Auctioned to the Cowboy Sneak Peek #2
Mom always did have a wicked sense of humor.
Now, standing in the living room of the ranch she fought so damn hard to protect, staring down the very ultimatum she left behind…
Dad exhales heavily as he steps further into the room, pulling me from my thoughts.
He lowers himself into the old leather armchair by the hearth, the same one he’s claimed for as long as I can remember.
The firelight casts deep shadows across his face, highlighting the exhaustion he rarely admits to.
“Your mother was a force of nature,” he murmurs, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “You know that better than anyone.”
I huff out a short laugh. That’s an understatement. Ruth Sutton could out-stubborn a mule, outthink a politician, and outmaneuver any of us boys.
“Yeah, well, she’s still meddling from the grave,” I mutter.
Dad’s lips twitch. “That’s what mothers do, son.” His gaze flickers toward the mantel, where one of Mom’s old picture frames still sits—her smiling face frozen in time, eyes full of life and mischief.
I swallow hard and look away.
Dad sighs. “She wanted you boys to have what she and I had.”
“A marriage?”
“A partner,” he corrects. “Someone who’d stand by your side, call you on your bullshit, and make this place feel like home again.”
The words sink in deep, hitting a spot I don’t like to acknowledge. Because the truth is, this house hasn’t felt like home since she left it.
Dad must see something in my face, because his expression softens. “You’re not alone in this, Hank. Your brothers, your cousins—”
“My damn cousins are probably in on it,” I grumble, shaking my head.
Jacob—Dad’s brother—owns the neighboring ranch and runs it with his three sons. He and Dad had a falling out years ago, a rift neither of them ever talks about.
Despite the distance between them, neither side has ever stopped Angus, Tom, or me from staying close to our cousins. The tension between Dad and Jacob might be thick enough to cut with a knife, but blood runs deep.
Even if, in this case, it’s probably running straight toward another damn scheme.
Dad leans forward, forearms braced on his knees, voice quiet but firm. “This place matters. Not just to us, but to the men who come here looking for a second chance. And if marrying is what it takes to keep it standing…” He shrugs. “Then maybe it’s worth considering.”
I grit my teeth, already hating how logical he’s being. “It’s not that simple.”
“Nothing ever is. Just keep an open mind. Okay?”
“Open mind,” I echo, turning back to the fire that’s now roaring confidently. “Just what I need.”
Silence stretches between us, filled only by the crackle of the fire and the wind rattling against the windows. Outside, the night spreads wide over Havenridge, the land stretching beyond the porch, solid and unyielding.
This ranch has always been home. Always been bigger than me.
But I’m not a man who jumps into something blindly.
And the idea of marrying a stranger just to meet a deadline?
That’s a whole different kind of war.
The warmth from the hearth seeps into my bones, steadying me.
I’ll need that strength to face whatever harebrained plan my younger brothers may have concocted.
Angus and Tom mean well, but their definition of “help” often leads to havoc.
Still, they’re family, which means I’ll hear them out—even if it’s just to shut them down.
Dad stands as I shove the poker back into its stand.
“I know you’ll make the right choice,” he says, and for the first time in months, I hear something in his voice I wasn’t sure I’d ever hear again.
Hope.
He waves goodnight, heading to the bunkhouse. He’s been sleeping there since we lost Mom, a habit that started as an excuse—"just easier to keep an eye on the hands"—but never stopped.
I watch him go, his shoulders still broad but carrying a weight that has nothing to do with the ranch. The house feels bigger without him in it. Emptier. Like it's waiting for something to bring it back to life.
I sink into Mom’s old armchair, elbows on my knees, dragging a hand over my face.
Right choice, huh?
A dry chuckle escapes me. I know what he means. What he’s really saying. But the right choice for the ranch isn’t necessarily the right choice for me.
The fire crackles beside me, sending flickers of light across the walls, casting long, twisting shadows. The warmth fills the space, but it does little to touch the ice that’s taken up permanent residence around my heart.
A heart once eager and open, now a slab of meat behind ribs that has seen too much.
“Women,” I mutter under my breath, my voice lost in the vastness of the ranch house that’s been my world since I can remember.
Six bedrooms, each one filled with memories of laughter and arguments, the wraparound porch where Mom used to sit sipping her iced tea, watching us boys play in the dirt. Every creaky floorboard, every chipped tile in the kitchen—I know them like I know the lines on my palm.
But the thought of sharing this place with another person, a woman?
That sends a different kind of shiver down my spine.
I’ve seen the way the ladies in town look at me.
A mix of pity and opportunity that makes my stomach turn.
They’d love to step into the role of Mrs. Sutton, queen of the ranch.
But they don’t know the first thing about me.
The last one who did, Sandra, saw me as a ticket to respect she hadn’t earned.
Took pride in being a SEALs wife without living the life.
I was nineteen, full of dreams and honor, thinking I had the world figured out.
She threw my rank around like it was hers to use, demanding discounts and acting all high and mighty.
And when I came home early from deployment to surprise her, I was the one surprised.
The only thing she was good at was lying and cheating, and boy, she was an expert at both.
The first snowflakes dance against the windowpane. It’s picturesque, a scene that should be on a Christmas card, but it feels more like a warning. Time’s running out, and if I don’t find someone to marry, this whole place turns into a clown fiesta.
No woman, no matter how sweet-smelling or pretty-eyed, will make me risk my heart again. My bed’s been empty since Sandra, and that’s how it’ll stay. I’m celibate by choice because the alternative? Too damn painful.
“Love,” I scoff at the idea as I watch the snow thicken outside.
“A con game I’m not falling for.” Not that it matters much.
What woman wants a husband whose heart is locked up tighter than the safe in my office?
They want love, romance, the whole fairy tale.
Not some business deal to secure land and cattle.
“Who needs them?” I declare to no one in particular, but even as the words leave my lips, I know the truth. Without a bride, I’m as good as homeless. And that’s something I can’t let happen. Not to me, not to this ranch. Not to my family or the veterans who depend on us.
“I need some air,” I say to the empty room and walk to the front door.
I leave the warmth of the living room for the chill of the wraparound porch. The wood creaks beneath my boots, the cold slicing through me like a knife. The snow is still falling, flakes catching in my stubble like tiny icy fingers, reminding me I’m very much alone in this house.
My breath fogs in front of me as I look toward the stables. A light flicks on for a moment before it turns off, replaced by the glow of Dad’s television. Where exactly are Angus and Tom? I hope they aren’t at The Rusty Spur, the only bar in town.
I’m about to turn back inside when headlights cut through the night, slicing across the snowy yard and pulling up near the porch. My brothers’ truck, unmistakable even in the dark. It’s late, almost midnight. What kind of trouble have they dug up now?
The engine cuts, and a few seconds of silence follow before doors slam and footsteps crunch in the snow. Tom is grinning like an idiot, all teeth and no sense. Angus’ looks his usual reserved self, although the set of his shoulders suggests he’s bracing himself for something.
“Got something to show you, Henry,” Tom says, his voice carrying a mischievous edge that only ever means trouble.
Angus nods in agreement, his smile not quite reaching his eyes the way it used to. “It’s important,” he adds, leaving it hanging there like a lure.
Before I can press them for answers, another set of headlights pulls in behind their truck—a car I don’t recognize.
I narrow my eyes, watching as it parks and the driver turns off the ignition.
I step off the porch, boots sinking into the fresh layer of snow, my gut twisting with curiosity and annoyance.
“Who’s that?” My tone is flat, expecting some harebrained explanation or worse, a setup.
“Just wait,” Tom replies, an eagerness in his stance that sets me further on edge.
This has to be one of their schemes. A surprise? At midnight? In the middle of a snowstorm? Only my brothers would think that’s a good idea.
Tom smirks. “Christmas has come early for you, Henry.”
Auctioned to the Cowboy