Page 8 of The Auction
“Ain’t takin’ money,” Herb said. “Taking offers. Not the same.”
Sheriff Barling finally shook his head and turned off the mic. “You’re done, Herb. It’s not right what you’re doing to your daughter. Offering her up as some prize stud. Go along and let’s hope this doesn’t stir up any trouble.”
Except it was too late. I could already see him.
A big man, thirties it looked like from here, brown complexion. A buzz haircut and dark, serious eyes. Maybe Hispanic, maybe Native. From this distance, I could see his face was marked with pock scars on either side of his cheeks.
He was moving forward toward the stage, while everyone else had lost interest and was walking away to either get food or something to drink.
He also wasn’t smiling like this was all some joke.
No, he was looking at me like I was a puzzle he was trying to solve. His dark eyes not leaving the stage where I stood.
Subtly, without any sudden movements so my father wouldn’t see, I curled my fingers into my palm all except for the middle one, so he would receive my message loud and clear.
Back. The fuck. Off.
That’s when he smiled.
THREE
JULIETTE
I was currently laidout on the floor of my bedroom, trying to hear something through the heating vents on the floor.
The man had come to the house and was downstairs in the kitchen with Herb.
I’d seen the whole thing go down back in town.
Sheriff Barling finally had gotten Herb to leave the stage and had officially closed out the Rodeo Remnants Auction, reminding everyone to drink responsibly.
The streets would stay closed to car traffic until the evening, so the festivities of food, drink, and music would continue for the remainder of the afternoon. As neighbors, often from far distances on farms and ranches, became reacquainted with each other as well as the new folks in town.
I had stepped off the stage for a second when Kevin rushed over to me.
“Hey Juliette, I’m not calling you Miss Clarke,” he said, almost like he was disgusted with himself. “What happened up there? I mean, was this your idea?”
“No, it wasn’t my idea,” I hissed. “You think I wanted to be treated like a horse?”
“I thought…I thought…the other day. I mean, I’m not ready tomarryyou,” he said, like I’d asked him to do that.
I’d struggled for patience, knowing Kevin wasn’t the answer.
If he married me thinking he could save me, he’d resent me within the year. If I married him thinking I might fall in love with him and I didn’t, I’d resent him too.
No, it was better that if I was forced to marry someone, I’d loathe that person with everything in my soul. So that when I set them up for the divorce, I’d feel nothing when I reclaimed my property.
“Go home, Kevin,” I’d told him. “Don’t worry. Nothing is going to come of this. My dad is just crazy old fashioned. I’ll see you next month when I come in for supplies.”
He had nodded because what I’d said made sense. But I could see him looking at my father and wondering if what folks in Riverbend said about him was true.
That he was abusive to his daughter. That he treated her more like a slave than a child. That he was ruining her life by not allowing her to attend school regularly. That he was filling her head with outdated religious theories about the world.
Sure, all of those things were true.
But, what nobody understood was that I was smarter than my father.
Or, so I’d thought. This move, however, was one I was still developing a counter strategy for.
