Page 6 of Auctioned to the Cowboy

The weight of their actions sinks in. These aren’t simply meddling brothers—they’re men desperate to hold on to their family home. I glance at Henry, who hasn’t said a word, his scowl deepening with every second.

“Scuttle away, both of you,” Henry says, his voice a low rumble of controlled irritation. It’s clear he’s not thrilled with their meddling. “Before I tear you both a new one.”

“Bossy, isn’t he?” I say softly to the brothers, trying to lighten the mood.

They smile sympathetically before fucking off like their asses are on fire, leaving me alone with this enigmatic man who apparently now considers me his reluctant salvation.

“Stay,” Henry commands, not as an invitation, but as an order.

Despite the rough start, I sense a challenge rather than a threat, so I plant my feet where I stand, meeting his intense gaze with determination.

“Okay, Henry. I’ll stay. What’s next?” I ask, ready for whatever comes my way. No going back now.

Henry’s footsteps echo on the hardwood floor, a sharp counterpoint to the pounding of my heart. I follow him into the living room, taking in the space. It’s big enough for a dance but with furniture that looks like it hasn’t seen a good time in years.

He gestures to the couch with a hand that seems more accustomed to wrangling cattle than comforting guests. I sit, perching on the edge of a cushion as if ready to bolt at any second.

“What’s your name?” Henry asks, his voice as rough as gravel.

It makes me want to squirm, but I learned long ago to control myself. I smile up at him, turning on the charm. Being charming was my fallback defense mode when my father’s fists flew. Not that it worked, but I had to try.

Those gray eyes drill into me, and I forget my own name for a moment. I gulp. “Shay. Shay O’Riordan.”

“Shay O’Riordan,” he repeats, his deep voice like a soothing palm down my back. He looks me up and down, and I realize I’m still in my coat. I unzip it and put it down beside me. “Why would you sell yourself at an auction?”

There’s no missing the military posture, his back ramrod straight as if he’s facing down an enemy instead of a redhead who’s about to spill her guts. And those eyes? They don’t just demand honesty—they’re like lie detectors with lashes.

“Simple choice,” I say, twisting my fingers in my lap. “Stay in my old life and spend my life miserable avoiding my abusive drunk of a father, or gamble on something new. I went all-in on door number two.”

I watch him process this. A glint of respect flickers across his features. “You want more out of life,” he says as though testing the words for truth.

“Exactly,” I confirm, forcing my head to nod firmly. “More than survival. More than watching my mom disappear under my dad’s thumb while I wait for my turn.”

My voice shakes, but it’s not from fear. It’s from the pure adrenaline of finally taking a stand.

He leans against the mantel, arms crossed, considering me with those intense eyes that seem to see straight through the walls I’ve built. “Sounds like you’re running toward something, not away.”

“Maybe I am,” I admit, letting a sliver of my usual optimism peek through the nerves. “Maybe I’m running toward freedom.”

“Freedom,” he muses, a hint of something softer in his gaze, a shared understanding that hums between us.

“Or at least a shot at it,” I say with a shrug.

“Fair enough,” Henry says after a moment, a trace of a smile playing at the edges of his lips. It transforms his face, and I’m struck by how different he looks when he’s not scowling. “Fair enough, Shay O’Riordan.”

“Let me get this straight,” I say, my hands folded neatly in my lap as I perch on the edge of the couch. “You need a bride because of some wild will stipulation, and I need the cash I got fromauctioning off my virginity for marriage. We’re talking about a business arrangement here, right?”

“You’re a virgin?” Henry asks, then closes his eyes with a wince. “Not my business. Not pertinent to the conversation. You don’t”—he pauses to clear his throat—“need to worry about that aspect of our marriage.”

I blink, a little taken aback. His reaction is so unexpected, so awkward and almost embarrassed, that it softens my initial wariness. My eyebrows lift, and I can’t lie. I’m a little disappointed that he’s not interested. He’s certainly handsome. Gorgeous even. Does he have a lover somewhere? Is that it? A woman he can sleep with but not marry? None of my business, but it stings a little.

“A marriage in name only?” I press, watching his expression carefully.

Henry moves to the chair across from me, his posture rigid, eyes like steel under furrowed brows. “That’s the gist of it.”

I chew on my lip for a second, considering. The idea of being someone’s wife in name only is strangely liberating. No messy feelings, no expectations. Just a simple transaction. But part of me wonders what happens if—or when—the lines blur.

“And what happens down the line if you meet someone? Someone you want to… you know, have a real relationship with?” I ask, testing the waters.

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