Page 10 of The Auction
Sometimes, to me it seemed that whoever had built this place hadn’t even liked the outdoors, that’s how closed off to it, it seemed.
I made my way to the kitchen and stopped when I saw the stranger. He was still looking at me.
Dark, worn jeans. A threadbare, blue, denim shirt that had recently been laundered. No watch. Some kind of chain around his neck, covered mostly by the shirt.
The scars on his face might have made him fully ugly, however there was a sharpness about all of his features. Cheekbones, nose and chin. Nothing softened him except the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.
From the sun, I thought. Not from smiling.
“This is Creed O’Mara,” Herb said.
“I’ll need to see your ID,” I said.
He appeared startled. “I’m sorry?”
I turned to my father. “Otherwise, how could we be certain he is who he says he is?”
Herb seemed to consider that. He was not a man of the world. His first thought was never to consider conmen or tricksters, but they were real. An opportunist in the crowd today might find my situation lucrative for short term gain.
However, before Herb could say anything the stranger was taking his wallet out of his back pocket. He fished out a card and handed it to me between two fingers. I took it without touching him.
“This is a military ID,” I noted. “Not a Montana state driver’s license.”
“No ma’am. I’ve recently left the military and have not had a chance to renew my driver’s license in Montana.”
His name was real, which strangely didn’t match hisethnicity. Age, thirty four. Eye color, brown. (They were darker than that.) His height was listed as 6’3, but standing this close to him he seemed taller.
Military branch: Navy. Rank: Chief Petty Officer.
I handed him back his ID and he tucked it back into his wallet and pocketed it.
Then he held out his hand in greeting. “Creed O’Mara, ma’am. And you are?”
“Told ya her name,” Herb spat. “Juliette.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Juliette.”
I looked at his hand but didn’t shake it. Instead, I folded my arms across my chest.
“Why are you here?” I asked him.
“You know damn well why he’s here,” Herb said.
“I know what your agenda is,” I told my father, then looked to Creed. “What’s yours?”
He nodded once, then tucked his hands behind his back like he was standing at attention. “No agenda. Left the Navy. Looking for what comes next. Decided I wanted some land so I got in my truck and headed out here. Just happened to be in town because I heard about the auction-”
“Thehorseauction,” I said.
“Yes, ma’am. A guy in the town over told me about it, and I thought I would check it out. Heard what your father had to say and something just hit me. Like a sign from God that maybe this was meant to be.”
A sign from God? Give me a break.
My father was eating it up, though. It was all there. The few spoken words. Thema’am.Throw in God and it was a done deal.
I wasn’t buying any of it.
“Daddy, would it be okay if Mr. O’Mara and I spoke on the porch? I have some questions,” I said it in my mostdemure tone, “that I don’t feel comfortable asking in your presence.”
