4. Henry
Chapter 4
Henry
I lean against the wooden fence, my hands finding the familiar grooves of the weathered timber as I watch Shay with the dogs. The fence is solid under my palms, a small comfort in the swirl of uncertainty that seems to follow her arrival. She crouches to their level, her fingers weaving through Maisie’s sleek black-and-white fur, whispering sweet nothings that make the dog’s tail wag like a metronome set on high speed.
“Who’s the best girl? Yes, you are, Maisie,” Shay coos, and the dog laps at her face in response.
Anne and Felicia hover close by, vying for attention with soft whines and nudges. They’ve always been good judges of character, these dogs, and they’ve taken to Shay like ducks to water or cattle dogs to a kind-hearted soul. It’s hard to deny the way they respond to her—like she belongs here. Like she’s been part of this ranch her whole life.
“Okay, okay, your turn,” she laughs, turning to give Anne a scratch behind the ears while Felicia patiently waits her turn. Her laugh carries on the breeze, light and musical, settling in the air around me, warming the chill of the late afternoon.
I tip my brown cowboy hat back a little more, a tug pulling at me somewhere deep inside that has nothing to do with the ranching business. She’s so at ease, so genuine in how she interacts with the dogs. No pretense, no guardedness. It’s a stark contrast to the way I’ve operated for years, my walls firmly in place.
“Shay,” I call out, trying to keep my voice steady. “You know they’re working dogs, right?”
She looks up, green eyes sparkling as she grins and shrugs. “Doesn’t mean they don’t deserve some love.”
“Guess you’re right.” And just like that, I let her break one of the unspoken rules of the ranch. Those dogs should be disciplined and focused, but how can I enforce that when Shay’s around? I can’t bring myself to dampen that spark she carries. It would be like trying to snuff out the sun.
Over the last week, I’ve caught glimpses of her doing more than her fair share around here, never once complaining. Whether it’s scrubbing clean the mess my brothers leave in their wake or dishing up hearty meals that have us all licking our plates clean, she’s done it all with a smile that could brighten the darkest shadows. I even like the little hints of how close Christmas is that keep popping up around the house, like the pumpkin pie-scented candle in the kitchen and the red-and-green floral arrangement that now adorns the dining room table.
The corners of my mouth inch upward into a rare smile as we head toward the stables, the sun dipping lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the land. I shake my head and follow her. Shay’s sunshine is contagious enough to reach even the most stubborn of grumpy hearts.
I kick a stray pebble on the path, watching it skitter across the frozen ground. It’s a futile attempt to distract myself from what I’m feeling—what I shouldn’t be feeling. This whole marriage thing, it’s paperwork, a means to an end. But there goes Shay, laughing that laugh that echoes off the barn walls and straight into places I thought were boarded up good and tight.
“Damn it,” I mutter under my breath, shoving hands that suddenly feel too big and clumsy into my pockets. I convinced myself those parts of me were dead and buried, not simply sleeping, waiting for someone like her to wake them up.
“Hey, Henry!” Angus’s shout cuts across the yard, his eyes on a runaway calf. “Give us a hand?”
“Sure thing.” I stride over, trying to ignore Shay’s presence, but it’s like trying to ignore the sun in the desert sky.
She stands there, hunched over, arms out, with a determination that’s both comical and impressive. Her green eyes are fixed on the calf, all business now, and I can’t help but admire how she’s thrown herself into ranch life like she was made for it.
“All right, little guy, time to head back home,” she coos at the calf, her voice soothing and commanding.
“Never seen anyone talk to livestock quite like you do,” I remark, keeping my tone light, though the sight of her so at ease here tugs at something deep inside me.
“Animals are easy to talk to—they don’t talk back,” she shoots back with a grin.
I find myself smiling despite myself. “Guess that makes two of us who prefer non-human company,” I say, moving closer to her.
Our fingers brush, and a jolt of warmth spreads up my arm. I quickly look away, focusing on the calf, which seems to have accepted its fate and plods along ahead of us.
“Think you’re getting the hang of this, Shay,” I say, nodding toward the cooperative animal.
“I guess I’ve got the ranching bug,” she replies, and the way she says it, I swear she’s not just talking about cow wrangling.
As I’m about to agree, the calf, clearly sensing its moment of freedom slipping away, decides to throw a wrench—or rather, a hoof—into Shay’s newfound ranching confidence. With a sudden burst of energy, the little troublemaker jerks sideways, its back legs kicking out in an awkward hop that sends it straight into Shay.
The impact isn’t much, just enough to knock her off balance. She lets out a surprised yelp, arms flailing as she topples backward into a patch of straw. Before she can regain her footing, the calf—ever the opportunist—pounces on the opening to cause mayhem. It lunges forward, its oversized tongue flopping out like a slobbery weapon of affection as it licks her face with unrestrained enthusiasm.
“Ah! No! Stop!” Shay laughs, trying to fend off the calf’s assault as it licks her cheek and chin, even managing to nudge her nose. “Henry, help! This isn’t how ranching is supposed to work!”
I can’t stop the laughter that bursts out of me, a deep rumble I haven’t heard in years. It’s downright comical, the way she’s pinned under the calf’s not-so-imposing bulk, her hands flailing as she tries to push its big, slobbery head away. Taking this as a sign that Shay is now part of their pack, the dogs join in, barking and wagging their tails as if cheering on the calf.
“Hold still, Shay,” I manage between chuckles, though I make no move to intervene yet. The sight is too good to pass up. Her red hair is tangled with bits of straw, her face streaked with calf slobber, but she’s laughing, her eyes bright with exasperated amusement.
“You’re just going to stand there?” she gasps, her laughter mingling with the sounds of the increasingly chaotic barnyard scene.
“Thought you had it handled,” I tease, finally stepping forward to grab the calf’s halter. With a firm tug, I pull the little troublemaker off her. The calf huffs in protest but reluctantly follows my lead, giving Shay one last swipe of its tongue as if to say goodbye.
Shay sits up, wiping her face with her sleeve and glaring at me, though the effect is ruined by the grin tugging at her lips. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself.”
“Oh, I am,” I say, offering her a hand to pull her to her feet. “That was the best entertainment I’ve had in years.”
She takes my hand, and as I haul her upright, her green eyes narrow at me in mock warning. “Just wait, Henry Sutton. Payback is coming.”
“Is that a promise?” I quip, still grinning as I pluck a piece of straw from her hair.
Her gaze softens, and she lets out a breathless laugh. “Absolutely,” she says, brushing off her jeans and straightening her shirt with as much dignity as someone covered in calf slobber and straw can manage.
Shay steps closer, her green eyes locking onto mine with a look that makes me forget how to breathe. There’s no teasing now, no mock threats of payback—just her, with that spark that could probably light up the whole damn barn and maybe half the ranch.
“You know,” she says, her voice quieter now, “for someone who claims to prefer non-human company, you’re not half bad at saving the day.”
“Someone had to rescue you from your slobbery admirer,” I reply, unable to keep the grin from tugging at my lips. “Pretty sure the calf was planning to propose.”
Her laughter bubbles up, bright and musical, but this time, it fades quickly, replaced by something warmer, softer. “Guess that makes you my knight in shining… cowboy boots?”
“More like manure-covered boots,” I mutter, but the words die in my throat when she steps closer.
Shay’s hands land on my chest for balance as she rises onto her toes… and kisses me. It’s quick—barely more than a brush of her lips—but it sparks something inside me that’s been dormant for too long. My heart takes off like a runaway horse, galloping at full speed.
Shay steps back, her cheeks flushed, her green eyes wide and uncertain. “Sorry,” she murmurs. “You make it hard to stick to the plan.”
Stepping closer, my hand finds its way to her waist, and I dip my head to claim her mouth again. I forget where we are, who we are, and why kissing her isn’t a good idea.
This time, there’s nothing quick about the kiss. It’s slow and deliberate, a deep dive into something neither of us is ready to name. I nip her bottom lip, and she opens for me with a moan, allowing my tongue inside to tangle with hers and taste her sweetness. All I can focus on is her—this woman who’s somehow turned my carefully ordered life upside down.
An impatient moo from the calf breaks the spell. I pull back suddenly as sanity returns, remembering who we are and our agreement—no complicated emotions.
Shay laughs self-consciously as the calf nudges her. “Guess he doesn’t like public displays of affection.” Her smile is quickly replaced with a grimace. “Besides, I must smell terrible. Eau de Cow Slobber by Shay.”
The absurdness of her words makes me laugh—something I’ve been doing plenty of this last week. “I think any scent on you would be a bestseller.”
Shay blushes. “Good job I didn’t fall in cow shit, then,” she says with a cute snort.
Fuck, she's precious. And she’s inching under my defenses, burrowing her way into the previously empty muscle in my chest.
As we lead the calf back to the barn, I can’t help but think that enthusiastic disorder suits her—an unraveling of order. A whirlwind of emotion. Maybe a little disorder is exactly what I’ve been missing.
Shay fetches a treat for our little escape artist. The calf licks her hand, and she laughs, the carefree sound making me want things I have no right to want. Things I haven’t wanted in a very long time.
“Looks like you’ve made a friend,” I tell her, my voice still gruff from a kiss that rocked my world.
“Seems like it,” she agrees, stroking his neck.
I watch her, committing the image to memory—the way her hair catches the fading sunlight, her slightly swollen mouth, and her smile that seems to promise brighter days.
Shaking my head, I force myself to remember that this is strictly business.
So why did you kiss her?
I ignore the question drumming at my conscience and turn toward the house. “Come on. Let’s get dinner started before Angus and Tom eat all the snacks and spoil their appetites.”
“Race you to the kitchen!” Shay challenges, already taking off at a jog.
“Hey, no fair!” I shout, breaking into a run as I chase her.
Her fiery hair flies behind her as she giggles and makes a beeline for the house. The sight fills my chest with a lightness I haven’t experienced in years… and it scares the hell out of me.
Shay’s laughter rings out, clear and bright, as she hands Tom a wet plate to dry. I lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching her work in tandem with my brother. She fits here like a missing piece we didn’t know we lacked.
It’s maddening how easily she’s settled into this place, into our lives. Every laugh, every easy exchange with my brothers, stirs something in me that I can’t quite name. I should be grateful she’s adjusting so well, but instead, it’s unsettling. The more she fits in, the harder it becomes to remember why she’s here.
“You know, it’s a good thing we’re getting married in three days,” I say, trying to keep the edge out of my voice. “Otherwise, you two might wear out your welcome with all this racket.”
Shay turns, hair tumbling over her shoulders, and shoots me a grin that’s all sunshine. “Oh, Henry, don’t be such a grump. We’re just having a little fun.”
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut—not because of what she says, but because of how much I want to believe her. Fun. It’s been so long since that word held any real meaning for me. I want to tell her that’s what I’m afraid of: how much I want to be part of that “we.” How I wish it was my neck she stroked instead of that calf’s.
But I bite my tongue. This isn’t about what I want. It’s about keeping the ranch in the family, plain and simple.
“Fun is for after chores,” I retort.
“Chores can be fun too,” she replies, splashing a few drops of water in my direction with a mischievous flick of her wrist.
“Watch it,” I warn, but damn if I’m not fighting back a smile.
Tom chuckles, drying his hands on a towel before leaving us alone.
I watch him go before turning back to Shay. “You’ve got a knack for fitting in around here.”
“Guess I’m just lucky,” she says with a shrug, but a shadow lurks behind her eyes that tells me luck has had little to do with it.
Angus strolls by, catching my eye. “You keep staring holes into her and she’ll think you’re more interested in her than the marriage license.”
“Mind your business,” I snap, sharper than I intended.
“Ouch, touched a nerve there, did I?” Angus says dryly before backing off with his hands up, leaving me scowling after him.
Damn him. Damn me for being so transparent. I head to the living room, grabbing my “good” cowboy boots—the ones that’ll see me through the wedding. As I buff the leather, I tell myself it’s just nerves. Not jealousy, not longing. Just pre-wedding jitters. Right.
The worn bristles of the brush scrape over the leather, each stroke rougher than the last. I’m seated on an old ottoman, my boots in hand, a few stubborn scuffs mocking me. The rhythmic action should be soothing, but it’s like sandpaper on my raw nerves.
“Damn boots,” I mutter under my breath, focusing on the stubborn marks. My hands move with more force now, driven by the frustration churning inside me.
“Boots giving you trouble?” Shay’s voice catches me off guard, and I nearly drop the tin of polish.
“Ah, no,” I reply too quickly. “Just working out some stubborn spots.”
“Let me see.” She moves closer, her presence a warm breeze in the otherwise still room. With a light touch, she takes one boot from my hands, examining it with those bright green eyes that seem to miss nothing. “Sometimes, it needs a gentler touch.”
She smiles at me, and I swear my heart trips over itself. I watch her fingers glide over the leather, coaxing it into perfection. It’s ridiculous how my pulse picks up speed like I’m some greenhorn at his first rodeo.
“See? All better,” she says, handing the boot back to me with a triumphant look.
“Thanks,” I say gruffly. Her touch lingers, a phantom warmth that has no right affecting me this way.
I watch Shay as she heads back to the kitchen, admiring the sway of her generous hips and plump ass before I catch myself.
“Focus, Henry,” I growl to myself, turning my attention to the second boot.
My mind races, my thoughts battling between what I want and what I’ve agreed to. A marriage of convenience, that’s all this is supposed to be. But every time I look at Shay, something twists tight in my chest, and I know I’m getting in way over my head.
“Get a grip,” I tell myself, the words as much a command as they are a plea. “It’s just cold feet, not some damn love-at-first-sight nonsense.”
I buff the leather again, each stroke a silent vow. This arrangement is for the ranch, for my family. Nothing else matters. Yet, as I work on the boot, I can’t shake the knowledge that, despite my best efforts, everything changed the night Shay walked into our lives.