Page 21 of Fixing to be Mine (Valentine Texas #5)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

COLT

T he emcee clears her throat, caught between surprise and panic. She’s in shock; I think the whole damn tent is, including me.

“Well,” she says, her voice pitched a little too high, “we’ve got a strong contender. I have two thousand on Colt Valentine. Do I hear twenty-five hundred?”

The silence stretches. No one moves. No one speaks.

Every eye in the tent has shifted toward Tessa, who’s standing tall with her chin lifted and arms still folded across her chest. She’s so sure of herself, so smug, like she played her winning card and is waiting for the applause.

Going on a date with her, even if it’s for charity, would be a nightmare.

My hands curl into fists at my sides. But I stay standing on this damn stage, being treated like something for sale, while the one person I care about is sitting a few feet away, rigid as stone.

Sunny’s expression hasn’t changed, but something in her eyes has.

They’re sharper now, like a firm decision has been made behind them.

Hawks get the same focus right before they dive for a mouse.

The emcee tries again.

“Two thousand going once …”

My chest tightens as I snap my shirt closed. I’m going to have a discussion with Fenix after this.

“Going twice …”

Sunny lifts her paddle, her voice steady and clear, not loud, but commanding. “ Ten thousand.”

The words don’t ripple through the tent; they crack it wide open.

The entire crowd gasps. Someone near the back drops a plastic cup. A few people stand from their seats to stare like they might’ve misheard.

The emcee freezes. For a moment, she acts like she’s trying to process the number.

“I—sorry,” she stammers. “Honey, did you say … ten thousand? Ten?”

Sunny nods once, deliberately. “That’s correct. But since it’s for a good cause, let’s make it twenty.”

The emcee blinks and lets out a strangled laugh before she drops the mic. It hits the stage with a hard, echoing thud, and the tent erupts into whispers, others flat-out shocked into silence. I’m one of them.

My mouth falls open, and I stare at her, knowing she placed a twenty-thousand-dollar bid on me like it was the easiest decision she’d ever made.

She didn’t hesitate. She didn’t flinch. She raised her paddle and said I was hers in front of this whole damn town.

That number ensures everyone knows it too.

No way in hell I’ll be able to pretend this doesn’t mean something. The money is real.

The emcee clears her throat like she’s trying to restart her brain, then picks up the mic with hands that are visibly trembling. Her eyes are as wide as saucers.

“Okay,” she says, dragging the word out, buying time. “We have a bid for … twenty thousand dollars. Going once …”

The stunned silence continues to progress. Most are staring at Sunny now, who’s cool, composed, with a straight back, like she won a masterpiece at an art gallery. She blew the roof off this tent.

“Going twice …”

No one answers. No one would pay a fortune to have me. Just her.

I stare at Sunny because it’s so much more than the bid. It was the way she claimed me, like I was hers.

The emcee swallows hard and presses forward, voice shaky, but still doing her best to carry on. Not a damn person in the room even breathes. I’m not.

“All right then! Last chance to bid on Colt Valentine,” she says.

I glance across the crowd. Fenix stands near the edge of the stage with her clipboard clutched to her chest, eyes wide, mouth hanging open like she witnessed something illegal.

Kinsley is frozen beside Summer, hand clamped around Summer’s forearm, who’s whispering something I can’t hear, but her eyes are locked on me.

Off to the side, Vera has a hand over her mouth.

Her other hand is gripping a half-eaten caramel apple like she forgot she was holding it.

And in the back of the tent, I spot Remi standing next to Cash.

She looks at me, then at Sunny, then back at me, and mouths, What the fuck?

Sunny winks at me as she smirks, enjoying this. And in that moment, the rest of it—the crowd, the whispers, the chaos—all drops away. All I can see is her.

The emcee exhales, like she’s finally convinced this is real.

She lifts the mic one last time. “Sold,” she says, her voice cracking slightly, her tone still stunned as she brings the gavel down against the podium. “To the pretty lady in the front row for twenty thousand buckaroos.”

There’s a beat of silence before the tent erupts into laughter and applause. There are a few shocked gasps.

Someone whistles low from the far side of the stage, and I hear Emmett shout, “Get it, big bro!”

Seconds later, I’m off the stage and moving. I cross the distance between me and Sunny with one thought only—I’ve been hers since the second I saw her.

Reaching out, I grab her hand and pull her to her feet, eyes soft, mouth parted slightly, but I don’t give her the chance to speak.

I cup her face with both hands and slide my mouth across hers in front of the entire town.

Her lips meet mine with urgency, soft but unshy.

It’s the kind of kiss that doesn’t ask for permission, one that already knows the answer.

She tastes like lemonade and heat. Her lips open, and I take the invitation without thinking, allowing our tongues to twist together.

My hand slips down to the curve of her waist, fitting perfectly around her like this was always supposed to happen.

She exhales against my mouth like she’s been holding her breath for days.

Her fingers curl into my shirt, pulling me closer, anchoring herself to me, like she’s finally allowing herself to fall.

The crowd around us fades away. The noise, the lights, the people watching—all of it blurs until there’s nothing but the wild, electric heartbeats between us.

Her other hand lifts, brushing along my jaw, and I swear to God, I almost lose it right there.

Because this isn’t a performance. This isn’t for show.

This is her choosing me—not just in front of everyone, but with her whole damn body—and I’m choosing her back.

None of the chatter, whispers, hoots, and hollers breaks us from the moment. The kiss deepens, and her body molds against mine like she’s always known exactly where she fits. Right here, with me.

“That’s my brother!”

I recognize that voice. It’s Harrison.

I pull away slowly, breath caught somewhere between her mouth and mine, and I keep my hands on her face for a second longer than necessary to memorize the feel of her skin, the way her lashes are still low, and how her cheeks are flushed from more than the heat.

She looks at me like the ground shifted beneath her feet. Hell, it did. At least I felt it.

The emcee laughs into the microphone. “If you don’t marry that woman …”

The tent bursts into applause again. I pull away from Sunny, realizing we lost control.

I rest my forehead against hers for half a breath. “Let’s get out of here.”

She nods.

I wave at everyone, unable to tuck the smile back as I wrap my arm around her, leading her out of the tent with all eyes on us.

“See, you never know what kinda show you’re gonna get at the rodeo!” The emcee recovers. “Next, we’ve got Emmett Valentine!”

There’s a chorus of shrieks from the middle rows. I glance back toward the crowd in time to see my brother strut onto the stage, arms raised like he’s already won something.

He grins at the crowd. “Any woman out there wants to drop twenty grand on me? I’ll give you the time of your damn life!”

The tent roars with laughter.

Emmett winks, reaches for the hem of his shirt, and yanks it off in one motion, tossing it into the crowd like he’s a damn rodeo-themed Chippendale. The single women lose their minds.

Sunny presses her face into my shoulder, laughing so hard that I feel it in my chest. “Oh my God. This is a fever dream.”

“Nope,” I say, resting my hand at the small of her back. “This is Valentine.”

She doesn’t let me go, and I’m not letting go of her either.

The bidding for Emmett is absolute chaos.

Someone shouts two hundred. Then three. Then a woman near the back yells four fifty and throws her hand in the air like she’s claiming a prize-winning pig at the county fair.

When it gets up to a thousand, Emmett beams, shirtless and soaking it up like the crowd’s roaring for him, which they are.

The emcee pounds her gavel and shouts, “Sold to the lovely lady in the fringe tank top for one grand!”

Emmett blows a kiss and flexes like he’s leaving with a trophy.

“Last year, Emmett auctioned himself twice to raise more money.”

“Seriously?” she questions as we step outside.

I lead her away from everyone until we’re in the shadows behind the tent.

All I can think is that I kissed the woman I can’t stop thinking about …

and she let me. Actually, she met me in it, matched it, and claimed me as I opened my mouth.

We stand there for a minute longer, letting the energy of the tent swirl around us.

People are still laughing, shouting out names, clapping like this is the best entertainment they’ve had all month.

Our eyes meet.

“Wanna get out of here?”

“When do I need to pay?” she asks.

“Later,” I explain. “They know where to find ya.”

She nods, still grinning, cheeks pink, eyes bright. “Lead the way.”

We cut through the crowd, still holding hands, still wrapped in that buzzing afterglow.

Every few steps, someone stops us to clap me on the shoulder or say something like, “Way to reel her in, cowboy.”

I’ve never seen Sunny more alive. She’s radiant. Free. And she’s mine.

We make it to the truck, beyond the edge of the lights, tucked in the soft dark, where the country music fades. I open the door for her, but she doesn’t get in right away.

Instead, she leans against the cool metal, arms crossed, eyes on me. “Is this when the curse sets in?”

“Yeah, sorry about it,” I say, heart hammering in my chest. “Twenty thousand dollars is a lot of money,” I say.

“I’d have paid double.” She shrugs, easy but not careless, as she hooks her fingers in my belt loops and tugs me closer. “You belong to me, cowboy.”

The words knock the air out of my lungs.

I don’t move at first. I stare at her mouth, her eyes and the storm still swirling behind them. I study the girl who walked into my life as if she owned it—because maybe she always did.

Fuck this.

I press her back against the truck and kiss her again, harder this time, with all the tension that’s been sitting under my skin since the moment I first saw her.

I pour every emotion I haven’t known how to say out loud into it.

She kisses me back like she means it, like she’s not going anywhere, but I know that’s not the truth.

Her hands fist into my shirt, pulling me as close as possible.

I press my palm against the truck beside her head, steadying us there, both of us breathing heavy and wrecked in the best damn way.

I pull back enough to see her.

She’s breathless. Eyes wide. Lips swollen. The night dancing in the lines of her face.

“You’re like a dream,” I whisper.

“I’d say the same about you, cowboy,” she admits.

I lean forward, capturing her lip into my mouth and sucking on it.

“Love to hear it,” I whisper, knowing the lines are already too blurred. “Now let’s go home.”

I say the word like it’s ours, and, fuck, it sure does feel like it is.