Page 20 of Auctioned to the Cowboy

“Morning,” he murmurs, voice gravelly with sleep as I turn to face him, gray eyes half-lidded but fixed on mine. “Regretting it yet?”

His question lingers between us, carrying a weight I can’t ignore. I turn toward him, meeting those eyes that remind me of steel—intense, unyielding. But last night? Last night was different. Last night, that steel turned molten, and for a while, there was only us.

“Can’t say I do,” I reply, honesty making my voice strong. “Last night was…” My words trail off because “beautiful” feels too small, too simple for what we shared.

He nods, a smile touching his lips before he leans in and plants a kiss on my forehead. It’s tender, a contradiction to the roughness of his hands, the calloused touch that never failed to make my skin tingle as he took me twice more in the night. I close my eyes briefly, memorizing the sensation of his lips on my skin, a momentary pause before reality comes rushing back.

“Need to check on the animals,” he says, pushing himself up.

That’s when we notice the wind howling like a pack of wild coyotes, the darkness pressing against the windowpane as if trying to get inside.

We untangle from the sheets, two figures shuffling toward the window. Pulling the curtains aside reveals a world turned white, the blizzard outside swallowing everything in a fury of snow. Six feet, at least. Maybe more. The ranch is buried under a thick blanket, the barn barely visible through the onslaught.

“Wow,” I whisper, my breath crystallizing in the frozen air between us.

“Didn’t see this one coming,” Henry grumbles, scratching at the stubble shadowing his jaw. “The world has decided to freeze over.”

“Looks like it wants us stuck together.” My attempt at humor earns me a glance, and I shrug, feigning nonchalance. Isheregretting last night? “I’ll make some breakfast.”

“We’ll need the energy,” he agrees, already pulling on his sweatpants. “After we eat, I’ll see if I can dig us out. Get a path to the barn cleared. The animals should be okay, but I’d like to check on them if I can.”

“Can they wait?” I ask, already picturing the snow up to my waist or higher.

“They’ve got feed and shelter,” Henry assures me. “They’ll hold. For now.”

Kitchen duty calls. I hum as I pull eggs and bacon from the fridge, the familiar motions grounding me. The skillet sizzles and the aroma of cooking food fills the space, a domestic scene starkly at odds with the chaos brewing beyond the walls.

Henry reappears, dressed and ready for battle against Mother Nature, but he doesn’t head for the door. Instead, he leans against the kitchen counter, coffee mug in hand, watching me flip pancakes. His gaze is heavy, intense, like he’s seeing me for the first time all over again. The weight of his stare sends a flush creeping up my neck.

“Good morning to start anew, huh?” I say, breaking the silence, serving up more cheerfulness than I feel. Last night changed everything for me. Did it do the same for him, or is he retreating behind his walls again?

“Every morning’s a new start,” he replies with a half-smirk, taking the plate I offer him.

“Guess we’re learning that the hard way.” My laugh is a nervous tinkle, like ice cracking on a pond.

Henry’s thumb swipes over his phone screen with a frown that’s become as familiar to me as the back of my hand.

“No messages, so far,” he mutters, then starts texting. Moments later, the device buzzes in his palm, and his eyes scan the message.

“Looks like Dad and the boys are stuck in town. They didn’t see this storm coming, either.” Henry pockets the phone.

“Can’t say I’m too upset about it,” I admit, a small smile curving my lips. The prospect of being alone with him, us against the snow, sends an unexpected thrill through me.

He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment on my confession. Instead, he busies himself by pulling on boots, preparing for the snowy onslaught outside.

I turn back to the stove. “Guess we’ve got some time to figure things out,” I say, more to the frying pan than to him. My hands shake slightly as I pour batter into the skillet. It’s not the cold making me tremble.

“Yep. You, me, and whatever Mother Nature throws at us.” His voice is steady, a contrast to my jumbled thoughts.

There’s a pause, both of us feeling the weight of what’s unsaid between us.

I rummage through a drawer, pulling out a carefully wrapped package. “I got you something in town last week,” I say, handing him the Christmas gift, my heart thumping loudly in my ears. “I should wait until tomorrow, but I’m impatient. I hope you like it.”

His eyes widen as he takes the quilt from me. It’s a wedding ring pattern, something I picked out when things between us were less complicated. I bite my lip, watching for any sign of discomfort.

“Shay, this is…” He unfolds the quilt, revealing interlocking rings of fabric, “really something.”

“Too much?” My words tumble out quicker than I can stop them.

---