"Seventy-eight hundred!" Calvin beamed. "Now we're movin'. Back to you, little lady." He looked at Tamara. "How about a nice even eight?"
Polly bet Tamara Lynd hadn't been called "little lady" since she was four years old.
Tamara said, "Eight."
Calvin was delighted. "Not bad. Not bad. What do you think, Mr. Gallagher? Aren't you worth more than that?"
Sloan grinned. "Oh, I'd say so." Polly saw his gaze move around the room, then stop pointedly when it reached her. She clutched the check, waiting.
Sloan understood that she didn't want to jump in early. He appreciated that. When the bidding picked up again, he didn't mind that she hadn't stuck her oar in yet. But she'd better do it soon.
Calvin had rushed right through the going-going-gone stage with Logan Reese. Sloan didn't want to be hung out to dry because she waited too long.
What if she didn't bid? What if she decided that this was payback time for the evening he'd spied on her and Lew?
They were over ten thousand dollars now. Tamara and Lorena Deckart, a tabloid writer he recognized, who could doubtless afford to keep bidding, with the magazine footing the bill. The fans had dropped out long ago.
"Eleven thousand six hundred." Calvin acknowledged Tamara's latest bid, then looked expectantly at the tabloid writer.
"Eleven-eight," Lorena said.
"Twelve," said Tamara firmly.
"Twelve-five."
"Thirteen."
"Thirteen-five."
It was like Ping-Pong. The bids went up and up and up. Sloan saw Maddie's jaw sagging. He saw Polly sitting on the edge of her chair. He hoped to God she didn't get so engrossed in the "match" that she forgot to jump in.
"Seventeen," Tamara said, but she had hesitated after Lorena's quick bid at sixteen-five, and the rhythm was broken.
"The little lady in red has bid seventeen thousand dollars," Calvin called out. He fixed Tamara with a smile.
Sloan saw her swallow. He thought she was looking a little pinched around the mouth. He didn't blame her. He knew she was ambitious. When they'd worked together, she'd been all over him, eager to "get ahead." He knew she still saw him as a ticket to the big time, and even if he never slept with her again, winning the auction would get her plenty of publicity. It might get her auditions, maybe even a part.
But how high was she willing to go? How much did she want to pay for the mere chance?
"Seventeen-five," Lorena said. She smiled at Calvin. She smiled at Tamara. She smiled at Sloan.
He could envision the story she'd be writing. A Weekend Swinging With Sloan. He suppressed a shudder.
Damn it, Polly.
"Do I hear eighteen?" Calvin asked Tamara. "Eighteen? You're not gonna let him get away, are you, little lady?"
Tamara wet her lips. She looked nervous, worried. She looked at Calvin, then at Sloan.
"Only eighteen, little lady," Calvin cajoled. "Go for it. You might just win the weekend of a lifetime and contribute to a good cause at the same time."
Tamara was chewing on her lip.
Calvin waited. The crowd grew quiet. There was a little shuffling of feet. A cough.
Come on, Polly! Sloan sought her out in the crowd. She was inching forward, watching Tamara intently.
"Let's hear eighteen," Calvin called to the crowd at large. "All you people at the Dew Drop and the Busy Bee, here you have it! Chance of a lifetime. Eighteen thousand dollars and you might just be spending next weekend with our very own Sloan Gallagher!"
He looked at Gus and his brother J.D. who were manning the walkie-talkies. They both shook their heads.
"Eighteen," Calvin repeated. He looked at Tamara. "Eighteen? No? Then, seventeen thousand, five hundred dollars going once…"
Polly! Now!
Sloan fixed his gaze on her. Come on, Polly! Bid!
It was on the tip of her tongue. Eighteen thousand.
All she had to do was say it. She would think of the implications later. She would think about next weekend later. She didn't have to go, after all.
She could tell him no.
Right, Polly told herself. I can tell him no.
"Seventeen thousand, five hundred going twice…" Calvin was still scanning the crowd for one last bidder.
Polly began to raise her hand. Then, from behind her, she heard another voice. "Twenty-three thousand, seventy-five dollars and fifty-eight cents."
It was Celie.
Jace's head jerked around. He'd been watching Tamara, knowing how determined she'd been to win Sloan, and recognizing how annoyed she must feel to lose to a woman with apparently unlimited funds.
And all of a sudden, out of nowhere, he heard Celie!
He didn't believe it.
He'd long since decided, happily, that knowing she wasn't going to get Sloan, that her fantasies were just that—fantasies—she'd given the whole auction a miss.
Now he stood poleaxed, staring at her as she stood in the back of the room by the door. Her cheeks were red. Her dark curly hair was windblown. She looked absolutely gorgeous.
And more determined than Jace had ever seen her.
Calvin, taken by surprise, caught his breath. Then he gathered his wits and repeated the bid. "We have a bid of twenty-three thousand, seventy-five dollars and fifty-eight cents. Is that correct?" he asked Celie.
Celie nodded resolutely. "That's right."
Then Calvin grinned and wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. "Well now! Did you hear that, ladies and gentlemen. Ms. Celie O'Meara wants to go to Hollywood real bad. Anybody here want to go more?" He looked around.
So did Jace, desperately. But no one else moved. Everyone looked stunned.
"Anyone?" Calvin scanned the room.
Celie stood immobile.
"Going once," Calvin said.
Jace's gaze swung from Celie to Polly to Sloan and back again. Sloan was looking at Polly. Polly was looking at Celie. No one was moving.
"Going twice," said Calvin. He looked at Tamara. He looked at the lady who'd bid against her. He looked at Gus and J.D. who shook their heads. He let his gaze travel slowly once more around the room.
Then he banged down his gavel. "There you have it, ladies and gentlemen! Sloan Gallagher! Sold for the weekend to Miss Celie O'Meara for twenty-three thousand, seventy-five dollars and fifty-eight cents!"
"I don't believe it," Jace heard Maddie Fletcher breathe.
She wasn't the only one.
* * *
Chapter 15
« ^ »
She'd won Sloan Gallagher.
Ohmigod, Celie thought as the reality of half a dozen people pumping her hand and Calvin proclaiming Sloan hers—hers!—began to sink in.
Mary Holt was looking at her, goggle-eyed. Gus was standing slack-jawed. Her own mother was opening and closing her mouth like a fish.
And no wonder.
Who would have thought a hairdresser from Elmer would spend her entire life's savings on a weekend with a Hollywood actor?
No one.
Not even Celie.
Not until yesterday. Yesterday something had crystallized.
Maybe it was listening to all the local women talking about the groupies from out of town who had come all this way just for a chance. Maybe it was having Sloan Gallagher trying to be nice to her while she tried to avoid his every glance. Maybe it was seeing everyone else in the world doing what they wanted to do—even that stupid, juvenile Jace Tucker who went rolling around in the snow with Tamara Lynd!
Whatever it was, it had made Celie think.
It had made her toss restlessly all night. It had made her get up at dawn and go to the ATM machine at the Mini-mart and check her account balance. She'd stood there staring at the amount for a good fifteen minutes, long enough for Kitzy Miller to ask her if she was all right or if she needed her to call Polly.
Maybe that had been the trigger—knowing that everyone always expected Polly to rescue her. As if Celie couldn't do anything for herself.
; And why shouldn't they think that?
She was living with Polly. She depended on Polly. Polly had always been the strong one, the clever one. Polly had always been capable. Hadn't she made a good marriage out of a baby-on-the-way situation? Hadn't she coped with running all over the country with Lew while their kids were little? Hadn't she survived the death of her husband and continued to provide well for her children?
Polly had helped out when Mary Beth was pregnant with triplets. Polly had been there for their mom when their father had died. It was Polly whose no-nonsense attitude had helped Celie make up her mind to go away to Billings and study after Matt had jilted her.
Polly was the one everyone turned to—for everything.
If Celie didn't do something for herself now, it was likely that Polly would be taking care of her in her old age!
"No, I don't want you to call Polly," she'd said flatly. Then she'd crumpled the bank statement, stuffed it into her pocket, marched out the door and headed for the town hall.
All the way there she'd recited the amount in her account over and over. Then she'd stood outside the town hall, waiting, knowing she couldn't go in until the last moment, that there was no way she could stand watching the auction itself.
"How high is it now?" she'd ask. "How high?" when Mark Nichols or Tuck McCall or one of the other boys running back and forth between the Dew Drop and the Busy Bee and the hall hurried past. They kept her posted. She was afraid for a while that the price might well go beyond every penny she had.
And then, at $17,500.00, Mark Nichols told her that "the skinny blonde" was dropping out.
"It's gonna be the other one," he'd said, eyes dancing eagerly. "It's almost over."
Celie had sent a desperate prayer winging to heaven. And then, before she could think about what she was about to do, she slipped in the door, stepped forward and placed her bid.
She'd taken her life into her own hands. Finally she'd made a move.
Now she accepted everyone's congratulations. She tried to smile and look confident. She avoided Polly's gaze. She'd caught a glimpse of her sister right after she'd bid. Polly had looked poleaxed. Celie wasn't surprised.
She couldn't meet Sloan's gaze when he came up.
He looked a little dazed, too. "It's you?" he said oddly. "Not your sister?" As if Polly even had to bid for her.
"It's me," Celie said firmly, raising her chin. "Is that a problem?"
Sloan blinked, then shook his head and leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek. "I'll be seeing you next weekend, then," he promised.
It was all Celie could do not to cave in at the touch of his lips. Sloan Gallagher had kissed her?
"Put your arm around her!" yelled one of the photographers.
So Sloan did. And Celie did her best to put on a happy face while a thousand flashbulbs went off. She tried to think of cheery things to say when several dozen reporters stuck microphones in her face and asked her how it felt to know she'd just spent an astonishing amount of money to win a weekend with the most sought-after man in Hollywood.
"It feels great," she said. "Wonderful. Fantastic."
And then she went into the bathroom and threw up.
"I don't believe it." Joyce said to herself and to almost anyone else who would listen after the auction ended.
She'd been saying the words now for seven hours. She wondered if the real Celie had been stolen away by gypsies and a new person had been left in her place. It seemed as likely as the real Celie spending over twenty-three thousand dollars to go out with Sloan Gallagher!
"That's all the money she has in the world," Joyce muttered to herself as she folded up chairs and carried them to the wall where Walt Blasingame and Charlie Seeks Elk were stacking them. "Twenty-three thousand dollars!"
"If she wants him bad enough," Charlie said, "it's not that much. It's the rest of her life, we're talking about."
Put like that, Joyce thought, he might be right. "But only if he wants her, too!"
But Charlie shook his head. "No. Either way. It's the cost of finding out."
It seemed a huge price. Daunting. Not at all what she would have expected of Celie. But then, maybe that was what made it wonderful—that it was so unexpected—and Celie had done it anyway.
Hadn't she been worried that Celie would waste the rest of her life just dreaming about Sloan and never living?
Celie must have worried, too. And then she'd done something about it. Perhaps something foolish. But maybe not.
For the first time since Celie had won the auction, Joyce smiled.
"I think you might be right," she said to Charlie. Walt leaned on one of the chairs. "Mebbe she comes by it naturally."
Joyce blinked. "What?"
"She ain't the only one open to new experiences. You are, too."
"Me?"
"If you're still studyin' Spanish."
Joyce laughed. "For all the good it will do me."
Walt shrugged. "You never know."
Joyce, thinking of Celie spending her life's savings to test her dream of life with Sloan Gallagher, smiled. No, she thought. You never did.
"You're leaving?" Sara stared at Flynn as they pulled up in front of her house and got out of the car.
"Got to," he said now. "Got another assignment. Van Duersen's lettin' me out of purgatory. Sendin' me to L.A." Flynn's eyes sparkled at the thought.
Of course Sara knew intellectually that Flynn Murray wasn't going to remain in Elmer, Montana, forever. He'd come, like everyone else, for the story. Of course he would be moving on.
But she didn't want him to. She wanted him to stay—with her. For the rest of their lives.
She'd never felt such desire. The world had simply seemed to throb with it. Every time Flynn looked at her, she could feel a pulse deep inside her. Every time he touched her she was sure he felt it, too.
Wasn't that reason enough to stay?
They hadn't even been to bed together. Not that it didn't sound like a marvelous idea.
It shocked Sara to find herself even thinking that way. But she couldn't seem to help it. She'd never felt that urgency with Gregg. Until she'd met Flynn, she hadn't even understood what true urgency was.
Now she did. Now she wanted to go to bed with him. She wanted to hold him and touch him and kiss him. She had already kissed him—several times. He'd kissed her. His kisses had made her burn.
She wanted more.
These had been the brightest, most wonderful two days of her life. He'd made the whole world come alive for her. She loved to listen to him talk. His soft Irish brogue delighted her. His tales of his Irish village childhood, of university in Cork, of the streets of New York, of shoestring travels to London, Paris, Los Angeles and Rome made her smile. They'd talked about her, too—about parts of her life that had nothing to do with chem lab or biology class. They'd talked about her dad's life as a bullfighter, about growing up in Elmer, about the cowboy myth and mystique.
She'd shown him Elmer and he'd shown her the world.
And now he was leaving?
"You must be starving," she said desperately. "We didn't eat."
After the auction they'd driven up into the hills to look out across the valley, to see the beauty one more time, Flynn had said. They'd also fogged up the windows on his rental car once more. They had kissed and touched with an eager desperation until Flynn had again pulled back, insisting that they needed to get going.
"Your mother will be wonderin' where I've taken you," he'd said.
Sara doubted it, given Polly's memory, but she didn't say anything. She'd just kissed him again. She had never felt such hunger, though it had nothing to do with food.
Still, food was all she could offer him to keep him with her a little longer. So she persisted. "You must want a quick bite. You don't have to be back to Bozeman right away, do you?"
Flynn hesitated, then shrugged. "Guess not." He gave her one of his quicksilver grins. "I'm hungry, all right," he said, and she was sure he didn't mean food, eithe
r.
She grabbed his hand and drew him into the house after her.
"Were you there?" Daisy demanded, looking up from the television where she and Lizzie were surfing channels looking for news. "Did you see Aunt Celie won?"
"Yes," Sara said. It was amazing what Aunt Celie had done. But it hadn't seemed any more astonishing than what was happening to her.
"Where were you?" Lizzie demanded. "Did you get in the town hall?"
"Yes." Flynn, with his press credentials, had got them places up front. He'd done his job, had watched the whole auction avidly and had taken lots of notes.
Sara had watched him.
Flynn Murray was the most handsome man she'd ever seen. Far better looking than even Sloan Gallagher. Sloan's hair wasn't black like Flynn's. His jaw wasn't as stubborn as Flynn's. He didn't have that endearing lopsided smile. His eyes weren't green.
She didn't even know what color Gregg's eyes were.
"Come into the kitchen. I'll fix you a sandwich," she said to him.
Daisy and Lizzie bounded up eagerly. "Good idea. We're starving!"
Sara ground her teeth. She didn't need them in the kitchen now. She and Flynn had things to talk about. Plans to make. They needed to talk about when they were going to see each other again. Without a couple of little sisters around.
But try telling Lizzie and Daisy that. They were used to Gregg, whom she shared happily with everyone.
"I'll get the mayonnaise. You get the bread," Lizzie said now, heading toward the refrigerator. "Grandma said we could eat all the leftover roast. Want mustard?" she asked Flynn.
"Sure. What can I do to help?"
Tell them to get lost, Sara thought. But there was no way, and while Flynn had been fiercely intent on her only an hour ago, now he seemed happy to simply chat with her sisters.
Sara put up with the communal effort at sandwich making. But once it was finished she said, "Aren't you going to watch the news?"
"I'd rather talk to Flynn," Lizzie said. "I want to go to New York. I want to see a Broadway play."
"When you come, you let me know," Flynn offered. "I'll take you."
"Me, too?" Daisy asked. "If I come to see the Lipizzaner stallions?"
The Great Montana Cowboy Auction Page 20