The first woman walks onstage. She looks nervous and shy. The bidding is respectful. She’s matched quickly with a kind-eyed rancher.
Good. This is what Henry meant. This is why Shay asked.
“Next on stage… Jessie!”
A tall redhead with freckles everywhere steps out, freckles scattered across her face and down arms that her strappy blue dress leaves bare.
Tank’s jaw drops. His pupils blow wide. His gaze goes soft—too soft for a man built like a siege engine. Tank doesn’t do soft.
His fingers tighten around the paddle like his body just made the decision for him. “Holy mother of God,” he whispers.
“The freckles?” I ask.
“The attitude,” he breathes.
The woman plants her hands on her hips, chin up: Take it or leave it.
Tex whistles. “You’re screwed.”
“I am,” Tank says reverently.
Bidding starts.
Tank raises his paddle immediately.
Another man tries to counter. Tank shoots him a look that could curdle steel.
Ten seconds later…
“Sold! To bidder number three!”
Tank sinks back, stunned. “Jessie,” he says like it’s a prayer.
I clap his shoulder. “Mountain man found his mountain woman.”
He doesn’t deny it.
Then—
“Up next… Jane!”
The room brightens with energy even before she appears.
Jane saunters onstage, curvy, bold, and sparkling with mischief—sunshine wrapped around dynamite.
Tex goes still. His soul leaves his body long enough for me to see the vacancy.
“Oh, no,” I mutter.
“Oh, yes,” Tank snickers.
Jane waves like she owns the place, but there’s a flicker behind her eyes—something a survivor would recognize.
Tex rises so fast his chair skids.
Bidding starts hot.
Tex almost tears his shoulder as he launches his paddle upward.
