Page 5 of The Auction
“You know, it ain’t about the money.”
I looked over at his profile, the smoke was blowing out his nostrils.
I know he believed that. Or thought he did.
“When I say I’m taking the best offer, it means I’m taking everything into consideration. Some old geezer offers more money for you…that ain’t what this is about. You need a proper husband. A God fearing one. Someone young enough to run this farm and raise kids with you.”
Did that mean Kevin had a chance?
Did I want him to have one? I didn’t even know if liked him. I only knew that he liked me and when he rang up my order at the hardware store he always tried to flirt with me a bit. The last time I was in town, he asked if I wanted coffee at the diner and I said yes. We didn’t say much while we drank our coffee, but I counted it as a date.
He was cute. My age. His dad was training him to take over the family business, just like mine was training me to be a good wife to the man who would take over the family business. So, we had that in common.
Except, if he did bid on me, won me, in this sick contest my father was planning, then I would have to hate him for all time.
No, I couldn’t look that far ahead. There was a way out of this. I just had to use my brain.
If I pulled the steering wheel to the right, drove us off the side of the road, I’d be able to get out of the truck before Herb could stop me. Make a run for it.
However, we were probably still sixty miles outside Riverbend. There was no way I was running that distance, or walking it for that matter, in a day. There was the Long Valley ranch to the west and I knew the Talleys had no love for Herb. They didn’t think it was right that I wasn’t in school. Mrs. Talley said as much to my father on more than one occasion when we ran into them in town, to which my father would tell her to mind her own business.
If I told them what he was planning for me, I had no doubt they would take me in. But what did that get me? Could I hide out on their ranch until Herb kicked it?
That would only piss him off. Give him plenty of time to change his will to leave the farm to the Feds. The Bureau of Land Management was always looking to pick up property for government use. Drilling, strip mining, and anything else they could think of.
It was a threat Herb had used before when I’d suggested things like…going off to college.
“You don’t want to work this farm, girl? You want to go off to some fancy school? Then I might just leave the whole damn operation to someone who really wants it.”
Let me be clear, the operation, as Herb liked to call it, wasn’t a small sum. The land, the established crops, the house and outbuildings would easily go for over a million dollars. I knew that because I’d checked on Zillow like a million times for same sized operations.
Walking away from that, when I’d put everything I had since I was a kid, into this place? Didn’t sit well with me.
Starting from nothing wasn’t a plan. I had no money, no real savings that I had access to, except one thousand, two hundred and thirteen dollars I’d managed to stash under the floorboards in my bedroom.
That money had taken me years to accumulate. The change from every grocery shop or supply run that I’d skim by the barest margin so he wouldn’t know what I was doing.
I’d waited, biding my time, until the day came when he stopped demanding the receipt so he could do the math and make sure the numbers added up. The day when he finally trusted that what I returned in change not used was accurate.
That’s when my savings began.
But it wasn’t enough. Not to walk away from this town, this state and find some way to start over.
Maybe my problem was I wasn’t very brave. I didn’t see myself striking out on my own to a city (I used to dream about Seattle, because in my head it was the most different place on earth from Riverbend) without a high school diploma, college degree, or at least a few months’ rent while I tried to find some job.
That’s always where my imagination ended for me. Working as a waitress at some restaurant. Getting by. Living in some shitty apartment, most likely with a roommate who ate the leftover food I brought home.
I spent a lot of time working out very detailed trajectories for myself, but it always came back to the farm.
My farm. My legacy. My sweat for ten years as both a laborer and housekeeper.
It belonged to me.
But, the only way I was going to be able to hold on to it was to watch my father marry me off to some cowboy.
I’d have to come up with a wholenew plan.
Wait for Herb to pass. Figure out how to plan for a divorce that resulted in me getting what I was rightfully owed. All of it.
