Page 8 of Auctioned to the Cowboys

I shake my head at the shapeless, worn clothes Taylor presented herself in today. I wore my best shirt, and Jesse and Clint pulled out their Sunday hats. A situation like this demands some effort.

“We need to get over there,” Clint grumbles. He tips his head towards Dixie, who’s helping Taylor with a small bag of things. Doesn’t look like she’s bringing much to the table.

The auction has our details, so payment before we leave isn’t necessary. I consider the price we just paid and what else we could have bought with it: a prize stallion capable of siring generations of hardworking beasts, or a small herd of livestock.

I don’t understand how the girls here think this is a good option. Men need women, and women need men; that’s just the way of the world most of the time. But finding a husband in a place like this doesn’t seem like the best option for any female.

“Here you go,” Dixie says, handing Jesse Taylor’s small bag. “Taylor, meet Jesse, Maverick, and Clint. They’ll be taking you home.” She gives Taylor a side hug, squeezing the terrified-looking girl against her ample bosom. “You got some good ones there.”

Taylor blinks, looking at all of us like Bambi facing the double barrels of a shotgun and imminent death. Triple barrel, in our case.

She’s prettier up close, with tiny pale freckles dusting her cheeks like the dappling on my favorite mare and soft, wispy light brown hair that her ears peek through, almost elfin-like. She holds herself tightly and awkwardly, as though she’s not used to the space her body takes up or the way it feels to move it.

The urge to give her some kind of reassurance is a strong and unusual one. I usually like brazen, confident women who are at home in their own sexuality. It makes one-night stands so much easier and more pleasurable.

Taylor’s giving off virgin vibes.

Fuck.

This is destined to end badly—not just badly. It’s designed to implode and take all of us down with force.

Jesse holds out his hand, and Taylor takes it, but not before I notice the tremble in her fingers. Our eyes meet, and it’s like seeing a reflection of my own; warm hazel with flecks of green and gold, like sparks of fire flaring off the forest floor.

“I’m Jesse,” he says gruffly. Taylor nods and focuses on Clint, who’s still lurking in the background. Her silent question fills the space between us: which one of you is going to be my husband?

“This is Clint.” Jesse waves in the general direction of Clint’s rigid form. “And Maverick.”

I tip my hat and force a smile onto my face despite my reservations. Smiling is what I do best, but today, it feels about as natural as a pig mating with a bull.

“Hi.” Her attention drifts to Dixie’s back as she moves through the crowd to deal with the next girl.

“We’re done for the day, so we’ll leave now, okay?” Jesse gestures toward the barn door in the direction of our truck. The livestock we purchased today will be delivered, so Taylor is the only purchase we need to transport.

That sounds so wrong, even in my head.

“Okay.” She couldn’t sound less enthusiastic if she tried.

We walk toward the truck, Jesse leading, Clint behind him, and Taylor and me at the rear. I try to hold a place next to her as she drags her feet. The awkward silence begs to be filled.

“You’ll like Twin Springs Ranch,” I say. “It sure is pretty.”

She nods, glancing at me, but then lets her gaze shift.

“Yeah. The landscape, the house, the animals. It’s the best.” I sound like one of those douchebag realtors on daytime television.

Taylor doesn’t answer, so I continue.

“You’ll settle in fast.”

“Who am I marrying?” she blurts as we emerge from the building. She stops, watching Jesse and Clint’s retreating forms.

“Clint,” I say. I lift my hat and swipe my hand over my sweat-slicked brow. My hair is probably a mess.

She stares at me, surprised. Of all of us, he’s been the least engaging.

Her teeth dig into her bottom lip so hard it turns white.

“This is what you want, right?”

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