Page 3 of The Silver Fox Bidder

“One of the participants had a panic attack. She nearly passed out on stage, and now we can’t calm her down enough to go back on. I need you to stand in for her. I’m desperate—please!”

“What’s the charity?”

“The Anti-Tree League?” Stella whispers in my ear.

“Shhh,” I hiss, giving Stacy my full attention.

“The Brassiere Initiative,” Stacy says after a quick glance at her clipboard. Seeing the blank expressions on mine and Stella’s faces, she adds, “It’s a great charity. They provide bras for women and girls who can’t afford them.”

I think about it for a moment. I hadn’t planned on participating in the auction. But the Brassiere Initiaitivedoessound like a worthwhile charity.

And maybe Tank’s still out there…

Will he bid on me?

Will he win?

Stacy stares at me imploringly. She presses her hands into a praying gesture and mouths the word, “Please.”

“I can support that,” I say with a nod. “And who knows? Maybe there’s another Captain Whatsit for me, too.” I nudge Stella playfully.

Stella laughs. “Captain Wentworth!”

I wink at her. “Whatever you say, Future-Mrs.-Callahan.”

Chapter 3

Tank

Idon’tmakeahabit of coming into town unless I have a damn good reason. Most days, my cabin up in the hills is all I need. Peace, quiet, and no one poking their nose in my business.

But today, a letter from the town clerk showed up in my mailbox, full of bureaucratic nonsense about some zoning ordinance that, according to the bolded legal jargon, “requires immediate attention.” I debated ignoring it—hell, I almost tossed it straight into the woodstove—but against my better judgment, I decided to handle it in person.

Now, stepping through the double doors of Hawks Roost Town Hall, I realize I’ve walked into something much bigger than a paperwork headache.

The place is packed, standing room only. People are jostling for space, craning their necks toward a makeshift stage at the front. A massive banner stretches across the room:

HAWKS ROOST BACHELOR AND BACHELORETTE CHARITY AUCTION.

I exhale sharply, already half-tempted to turn on my heel and walk right back out.

I don’t do social events. I don’t do crowds.

Then, I see her.

Lucy Caldwell stands near the stage, and suddenly, nothing else in the damn world matters.

She owns The Wildflower Apothecary, the little shop tucked between the bakery and the hardware store.And fuck me, she has no business looking like that.

She’s wearing a black dress that hugs every curve just right, the fabric clinging in places I have no business staring at. Her auburn hair is swept to one side, exposing the graceful line of her neck, and I swear, for a second, I forget how to breathe.

It’s not the first time I’ve been caught up in her orbit. On the rare occasions I come into town, I always find myself in her shop, picking up that muscle salve she makes—though I’d never admit how damn well it works. The truth is, even if the stuff didn’t ease the ache in my shoulders, I’d still buy it by the gallon, just for the excuse to see her.

If only she were part of the charity auction. I’d plunk down every last penny I have to win her.

I watch as Pete Callahan, a man nearly as reclusive as me, throws down a bid on the town librarian. He practically growls when another man dares to challenge him. I let out a dry chuckle, shaking my head. Who’d have guessed the mountain man was into bookworms?

Lucy steps onto the stage briefly, checking on her friend before disappearing backstage with her.That’s my cue. No need to stick around if Lucy’s left.

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