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“No,” I shout.

Hank considers it.

“Hank!”

“No,” he finally agrees. “But she knows how to run it.”

“Can she cook?”

“No,” Hank says.

“I can cook!”

He looks at me. “Name three things.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“See? Difficult too.”

More laughter.

Wyatt is enjoying this far too much.

“All right, gentlemen. Apparently we’re auctioning a wife.”

“We are not!”

“Opening bid, fifty dollars.”

A hand shoots up.

“Fifty!” Someone says.

“One hundred,” another man calls.

“Traitor!”

“Two hundred.”

“Five.”

The room gets louder.

This is a joke.

It has to be.

By tomorrow, I’ll have killed Hank, Wyatt will have told everyone in three counties, and Ellie will probably have T-shirts printed.

“Five hundred dollars!” Wyatt calls. “Do I hear six?”

Silence.

“Going once.”

“Wyatt, I swear to God.”

“Going twice.”