3. Shay
Chapter 3
Shay
“Whoa,” I murmur under my breath as the towering figure of Henry Sutton comes into view, and the world seems to pause.
The first thing that hits me is how he’s like a walking advertisement for rugged handsomeness. He’s as big as his brothers—maybe bigger—but where they carry themselves with a relaxed charm, Henry is all intensity and restrained power. He seems like a man who doesn’t need to raise his voice to command attention. His body is clearly carved from years of ranch work and discipline, but the scowl etched across his face? That’s pure grump in high-definition.
His eyes meet mine, not blue like his brothers’, but a sharp, piercing silver-gray that cuts through me like lightning. His jaw is set, his lips pressed into a firm line, and those gray eyes are laser-focused, drilling into me as if he’s already cataloging all the ways I’m about to disrupt his life.
His gaze assesses me, sizing me up, deciding whether I’m a puzzle worth solving or a problem better left alone. There’s no softness in the way he looks at me—not yet—but I catch a flicker of something else beneath the caution. A glint of curiosity, as if I’ve surprised him somehow by simply being here.
That flicker makes my pulse skip, a strange, traitorous reaction I didn’t see coming. Henry has a magnetism, an unspoken challenge in the way he holds himself. He’s a man who seems to have built walls so high that it’s hard to imagine anything breaking through. But in that fleeting moment, with his eyes locked on mine, I experience a dangerous urge to try.
“Hi there,” I offer, flashing him what I hope is my most disarming smile. It’s always served me well, melting icy stares into friendly warmth.
Not this time.
If anything, his glower deepens, turning thunderous, and I wonder if this might be a tougher nut to crack than I anticipated.
He crosses his arms over his broad chest, the movement drawing my attention to the way his shirt stretches across his shoulders. It’s not intentional—at least, I don’t think it is—but the effect is distracting. I quickly look away, focusing on his brothers instead, who flank me like protective bookends.
“Shay, let’s go inside,” Tom says with a reassuring smile.
He and Angus guide me into the house with an ease that suggests they’ve done this protective routine plenty of times before.
The ranch house is warm but simple, a place that looks lived in and loved. The walls are lined with old photos and a couple of faded paintings, and the faint smell of woodsmoke hangs in the air. It’s cozy in a way that catches me off guard, making me think for a moment that I might actually belong here.
“Tell Henry, Angus. Explain how she’s the answer we’ve been looking for,” Tom prompts, as if turning up at midnight with a woman is an everyday situation. They seem almost too eager, and I wonder briefly what I’ve gotten myself into.
“All right,” Angus starts, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “We used our savings, see? We pooled together because, well, you need a wife, Henry.”
“Used your own money?” I echo, my heart skipping a beat, realizing the gravity of their decision. These two brothers clubbed together to buy me for their brother. To save the family ranch from becoming a clown farm. It would be laughable if I weren’t standing in the reality of it.
“Yup,” Tom chimes in with a nod. “And we reckon you’re perfect for the job.”
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 from auctioning 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.
“Shay,” he says, with a voice that rumbles deep from his chest, “the chances of me finding someone seeking anything more than a casual dalliance with a man already spoken for is slim.”
“Ah, ever the optimist,” I joke, trying to keep the mood light even though my heart is thrumming against my ribs.
“Optimism has nothing to do with it.” Henry’s face hardens further, if that’s even possible. “I’ve done the love and marriage dance before. Ended up a fool. I can assure you, love is not an ingredient I require in my life again.”
“Sounds like we’ve been reading from the same book,” I reply, sensing a kinship in our shared skepticism. “Love is for suckers.”
“Exactly,” he affirms with a nod, his expression softening a fraction, enough to make him seem almost approachable. “It’s a distraction at best, a destructive force at worst.”
“Then it’s settled.” I extend my hand, bolder now. “A marriage of convenience. You get your ranch, and I get my freedom.”
“Freedom,” he echoes, his handshake firm and resolute.
“From all kinds of things,” I add, releasing his hand, but holding onto the newfound sense of control over my destiny. A business deal, nothing more. Yet, sitting here with Henry, I can’t help but wonder if I’m getting more than I bargained for.
He turns, the motion drawing my gaze back to his eyes. They’re different now, curious, lightened by something that wasn’t there before. And then it happens. A smile cracks the stern facade of Henry Sutton, and holy smokes, it’s like the sun breaking through a heavy fog, warm and blinding in its intensity.
“Whoa,” escapes my lips before I can rein it in.
“Did I say something funny?” His voice is low, a hint of amusement threading through it.
“Uh, no. Just… when you smile, it’s like, bam! Surprise handsome!” I clamp a hand over my mouth, horrified at my words. But then he chuckles, and I drop my hand, relieved.
“Surprise handsome, hmm?” He seems to ponder this, tilting his head. “So, Shay O’Riordan, you think this might work out? If you feel that way about love?”
I nod, determined not to get swept away by a smile, no matter how dazzling. “It’s true. Love is like a gorgeous pair of shoes that leave you with blisters for days. No, thank you.” My attempt at humor is off-kilter, but I plow forward. “A marriage of convenience, please, and nothing more.”
“Nothing more,” Henry repeats, considering me as if he’s seeing me properly for the first time. He extends his hand again. “Then we have an agreement.”
“Agreement.” The word tastes like freedom on my tongue. I take his hand, firm and sure, and we shake for a second time. It’s the most unusual business transaction of my life.
“Perfect. Welcome to the ranch, Mrs. Sutton-to-be.” His grin doesn’t fade, and for a moment, I catch a glimpse of a man who could be more than grump and gloom.
“Thanks, I guess?” I reply, a laugh bubbling up from my chest. “But let’s skip the ‘to-be’ part. We’ve got a deal, Mr. Sutton.”
He nods as he releases my hand. For a second, I miss the warmth, but I push the thought aside. Business, remember?
Yeah, nothing but business.