Page 9 of Auctioned to the Cowboy

“More like manure-covered boots,” I mutter, but the words die in my throat when she steps closer.

Shay’s hands land on my chest for balance as she rises onto her toes… and kisses me. It’s quick—barely more than a brush of her lips—but it sparks something inside me that’s been dormant for too long. My heart takes off like a runaway horse, galloping at full speed.

Shay steps back, her cheeks flushed, her green eyes wide and uncertain. “Sorry,” she murmurs. “You make it hard to stick to the plan.”

Stepping closer, my hand finds its way to her waist, and I dip my head to claim her mouth again. I forget where we are, who we are, and why kissing her isn’t a good idea.

This time, there’s nothing quick about the kiss. It’s slow and deliberate, a deep dive into something neither of us is ready to name. I nip her bottom lip, and she opens for me with a moan, allowing my tongue inside to tangle with hers and taste her sweetness. All I can focus on is her—this woman who’s somehow turned my carefully ordered life upside down.

An impatient moo from the calf breaks the spell. I pull back suddenly as sanity returns, remembering who we are and our agreement—no complicated emotions.

Shay laughs self-consciously as the calf nudges her. “Guess he doesn’t like public displays of affection.” Her smile is quickly replaced with a grimace. “Besides, I must smell terrible. Eau de Cow Slobber by Shay.”

The absurdness of her words makes me laugh—something I’ve been doing plenty of this last week. “I think any scent on you would be a bestseller.”

Shay blushes. “Good job I didn’t fall in cow shit, then,” she says with a cute snort.

Fuck, she's precious. And she’s inching under my defenses, burrowing her way into the previously empty muscle in my chest.

As we lead the calf back to the barn, I can’t help but think that enthusiastic disorder suits her—an unraveling of order. A whirlwind of emotion. Maybe a little disorder is exactly what I’ve been missing.

Shay fetches a treat for our little escape artist. The calf licks her hand, and she laughs, the carefree sound making me want things I have no right to want. Things I haven’t wanted in a very long time.

“Looks like you’ve made a friend,” I tell her, my voice still gruff from a kiss that rocked my world.

“Seems like it,” she agrees, stroking his neck.

I watch her, committing the image to memory—the way her hair catches the fading sunlight, her slightly swollen mouth, and her smile that seems to promise brighter days.

Shaking my head, I force myself to remember that this is strictly business.

So why did you kiss her?

I ignore the question drumming at my conscience and turn toward the house. “Come on. Let’s get dinner started before Angus and Tom eat all the snacks and spoil their appetites.”

“Race you to the kitchen!” Shay challenges, already taking off at a jog.

“Hey, no fair!” I shout, breaking into a run as I chase her.

Her fiery hair flies behind her as she giggles and makes a beeline for the house. The sight fills my chest with a lightness I haven’t experienced in years… and it scares the hell out of me.

Shay’s laughter rings out, clear and bright, as she hands Tom a wet plate to dry. I lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching her work in tandem with my brother. She fits here like a missing piece we didn’t know we lacked.

It’s maddening how easily she’s settled into this place, into our lives. Every laugh, every easy exchange with my brothers, stirssomething in me that I can’t quite name. I should be grateful she’s adjusting so well, but instead, it’s unsettling. The more she fits in, the harder it becomes to remember why she’s here.

“You know, it’s a good thing we’re getting married in three days,” I say, trying to keep the edge out of my voice. “Otherwise, you two might wear out your welcome with all this racket.”

Shay turns, hair tumbling over her shoulders, and shoots me a grin that’s all sunshine. “Oh, Henry, don’t be such a grump. We’re just having a little fun.”

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut—not because of what she says, but because of how much I want to believe her. Fun. It’s been so long since that word held any real meaning for me. I want to tell her that’s what I’m afraid of: how much I want to be part of that “we.” How I wish it was my neck she stroked instead of that calf’s.

But I bite my tongue. This isn’t about what I want. It’s about keeping the ranch in the family, plain and simple.

“Fun is for after chores,” I retort.

“Chores can be fun too,” she replies, splashing a few drops of water in my direction with a mischievous flick of her wrist.

“Watch it,” I warn, but damn if I’m not fighting back a smile.

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