Page 26 of Auctioned to the Cowboy

I clap my hands and beam at him. “Come on. Let’s focus on dinner. Can’t have Christmas without a proper meal, even if it’s only us two. And who knows? Maybe they’ll show up with bells on. Maybe they’ve been out cow tipping in the snow and have collected a ton of cowbells.”

Henry cracks a smile, and it’s like the sun parting clouds in his brusque demeanor. “You’re impossible, Shay.”

“Thank you,” I say, taking it as the compliment it was probably not meant to be. “Now, have a sandwich while I battle the stove. Then you can come back and rescue me from my cooking.”

“All right,” he says, a little less brooding cowboy and a little more… hopeful partner? Yeah, I could get used to that.

He grabs a sandwich I made earlier, his movements deliberate as he sits at the kitchen table. I catch him glancing at the window again, though, his worry still lurking beneath the surface. I can’t blame him; this is the first Christmas without his mom, and I know that kind of absence leaves a hole no amount of holiday cheer can fill.

“Maybe they’re having too much fun to pick up the phone,” I offer, trying to keep the mood light despite the weight of Henry’s gaze on the frosted windowpane.

He glances at me, his features softening slightly. “Somehow, I can’t picture my father out in a field, tipping cows. Plus, it’s the first Christmas without Mom in the house.” His voice is a low rumble, barely louder than the wind outside. “I think it’s taking a toll on all of us.”

My heart clenches for him, and without thinking, I close the space between us and wrap my arms around his tall, sturdyframe. The hug is awkward at first. He feels like a tree that’s not used to being climbed.

“I’m so sorry you’ve had to endure that loss,” I whisper against his chest.

He hesitates before his arms come around me, enveloping me in a warm embrace that smells faintly of hay and winter air. He holds me tight, his hands firm but gentle, as if afraid I’ll slip away if he doesn’t grip hard enough.

“Having you here…” He pulls back to look into my eyes. “It’s helped me a lot more than I thought it would.”

“I hope so,” I say, giving him a squeeze before stepping back.

The corners of his mouth lift in a half-smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but it’s progress.

“I’m going to try clearing a path to the road,” he says, already turning toward the door, resolve set in his jaw.

“Okay, be careful,” I call after him as he disappears into the cold.

Alone again, I focus on the tasks at hand. I chop, stir, and season, finding rhythm in the repetition. Each dish is a small victory against the sadness threatening to take over the day. I’d like the rest of his family here to have that ideal Christmas we both want, but who needs ideal when you’ve got determination and a dash of creativity?

An hour passes—a long, silent hour with the dogs curled up in the living room—before the kitchen door creaks open, bringing a gust of chilly air and Henry with it.

“The road’s mostly clear,” he announces, brushing snow from his sleeves. “I’m going to check the animals one more time.”

“Need help?” I ask, though I’m wrist-deep in stuffing.

“Nah, you’ve got your hands full. I’ll be quick. Then I’ll help you if you need it.”

“Thanks.” I smile, a real one this time, because I believe him. And even though it’s only us, it feels like we’re winning.

The clomp of boots on the porch pulls me from my culinary reverie. I glance up, expecting it to be Henry returning, but then I hear multiple sets of boots stomping off the snow outside. My heart leaps in anticipation as the front door bursts open, and before I can even process it, Ben strides in, enveloping me in a bear hug so tight it lifts me off the ground.

“Shay! Look at you, cooking up another storm,” he booms, his grin wide enough to rival the Christmas lights strung around the house.

“Ben!” I laugh, steadying myself as he sets me down. The kitchen suddenly feels alive with the noise and energy of his arrival.

Tom and Angus pile in behind him, shaking snow from their coats and grinning like they’ve been let in on some grand joke. They don’t hesitate to give me hearty squeezes, and it’s like being wrapped in the warmth of an electric blanket that’s been turned up a notch too high.

“Got something for you,” Tom says, handing me a small, clumsily wrapped package. Angus follows suit, his gift looking like it’s been taped together in a hurry.

I’m taken aback by their thoughtfulness. “You guys didn’t have to?—”

“Ah, hush,” Angus interrupts with a wave of his hand. “It’s Christmas, isn’t it? Besides, we’re not letting Henry hog all the credit for making this Christmas special.”

I glance at Henry, who stands in the doorway, snow clinging to his hair and shoulders. His eyes meet mine, and there’s something there—something warm and unguarded that takes my breath away. He doesn’t say anything; he just nods slightly as if to let me know he’s on board with whatever his brothers are up to.

I unwrap Tom’s gift first, and my brow furrows when I see the contents: a bright pink dog collar. I open my mouth to say something, but Tom beats me to it.

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