Cowboys Don't Buy Their Bride at Auction

by Jessie Gussman

  “If you don’t want to tell me about it, that’s fine,” he finally said. He didn’t really want to tell her how mistaken she was, either.

  She shrugged. “I was young, and I was rich. I didn’t live quite like you see on TV, but the opportunities were there, and I didn’t turn them down.” She spoke softly and stared out the window in front of them, acres upon acres of North Dakota flatland stretching out and meeting the sky. Old friends.

  And he’d been a part of that for years. Not always in North Dakota, but in his travels on the harvest crew, he’d looked out plenty of windows, both on the road and in the fields, and seen nothing but the fertile fields of America, stretching out to meet the sky. Fields filled with ripened grain. Grown by hardworking American farmers and ready to feed the country and the world. He’d always been proud to be a part of it.

  Now, he’d married into his own spread.

  But his wife only saw what she wanted to on the surface.

  “We dated off and on through college. Eventually we had a long enough ‘on’ time to plan a wedding and get married. He came from my social circles, and I thought after we got married he’d quit playing the field. In hindsight, it’s stupid to think a man’s going to change just because he got married. If he was a player before, he’s going to keep being a player.” Her fingers picked at the stitching on the seat.

  He didn’t think she even noticed.

  He wanted to joke about being a better husband than Bryan, but he didn’t think she’d laugh about it. He was trying to woo her, not drive her away. But he wasn’t used to living life so seriously. Living with the harvest crew had taught him that. They wouldn’t let him be sorry for himself or not laugh at life.

  “So all I have to do to be a better husband than Bryan is stay home at night?” He lifted a brow.

  Her lips pursed. “And during the day.”

  “Can I go somewhere if I take you with me?”

  “I’m not watching you flirt with other women.”

  “I’d have to learn how first. I don’t think I want to waste the time unless I can use my new skills on you.” He eyed her out of the corner of his eye before pulling the tractor in ahead of the planter and easing the clutch in.

  “You can flirt,” she scoffed.

  “Cannot,” he said automatically, watching carefully to be sure he lined the hitches up.

  “You were flirting the day of Clay’s wedding.” Her mouth clamped closed like that was a subject she didn’t want to talk about.

  It was done. They might as well admit it was part of their history. Maybe they could laugh about that someday. She could probably laugh about it now. He still felt a little sensitive about it.

  “Then maybe it’s something that comes naturally.” He stopped the tractor and set the brake. “I didn’t mean to flirt.” His lip kicked up in a half grin. “I just liked you.”

  Her mouth made an “o.” He pushed up and slipped past her, opening the door. “You coming down?” he asked, one foot on the top step before he stopped abruptly and turned. Maybe he could flirt.

  He pushed his cowboy hat down on his head and allowed one side of his mouth to tilt. In a low voice with just a hint of humor, he said, “You wanna meet me behind the tractor?”

  She blinked twice, and her eyes flew to his, surprise and confusion giving way to a little smile of her own. It made his heart trip.

  She lifted her nose and looked down it. His crooked grin wanted to straighten into a full-on smile.

  “I don’t know, stranger. What are you thinking we’re going to do back there?”

  “Hook up.”

  Her mouth dropped, and it wasn’t just pretend. “I can’t believe you would suggest that here, in front of God and everyone.”

  He did laugh at that because it was just God, there was no “everyone.” But he sobered quickly, moving down the ladder and shaking his head. “I was talking about the grain drill. I was going to hook the grain drill up to the tractor.” He grinned again. “You better get your butt down here and learn how to do it. Next time, I’ll send you out to get it by yourself while I take a nap.”

  “Ha. You won’t be napping. You’ll be eating your way through my refrigerator.”

  He snort-laughed.

  She put her hand in his. She paused, and their eyes met. His smile faded. Her fake-haughty look fell, replaced by confusion then awareness.

  Her chest lifted, and she stepped down. He didn’t back up. And he didn’t let go of her hand. He supposed flirting implied words, but some things were better without words.

  He put his free hand on her waist, just resting there.

  She touched her tongue to her bottom lip, and he watched it, not even trying to pretend he wasn’t. Her breath hitched. His did too, but his lip curved up as well. He met her eyes before dropping his gaze back to her lip, shiny now. She saw what he was looking at, and he didn’t care. Her mouth parted, almost in surprise, and her breath huffed out.

  Flirting without words.

  He could do it. It was fun, actually. Except he didn’t want to turn away and get back to work. He wanted to pull her closer and do more than flirt.

  “You have that grain drill hooked up yet?” he asked, his voice low with a note of humor, laughing at himself because he was standing here staring at his wife’s lips rather than doing his job. No wonder Adam ate the fruit. Keeping the garden wouldn’t have been half as fun if Eve had gotten kicked out and he hadn’t.

  Right now, he was a pure son of Adam because he’d eat the fruit too. Anything to keep Roxane with him.

  “I’ve got a feeling I’m not going to want to work without you again.”

  “That’s funny,” she said, in the same low, humorous tone he used. “Because I was just thinking I might want to put my boots on tomorrow and be your boss.”

  His fingers flexed on her waist. “Sounds fun. Maybe you can sit on my lap and teach me how to drive.”

  She rolled her eyes and pushed at his chest. He moved back without resistance, his hand sliding down. “Go hitch that thing up. Bill is going to think we got sidetracked out here.”

  “Oh? Is that what it’s called? Sidetracked?” He walked back to the hitch, grinning, his heart beating hard and his breath coming fast. It probably wasn’t smart to not be focused on his work. He’d have to remember no flirting when he was doing more than moving equipment from one location to another.

  Her voice had been light, but she watched him intently. He had no doubt she’d be able to do it herself next time. Most of the stuff he did wasn’t rocket science. Just long hours.

  He dropped the pin in and straightened. “Got that?”

  Maybe he’d thought she looked out of place out here, with her tailored pants and her delicate skin. Funny, maybe she did look that way, but he felt like she belonged right where she was. Whether it was a part of the North Dakota prairie or, more likely, right beside him. The rightness settled down deep. He breathed into it, trying to keep his mouth from saying things she wasn’t ready to hear yet.

  “You can take your nap next time. I’m on it.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder.

  “You drive me home, and I’ll believe it.” He balled his fist to keep from touching a strand that caught on the corner of her mouth.

  One eye closed slightly, like she was considering his challenge. He loved her fearless attitude.

  “Sure. I’ll drive home, but when you come in for the night, you’re helping me make decorations for the Thanksgiving dinner.”

  “If you want me to,” he said easily, knowing he didn’t have an artistic bone in his body. She’d figure that out soon enough, and he’d get fired. ’Course, if she drove the tractor into the barn, they’d get it out and fix the hole, and he’d tell her to keep practicing. Maybe decorating was the same way. She’d make him keep practicing until he got it. Unless he cut a finger off. Maybe he’d be excused at that point. He’d have to think on it.

  Chapter 15

  They had settled into a routine after those first
tough days. Roxie wasn’t sure whether to be happy about that or not so thrilled.

  If Boone was doing something where she could ride along safely or even help, that’s what they did. When Spencer got home, they’d all three work together. After supper, when it was dark, Boone really did help her with the Thanksgiving dinner planning and preparation.

  He’d have them both laughing, entertaining them with stories from the last eight or so years that he’d spent on the harvest crew or pranks he and his brothers played when they were teens growing up. Almost every night, Roxane laughed so hard her eyes watered and her stomach hurt. Boone was an easy man to like.

  Of course, he’d kept on teasing her, and she’d continued to respond in kind. Flirting, really. Sometimes without words.

  She suspected that she more than “liked” Boone.

  But when she sent Spencer up to get ready for bed, Boone left to shower and sleep in the barn.

  She wasn’t sure why, exactly, and she also wasn’t sure what needed to happen to get him to stay.

  It was getting well below freezing on these late November nights. Maybe tonight he’d stay in.

  Spencer was spending the weekend with Vinton, and Boone had suggested they go in to the diner to eat.

  It was Friday night, and she had a date with her husband. That hadn’t happened in a long time. She quit early to get ready. He showered in the barn.

  When she came down the stairs, after changing her outfit three times and finally settling on jeans—that thankfully still fit—and a loose white blouse over a green tank, he was standing in the kitchen doorway with his hands in his pockets, his shoulder leaning on the doorjamb.

  He wore dark blue jeans, a black button-down, along with boots. His hat lay on the bar behind him, and his hair was just long enough to be slicked to the side.

  She put a hand over her stomach where butterflies were suddenly doing jumping jacks.

  Immediately his brow furrowed, and he straightened. “Are you okay? The baby’s okay?”

  They’d gone to the clinic in Rockerton together, and she couldn’t get the look of wonder he’d had on his face out of her mind. There was no question he’d been enraptured by hearing the heartbeat of their child.

  She dropped her hand. “Fine. Everything’s fine.” She still got sick occasionally during the day, but it was mostly confined to morning, and she didn’t want anything to keep her from going out with her husband tonight.

  “You look amazing,” he said.

  It wasn’t so much his words but more his tone and the look on his face that made her heart swell. It didn’t take a huge bunch of flowery compliments but three simple words from a sincere heart. The humor that crinkled his eyes and turned his lips up so easily while they worked was absent.

  “Thank you,” she said softly.

  He took another three breaths while they stood and stared at each other before he stepped forward and held his hand out.

  She took it, and they got in his truck and drove to town without the relaxed banter that had become their norm.

  Maybe his silence didn’t mean anything, but Boone was an easy talker, unlike some men she’d been around, and he wasn’t ever this quiet. Finally, when they were almost to Sweet Water, she couldn’t take it any longer. “Why are you so quiet?”

  His grin was a little self-effacing as he glanced over at her. She was just happy to see his smile.

  “Confidence isn’t something I typically have a problem with, but you’re so poised and elegant, I feel like an awkward kid with junior high stamped on my forehead.” He gave her another glance, this one devoid of humor. “I think that is probably an accurate assessment of me with you.”

  He slowed as the buildings of Sweet Water sprang up on either side of them.

  She wanted to reassure him, but she wasn’t sure what to say. She couldn’t make herself be different than what she was. And if he were referring to their intimate encounter, he had been awkward but in an adorably sweet and wonderful way that had only made everything better for her, because she knew it meant something to him. Unlike Bryan who maybe knew all the words to say and moves to make but only because he’d practiced them on a multitude of other women. He’d been a playboy. He still was a playboy.

  She’d take Boone’s sincere admiration any day.

  He pulled into a spot not far from the diner, shutting off the truck and looking over at her. “I’ll get your door.”

  He jumped out and strode around. She fiddled with her purse strap, wondering why she was nervous. This was Boone; they’d been working together for weeks. There was no reason for nerves.

  He opened her door, and she got out. He took her hand, his brow raised just slightly as he did, looking at her as though checking to see if it was okay. Her lips turned up, then her stomach flipped as he raised their joined hands to his lips and kissed her knuckle.

  He grinned at the surprised look on her face, but she was too busy trying to get her stomach under control to work on her facial expression, too.

  Instead of opening the diner door, he stopped and tugged her closer, leaning his head down and whispering in her ear, “When you look at me like that, it makes me feel like it might not matter that I’m junior high and you’re way out of my league.”

  She closed her eyes at the rumble in her ear and the spicy scent that teased her nose. She forced her throat to work. “You’re right. It doesn’t matter.” Her voice was husky and soft, and she didn’t have to touch him to know that he shuddered. She didn’t have the brainpower to argue that experience didn’t matter nor to explain to him what did. Another day.

  “I want to kiss you later.”

  He hadn’t moved. Hadn’t touched her other than their joined hands, but his words stroked through her and made her shiver. They weren’t the most romantic words in the world, but there could be no doubt he meant them and wanted her.

  She tilted her head so the stubble on his cheek just grazed her skin. “I’ll hold you to that.”

  His hand squeezed, but otherwise they didn’t move for several seconds.

  “Suddenly eating doesn’t seem as important as it’s always been, but we’d better get out of the doorway.” He gave a short laugh as he pulled away. “Didn’t think there was too much that would make me think that skipping a meal was a good idea.”

  He pulled the door open and allowed her to step inside first, their hands still joined.

  Almost immediately, she noticed the change in him.

  It wasn’t a change like the quietness of the ride here but a tension that stiffened his muscles and changed the air around him.

  Roxane looked around. The diner was as busy as she’d ever seen it, with most of the tables and booths full and every seat at the bar taken. She recognized a few people—Ford Hanson was sitting off in the corner with his wife, Morgan. A car seat rested in the brace of a stand at the end of their booth, and Ford was so focused on the baby in it that he didn’t even seem to notice that anyone had come in.

  But that wasn’t the cause of the change in her husband.

  Morgan waved, and Roxane waved back.

  Again, Roxane looked around the diner but didn’t see anything odd. She had only eaten in here a handful of times and never when it was this busy. Some of the other patrons looked familiar, and she didn’t recognize either waitress.

  One was really pretty in an angelic type of way, slender with blond hair that was pinned into a bun in the back of her head. For as busy as it was, not a hair was out of place. She wore a pink shirt and a below-the-knee khaki skirt, and she walked with a grace and smoothness that Roxane’s ballet teacher would salivate at.

  But Boone barely glanced at her, and he wasn’t the kind of man who would allow his eye to be caught by another woman, anyway.

  Whatever it was, the change was so dramatic that when Boone started walking toward an empty booth over against the window that faced the street, Roxane almost resisted following him. Always before, he’d led, but he’d done it in such a way that she felt
like he went first to protect her, not because he was The Boss.

  But now, for the first time, she felt as if he were dragging her as he walked in front of her.

  An odd feeling, because nothing really had changed, other than how she felt. Irritation surged up, and she squelched it, sliding into her seat and watching as Boone slid into his.

  He didn’t look at her. His shoulders were tense, and he looked out the window like it was an escape route.

  Roxane didn’t even glance down at her menu on the place mat. “What’s wrong?”

  HOW COULD SHE TELL there was something wrong?

  One minute, he’d been hoping to eat as fast as he could and spend the evening cuddling and maybe making out with his wife, and the next, all he wanted to do was turn around and walk straight back out of the diner.

  The new waitress in Sweet Water was Angela Davis. The girl he’d thought he loved and offered to marry this past summer. She’d rejected him.

  She was supposed to be married and out of his life. Now she was in his town. Working in the diner.

  There were two women in the world that he’d ever had feelings for. He’d been wrong about one. And he was desperate to win the favor of the other.

  They were both in the diner tonight.

  His past and his future. Hopefully.

  He’d walked to the booth quickly, and Angela hadn’t seen him yet. He had a bit of time; he might be able to explain what had happened between him and Angela to his wife. He didn’t want her to get the wrong idea.

  Lots of people had pasts. It’s just that he’d not gotten around to telling her about his. And now it was here.

  A shadow fell on the table, and he looked up.

  His window of opportunity had just closed.

  “Boone. I didn’t think I would see you until closer to Thanksgiving when the crew is done for the season.” Angela put her fingers on his forearm, like they were old friends.

  Her nails were blunt with a pale pink polish.