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Whoever she is just upped the bid by forty dollars. She wants me.
“We have a hundred—”
The other woman’s voice interrupts. “A hundred and ninety.”
Really? Why not just go up to two hundred at that point?
Without hesitation, the woman with the voice of my wet dreams answers back. “Three hundred.” My jaw unclenches. Who is she?
The crowd noise bubbles with gasps and chuckles.
“Now, hold on a minute, ladies.”
The other woman screeches, “Four hundred.”
The auctioneer gapes at me, and I shrug.
“Maybe everyone is conspiring to make me go broke,” I offer.
The auctioneer leans on the podium and twirls his gavel. “I don’t see a reason for me to even be here for this,” he says with a chuckle.
The sexy voice of the woman I’m probably going to have to marry after this comes back with, “One thousand dollars.”
And now I’m hard. I’m calm and relaxed everywhere else, but damn. Thank god for starched, pressed jeans holding everything tight, is all I gotta say. If I were to pitch a tent right now, my mortification would be unbearable.
“Sold! Come get your man.” Yeah. This auctioneer is done. He slams his gavel on the podium. I guess I’ve got me a date.
Ambling down the single step off the small platform stage, I look around, waiting for my date to show herself. The spotlight is relentless, so I don’t see her coming until her soft, herbal scent knocks me on my ass.
I want to bat away the sunflower and rosebud boutonniere she holds out to me so I can better study her face.
The first thing I notice is her eyes, the color of bluebonnets in summer. And when did I become a fuckin’ poet?
“Hi.” I try to smile, but I grimace instead because I’m still nervous. “I’m Tanner.”
Her mouth curves in a wary smile, with lips the color of the rosebud in the tiny flower arrangements she holds.
“I know,” she drawls. “I’m Casey Hicks.”
There’s the voice I’ve already fallen for. I exhale in relief. I was afraid for a second that she wasn’t real, that this was an entirely different person than the one who’d been doing the bidding.
“Thank goodness you didn’t send a stand-in. Unless…you’re not a stand-in for someone else, are you?”
She bites her lower lip, trying to decipher how to pin those flowers on me.
At my question, her pearly teeth let go of her lip. She meets my gaze and lifts one reddish-brown eyebrow. Blinks. Cocks her head. One glossy lock of her coppery brown hair falls from a haphazard, short ponytail and brushes the skin of her shoulder. Where it falls, a hint of collarbone peeks out from a gathered neckline. Her cotton tunic is so plain and blousy that I’m sure it’s meant to camouflage her figure, but the embroidered design at the front only emphasizes her breasts, doing nothing to hide their shape from my lurid imagination. Understated gold hoops hang from luscious-looking earlobes.
My gaze roams all over her until she speaks again and ends me.
“No, not a stand-in. I do auctions in person. I don’t trust anybody else with my money. Or to pick out my stud bulls.”
Mama, I’m coming home because my soul has left my body. Time of death: 9:26 p.m.
Is it too soon to wife up this Casey before our first date?
Her words may be smooth, but her hands tremble as she tries to pin the delicate boutonniere to my chest.
I shouldn’t touch her, but I have the perfect excuse. Covering her shaking hands with both of mine, I smile down at her.
