Saddle Up. Mary Baxter Lynn

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      Bridget played innocent. “What does that mean?”

      “Oh, I think you know. Ever since you went off on that crazy tangent with that civil suit, then quit your job, you’re not the same person. I don’t know you anymore.”

      “Maybe you never did.” Her tone was flat, with a tinge of sadness.

      “So what are you saying, Bridget?”

      “Nothing, for the moment, except that I think we should cool our relationship for a while.”

      “If you ask me, that’s already happening. You haven’t let me near you in so long I’ve forgotten what it’s like.”

      “Sorry, but I’m going through a bad time, and without any help from you or my family.”

      He flushed. “Well, that’s because we don’t agree with what you’re doing.”

      “Well, thank you for all the support, Hamilton! That lets me know exactly how you feel about me.”

      “That’s not so. You’re—”

      Disgusted, she cut him off in mid-sentence. “Forget it. I don’t want to hear any more.”

      That conversation had taken place yesterday, and now she was wondering why she hadn’t listened to Hamilton, at least as far as this trip with Tiffany was concerned.

      Heaven help her, but she felt she indeed had taken complete leave of her senses. Why had she done this? she asked herself again, even as a band struck up an unfamiliar country song that sounded like someone whining through his nose from inside an oil drum.

      So what if her nerves had been on edge? So what if she’d received a lot of bad press and publicity from her lawsuit? So what if her parents were treating her like the family pariah? Though certainly disconcerting and depressing, it nonetheless didn’t warrant this erratic and out-of-character behavior.

      She was a grown woman, thirty-one years old. She’d had lots of rejections in her life, mainly from her parents, who treated her more as an object to look at, to be proud of, rather than a flesh and blood person to be touched and loved. Even so, she’d never given in to self-pity or done anything stupid. Until now.

      This situation was intolerable in every sense of the word. Surrounded by the aroma of barbecued meat, sitting among other women dressed in jeans and boots and listening to a horrible band loud enough to burst an eardrum was not her normal idea of entertainment. The women next to her and Tiffany were laughing and giggling as though they’d never seen a man in their lives. Their behavior was especially embarrassing in the circumstances, for Bridget couldn’t ignore the TV cameras and reporters planted around the stage and among the crowd.

      “Are you ready?”

      Bridget shook herself mentally and faced Tiffany. “For what?”

      “God, will you get with the program? The auctioneer just stepped up on the stage.”

      “How will I ever contain myself?” Bridget asked, adding as much sarcasm as she could muster.

      “I know what you were thinking, so just stop it, will you? You’re here now, so you might as well make the best of it. Please, will you try to loosen up and enjoy yourself?”

      Bridget couldn’t ignore the pleading in Tiffany’s voice, nor did she want to. She knew she was acting like a nitwit and hated herself for it. But at the same time, she was out of her element here, and was miserable. She should be in Houston, dressed in a threepiece suit and working with other attorneys in a courtroom. Instead, she was dressed in tight-fitting jeans, a Western shirt and boots that were killing her feet. She sat on an uncomfortable plastic chair, facing a pavilion that was little more than an oversize gazebo, watching a man approach the podium with a gavel in his hand.

      Thank God, the late spring weather was cooperating. She didn’t think she’d ever seen a more perfect day. Warm, but not too warm. And the sun bouncing off the huge red rocks was so brilliant that it was almost blinding. It was beautiful here. The land was breathtaking, and Bridget imagined there were seldom many humans to block the view.

      “Okay, I’ll give it a rest,” she responded at last. “But if you ever try to talk me into anything like this again, I’ll cut you up into tiny little pieces.”

      Tiffany’s laughter was drowned out by the loud voice of the auctioneer.

      “Ladies and what few gents there are here—” The man standing behind the podium with a gavel in his hand was tall and burly. It was apparent he reveled in the laughter that the word “gents” brought from the ladies.

      His moment in the sun, Bridget thought, then scolded herself for her satirical attitude.

      “I’d like to welcome you to the first event of this kind anywhere in the United States of America.”

      “That’s for sure,” Bridget muttered under her breath, for which she received an elbow to her arm from Tiffany.

      “Will you shut up and behave yourself?” Tiffany whispered. “But more than that, watch!” She threw Bridget a grin that was tinged with disgust. “Who knows, you might fall in lust with the first cowboy who saunters onto the stage.”

      “Maybe in another lifetime, if I’m reincarnated as an idiot,” Bridget said, then focused her attention on the speaker.

      “Have we got a treat in store for you ladies today,” he was saying. “Then, after the auction is over, we’ll all have a rousing good time eating, drinking and dancing.” A huge grin narrowed the auctioneer’s eyes until they were almost invisible. “Can’t beat that, now, can we?”

      “No!” the crowd of women yelled at him, followed by a round of laughter.

      Looking over her shoulder, Bridget gasped. She’d had no idea so many women were in attendance. Since they had arrived early at Tiffany’s insistence and plopped down in the front row, again at Tiffany’s insistence, she’d had no idea that the crowd had grown to such an extent. But then, she shouldn’t have been surprised. As the auctioneer had said, this event was one of a kind. Where did all these horny women come from? Didn’t they have any sense of decency? My God, you would think they were running loose at Chippendale’s!

      And Bridget was right in the middle of it, in the middle of this bunch of women with whom she had nothing in common and never would. She mustn’t forget about the roving TV cameras, either. She had to avoid them at all costs. Her parents had no idea where she was or what she was up to. If they saw her on national TV—well, that thought didn’t even bear thinking about. Allen Martin would descend on her with the holy wrath of Jehovah! She ducked her head.

      “And now, ladies…for our first stud, Mr. Ken Jefferson.”

      Another round of whoops and hollers filled the air. Bridget wanted to put her hands to her ears, but she knew if she did, Tiffany would box those ears.

      “Wow! Take a gander at what just strolled onto the stage.”

      At Tiffany’s words, Bridget jerked her head up and perused the man who was walking as if he had a corncob up his backside. She didn’t know what Tiff saw in him. He did nothing for her, sexually or otherwise. Apparently she was in the minority, СКАЧАТЬ