Page 15 of Auctioned to the Cowboy

The back screen door slams shut, signifying the absence of my family. Dad and my brothers won’t be back until morning, I reckon. That’s their way—letting us have the ranch to ourselves while they drink themselves under the table at the bar in town. The bar has rooms above it, remnants of a past long gone, where they’ll likely crash, snoring away the booze.

I appreciate it for Shay’s sake. She gets nervous when booze comes out, and from the little I’ve learned about her past, she has reason to eye anyone drinking with suspicion. I all but eliminated it from the house after I watched her warily eyeing my dad and me as we shared an evening scotch a couple of times. She never complains, but I saw the worry in her eyes, and that was enough for me to make the change.

With plates in hand, I make my way to the living room, setting them down on the coffee table. Shay has already found an oldblack-and-white sci-fi flick on TV, one of those with laughable costumes and sets that she gets a kick out of for reasons beyond me.

“Here we go. Dinner is served.” I hand her a fork and plop down beside her, the couch creaking a bit under my weight. “Bon appétit.”

“Thanks, Henry.” She grins at me, eyes crinkling at the corners, and digs in.

We eat in comfortable silence, the movie’s dramatic score filling the gaps between us. Every time she laughs at the screen, I can’t help but smile, her joy infectious, even if I don’t get the same thrill from these awful flicks.

“This mac and cheese might be the best thing about today,” Shay says, her voice muffled by a mouthful of food.

“Guess that makes the fake wedding worth it then, huh?” I tease, but it strikes a chord in me, resonating with something deeper than I want to admit.

Shay looks at me, and her smile fades a touch, replaced by something softer, more serious. Her green eyes search mine like she’s looking for something she doesn’t quite have the words for.

“Henry,” she starts, then shakes her head. “Never mind. Thank you for everything.”

“Anytime, Shay.” I mean it, too, more than I should.

I stand to take our empty plates back to the kitchen, fighting the urge to look back at her. I’m falling for her. I know it, and it scares the hell out of me. But as I scrub the dishes, I wonder if this could turn into something real. The thought takes root,unwanted but persistent, curling into the cracks I’ve tried so hard to seal.

“Hey, do you want to watch something more modern next? ‘Aliens Strike Earth,’ maybe?” I call out, drying my hands on a dishtowel before returning to the living room. My steps slow as I see Shay struggling to keep her eyes open, her head tilting back against the couch as she waits for me.

“Bed. Now,” I say, half-amused, half-concerned.

“No, no…I’m good,” Shay mumbles, but her eyelids are traitors, drooping lower with each passing minute.

“Sure you are.” I know better than to argue with that stubborn glint in her eye, even if it’s barely visible under those heavy lashes.

It doesn’t take long before she’s slumped against me, her breath evening out. Her head inches closer to my lap, and I stiffen, an unexpected shiver running down my spine. I glance down at her peaceful face, and damn, my heart shouldn’t be feeling like it’s trying to win a race right now.

“Shay,” I whisper, though I doubt she hears me over the sound of her soft snores. There’s no denying it. I’m in way over my head with this woman.

I stand with her in my arms, my movements automatic, driven by a compulsion I can’t shake. Shay is light as a feather, her body molding to mine like she’s made to be there. My gaze drifts down to her face, serene in slumber, and my heart pounds against my ribs like it’s trying to break free. Every logical thought screams to put her back on the couch, yet my arms refuse to comply.

“Damn,” I mutter under my breath, the sound of my voice startling me in the quiet room.

She stirs but doesn’t wake, her breath warm through the fabric of my shirt. The rational part of my brain has taken a hike, leaving me here with Shay’s softness cradled in my arms. I know I should put her right back down, but my arms refuse to let her go.

“Bedroom,” I tell myself, half command, half plea. It’s not far, a short walk down the hall, but each step feels momentous.

“Should’ve left you on the couch,” I grumble. I’m caught up in the feel of her against me, the scent of her hair comforting and intoxicating.

We reach the doorway of her room, and I lean forward to lay her down gently on the bed. But as I do, she stirs, her hand reaching up to curl around the nape of my neck, pulling me down. Before I can register what’s happening, her lips are on mine, a soft, tentative pressure that sears straight through me.

“Shay,” I breathe, her name a prayer or a curse, I can’t tell which.

Her kiss deepens, and any thought of resistance evaporates like rain on a hot pavement. Forget about logic. Forget about the walls I’ve built. This woman, this infuriatingly optimistic, beautiful woman, is unraveling me with nothing but her touch.

“Didn’t think I’d be ending my wedding day like this,” she mumbles against my lips, a hint of laughter in her voice.

“Neither did I,” I admit, because it’s true.

Falling wasn’t part of the plan, especially not for someone who doesn’t believe in love any more than I do. But here I am,holding Shay, feeling things I swore I’d never feel again. And the craziest part? I don’t want it to stop.

Chapter 7

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