My gaze slides to the narrow fenced-in area that’s used as our auction block. Metal panels are arranged in a long rectangle from one side of the bidding room to the other. It’s just about time for number one to enter.
“Find me after and I’ll tally your purchases myself.”
His laughter booms around the domed shape of the building. “You’re confident. I appreciate that.”
“You’re about to see why. If you’ll excuse me.”
And then I walk the length of the pen, taking a final sweep to make sure we’re ready to go without a hitch. The first group is lined up in the alley that connects this section to the stall barn and indoor arena. Ring crew and callers are perched in their designated places. From what I can see, we’re set to have a very lucrative day.
Dennis sends me an approving nod from where he’s talking to the mayor. Others wave or tip their hats as I pass. They bump into each other in the cramped aisle just to make a path for me. It’s just that packed.
Every chair has an ass planted in it, leaving many to stand in whatever space they can find. Three walls of stadium seating isn’t enough, but at least it provides a good look at the action. Even those sitting up in the nosebleeds near the rafters can participate. The full house is a sense of pride expanding my chest.
There’s a buzz in the air, but it’s not loud. This is the calm before the chaos. The moments where this doesn’t feel like a job. Anticipation thrums through my veins while I prepare for the shift.
It happens when the announcer begins his welcome speech. “And now, we’ve got quite the prize to kick things off.”
Silence descends in a ripple, quiet enough to hear the rolling door slide open. A palomino stud prances in as if he knows alleyes are on his exceptional bloodlines. Enough famous quarter horses are stacked from top to bottom on his pedigree to make any breeder see dollar signs. He’s going to go for a pretty penny and the opening bid proves it.
The auctioneer starts his rapid rambling at ten-thousand, which is quickly raised. Paddles lift faster than the callers can track. The rider shows off the stallion’s agility with sliding stops and fast pivots. Shouts erupt from the crowd, growing louder as the palomino performs more tricks. The scent of sawdust and competitive energy whip across the room. It’s an addictive thrill. As the gavel strikes down, I slip free from the high stakes through a side door.
“SOLDto the lady in blue for one-hundred fifty thousand!” the auctioneer bellows.
And we’re off.
I smirk and go in search of my girls.
Whoa!That thought grinds me to a halt. Frankie isn’t my anything. I don’t want her to be. It’s best I remember that. But this past week took me by surprise. I almost feel drawn to her, which is a very slippery slope.
Attraction is one thing. My dick and brain can agree that she’s appealing. Genuine interest beyond that requires treading across a loaded minefield that’ll blow my balls off with one misstep. Even so, I can’t help wondering about the benefits she offered when we were at Sip in the Stacks. Maybe she was just fucking with me to get a reaction. Or there’s a possibility we could agree on exchanging more than insults.
While I’m debating if entertaining the idea is worth the risk, I catch sight of Chance in front of the bleachers next to the indoor arena. His stare appears to be locked on a very specific target. He’s solely focused on that spot, not hearing me approach.
I clap him on the shoulder. “Who’s captured your eye?”
Chance rips his gaze away from the point of interest. “Uh, nothing. Just, um… hanging out.”
The fact he can’t look at me is extremely telling. I search the section he’d been watching. My visual scan lands on Gemma Keaton, which kicks my brows to the clouds. Paisley’s younger sister hasn’t been seen much on the scene since her accident last year. From what I’d heard last, she switched colleges and was headed in a very different direction.
“Is she getting back into the circuit?”
Chance is looking everywhere but at the raised portion of bench where Gemma sits. “Who?”
The urge to slap him upside the head twitches my palm. “Didn’t you used to be friends? I thought you were close.”
“Years ago,” he grumbles.
“What happened?”
His upper lip curls in a sneer. “I could ask the same about your boots.”
Amusement rumbles from me as I admire the sloppy designs from Ronnie and Frankie. The redhead was right. This is an improvement. I might go as far as saying they’re my most prized possession. Not that I’ll admit it aloud.
“Nice deflection.” I honestly couldn’t care less about his personal life except he’s slacking on the job. “Go figure out your shit and get back to work.”
“Fuck off, boss.”
I bristle at his angry retort. Damn, that girl must really have her hooks in deep. He’s going to pay for that later, but not while our customers are an audience. The little prick turns and stalks off toward the gate where upcoming auction entries gather. That’s where he’s supposed to be getting horses lined up in order. Such a slacker.