The announcer wrapped up the bidding. By the time the auction house took their cut, Hunter would have $4500. His second horse was brought out. This time, the rowdy group leaned in and started whispering. Hunter got a strange feeling, like he was being talked about—and not in a good way.
He looked over his mare. There was nothing wrong with her. She was a fine specimen and ended up bringing in $880 more than the horse before.
“How many horses are you selling today?” asked the bearded guy. His friends didn’t bother to pretend they weren’t listening.
Hunter shifted in his seat. That feeling that something was off trilled up his spine. “Just the two.”
“That’s a nice day for you. Your wallet is bursting,” he added.
“Give me ten minutes and I’m sure I’ll find a way to spend it.” Hunter nodded to them, then focused back on the auction, hoping to dismiss any more questions from the group. They continued to talk among themselves, quieter. Which made him more nervous than their rowdiness had before.
“Moving on to the next portion of our auction today …”
Hunter glanced down at his phone, where the program for the auction was laid out in black and white. The studs were up next. His heart raced. The thrill of bidding on a horse raced through his veins.
“We’ve had a change of plans, folks. Please note in your program that we’re moving Lot #67 to the end of the list.”
Several people flipped pages of their paper programs. They had to print them at home and bring them because everything had gone digital, but some of the older crowd preferred paper in their hands. Right then, Hunter would have liked one too—so he could crumple it up and throw it down in disgust. Lot #67 was his number one pick! His careful strategy was blown to bits.
“Easy now,” Lucky said beside him. “Things happen for a reason.”
A few choice words and replies went through Hunter’s head, but he did his best to calm down. Losing his cool wasn’t a good idea in this situation.
A few horses went by, and then Hunter’s second choice trotted in. He stood fifteen and a half hands tall and had the right bloodlines, though his coat had only a quarter of the freckles.
The rough group pointed, and the man without sleeves lifted his hand to start the bidding. “I’m gonna make him into my prize roping horse—just you watch.”
Hunter cringed, already feeling sorry for the animal.
“I don’t know, Brant. He’s a little high strung,” said one of his buddies.
The horse trotted in a circle while the cowgirl showing him did her best to keep him from breaking into a run. She continually told him “whoa” and spoke in low tones to calm him down.
“Nothing an 8-inch shanked bit can’t control.”
A shiver went down Hunter’s spine. An 8-inch shank would make any horse beg for release, and then he’d be broken and in need of rescue. Lucky tensed, and Swayzie’s hand fisted.
Hunter raised his arm. “Eight thousand.”
Lucky turned quickly. “I thought he was your second choice?”
“He is.” Hunter glanced at the group, who were now comparing notes and trying to raise the bid. Lucky nodded, understanding with just the look that Hunter’s goal was to keep them from getting this horse—even if he ended up spending every bit of the profit he’d just made to do it.
“Do I hear $8500?” called the auctioneer.
The bearded man raised a hand.
Hunter put his up right after, not even waiting for the auctioneer to call out nine thousand.
“Nine, nine, do I hear ten?”
The men grumbled. Finally, a hand went up.
Hunter’s was right behind it again.
“Sold! For eleven thousand dollars to Hunter Westbrook. We look forward to seeing what comes out of Rolling Hills Ranch with this stud. Congratulations, Hunter.”
A smattering of applause went through the stands. Hunter smiled at the man he’d just beat out of a horse. “You’ve got a great eye for horseflesh,” he complimented, hoping to ease the strain in the air.
