Page 1 of A Christmas Auction

Chapter 1

Deck the Halls

HOLLY

If I had to listen to this drunk sing Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas” one more time, I’d be decking the halls by punching him in the face.

The out-of-towner swayed from side to side, alone in front of the old jukebox that was pay-to-play. He’d put the song on repeat, and it was playing for the fifth time in a row. As Christmas songs go, it was actually a good one. Most people liked it. But not at two in the morning with a dude in a wrinkled brown suit crooning along with the songbird—badly I might add—getting louder with each sip of the pint he was clutching to his chest.

Honestly, I felt bad for the guy. He’d been here all night, the day after Thanksgiving, getting absolutely shit-faced. While I had an amazing turkey day with my parents yesterday, gobbling up Mom’s famous green bean casserole with fresh bits of prosciutto, a mouthwateringly juicy turkey Dad had fried to perfection, and my award-worthy garlic mashed potatoes, this guy looked like he’d had the worst couple days of his life.

The holidays could royally suck for those who didn’t have someone special to spend them with. And unfortunately for him, before he’d taken to his solo dancing and singing career, he’d confided in me that his wife left him yesterday. On Thanksgiving Day, no less. Apparently, she was leaving him for a richer, younger man and taking their two kids with her. Which waswhat brought him here, to The Desert Shack on the outskirts of Las Vegas. He’d shared repeatedly how much he loved his wife and kids. The poor fella was devastated and drowning his sorrows with Mariah Carey and one beer after another. Overall, he was harmless, so I let him do his thing, even though I knew I’d have that song stuck in my head for the next week.

I scanned the bar, noting the few regulars finishing up their drinks and heading out without being urged. My regulars were awesome. Unlike the lumberjack at the end of the bar. He made my skin crawl. Mostly because he’d spent the entire evening staring at me nonstop and flirting with me relentlessly, even though I told him straight up that I wasn’t interested. It wasn’t that he was bad looking or anything. Technically, he was somewhat attractive in that dad-bod type of way, rocking a plaid shirt, jeans, and a full beard. Still, that didn’t mean he was every woman’s type. Good looks didn’t automatically give him the right to persistently bother me while I was working, and besides, he gave me the ick. There was something off about him. My attempts to be nice throughout the night ended after the first couple hours of his skeevy behavior.

At this late hour though, I had ramped up to bold, brazen, and plum out of pleasantries. Putting my shoulders back, I took a deep breath, steeled my spine, and approached Mr. Bunyan.

“I’ll have another,” he barked, his salacious gaze traveling up and down my body. It felt like millions of ants racing across my bare skin.

“No can do.” I gestured to the big round clock over the entrance to the bar that clearly showed it was ten minutes after two in the morning. “Last call was an hour ago,” I reached for his empty whiskey glass. As I did so, he wrapped his hand around mine, squeezing painfully.

“I said, I’ll have another…sweetness,” he slurred. “Now hop that heart-shaped ass of yours over to the bottle of Jack and refill my glass.”

“Let. Me. Go.” I snarled, staring directly into his bloodshot, beady eyes.

He attempted a smirk, but it was more of a scowl hidden behind the swollen loose lips he kept licking.

“You heard the woman,” drunken Christmas singer hollered, waving his pint, the amber liquor sloshing onto the floor. “She said to get your hand off her. So you know”—he stumbled awkwardly—“let her go, man.”

Mr. Bunyan’s eyes narrowed, and he turned slowly around, finally removing his hand from mine. I snatched it away and went over toward the cash register where I hid my rifle. I could already tell this was going to be one of those nights.

Before I could intervene, the lumberjack stood up, a solid six inches taller than my drunken savior, pulled his arm back and clocked the guy in the face with his meaty fist.

I swear I saw it happen in slow motion.

Christmas guy’s head flew to the side with the force of the blow, blood spewing from his mouth while his body fell to the floor. He scrambled to a seated position, his hand covering the split in his lip as blood trailed down his chin. The beer mug he’d been holding had also fallen to the floor and shattered, the bits of glass spreading along the rickety wooden surface like sparkly diamonds.

That’s when I cocked my rifle and pointed it at Mr. Bunyan.

“Time to go or you’ll be lying on the floor bleeding from a far bigger wound than my friend there.” I jerked the gun toward the door. “Leave now, and I won’t call the cops on you for assaulting a customer.”

“You’re gonna regret this, sweetness,” he growled, his chest moving up and down as though he’d run a marathon. “Wecould’a had a good time together,” he continued, licking his gross lips once more.

“I sincerely doubt that. Now go and don’t ever come back. If I see you again, it will be to place this rifle right between your eyes.”

The nostrils on his bulbous nose flared, reminding me of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, his eyes blacker than night as he snarled. “I’ll be seeing you…”

“Over my dead body,” I snapped as he walked calmly and slowly to the exit.

“That can be arranged.” He grinned, a malicious smile that sent shivers racing down my back. My knees shook but I stayed strong, my rifle still pointed at him.

“Says the one without the gun,” I hollered as he disappeared behind the door and out into the parking lot.

“Fuck me!” Christmas guy rolled over onto all fours as he tried to make it to his feet. “I’m such a loser. I can’t hold onto my wife and kids, and I can’t even help a nice bartender.”

I came around the bar and set the rifle on top of the counter so that I could help him up onto a barstool. I grabbed a stack of cocktail napkins and shoved them into his hand. “Here, staunch the flow. I’ll call you a cab.”

“Thanks, lady.”

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