A/N: Correct version. I accidentally published the skeleton outline of this chapter yesterday, (yes, again) so my apologies to the eight of you who read that mess. ^_^
As the goat auction dwindled down, the contestants were told to form a single file line behind the last animal. Sick with nerves to the point of nausea, I barely registered the instructions, and by the time I got with the program, I was last.
Then Kylie, who'd been first in line, decided that she wanted to be the grand finale, so I let her. I mean, who cared?
Not trusting my wobbling knees to hold me up for too much longer, I pulled out a folding chair and sat down. My hands were ice cold, my mouth dry, my lips trembling.
Not good.
"You should be nervous, Trayla. Why would anyone pay to kiss you when they can fuck you for free?" Kylie sneered.
There was a hole in her logic somewhere, but I didn't have the presence of mind to figure it out. So I settled for giving her the finger and focused on breathing and staying alive.
"Trash," she hissed before turning to whisper into Miranda's ear. But she was too stubby to reach it and Miranda was too absorbed in her search for the perfect selfie angle to notice and help her out.
Hideous audio feedback screeched from the loud speakers, making the audience wince collectively. The melody of a Spanish guitar filled the arena, quickly followed by Enrique Iglesias' too smoldering, too sensuous panting as he and Whitney sang 'Could I Have This Kiss Forever'. The orgy-tastic music video appeared on the white screen behind the auctioneer's podium.
The audience looked confused.
"Oh my god, I can't!" cried Taylor Wright, before bursting into a fit of laughter. "What is this? I don't want to kiss my daddy to music like this! Gross!"
"Lucinda has a massive crush on Enrique Iglesias," said Mary Beth Petracca. "He's literally all she plays at Walmart. Y'all, she's got a framed picture of him on her desk and she just stares at it while she eats her lunch."
Giggling along with everyone made me feel slightly better.
"Oh shit, it's starting," said Taylor, scrambling back to her place in line.
Wyatt Reed and the Mayor took the stage. Wyatt owned the feed and supply store, was the president of the Rotary Club, and the head of the bowling league. He was a really nice guy but always clueless, and today was no exception - he was the only person genuinely happy to be involved in this travesty. The Mayor knew better and looked embarrassed.
Wyatt stepped up to the microphone and gave it a few taps. "Lucinda, where you at? Shut that music down, will ya? We're 'bout ready to get this show on the road."
Abruptly, the music shut off and Lucinda's silent resentment settled into the atmosphere.
Somebody coughed.
In his usual wordy manner, Wyatt delivered a canned speech, liberally sprinkled with awful puns, oblivious to the fact that most of the audience were professional ranchers, rightfully annoyed at this ludicrous interruption to the program. All they wanted to do was move onto the highlight of their evening, the Sale of Champions, where Twilight Jubilee would be auctioned off to the highest bidder to live his life out as a sex slave, basically.
The Mayor tapped Wyatt on the shoulder and motioned for him to wrap it up. Wyatt nodded and chuckled, his mustache twitching with excitement.
"First up, Miss Janelle Stevens!" Wyatt went on to state her hair and eye color, never mind the fact that she was standing right there beside him. If he'd had our heights, weights, and bra sizes, he no doubt would've broadcoasted those as well, just like they did for market animals.
The professional auctioneer who worked the animals wanted no part of this mess, but lucky for us, our Wyatt was a quick study.
"Who'll give me fifty dollars for Miss Janelle Stevens?"
Janelle was clearly stoned out of her mind, but managed to stay upright. Her daddy raised his hand, looking none too happy about it.
"Fifty dollars! I have fifty dollars, do I hear anyone for sixty? I'm at fifty and I want sixty, sixty, do I have a bid on sixty?"
The audience shifted uncomfortably, checking their watches and doing everything they could to avoid making accidental eye contact with Wyatt.
And so it was over as quickly as it began. With a roll of her eyes, Janelle accepted her daddy's kiss on the cheek before the two of them exited, stage left.
Terribly anticlimactic.
The next four girls and their daddies endured the same exact motions. It boring as hell. Poor Wyatt did everything he could to try and get the crowd pumped but all he had to show for his efforts were widening sweat stains beneath his armpits.
Kelly Cruz's daddy was a bit of a show off, so he paid a thousand dollars for her.
Becky Landoll took the stage. Her daddy bid, but to everyone's surprise, Pete O'Brien bid against him.
I grinned. Everybody knew Pete had a giant crush on Becky.
Wyatt jumped on that like it was a live grenade. "I'm at sixty and I want seventy, seventy, bid on seventy!"
Frowning, Mr. Landoll did.
"Hot diggity! I've got seventy!" Wyatt pointed at Pete. "I'm at seventy, would you go eighty? I want eighty, bid on eighty-"
A red-faced Pete shot a nervous look at Mr. Landoll before raising his hand. "One hundred!" he shouted, his voice trembling.
Well, that did it. The audience cheered and hollered, finally getting into the spirit of things. How could they not? Pete was adorable.
Whoever was manning the spotlight turned it on and pointed it at Mr. Landoll. "One fifty!" he shouted, indignant.
Wyatt egged them on and the two volleyed back and forth, the spotlight moving between them like strobe lights at a rave.
I think they would've gone on and on, but Becky'd had enough.
"Daddy! Stop! Stop it!" she cried, fisting her hands by her side and stomping her feet.
The crowd burst into laughter and a fresh wave of nausea rolled through me. Don't get me wrong, Becky was a nice girl and I was really happy for her, but now the audience was riled up and paying close attention. And I'd hope that my turn would be up and over with just as uneventfully as the others. The skin on my body felt too tight as I imagined the silence that would follow Wyatt's call for an opening bid.
I glanced at Miguel. He was standing near the front, so that was a good sign that he meant to bid, right? Our eyes met, but his face remained in its default, unreadable position.
Becky about melted into a puddle when Pete ran up onto the stage, swooped her up into his arms and gave her a too long kiss on the lips.
It was super duper cute, and the audience felt it too. The atmosphere loosened up further and expectations mounted.
Miranda went next, her big Hollywood smile pretty on her face. For whatever reason, she felt the need to perform the Miss America wave as she climbed onto the platform.
Casey's friends kept outbidding him just to drive her price up, and I have to admit, she looked cute as hell standing there shrieking, rolling her feet, and jumping up and down in excitement, her perfect ringlets bouncing off her back.
Once he won, Casey did the bend-her-backward-and-kiss-her move before throwing her over his shoulder and carrying her off the platform while the crowd cheered.
By that point, I was barely breathing.
"Miss Layla Danner! Another blonde haired, blue eyed beauty. Y'all saw her ridin' up on Twilight Jubilee earlier today. Surely a kiss from this little lady is worth more than a cow."
The crowd chuckled. Last year's prize bull went for two hundred and ten thousand dollars.
I'm so fucked. Dear god, please don't let me faint.
The arena blurred out of focus as I made my way up to the podium. Charlotte, standing near the front, whispered into AJ Benson's ear. AJ was the Quarterback of our shamefully bad football team and an All American Douche Lord. I'd rejected him earlier on but he'd told everyone that I let him do me up the butt anyway.
"Ten cents!" he yelled out.
Most people ignored him, but some snickered. Others leaned into their companions and whispered, schooling the unaware on the details of my reputation.
Humiliation burned on my face and I turned my pleading eyes to Miguel once again. I didn't have anything to worry about because he was staring AJ down with a savage expression on his face. Miguel was a cowboy. If he hadn't planned on bidding before, he sure as hell was gonna do it now.
Thank God.
Oblivious, Wyatt got started. "Do I have fifty dollars for Miss Layla Danner?"
Miguel raised his hand.
But a different voice spoke up from the opposite side of the room.
"One hundred dollars, for Miss Layla Danner."
The spotlight landed on a man beneath a Stetson, standing with his thumb hooked onto his belt loop.
And for a moment, I hallucinated. The man removed his hat, revealing his disheveled blond hair and mischievous blue eyes. He placed his Stetson across his heart and got down on one knee, spurs jingling behind him.
"You didn't think that I'd let you down, did ya Layla-girl?"
The scent of sweat, leather, unburnt tobacco and Ivory soap filled my nostrils.
Daddy?
Wyatt's voice brought me back to reality. "One hundred dollars ladies and gentlemen! Who's bidding now? Reveal yourself, mysterious stranger!"
The man lifted his chin and my heart melted. Daniel Harris winked at me and touched his fingers to the brim of his hat.
"Daniel Harris for one hundred dollars! Anybody else? I'm at one hundred, somebody give me one ten, bid to buy her at one ten-"
Miguel smirked. "Beat one fifty, old man!"
It was a party after that. All the ranch managers jumped in and bid against their boss, driving my price all the way up to five hundred dollars. Daniel played along, dramatically grasping his hand to his heart and grimacing at every increase, drawing it out, working the crowd. It was fun for a while but then I started feeling sick again. Charity or not, I hated that Daniel would have to pay all that money for me.
"Going once, going twice, take another look at the girl y'all, she's real pretty and-"
A voice spoke up from the middle of the room. "Five thousand."
The crowd went silent. I mean tomb silent. In fact, I was pretty sure I heard a cockroach scuttle away in the distance.
Wyatt's eyes lit up. "Did I just hear five thousand dollars? I can't see you back there. Get out the way y'all, let the man through!"
A low murmur went through the crowd as it shuffled and parted.
The spotlight revealed Gunnar Keith.
Wyatt and the sheriff exchanged glances. Before they could react, another voice spoke up.
"Ten." The spotlight jerked away from Gunnar and searched the room until it landed on he man who spoke. Peyton stood at the far end of the room, his hands shoved deep inside his pockets. When the light hit him, he squinted, but didn't flinch.
No one talked. No one breathed. But the energy was nervous now, tense and brittle.
Gunnar's eyes narrowed. "Twenty."
But Peyton was done messing around. "One Million."
The crowd gasped. Wyatt dropped the mike. He fumbled for it, then picked it up and brought it up to his lips with trembling hands. "Dollars?"
The mayor elbowed him sharply and Wyatt remembered who he was talking to.
"Sold! Sold! Sold! To Peyton Bishop for one million United States dollars!" He ran up to the podium and snatched the hammer from Ed Horton. "Gimme that goddamn thing, Ed." He slammed it on the sound block a good ten times in a row. "Now you come up here and collect your kiss son. C'mon now, get on up here."
The dumbfounded crowd shifted again and the spotlight tracked Peyton as he made his way up to the stage. He hated this, I knew he did, he despised being the center of attention. But he carried himself with so much self-mastery that no one would be able to tell.
It should've been every girl's fantasy come true, a moment like this. It would've been for me too except...
You're forty five minutes too late, Peyton.
But I would let him kiss me however he wanted to because I wouldn't embarrass him by turning away. I would die a thousand painful deaths before I did that. And if Jake didn't understand, then I didn't want anything to do with him either.
Peyton stood in front of me and looked me in the eyes. I smiled, big and bright, greeting him as any damsel in distress would her Prince Charming.
He smiled too, full of affection, not because he meant it, but because it was what was expected of him.
He placed his hand on my neck, his thumb resting against my ear.
Do you want me to kiss you?
The question didn't have to be asked for me to hear it.
I froze.
He bent down.
Peyton pressed a kiss to my forehead, right on the hairline.
Carson Beaudry paid ten thousand dollars for Kylie via an absentee bid placed by his personal secretary, but no one was paying any attention to that because everybody was staring at Peyton and me as he led me out of the arena, his hand warm against the small of my back.
And that was the story of how Canyon PD not only got all their leaks sorted out, but got a whole new wing added onto the building.
And dash cams. They also got new dash cams.
***
"Peyton, stop!" For the second time that night, I was being dragged toward the exit. "I can't leave, I'm working!"
He stopped, but he didn't turn around. "Layla."
That's all he said, my name. But there was so much there in the two syllables. Disappointment, regret, dismay.
Anger.
"Do you know him?" he asked without looking at me. "The guy who bid?"
My silence spoke volumes.
Peyton shook his head to himself, his body tensing.
I took a few steps forward and closed the distance between us, putting my free hand on top of our joined ones, trying to reassure him and ease his concerns. "Peyton, it's nothing-"
"Don't tell me that it's nothing, that's not nothing, what is going on?"
I cringed. He was my friend, I owed him an explanation, but it was such bad timing. Always such bad timing with us. "I have to go, I have get changed and go muck the stalls in ten minutes."
He finally turned to face me. "This is insane. Why won't you let me help you? All of this, guys like that, work like that, this asinine pageant, it would all be a non-issue if you would just let me help. I don't understand why you-"
"Tomorrow," I promised him. "We'll talk about everything tomorrow, okay? I can leave right after the crowning, whether I win or not. Will you drive me home?"
Peyton liked to be needed.
He wasn't going to like hearing the things I had to tell him, but that was tomorrow. Tonight, I didn't want him to leave upset with me. I put my face right in his and smiled. "Drive me home tomorrow? Yes? No? Maybe? Should I walk?"
When he didn't respond, I poked him all over his sides, trying to make him laugh. He didn't, but I pretended not to notice and filled the silence with my own forced laughter.
"Tomorrow," he said finally.
Holding back a sigh of relief, I stood on my toes and ruffled his hair. "Tomorrow."
A/N: Thanks for reading!
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