Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Life in my abusive father’s clutches has left me tired of fighting to survive. Escaping was always my plan until he found a final way to destroy selling me to three brooding strangers whose remote ranch promises to be another kind of hell.
The cowboys introduce me to ranch life, and I go along with what they want because I have nowhere else to go.
Maverick Clancy is blond-haired and blue-eyed, but his innocent looks and mischievous smile mask the complex man he is.
Jesse McGraw is old enough to be my daddy, but what he wants from me should be forbidden.
Clint Lawson is huge and tattooed, and not from these parts. His past remains a mystery, no matter how much I ask.
They’re hard-working, plain-talking, and authoritative in a way that should feel bad but actually feels good.
But making me a cowboy’s wife isn’t enough for them. They want to breed me like I’m a brood mare and they’re three stallions.
They’re clear about the life they’re striving for, but letting them put a baby in my belly will mean forever.
Will telling them about the future I dream of put an end to the ride of my life?
Auctioned to the Cowboys is a standalone romance in the Auctioned Series.
Reader note - This book contains darker themes. These cowboys are mean and moody until they're redeemed by love.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
PLAYLIST
“In Case You Didn’t Know” by Brett Young
“On My Way To You” by Cody Johnson
“Life is a Highway” by Tom Cochrane
“Our Song” by Willie Nelson
“Cowboy Take me Away” by The Chicks
“Cowboys and Angels” by Dustin Lynch
“Head Over Boots” by Jon Pardi
“Coming Home” by Maggie McClure
“Forever After All” by Luke Combs
“Too Sweet” by Hozier
1
TAYLOR
THE DEVIL YOU KNOW
Standing in the lingering evening sunlight, I trace my fingers over the outline of the fading bruise on my cheek.
It doesn’t hurt anymore, but the memory of how it got there lingers past the pain. The light from the front of the house and the crudely parked, rusting truck outside reveal my father’s home. The familiar sinking feeling I get every time I return here takes my breath away.
The bag of buttery pastries and pies clutched in my hand smells delicious. Hopefully, it’ll be enough to quell his temper. Swallowing hard, I know I have no choice but to go inside.
One day at a time.
It’s the only way I get through for Molly.
Glancing again at the neglected house I call home, I drop my head and carry myself on autopilot along the weed-lined path of our front yard, careful to avoid the cracks. Voices carry through the front door, and my heart kicks up a notch. Reaching for my keys, I give myself another moment before I go inside, trying to control the tremble of my fingers.
I’m careful to open the door quietly, almost holding my breath.
“Taylor!” Molly runs and hurls herself at me as I step into the dingy hall with its lingering dampness.
She’s still slightly shorter than me, but it won’t be long before she catches up. I hold her close, and she rests her head against my shoulder. Her relief at my arrival is palpable, and I plant a kiss firmly on the top of her head.
“How was the trip today? Did Mrs. Gulliver let you bring some books home?”
She doesn’t get to answer my question. My father’s shadow looms in the hallway like a specter. I close the door behind me, even though the danger is in front of me. He’s accompanied by the smell of sweat, liquor, and something smoky and stale.
Sensing Molly’s heightened unease, I stroke the top of her head, curling her silky blonde locks between my fingers to let her know that I’ll keep her safe.
The four-year age gap between us feels much more significant, as though the daily trauma we experience has forced me to age and trapped her in childhood.
I flinch as something flies past me, shattering violently against the door as splintering glass showers like a rainstorm. The broken pieces fall to the mat around me and Molly. Glinting in the low light of the hall, they almost look like frost.
“Make dinner. And clear up this goddamn mess before someone gets hurt.” Dad turns and staggers back into the den. “You need to lay off the donuts, girl!” His voice is tinged with ridicule, and I try to block out the insult, dusting myself down.
After giving no response, I head into the kitchen to find the dustpan. I don’t take the bait. When I return, Molly’s sunken hazel eyes fix on me, seeking reassurance.
“Hey, Molls. Set the table. I’ve got pie for tonight, chicken, and vegetables—your favorite.”
Glad of something to do, she makes for the kitchen, but not before glancing over her shoulder.
After sweeping, I gather the dirty plates strewn on the counter and heat a pan of water to wash them. So much of the kitchen is ancient and broken. While everything’s soaking, I slice the pie.
The three of us sit around the kitchen table. Dad shovels the food into his mouth like a wild animal feasting on a carcass. He grunts as he chews, and flakes of pastry and sauce cling to his unshaven chin.
He clutches a can, guzzling back gulps of cheap beer, smacking his lips with each swallow, and spreading the debris across his jawline with the back of his rough, calloused hand.
“Stop eyeballing me, girl.”
I ignore his comment. Molly pushes her food around her plate, picking at it hesitantly like a baby bird. When she’s nervous, she can’t eat—the opposite of me.
“Are you not hungry, Molly? I thought this pie was your favorite!”
She drops her fork and lowers her head as I reach over to grab her hand with mine.
“I don’t want to look at her goddamn long face. Eat the food, you ungrateful bitch.”
Molly’s eyes gloss with tears, but it has been a long while since either of us has fully shown our father the effects of his abuse on our emotions.
I finish my food quickly, never sure how long I’m going to have before he loses his temper and swipes the plates from the table. I give Molly a donut, which she manages a few bites of. She needs fresh fruit and vegetables, but I can’t get those for ten percent of the marked price after hours at the bakery. Whatever money Dad gets goes on beer, cigarettes, and gambling. The food bank has had nothing fresh for over two weeks.