Page 21 of Auctioned to the Cowboy

“No, no. It’s thoughtful. Thank you.” His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and I know he feels it, too, the shift in our dynamic.

“Let’s eat,” I say, trying to brush off the tension. I pile pancakes onto plates, the golden stacks a stark contrast to the white world outside.

“Thanks,” he says, taking a seat at the table.

We eat in silence, nerves and newness filling the space between us. Love was supposed to be a pain, not worth the trouble, or so we told ourselves. But as I catch his eye across the table, there’s no denying that we’re falling, and falling hard.

“Snowed in with you…” I start, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment and anticipation.

“Could be worse,” he replies, his grin genuine this time.

“Could definitely be worse,” I agree, warmth spreading through me despite the cold outside.

I glance sideways at him, wondering what he’s thinking. His gaze isn’t on his plate of food—it’s on me. There’s a weight to it, an intensity that makes my stomach flutter despite myself.

“Need more syrup?” I ask, trying to keep things normal. Normal? What’s that anymore?

“Sure,” he says, but when I walk over to get the new bottle of syrup and take it to him, he sets his coffee down and surprises me by pulling me onto his lap.

“Whoa, there, cowboy,” I say, nearly dropping the syrup before placing it on the table. My heart does this awkward little dance that seems to echo the jittery beat of the wind outside.

“Sorry, couldn’t help myself,” he murmurs, lips grazing my earlobe and sending shivers down my spine that have nothing to do with the cold.

“Clearly,” I joke, wrapping my arms around his neck. This feels like so much more than a thank-you-for-the-pancakes hug. It’s like we’re acknowledging something has shifted without having to spell it out.

His hands settle on my waist, firm and steady, like an anchor amid a restless tide. His breath is warm against my neck, his presence comforting in a way I didn’t think was possible. I forget the snow, the cold, the reason we’re even here. There’s only Henry and how he makes me feel like I’ve finally found somewhere I belong.

I kiss him, and it’s like taking a sip of champagne—effervescent and intoxicating. He responds with an eagerness that tells me he’s as caught up in this flurry of emotions as I am. His lips are warm and sure, a contradiction to the guarded man I’ve come to know. It’s like he’s letting me in, piece by piece, without saying a word.

“Shay,” he starts, his voice rough like he’s about to say something important.

“Shh, don’t,” I whisper against his lips. “Let’s not think right now.”

“Right now” turns into a moment that stretches out, warm and sweet as maple syrup. His thumbs brush over my nipples through the fabric of my sweatshirt, sending tingles straight to my toes. We should eat, or he should be getting to the barn, but neither of us moves to break this spell.

Suddenly, he stands, lifting me with him, and the plate lies forgotten on the table. His boots echo in the quiet house, a punctuation mark to the decision being made without words. We’re heading back to my bedroom, clothes peeling away to litter the hallway floor.

It’s not just about need this time. It’s an admission, a silent confession of something deeper. As we tumble back into bed, I give in—not to Henry, but to this crazy, unexpected love blooming inside me despite all the reasons I had sworn not to.

For the first time in my life, I’m not thinking about escape or what comes next. I’m here with Henry, and it’s exactly where I’m supposed to be.

Chapter 9

Henry

The howling wind is doing a number on the power lines outside, and just like that, darkness swallows the living room. As far as I’m concerned, not having power makes the situation all the more perfect. The fireplace crackles with a vengeance as I finish laying out the makeshift bed, the warmth battling the chill seeping through the walls of the house. The wind howls outside, but within these walls, we’re cocooned in an unexpected tranquility.

“Cozy,” Shay comments, her voice laced with a wonder that’s contagious.

“Practical,” I correct her, a smirk pulling at my mouth. “We’ve got enough wood to last us till doomsday. And food. My great-grandparents built this house. It’ll see us through whatever else the weather throws at us.”

She chuckles softly, settling down onto the blankets with a poise that doesn’t quite mask the undercurrent of nerves. I can’t blame her. We’re trapped by a blizzard in the house, and she’s with a man she’s still learning to trust. Hell, I’m still learning to trust myself around her.

I plop down beside her and grab a couple of battery-powered string lights from the box near the tree. I drape them over a nearby chair, illuminating the room in a soft glow that dances across Shay’s face, casting shadows that make her look even more beautiful. The colors reflect in her green eyes, catching the firelight like they’re glowing from within.

“Better?” I ask, watching her reaction as closely as I’ve watched every move she’s made since this storm began.

“Much,” she says, drawing her knees to her chest, looking every bit the picture of vulnerability. She hugs her arms around her legs, her chin resting lightly on her knees. Despite her sunny disposition, she has a fragility I want to protect as fiercely as I would the ranch.

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