Page 45 of True North

The yodel of the auctioneer pulls my thoughts back to the action unfolding in front of me. The crowd is drawn closer, automatically moving as one toward the man with the voice, throwing numbers up quicker than lightning in a dry storm.

“Hup, can I get three eighty?” the auctioneer throws toward the mass of grumbles under hats.

A hand goes up. An older man, with a handlebar moustache.

Jesus.

“Three eighty-five?”

I raise my hand with a nod.

“Now we’re away. We have three eighty-five, can we have a three ninety. Three nine zero.”

Handlebars raises his hand.

My heart pounds. Everything is moving so fast. The desperation I feel after seeing the ranch and talking to Bill is crippling. I shake my hands out. Warmth moves in by my side, despite the morning sun. I look down to find Louisa.

“You’re bidding?” Her green eyes meet mine.

I nod and snap my focus back to the auctioneer.

“Four twenty, do we have four hundred and twenty thousand dollars?”

Handlebar raises a hand.

Fuck. I’m getting close to the top of my budget.

“Does Rosie know?” Louisa whispers.

“Nope.”

“What’s your top line?” Louisa asks, determination over her face.

“Four eighty.”

She chews her bottom lip. “And you’re sure about this, Harry?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Can we make four fifty?” the auctioneer squawks.

Handlebars shakes his head and rolls a paper through his hand. Hope springs from somewhere deep. I raise my hand. But a young guy in front of me raises his at the same time.

Dammit.

Louisa’s hand slips into mine.

“Four sixty?” The auctioneer’s gaze swings between me and the other guy.

I raise my hand.

“Four ninety, last call.” The young guy moves forward with a hand in the air.

Fuck.

That’s it, I’m out. I lost it.

“Dammit,” I growl, dropping my shoulders.

---