies, with a long white mustache and a battered Stetson, he’s a cliche I almost find amusing.

“Do you want to say a few words, Taylor?” His voice has a twang that I like and offers a hint of encouragement, but his invitation catches me off guard. The spotlight seems to brighten with my silence. The intense glare from the beam weakens my vision, but still, my eyes are drawn to a group of men in the front row, tall and broad with their eyes my way. They’re somewhat older than me but younger than my dad and seem to be a group of friends. One of them nods at me. It’s curt rather than warm but encouraging, nonetheless. I focus on his high cheekbones and his strong, chiseled jaw. The man next to him has unearthly light blue eyes that seem to look right through me.

Dixie gives me a nudge.

“Come on, honey, you got this. Tell them where you’re from, what you like, that kind of thing.”

Despite my dry throat, I manage a few words.

“I’m Taylor. I don’t know much about ranching, but I know my way around a kitchen. I’ve raised my little sister. I love animals, fresh air, reading, and baking, especially cakes and pies.”

I catch my tongue, suddenly embarrassed. There’s a stirring at the front, made by the same group of men I noticed earlier. Is one of them laughing? Another has his hand raised. Time ticks by as the auctioneer looks around the rest of the crowd.

The sharp bang of the wooden hammer hitting down on a hard surface makes me flinch.

“Sold,” the auctioneer shouts with gusto.

My heart hammers in my chest and I can’t bring myself to look up and see who bought me.

“Come on,” Dixie says, taking my arm. “It’s time to meet your husband.”

3

MAVERICK

A BRIDE PRICE

“You bid without checking with us?”

Jesse nods curtly, ignoring my tone and my effort to hold his attention by standing in his way.

Jesse’s the boss and he always takes control at the auction, bidding on whatever livestock he thinks is right for the ranch. But this isn’t a livestock purchase. He just bid on a woman. A woman who’s going to be a wife.

“She’s perfect.”

“Perfect?”

I glance at Clint, who touches the front of his hat and pulls it lower as he focuses his attention on the dirt in front of him. He does that with Jesse, hiding away when he should stand his ground. He feels like he owes Jesse something. I reckon we both do, but that doesn’t mean we have to go with the flow, especially when the flow is less of a trickle and more like a flash flood.

“You don’t like her?” Jesse chews, his jaw working as he narrows his piercing blue eyes.

“Like her?” I turn and exhale, puffing out my cheeks. How the fuck can I like a girl I’ve seen for sixty seconds and heard three sentences from? “She’s too fucking young.”

Clint shifts his feet, turning away from our discussion. Behind me, another girl is brought out to sit on the hay bale like a virgin at a hoedown. She has curly auburn hair and big brassy earrings. She looks like she could handle what we have to offer without breaking. I didn’t get the same feeling from Taylor.

“They’re all young. Your momma was young. My momma was young.”

He’s bringing mommas into it now. I don’t want to think about either of our mommas in this context. Jesus. And seeing as how nothing worked out for my momma, she’s not an example to call on.

“Well, it’s too late for any kind of opinion.”

“She’s pretty. And she said the right things.” He raises his chin defiantly.

“You’re thinking with your stomach and your dick?”

Jesse rubs his tanned hand over his salt-and-pepper beard and folds his lips like he’s trying to bite back whatever was on the tip of his tongue. “We need someone practical.”

“Well, she looked practical. That outfit—”

---