3
MAVERICK
A brIDE PRICE
“You bid without checking with us?”
Jesse nods curtly, ignoring my tone and my effort to hold his attention by standing in his way.
Jesse’s the boss and he always takes control at the auction, bidding on whatever livestock he thinks is right for the ranch. But this isn’t a livestock purchase. He just bid on a woman. A woman who’s going to be a wife.
“She’s perfect.”
“Perfect?”
I glance at Clint, who touches the front of his hat and pulls it lower as he focuses his attention on the dirt in front of him. He does that with Jesse, hiding away when he should stand his ground. He feels like he owes Jesse something. I reckon we both do, but that doesn’t mean we have to go with the flow, especially when the flow is less of a trickle and more like a flash flood.
“You don’t like her?” Jesse chews, his jaw working as he narrows his piercing blue eyes.
“Like her?” I turn and exhale, puffing out my cheeks. How the fuck can I like a girl I’ve seen for sixty seconds and heard three sentences from? “She’s too fucking young.”
Clint shifts his feet, turning away from our discussion. Behind me, another girl is brought out to sit on the hay bale like a virgin at a hoedown. She has curly auburn hair and big brassy earrings. She looks like she could handle what we have to offer without breaking. I didn’t get the same feeling from Taylor.
“They’re all young. Your momma was young. My momma was young.”
He’s bringing mommas into it now. I don’t want to think about either of our mommas in this context. Jesus. And seeing as how nothing worked out for my momma, she’s not an example to call on.
“Well, it’s too late for any kind of opinion.”
“She’s pretty. And she said the right things.” He raises his chin defiantly.
“You’re thinking with your stomach and your dick?”
Jesse rubs his tanned hand over his salt-and-pepper beard and folds his lips like he’s trying to bite back whatever was on the tip of his tongue. “We need someone practical.”
“Well, she looked practical. That outfit—”
I shake my head at the shapeless, worn clothes Taylor presented herself in today. I wore my best shirt, and Jesse and Clint pulled out their Sunday hats. A situation like this demands some effort.
“We need to get over there,” Clint grumbles. He tips his head towards Dixie, who’s helping Taylor with a small bag of things. Doesn’t look like she’s bringing much to the table.
The auction has our details, so payment before we leave isn’t necessary. I consider the price we just paid and what else we could have bought with it: a prize stallion capable of siring generations of hardworking beasts, or a small herd of livestock.
I don’t understand how the girls here think this is a good option. Men need women, and women need men; that’s just the way of the world most of the time. But finding a husband in a place like this doesn’t seem like the best option for any female.
“Here you go,” Dixie says, handing Jesse Taylor’s small bag. “Taylor, meet Jesse, Maverick, and Clint. They’ll be taking you home.” She gives Taylor a side hug, squeezing the terrified-looking girl against her ample bosom. “You got some good ones there.”
Taylor blinks, looking at all of us like Bambi facing the double barrels of a shotgun and imminent death. Triple barrel, in our case.
She’s prettier up close, with tiny pale freckles dusting her cheeks like the dappling on my favorite mare and soft, wispy light brown hair that her ears peek through, almost elfin-like. She holds herself tightly and awkwardly, as though she’s not used to the space her body takes up or the way it feels to move it.
The urge to give her some kind of reassurance is a strong and unusual one. I usually like brazen, confident women who are at home in their own sexuality. It makes one-night stands so much easier and more pleasurable.
Taylor’s giving off virgin vibes.
Fuck.
This is destined to end badly—not just badly. It’s designed to implode and take all of us down with force.
Jesse holds out his hand, and Taylor takes it, but not before I notice the tremble in her fingers. Our eyes meet, and it’s like seeing a reflection of my own; warm hazel with flecks of green and gold, like sparks of fire flaring off the forest floor.
“I’m Jesse,” he says gruffly. Taylor nods and focuses on Clint, who’s still lurking in the background. Her silent question fills the space between us: which one of you is going to be my husband?
“This is Clint.” Jesse waves in the general direction of Clint’s rigid form. “And Maverick.”
I tip my hat and force a smile onto my face despite my reservations. Smiling is what I do best, but today, it feels about as natural as a pig mating with a bull.
“Hi.” Her attention drifts to Dixie’s back as she moves through the crowd to deal with the next girl.
“We’re done for the day, so we’ll leave now, okay?” Jesse gestures toward the barn door in the direction of our truck. The livestock we purchased today will be delivered, so Taylor is the only purchase we need to transport.
That sounds so wrong, even in my head.
“Okay.” She couldn’t sound less enthusiastic if she tried.
We walk toward the truck, Jesse leading, Clint behind him, and Taylor and me at the rear. I try to hold a place next to her as she drags her feet. The awkward silence begs to be filled.
“You’ll like Twin Springs Ranch,” I say. “It sure is pretty.”
She nods, glancing at me, but then lets her gaze shift.
“Yeah. The landscape, the house, the animals. It’s the best.” I sound like one of those douchebag realtors on daytime television.
Taylor doesn’t answer, so I continue.
“You’ll settle in fast.”
“Who am I marrying?” she blurts as we emerge from the building. She stops, watching Jesse and Clint’s retreating forms.
“Clint,” I say. I lift my hat and swipe my hand over my sweat-slicked brow. My hair is probably a mess.
She stares at me, surprised. Of all of us, he’s been the least engaging.
Her teeth dig into her bottom lip so hard it turns white.
“This is what you want, right?”
She blinks a few times, her eyes turning glassy. “Yes,” she whispers. “Of course.”
Why don’t I believe her?
None of this is my problem. Jesse will have to pick up the pieces of his foolhardy scheme. If she’s trembling about becoming Clint’s wife, how the hell is she going to feel about the rest of what she has coming?
“Let’s go,” I say. “The quicker we get back, the quicker we can show you around. You’ll like it, I promise.”
It’s the weakest promise I’ve ever made.
The drive home takes two hours, and it’s hella awkward. Clint sits with Taylor in the back, dodging conversation the whole way. In his defense, Taylor falls asleep within ten minutes with her head resting awkwardly against the side of the truck. Me and Clint exchange a loaded look. The poor girl’s either exhausted or pretending to sleep so she doesn’t have to engage with us. Either way, it’s probably better. Clint’s the strong, silent type. Jesse’s tone usually carries an element of command that strikes fear into the unsuspecting. He’s bullheaded, too. I babble and make jokes to fill the empty space. Between us, we probably make a terrible, mystifying, or terrifying first impression.
The shirt I wear pinches my neck, and I unfasten the top two buttons. The breeze streaming in through the open windows is warm and dry but cooling, nevertheless.
I don’t feel right until we reach the boundary of the ranch. Like a fish out of water, I only breathe easy when I’m home.
We’re driving past the main herd when Jesse brakes suddenly, pulling the truck close to the fence. One of the cows has gotten itself caught and is struggling in vain to free its strangled throat.
“Stupid goddamn animal,” Jesse grunts as he slides from the truck. I’m close behind him, kicking up dust as I rush to help. Clint’s last to exit the vehicle, or at least, I think he is, until a minute later, Taylor’s standing six feet away from us as we wrangle with the frantic cow, dirtying up our clothes and exhausting our strength. When it’s finally free, the fence is a mangled mess, and we’re disheveled and sweating.
This is far from a good first impression.
Taylor’s eyes are wide as the cow tries to return to the herd, its gait uneven and its eyes still bulging.
“Should we take it to the barn?” Clint asks Jesse.
“Let’s wait a few minutes… see if it eats and drinks.”
While I search for tools in the back of the truck, Jesse and Clint lean against the fence, watching the cow. Taylor, still maintaining her distance, does the same.
Through her eyes, the ranch seems a wild and unpredictable place. If you haven’t grown up in this life, it can be difficult to adapt. The hours are long and hard, and the cycle of life and death is unavoidable.
I manage to fix the twisted, busted parts of the fence, and the cow seems fine. We all troop back to the truck, sliding in to continue the journey to the house.
“Does that happen often?” Taylor asks.
“Yup.” Jesse shakes his head. “Cows are stupid animals.”
“They’re so big. I didn’t realize how big they’d be.”
“Big and stupid.” Jesse has no sense of humor.
Clint clears his throat. “They’re sweet creatures. Generally docile. Only happy in herds.”
“Unlike people.” Taylor makes a soft sound in her throat. She doesn’t realize it yet, but she just summed up Clint. He’s happier with animals than he is with other humans, happier alone than in company, generally brooding and tough. I wonder how she’ll find him as a husband. At least with me and Jesse around, she won’t get lonely.
“Are you an introvert?” I ask her, trying to work out how she’s going to fit in. Jesse grunts like I just cursed in church. I might as well have confessed to believing in horoscopes.
“I don’t know,” she says.
“What do you mean you don’t know?” I turn in my seat and catch her shaking her head as she focuses on the open land, which is ours, as far as the eye can see.
“I guess I like people if they’re good people. And I’d rather be alone if they’re not.”
Clint nods, his perpetual frown lifting. Maybe Jesse will be proven right after all. Taylor and Clint could be a match made in heaven.
Taylor’s eyes widen as we approach the house. With its grand pillared porch and a trellised verandah spanning the whole building, it’s pretty impressive at first sight. I know women like flowers, and this time of year, they’re everywhere.
I wonder what her former home is like. Maybe she’ll tell us when she’s settled in. Maybe we’ll meet her family, although as there was no one to see her off at the auction, maybe not. It hits me that I don’t know who the money is going to. Is it, for her, a kind of dowry? Or did someone else put her up to it?
It’s something else I wanted to know about before we chose who to bid for, but Jesse didn’t take that into consideration.
I help Taylor from the truck, grabbing her bag, and she follows us into the kitchen. I rest it on the large wooden table and wait for Jesse and Clint to wash up before I take a chance to clean my hands of dirt and animal filth.
Jesse retrieves a jug of iced tea from the fridge and pours four glasses, offering Taylor one. She drinks the whole thing gratefully. “Are you hungry?”
She nods, gripping the back of one of the chairs. On the counter, Jesse plates up a tub of shop-bought cookies, indicating that Taylor should sit and eat.
He takes the seat opposite her, and Clint and I flank them. While Taylor nibbles her cookie, Jesse pulls out a piece of paper detailing Taylor’s responsibilities. Is he seriously going to thrust it at her right now? I can’t believe this guy.
The paper is pushed across the polished wood surface before I can snatch it away. My throat makes a strangled noise, which Jesse reacts to with a displeased narrowing of his blue-glass eyes and a deep furrow to his brows.
Taylor focuses on the paper, already reading through the list.
“This is what you’ll be expected to do around here to pull your weight.”
Whoever said romance is dead had definitely met Jesse McGraw, the poster boy for practicality and responsibility.
“Okay.” Taylor takes the paper and wrinkles her brow with concentration. I don’t think a list of household chores deserves so much focus, but then again, I’m not the tidiest person who ever lived, so what do I know?
Clint clears his throat and shifts in his seat. He’s antsy to get outside and Jesse’s forgotten the most important part of what needs to happen today.
The wedding.
“Maybe the chores list can wait until after they jump the broom?” I say, shooting Taylor my most charming, lopsided grin.
“Jump the broom?
“The wedding,” I smile. “Time to make it official, darlin’.”
The color draining from Taylor’s cheeks isn’t a good sign, but nothing about this arrangement can be labeled as positive. She looks around, confused, like she’s expecting a minister and a gathering of people in their Sunday best to appear from around a corner.
“I’m an officiant,” I say. “All you gotta do is sign the marriage license to dot the i’s and cross the t’s.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“Hang on a minute.” Jesse presses his hands to the tabletop to leverage himself to stand. He disappears from the room, returning with a white summer dress on a hanger. Oh, no, he didn’t. “I thought you might want to wear this.”
Taylor’s eyes widen with genuine fear. Has she never seen a dress before? Jesse’s gaze drifts to her worn clothing, and she seems to get the hint.
“I’ll take you upstairs,” I say quickly, grabbing the hanger from Jesse.
Taylor stands, avoiding making direct eye contact with any of us, and follows me into the hallway and up the wooden stairs. We pass photographs of generations of the McGraw family and friends, lifetimes of happy memories. I wonder what’s going through Taylor’s mind right now. Probably a bales’-worth of questions and a shit-pile of fears.
“You can change here.” I open the door to one of the spare rooms. Taylor looks down at my wrist, frowning. I follow her gaze and find her focused on the colorful friendship bracelet that Katherine tied onto my arm last week.
“Jesse’s niece,” I say. “She wanted to make our friendship official!”
When Taylor looks at me, there seems to be less panic in her eyes. Maybe the bracelet and the story associated is reassuring in some way.
I hand Taylor the dress. “This room is going to be yours.”
She doesn’t look around, just zeroes in on the dress. “What if it doesn’t fit me?”
“I’m sure it will.” I speak with utter confidence, but who the fuck knows. Jesse bought it before he ever laid eyes on the girl who would wear it. How would he know what size to buy?
“I’m going to get ready myself. I’ll be back in five minutes to take you back down.”
I turn my back before Taylor can express any more of her uncertainties. We’re all trapped in this situation now, brought together in an unholy alliance. No point in making a mountain out of a molehill.
I busy myself in my room, doing my best to tame the hurricane of a mess that’s built up over the past week. If anything good is going to come from today, it’ll be having a woman around to keep me in line. I fix my hat hair, wetting the curls so they twist again.
When I think Taylor’s had enough time, I head out into the hall. She’s standing in the doorway, wearing the loose-fitting, white summer dress. Her feet are bare, and she’s run damp fingers through her hair, tucking it behind her ears. She’s done her best to look the part with her limited resources. Truth be told, she’s pretty as a picture with all the glow that comes from a girl in the early bloom of womanhood. She makes me feel old, even though thirty-two is still considered young these days. She hasn’t experienced long days working in the sunshine like I have. I hope she hasn’t lived through the grit of a childhood like mine, either.
“Perfect,” I tell her, and she flushes.
“I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“You don’t need to do anything except follow me down the stairs and stand next to Clint. Okay?” I start walking, hoping my momentum will give her some.
Jesse’s waiting at the bottom of the stairs and his eyes widen when he glimpses Taylor. I know that look. He’s attracted to her, but it’s more than that. He’s seeing past her, into the future he always wanted but was snatched away. She’s like a portal into his twenty-five-year-old self. The reality is she’s fifteen years and too much trauma too late.
Clint is still at the table, with his hands hanging at his sides. Where Jesse’s having a spiritual experience, Clint looks like a man facing the gallows. He’s going to need to climb those stairs and make this marriage official in ten minutes. I can’t help him with that.
“All right, all right. Let’s get this show on the road.” I sound like a cheesy gameshow host, but fuck it. Weddings are supposed to be light and fluffy. This one needs all the humor I can shoehorn into it.
Clint rises, and Taylor approaches. They stand too far apart, so I urge them closer with one hand on each of their upper arms. “The happy couple,” I quip.
Behind me, Jesse makes a low, growling sound of disapproval. “Quit ye jawin’, Maverick.” He’s not always a fan of my fun attitude.
Before anyone can bolt—and it looks like it’s a serious possibility—I read through the vows. The happy couple say, ‘I do,’ and the ceremony is over. I get them to sign the documents and Jesse witnesses. We take a quick photo for posterity. And that’s it. Done. Taylor is now Taylor Lawson, the official wife of Clint, the man who never wanted to get married.
When the ink is drying, I shake Clint’s hand and lean in to kiss Taylor’s soft cheek. She smells of peach pie, my favorite, and for the first time since she climbed into the truck with us, I wish I was the one getting to take her upstairs. Instead, I have to urge my best friend into some awkward conjugals. “Time to take your bride upstairs.”
Clint glares at me, then starts toward the hallway, forgetting to lead his bride. Taylor shuffles after him, her feet padding softly against the hardwood floor. They make such an odd-looking pair that I shake my head.
When they’re out of earshot, I turn to Jesse. “This is going to end in disaster.” I shake my head.
He scowls, blocking out any alternative view to his own. “For a man who spends his life acting the joker, you sure are one miserable asshole today.”