Page 15 of Run to Me
Serena sits next to me. “Don’t let all these folks intimidate you. You’re the only one who knows what she’s doing here. This is more than just a ranch. It’s about your family legacy.Get ‘em, girl.”
I scan the room. Everyone is an eager participant in the unfolding drama. Rough-handed ranchers in dusty jeans blend together, the usual divisions of town collapsing in a frenzy of ambition. They gather in cliques, exchanging low words and planning strategy. Most I recognize; some I don’t. Either way, each raised paddle represents another chip away from my plans,another wildcard in the game. My pen taps in restless cadence against the table, mirroring the unsettled chatter.
Everything inside me wants to be at home, curled up in bed, but my father wouldn’t want that. He believed in me and it’s time to believe in myself. This ranch belongs to us, and it’s up to me to make sure it stays that way.
I seek out Ace again. He’s relaxed, maybe too much so, settled in with Gavin at a table near the back. They’re talking, their expressions casual in a way that makes me wonder if they’ve got nothing to lose or if they’re bluffing about having everything to gain. My eyes narrow as I try to figure which it is. Gavin nods in my direction, and Ace follows his gaze. Our eyes meet, and his mouth quirks into the kind of smile that might mean he’s ready to drive my bids up just for the sport of it.
“This crowd shouldn’t surprise me. Seems every ranch in three counties is sniffing around today.”
Serena chuckles. “Long as they don’t win.”
Ace looks anything but rattled. He leans back, tipping his chair on two legs while Gavin jots something down. If I didn’t know better, I’d think they were waiting for a lunch order rather than land that might make or break me. My mind flickers over all the reasons they’re here, all the reasons I’m here.
I lean forward and swear I hear my father’s voice. “Trust your gut, Liv. Just like we talked about.”
The auctioneer steps up to his podium, his presence cutting through the chaos. The room quiets, and a sudden stillness fills the air.
“We’re opening with Parcel Eight. two-hundred acres,” he calls, his voice slicing through the silence. “Who’ll give me seventy-five to start with?”
Paddles shoot up, a blur of numbers that throw me off before I’ve even gotten started. My head spins with them. Seventy-five,eighty, ninety. The first bid alone is a shock. I try not to look as surprised as I feel.
“Who’s at ninety already?” Serena whispers, eyes wide.
I don’t answer because I’m not sure myself. My strategy seems shakier with every tick of the digital counter, every crack of the auctioneer’s gavel as he wrangles order from the frenzy. These early bids are hard and fast, like gunshots. I hesitate, unwilling to show my hand too soon. I’ve planned for this, prepared for it. But the speed, the way it escalates—did I miscalculate?
Olivia Grant, you’d better have your act together. It’s not just pride on the line here. If these numbers go much higher, the vision I’ve held is going to evaporate before my eyes. It’s too late to back out and too early to know if I’ll win or lose.
The auctioneer calls, “One hundred! Who’ll go to one ten?”
My pen slips from my fingers and rolls across the table as I freeze, thrown off by the surge.
Serena nods, her smile unwavering. “We’ve seen this before. They’ll run out of steam.”
“Eventually,” I say, wishing I had their certainty.
Ace is a calm figure in the storm, like he knew this was coming all along. It shouldn’t be comforting, that sense of control he projects, but in this chaos, it almost is. When my glance flickers to him, I catch what I’m not expecting. He leans in, lips moving in a quick word to Gavin, but then it’s me he’s focused on, and there’s no mistaking it. Encouragement?
Gavin’s mouth pulls into an amused smirk, a shared joke only they’re in on. The confidence from a moment ago feels thin, see-through. The whole room spins with shouts and numbers and cluttered expectations. Is this their strategy—to make me second-guess mine? Or is there a real offer behind Ace’s gesture, something to make me hesitate and rethink?
The auctioneer’s voice calls out, echoing like the toll of a far-off bell. The numbers blur and rush together. One thirty-five. One forty. I press my pen against the page and brace for what comes next. The numbers climb high fast. The gap between knowing what I want and what I can have grows wide enough to break a leg if I’m not careful. Ace watches like he’s curious how long before I fall.
“Go on,” his voice comes through again. “Get back in there.”
I take a breath, the noise swelling and threatening to choke me. My hold on the strategy we set is as slippery as the numbers. Maybe I’m reading too much into it, but it seems like Ace is waiting for this exact moment, waiting to see what I’ll do under pressure. The way he leans forward, attention fixed on me, it’s almost like a taunt. Like he knows how far I can stretch before I snap.
“It’s not too late, Liv,” Serena says, squeezing my shoulder. Her smile tries to find me through the blur.
Not too late for them. I’m less certain about myself. The room feels smaller, the air pressed tight around me, full of anticipation and demands.
Three forty-five, the auctioneer calls, his words crashing over me like a wave. Can I push beyond that? Should I?
My pulse thuds loud, louder than the chaos of bidders shouting and counters flashing and feet stamping impatiently on the concrete. My vision narrows to Ace’s steady gaze.
“I don’t—” I start, but can’t even finish the sentence.
I don’t want to lose.
I don’t want him to see me lose.
