Page 10 of Auctioned to the Cowboy

Tom chuckles, drying his hands on a towel before leaving us alone.

I watch him go before turning back to Shay. “You’ve got a knack for fitting in around here.”

“Guess I’m just lucky,” she says with a shrug, but a shadow lurks behind her eyes that tells me luck has had little to do with it.

Angus strolls by, catching my eye. “You keep staring holes into her and she’ll think you’re more interested in her than the marriage license.”

“Mind your business,” I snap, sharper than I intended.

“Ouch, touched a nerve there, did I?” Angus says dryly before backing off with his hands up, leaving me scowling after him.

Damn him. Damn me for being so transparent. I head to the living room, grabbing my “good” cowboy boots—the ones that’ll see me through the wedding. As I buff the leather, I tell myself it’s just nerves. Not jealousy, not longing. Just pre-wedding jitters. Right.

The worn bristles of the brush scrape over the leather, each stroke rougher than the last. I’m seated on an old ottoman, my boots in hand, a few stubborn scuffs mocking me. The rhythmic action should be soothing, but it’s like sandpaper on my raw nerves.

“Damn boots,” I mutter under my breath, focusing on the stubborn marks. My hands move with more force now, driven by the frustration churning inside me.

“Boots giving you trouble?” Shay’s voice catches me off guard, and I nearly drop the tin of polish.

“Ah, no,” I reply too quickly. “Just working out some stubborn spots.”

“Let me see.” She moves closer, her presence a warm breeze in the otherwise still room. With a light touch, she takes one boot from my hands, examining it with those bright green eyes that seem to miss nothing. “Sometimes, it needs a gentler touch.”

She smiles at me, and I swear my heart trips over itself. I watch her fingers glide over the leather, coaxing it into perfection. It’s ridiculous how my pulse picks up speed like I’m some greenhorn at his first rodeo.

“See? All better,” she says, handing the boot back to me with a triumphant look.

“Thanks,” I say gruffly. Her touch lingers, a phantom warmth that has no right affecting me this way.

I watch Shay as she heads back to the kitchen, admiring the sway of her generous hips and plump ass before I catch myself.

“Focus, Henry,” I growl to myself, turning my attention to the second boot.

My mind races, my thoughts battling between what I want and what I’ve agreed to. A marriage of convenience, that’s all this is supposed to be. But every time I look at Shay, something twists tight in my chest, and I know I’m getting in way over my head.

“Get a grip,” I tell myself, the words as much a command as they are a plea. “It’s just cold feet, not some damn love-at-first-sight nonsense.”

I buff the leather again, each stroke a silent vow. This arrangement is for the ranch, for my family. Nothing else matters. Yet, as I work on the boot, I can’t shake the knowledge that, despite my best efforts, everything changed the night Shay walked into our lives.

Chapter 5

Shay

The satin hugs my frame, cool and smooth, like a whisper against my skin. I twist a little, the fabric playing catch-up with my movements. It’s a simple dress, but it speaks to me in ways I can’t explain. I bought it from the vintage clothing shop in town, and it reminds me of old Hollywood and timeless elegance. I never thought I’d wear a wedding gown, not after swearing off the idea of marriage altogether. But here I am, about to marry a man I’ve known for ten days for reasons that have nothing to do with love.

The mirror reflects a version of me I don’t entirely recognize—a woman standing at the edge of something unknown. My fingers brush the fabric at my sides, trailing along the smooth satin. The dress clings to me in all the right places, elegant but understated, nothing too flashy. It’s not the fairytale gown I dreamed of as a little girl, but it’s fitting. Practical, just like this arrangement.

A knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts. I turn, expecting one of Henry’s brothers with some last-minute quip to lighten the mood, but it’s Ben standing in the doorway, his large frame filling the space.

“You look beautiful, Shay,” he says, his voice gruff but warm. He steps inside, closing the door behind him and glancing around the room as if searching for the right words.

“Thank you, Ben.” My voice sounds small, almost shy. “It’s… not what I pictured for myself, but it feels right.”

He nods, his weathered face softening with a small smile. “It’s funny how life works out sometimes, isn’t it? Never the way you expect, but somehow, it ends up exactly as it should.”

He crosses the room, easing into the chair by the window. I turn to face him, curious. His hands fold over a stomach that’s seen many a home-cooked meal as he looks at me, a softness in his gaze that’s almost fatherly.

Ben has been a quiet, steady presence since I arrived—always kind, never pushy. He’s made me feel at home here with his easy laugh and stories about the ranch. But something is different about him now, a weight in the air that makes me pause.

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