Steal Her Heart (Kaid Ranch Shifters #1)(5)

Bryson’s face twisted into something monstrous. He said something to Grant, standing just a few rows ahead of him, but she couldn’t make out his words over the chatter of the auctioneer and the building volume of the room. Whatever he said though…well, it made Grant Faraday visibly swallow hard and look back at the auctioneer, shake his head slightly, and bow out of bidding.

“Too rich for me,” he called.

The auctioneer crowed, “Sold to number ten-ten, Mr. Locke of the Kaid Brother’s Ranch, for forty-one thousand dollars! Holy Lord, folks, that’s what’s goin’ down today. Well this auction just got exciting!”

Maris released a huff of breath and looked around, ears ringing from the mutterings and whistles, and applause. Someone clapped Bryson on the back as he made his way down from the top row. His boots made hollow thuds against the wooden stairs, but he didn’t look at her at all. She tracked him all the way to the hallway that led to the auction office, up until the second he disappeared completely.

The old cowboy beside her leaned in and gave her a grin. “If you gotta lose ’em, you could do worse than losing ’em to the Kaid brothers.”

“Right,” she murmured. “You have a good auction, mister.”

The cowboy gave her a wink and a smile, then flicked his paddle up on a trio of Hereford calves. In a rush, she stood and made her way down the rows, clomping down the stairs much less gracefully than Bryson had.

He was at the payment office in the hall, talking to Meredith behind the counter. He had put his wallet back in his pocket and had folded up a receipt by the time she caught up to him.

“Why did you do that?” she blurted out.

Bryson ignored her and did an about-face, made his way toward the glowing orange exit sign. He had to turn sideways—sideways!—to get through the door. He was that big. Lord, his daddy musta been a T-rex. She jogged after him until she could walk right next to him. This close, his bulk blocked out the whole sky when she looked up at him.

“Hey, why did you do that?” she asked again. “You overpaid. You and I both know it.”

“Are you complaining?” he asked without turning around.

“A little. I want to know what your intentions are.”

“Lady, I don’t owe any explanations. I was nice. Just say thank you.”

“But why? Men don’t do nice things without a hidden agenda.”

“Is that right? You have a mighty low opinion about men,” he said. His tone was dark with irritation now.

Gads, he walked fast. Big, powerful strides, and she was having trouble keeping up with him, the mud as thick as it was. She was gonna lose a boot, and she wasn’t Cinderella. And this fella sure wasn’t prince charming, made very clear when he slapped the back of his neck and rounded on her. “Buzz off, Duck,” he growled.

“W-what?” she stammered, locking her legs. The mud made slurping sounds against her boots as she skidded to a stop.

“That’s what you are, right? Follow a man around like that, and it’s a dangerous game. Like a little baby duck after its mom. I don’t like people at my back. Ease up. Go on back inside, get your money, and go celebrate. Buy yourself a nice steak dinner and a glass of wine. I have shit to do, and I ain’t inclined to answer your questions.” He twitched his chin toward the sale barn, and there it was again, a strange glow in his eyes. Just a flash, and then they looked regular again. “Shoo, Duck.”

She’d never been so offended to be called a name. And, oh, she got insulted a lot, because she was a woman with her own herd trying to make a name for herself in a man’s world. But being called a baby duck by this man on one of the worst days of her life was too much.

She slapped him. Right across the face, she slapped him. Now, she’d never lost her temper enough to slap a person before, but she was pretty sure they were at least supposed to flinch. That’s not what happened. Bryson didn’t even blink, and she hadn’t fuckin’ tickled him either. She’d landed a good, loud slap, but his stony jaw didn’t even move. Her hand, though, hurt like the dickens. “Don’t shoo me and don’t call me that.” Because ground rules. She knew better than to let a man treat her like that and get away with it. Hand throbbing, she clenched it and turned around. “Take care of my cows,” she muttered, squishing her way back toward the auction barn.

She dared one glance back, but it only pissed her off more.

The brute was smiling.





Chapter Three


Errands were done. Maris had made a big payment at the bank to keep the collectors off her back, got groceries and, yeah, she’d gone out and got herself a steak dinner and a glass of wine, though she’d never tell that oaf Bryson Locke if she ever saw him again. He didn’t control her. He’d just given her a craving when he’d mentioned it, that’s all.

She pulled her old beater Ford pickup down the long lane that led to her house. Her tires crunched on the gravel as she took a sharp turn onto the long driveway of Willow Switch Ranch. She passed by Marshmallow Face, chewing her cud by the fence and staring at her as she drove past. Maris waved to her, like the cow knew what that meant. They were her only friends, though, and she was feeling a tiny bit buzzed from that glass of wine. Waving seemed appropriate.

There were the other cows grouped together. Two of them were butting heads, and a few of the calves were lying right by the fence. Cuties.