Cowboys Don't Buy Their Bride at Auction

by Jessie Gussman

  “Hey, look on the bright side, it could be pink.”

  “Pink?”

  “Sure. My little sister had pink bandages.” He grunted, his dimple appearing again. “Maybe she still does. She’s pretty girly.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with pink. With your complexion, it would actually look good on you.” Roxie tried to ease her serious expression. She should have asked him if he wanted a bandage. She had a tendency to be a drill sergeant. It came out more when she was nervous. She tried to ease the sting out of her voice. “But that blue brings out your eyes.”

  Those eyes narrowed almost immediately. Yeah. Too much a drill sergeant and she ran people off; too much the other direction and she made him suspicious.

  “I didn’t bang my hand with a hammer, but I did tackle Dalton on the playground.”

  Roxie couldn’t stop her gasp.

  She glanced at Boone. He didn’t seem overly concerned. She tried to temper her reaction. She clasped her hands together on the bar top.

  “But that was only because he threw a worm on Emma.”

  Boone picked up a piece of meat. “Are we going to get a call from your teacher?”

  Spencer shrugged. “I don’t think so. They made me sit down, but Emma came over and told them what happened, so then Dalton got in trouble, too.”

  “Did they let you up?” Roxie couldn’t stop herself from asking.

  “Not until recess was over.” Her son hopped off his chair and grabbed a glass, filling it with water from the sink.

  “Sounds good to me. If she’s your friend, you have to stick up for her, but you have to face the consequences.” Boone lifted one big shoulder before putting the meat in his mouth.

  “What?” Roxie stared. “It’s not okay to ‘tackle’ people just because you have a disagreement with them.”

  Boone eyed her but didn’t say anything.

  Spencer took a long drink from his glass. “I’m going up to change my clothes.” He ran out of the kitchen.

  Roxie was right. She knew she was. Of course she was. Kids shouldn’t tackle other kids.

  She wanted Boone to admit it.

  But she clamped her teeth together and forced her brain to work. Boone was an honorable man. She was sure of it. She’d seen it. If he said that things worked out okay, maybe she needed to think about it before demanding she was right.

  “How could that be okay?” she managed to ask without her voice sounding shrill. So far, so good.

  He chewed silently, studying her like he thought pretty much anything he said was going to make her mad. She determined it wouldn’t.

  Finally, when she wasn’t sure he was even going to answer, he said, “Maybe we disagree on this, but I feel a man’s job is to protect his wife and family. His home. His town, his country. I’m not saying it’s pretty, and I’m not saying it doesn’t hurt. There are consequences. Still, Spencer’s got that instinct, and he used it today on the playground. I’m not going to pretend that a man’s instinct to protect, and to do it in an aggressive, physical way, is somehow wrong or abnormal.” One lip pulled up. “He was punished for it, so he saw there were consequences.”

  Her hands squeezed together. “I just don’t want him to grow up to be a jerk.” She didn’t say, like his father, but she wanted to.

  Actually, she wouldn’t mind at all if Spencer grew up to be just like Boone.

  “I don’t think you have to worry about that, Roxie.”

  She loved being called Roxane, but somehow when he said “Roxie,” it sounded different than the way everyone else said it. Like a caress.

  She looked down. His large hand lay on the bar top, just inches away from hers. The differences were striking. Even with the bandage on his thumb, his hand looked masculine and tough. The kind of hand that actually could defend and protect her. Attached to a man who actually would do such things.

  She had to admit the differences between them were really what drew her. He wasn’t better, just different, and in a good, right way. She wouldn’t want her son to turn out any differently. But if she had a daughter, she wouldn’t want that for her. Did that mean she would parent her children differently?

  Wasn’t that wrong?

  Shouldn’t she give her son baby dolls and her daughter trucks?

  She allowed her eyes to drag up Boone’s torso, trying to imagine him playing with dolls. The image was kind of cute, but she wouldn’t be attracted to him if that were his preference.

  She also wouldn’t be attracted to him if he just meekly allowed her to run all over him.

  And was she now admitting that she was attracted to him?

  “I don’t know what you’re thinking,” he said, leaning over the counter and lowering his voice, “but I like that look.”

  Her grin flashed before she could help it. Busted. But she wasn’t trying to pretend she wasn’t attracted to her husband, right?

  “I was just thinking about how different we are and...how I liked it.”

  His lips curved up even farther. “Is this a good time to tell you I gave Spencer my pocketknife?”

  His voice had gotten husky and low, and she’d gotten a little lost in those deep blue eyes, so it took her about two seconds to actually hear what he said.

  She gasped and pulled back. Her mouth moved up and down, faster than her brain could function, but thankfully no sound came out.

  Managing to close her mouth, she pressed her lips together tight and pinched the bridge of her nose.

  “You gave him a pocketknife?” she asked slowly.

  “I gave him my pocketknife. A boy needs one. I can hardly take it back, so you’ll have to if you don’t want him to have it.”

  “Why does a boy need a pocketknife?” She tilted her head and looked at him. Did she want her son to turn out like him?

  His lip twitched, and she thought he might be going to give her a sarcastic answer, but he straightened. “I use it all the time. We just used it outside to cut a hay bale open. Fix a hose, impromptu screwdriver, sharpen a pencil, dig a splinter out.”

  “That’s not sanitary.”

  “Hasn’t killed me yet.”

  “Okay. I see. He can’t take it to school.”

  “Then maybe he ought not to be in school. You can’t send a kid to school with no way to defend himself.”

  She stared at him, knowing he wasn’t suggesting her son get into a knife fight at school but not knowing exactly what he meant.

  “Did you talk to her?” Spencer bounced in, completely changed, and grabbed crackers and meat.

  “Not about that.” He looked over the counter at Roxie, and she could hardly believe they were still talking, considering how radical his ideas were.

  “About what?” she asked, determined not to fight in front of her son.

  “When Spencer gets home from school, can he work with me until dark then do his schoolwork when we come in?” Boone ran a hand through his hair. “What exactly is he allowed to do?”

  Roxie pursed her lips. She wanted to say his schoolwork needed to be done first. That her son shouldn’t be doing anything dangerous or anything where he could get hurt. That she’d take care of him.

  But those weren’t the words that came out of her mouth. “I guess I don’t know what your schedule is going to be. Whatever you decide. I only think he needs to get his schoolwork done, take a shower, and be in bed no later than ten.”

  She tilted her head and looked at Boone as she finished speaking, so she couldn’t miss the drop of his chin.

  “He might get dirty.”

  “That’s why we have showers.”

  “He might be out from the time he comes home until dark.”

  “As long as he gets his schoolwork done.”

  “He might get hurt.”

  “If he does, you’ll have to deal with a hysterical wife, too.”

  “One of us will have to hold it together.”

  “You.”

  “You sure?” He seemed to search her eyes.

 
“Yes.”

  Spencer jumped up. “Yes!” he screeched, running around the counter and throwing his arms around Roxie.

  Her little boy was growing up, and maybe she held him a little tighter than she needed to, looking over his head and into the true eyes of the cowboy who’d stood up on Saturday night, claimed her, and married her.

  Spencer yanked away, hurrying toward Boone. “You ready? Can I drive the skid loader? Huh?”

  “Maybe your mother will come with us?” Boone looked over his head at her, and her chest constricted. His lips tilted up just a tad, but he looked like he actually wanted her. What would she do? She couldn’t work outside. She didn’t have the first clue of what to do.

  “Yeah, Mom. You come too.” Spencer looked eager.

  “I’m not really dressed for it,” she said, not used to being unsure.

  Boone seemed to realize she’d really like to go but was having uncharacteristic difficulty making a decision. He held his hand out, over the counter. “Come with us,” he said softly.

  She looked at his hand then at the face of her son. Maybe they could really be a family. But she would need to give some, too.

  She took a breath and put her hand in his. “Okay.” She blew her breath out and pulled her hand away. “I need to take the casserole out of the oven.”

  Chapter 14

  Boone couldn’t have been more shocked when Roxane agreed to come with him. He had to admit he really liked the idea. It was only Monday; he’d only been married for two days, but it was hard to remember it was all real. He really had a wife. Sweet Water was his responsibility. There was a child coming and one already here.

  Roxane took the casserole out of the oven while Spencer and he exchanged a look. Spencer gave a grin and a shrug. Boone gave a cocky wink. Why not? He was feeling pretty good. Roxane must not hate him too bad if she just agreed to come out and work with him for an hour before dark.

  She set the casserole on the stove and put the mitts beside it.

  He held out his hand again. This time, she didn’t hesitate as long before she grabbed it. He allowed their clasped hands to swing between them as they walked through the office and out the back door, Spencer running ahead.

  “Can I practice in the skid loader? Can I? Please?” He practically danced up the walk backward as he asked.

  “Let’s see where Bill is. I need to head out along the fence line and check the stock in the back pasture. I need to bring the grain drill back, and I’ll have to take a tractor. If Bill’s around, he might be able to keep an eye on you.”

  “I’ll go find him.” Spencer took off running.

  Boone suspected Bill wouldn’t mind keeping an eye on Spencer, but Boone would definitely be talking to him first.

  Roxane’s hand had tightened in his. Then, like she was forcing it, it loosened.

  He found Bill where he was changing the oil in the small tractor they used to mow. He was fine with keeping an eye on Spencer.

  As they walked away from Spencer who was riding the skid loader, Roxane allowed her hand to stay in his. Boone looked down at her, a few butterflies in his stomach now that they were alone again, without the buffer of Spencer between them.

  Boone pulled Roxane around the barn to where the midsize tractor that he’d bring the grain drill back with was parked. It had an enclosed cab and a small seat for a rider, which would probably make Roxane more comfortable than the smaller tractor he’d been planning on using, where she would have had to sit on the fender.

  “Are you feeling okay?” he asked, unsure how the whole pregnancy sickness thing worked. He should look it up so he’d know a little better what to expect.

  “Yes. I’m fine,” she said, her voice never wavering. “I think the auction and the stress from that just really took a toll.”

  His brow wrinkled. It probably had. If he’d known about the pregnancy, he could have done a better job of shielding her from it.

  Maybe she wouldn’t have let him.

  “I’m sorry,” he finally said, as they made the turn and headed toward the equipment shed.

  “It’s not your fault.”

  He didn’t say anything. No point in arguing. She already knew he wanted to protect her. Thought it was his job.

  “What are we doing?” she asked.

  Maybe her voice had a little forced happiness in it. He wasn’t sure.

  “When the wheat was harvested, they planted a cover crop, probably rye, but I didn’t ask Bill. They left the grain drill out in the last field they did, and we’re going out to pick it up.”

  “Oh.” She looked off in the distance as the sun settled lower in the sky. “Is that it for the year?”

  He grunted a little laugh. “No. Not at all. I’m gonna check the weather, but if the rain is going to hold off for a couple of days, I’m going to mow hay tomorrow.”

  “Okay.”

  He didn’t want to, but he let go of her hand to open the big sliding door so he could drive the tractor out of the shed. “It’s pretty late in the year, and it won’t dry, but I can bale it wet and wrap it. Cows will love it this winter.”

  “Why won’t it dry? If it’s not raining?”

  She seemed really interested. It made him smile. “Well, first of all, it gets pretty cold at night and takes a while to warm up. Then, days are getting shorter and the angle of the sun is more toward the horizon. It’s not impossible, but it takes longer, and you run the risk of rain, plus hay quality goes down.”

  “I see.”

  She looked around the equipment shed like she’d never been in it before. Maybe she hadn’t.

  He nodded at the enclosed cab tractor in front of them. “This is the one we’re taking. I’ll open the door, and you can climb up.”

  He reached up and pulled the door open with a hiss. Roxane, looking every inch the aristocratic lady, gave the steps up an uncertain glance before she put her nose in the air and took ahold of the handle. He held his hand out, in case she wanted to grab it too.

  He smiled when she did.

  She climbed in easily and settled in her seat.

  He climbed into his, but before he started it, he asked, “You want to drive?”

  A startled grunt burst from her lips. “Not today,” she said, but she was smiling. He thought it made her feel good that he’d ask, and he was glad he did.

  He started the tractor, glad he got to do something with her where he felt like he was in his element. Dancing, he was okay at. Romancing women, not at all, and Roxane knew it. Knowing what to say to his wife was something else he wasn’t good at, and figuring out what she was thinking felt impossible.

  But he could drive a tractor, and he could do it with confidence.

  “You seem like you feel at home on the ranch.” Roxane sat straight and looked around. He liked that she still wanted to talk to him; maybe he liked it more that she’d noticed him and thought him competent.

  “I grew up on a ranch not far from here, plus I’ve worked here a few times, haying and harvesting, planting. Bill’s been good, too, but this isn’t totally new to me.” He pulled the tractor out and drove slowly along the back road before turning and heading down the field road. “What about you? Weren’t you here some when you were younger?”

  “I was, but I never helped out much outside. Our mom was pretty protective.”

  He wanted to know more about her. The things that he might have found out if they’d been dating. All the things he’d missed when they danced and went too far. He didn’t know if it were possible to back up and do things right, but he wanted to try.

  “Were you here much?” he asked, hoping he didn’t push too hard too fast and scare her away.

  “A few summers. Ryder was here longer. Mom couldn’t handle the remoteness, but our uncle insisted, even though we didn’t see him much.”

  “The same uncle that made the will?”

  She laughed without humor. “Yep. That one.”

  They were going slow enough that to pretend he needed to k
eep his eyes glued on the straight, flat road was completely unbelievable. Still, he didn’t look at her when he asked, “So what’d you do the rest of the year?”

  Her head tilted, and her eyes narrowed, like she was trying to figure out why he asked.

  He put a hand up in innocence. “You don’t have to answer. I’m asking because I’m curious.” Now he did turn his head and meet her gaze head-on. “I know we’re married. I know it was forced. But you have to know...I like you. I’d love to know everything you are willing to tell me about yourself.”

  “I doubt that.” There was a dry note in her voice. She didn’t respond to his admission that he liked her. “Like” wasn’t really the emotion he probably felt, anyway. He wasn’t sure exactly what pulled him to her with the same kind of force windmill blades were compelled to spin in front of a wind. But it wasn’t “like” the way he liked any of his friends or family. It was definitely something stronger and deeper.

  “Try me.”

  “Someone like you doesn’t really know what it’s like to have a past you wished you didn’t have.”

  Someone like him.

  His hands tightened on the steering wheel of the tractor, and he stared at the road without seeing it. She put distance between them with those words.

  Almost the implication that he was “good” so he didn’t have struggles or pain or regrets. That his life had been easy and clear, and sure, maybe his dad had died, but nothing else bad had happened.

  He’d met that attitude before. “You know, that’s one of two prevalent attitudes I get from people.”

  He turned down between two fields that had already been planted in rye. Little green sprouts had turned the brown earth a delicate green, pretty against the big, deep blue North Dakota sky.

  “Oh?” she said. “You sound annoyed. I really meant it as a compliment.”

  He pulled a lip back. Yeah, he was annoyed. But there really was no reason for it. She was calling it as she saw it. Just because she saw it wrong didn’t make her unkind.

  He decided to drop it. She would never understand that trying to be what he’d tried to be, with the world the way it was, felt like being a tennis ball floating in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean with occasional ocean liners cruising by, their parties of people pointing at him and laughing, mostly.