Musings of a Madcap Mind (memoir)
Bidding for the Cowboy’s Heart
Copyright 2017 by Melissa Keir
All rights reserved.
Bidding For the Cowboy’s Heart
Going once, going twice, sold…
Carlie Fulton, a former Broadway dancer, hightails it out of New York City as if her tail is on fire. Searching for a home with real friends, she escapes to Whisper and dreams of a life without her domineering father.
Marcus Wilson, a professional bull rider, enters a charity auction at the request of his best friend’s wife, never expecting to find the woman of his dreams.
When Carlie’s father shows up, Carlie enlists Marcus’s help in a scheme sure to tick off her father, but will it lead to a happily ever after?
DEDICATION
For everyone who gives of themselves to work with children. They are a blessing.
And to the man who listens to all the different plot points and gives his insights.
CHAPTER ONE
“Going once,” the auctioneer called out. “Going twice.” He slammed down the gavel. “Sold for one thousand dollars to the beautiful lady in the pink dress. I’m sure you will enjoy your private cooking lessons with Pierre.”
Marcus pulled back the curtain and watched the chef of a nearby five-star eatery leave the stage and stroll over to the older woman. When Pierre stood in front of the winner, he lifted her hand and kissed the back of it before whispering something to her.
Smooth. Bet butter doesn’t melt in his mouth. I only hope I don’t fall flat on my ass. Marcus rubbed his damp palms on his jeans. How did I let Angela talk me into this? As a professional bull rider, he’d faced crowds every day. But on an almost two-thousand pound bull, he felt in control. He studied the way it moved, and he practiced. He trained to keep his body in the sweet spot and, more importantly, to escape without a horn through his behind.
What could I have studied for this auction event? Magic Mike? Moving his hips like he’d seen in a commercial, he broke out laughing. Nope. No Channing Tatum here.
Marcus scrutinized the audience until his gaze landed on his friend’s wife. The Heartsong Ranch was an equine therapy ranch where they helped kids and adults with a variety of physical and emotional issues. It was Jake’s baby and had grown in the last year. But he never turned away a patient based on insurance or lack thereof. This fundraiser would make a big difference in so many lives. For that reason, it’d become important to him.
Angela’s table was filled with beautiful women laughing and enjoying the event. Marcus knew many of them, from the blonde bombshell Realtor, Debra O’Neill, to the mousy teacher, Michelle Alt. He’d attended a few cookouts with them. Nice ladies, all married to his friends. “Whoa.” His gaze settled on the one woman he didn’t know.
She slid her hand through her long blonde locks and tucked them behind her ear as she laughed at something Angela said. The purple dress highlighted her tanned skin. He gulped. There was a lot of skin showing. The strappy shoes caught his attention as she tapped her foot on the table leg. He imagined those legs wrapped around his waist as she screamed his name.
As if sensing his gaze, she turned and searched the curtained stage. Does she have a husband showering her with passion or is she more into girls? Not that it would be bad…well, bad for me. Marcus released the curtain and straightened his belt, trying to hide his hard-on. While the tight jeans might earn some additional dollars, I don’t want some old granny getting up in my junk.
Marcus spun toward the sound of footfalls and saw the chef strutting across the backstage area. He appeared so full of himself with his cheesy grin and expensive suit, like he deserved every penny of the money he’d brought. Marcus tugged on his Stetson, trying to avoid eye contact with the show-off.
When he saw Marcus, Pierre paused. “Did you see that? My date sold for the highest so far. Every woman wanted to learn to cook with me. The ranch will be sure to recognize me as the best.”
Marcus patted the man on the shoulder. “You deserve it.” Before the chef could utter another word, he skedaddled out of there. Too bad the joker didn’t recognize sarcasm. No point getting into a pissing contest over an event he got wrangled into.
It’s all Angela’s fault. I’d rather go toe-to-toe with an ornery bull than that room full of horny women. He glanced heavenward. “Sorry, Momma.” Tugging a chain from under his shirt, Marcus kissed the cross he’d worn for good luck since his mother had given it to him on his twelfth birthday. While he wasn’t sure what his momma could do about this mess, he knew she’d always watch over him.
“Marcus Wilson. On deck. You’re up next,” the assistant to the emcee called out.
A shudder whipping through Marcus, he tucked his shirt into his jeans, tightened his belt, and straightened his Stetson. “Please don’t let me trip…and please let someone bid on me.”
***
Carlie glanced at her phone, anxious to be anywhere but at the auction. Not that it wasn’t a good cause, but a date auction—she’d rather bid on a piece of artwork than a couple of hours with a boring man. The chef, Pierre, was a prime example. Like many of the men she knew from New York City, he thought he was God’s gift to women. As if women couldn’t cook or take care of themselves. Lifting her glass to her lips, she swallowed the last of her second seven and seven. Slightly buzzed but bored out of her mind. She longed to head back to her loft apartment above Angela’s café. How much longer? She peeked at her phone again. Only one minute had passed since she’d last checked the time.
“Are you having fun?” Angela leaned over and placed another drink in front of Carlie. “Texting a guy?”
“No guy. With the move to Whisper, I’ve been focusing on getting settled and starting up teaching dance lessons. The space above Debra’s is perfect for a dance studio, and I’m getting inquiries from local parents. Michelle’s been passing the word around school.” She nodded toward Angela. “And, of course, I have the best landlady. The loft is outstanding. Would you believe something like that would rent for three thousand dollars in New York, give or take.”
“I’m so glad you’re here. Tonight and in Whisper.” She gently squeezed Carlie’s arm. “Maybe I should raise the rent if you think it’s so cheap.” She teased then continued. “I never thought Michelle would accept you after the incident with Preston.”
Carlie’s smile faltered at the reminder of how Michelle had almost walked away from the town veterinarian. All over a misunderstanding. “I’m so fortunate she listened and realized Preston’s like a brother to me. I’d never get in the way of their relationship. He adores her and her daughter. He even puts up with her mom.”
“Preston’s helped us so much at the ranch. His care of Cheyenne after her infection was outstanding. I swear, his grandfather’s spirit gave him a helping hand. He’s such a wonderfully caring man. Now we have to find you a special someone.” She raised a brow and pointed at the list of dates coming up.
Carlie shook her head. “I’m not in any hurry to find a man and settle down. It’s refreshing to be out from under my father’s thumb. Preston always complained about his father’s rules and restrictions. But my dad was much worse. Partially because I’m a girl, but also because of how he was raised—a typical male-dominated life of wealth and privilege. No one defies him in the boardroom nor in his home.”
“How does he feel about your move across the country?”
Carlie laid her cell phone on the table. She fidgeted with her silverware, straightening it, making sure it was lined up equal distance apart. “He’s not really aware I’m gone…”
“What?” Angela screeched. The other women turned and stared. “No worries. Just practicing my bids,” she called out.
“Well, I told him I was coming out to visit Preston. He’s always hoped we’d marry. So, he happily let me go. He thinks I will be able to tear his best friend’s son away from the humble school teacher and escort him back into the country club fold.”
“He does
n’t really know Preston well, does he?” Angela shrugged.
“No, and he doesn’t know me. I’m staying. He can rant and I expect that…but I’m tired of living under his rule. In Whisper, I can be my own woman.”
“Good for you. But what’s the worst he can do?”
“He will certainly threaten to cut me off, but my money is from my grandparents. I received it when I turned twenty-one, and he can’t touch it. He will probably get my mother to give me a guilt trip, trying to get me to come home. Little does he know, Mom’s been secretly helping me break free for years. Other than those things, I don’t know what he can do. Legally, I’m an adult.” She grabbed Angela’s drink off the table and took a deep swallow. Talking about her father and his demands always made her jumpy. She glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see him with his famous scowl.
“Then, there’s no reason not to have some fun tonight.” Angela let out a whoop and signaled the waiter.
When the man wearing no shirt, only tight black pants and a bow tie, approached, Carlie averted her eyes from his bulging chest muscles. All the skin on display made her uncomfortable. Not that she was innocent—she’d kissed a few boys, and even one girl. However, she’d never found the “special” one she trusted to give her virginity to. She’d imagined it would be like in her favorite romance novels, not a grope and fondle on the couch in a friend’s house.
Angela waved a twenty in front of the young man. “We’ll take another two seven and sevens.”
Angela’s cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were glassy. With her own buzz on, Carlie didn’t think either of them needed another drink. But she didn’t want to alienate her first friend in Whisper. Planning on leaving the alcohol behind, Carlie would have to do some tricky maneuvering to keep Angela from drinking more.
A tingle on the back of her neck signaled that someone was watching her. Carlie studied the room. None of the women at the other tables were paying any attention to her. They were drinking and enjoying the event. She examined the people at her table. Michelle and Debra were in a heated discussion about the upcoming school tax for property owners. Jeannette was on her tenth trip to the bathroom in the last half hour. Carlie had heard being pregnant shrank your bladder. Yet, seeing Jeannette’s smile and the way her hands rubbed over her rounded belly, a twinge of longing swept through Carlie. Maybe someday.
She ran her gaze over the doors and stage areas, searching for whoever was watching her. There…someone behind the curtain. All she could see were his eyes. The rest of his face was obscured in shadow. She shuddered. Who could it be? I hope it’s not Pierre. That loser. His gaze makes me feel like a piece of meat.
The returning waiter distracted her and, when she glanced back, the person was gone. Feeling unsettled, and a little rattled, Carlie picked up the drink and gulped it down. Wiping her lips with her napkin, she felt a warmth spread from her stomach through the rest of her body. Crap. I wasn’t going to drink more.
The last drink had sent her over the line from good behavior to irresponsible. She reached over, picked up Angela’s glass, and downed it as well. “Whee. I needed that.” At least I’ve stopped Angela from drinking. Carlie pointed at the stage. “Look, Angela, another booty…er…date is about to happen. Let’s raise some money for charity.”
Oh God, what have I done? In rescuing Angela, I may have sent my brain into a coma. Please don’t let me do something stupid.
CHAPTER TWO
“Ladies and gentlemen, up next is a day of horseback riding with a delicious picnic lunch. Angela Kyncade, the owner of Whisper’s own Café French, known for their mouth-watering breakfast delights and invigorating coffee drinks, has selected an amazing lunch sure to tempt your taste buds. Your special date for this event is none other than recent NBR champion, Marcus Wilson. Who wouldn’t love a day in the fields, enjoying the sunshine and a sexy cowboy? Let’s start the bidding at five hundred dollars.”
Marcus slid past the curtain and onto the stage. His boots tapped a beat on the wooden floor as he walked from the left side to the right. He focused on his steps, not wanting to trip. The blinding lights made it difficult for him to see the women, but he could hear their catcalls.
“Five hundred dollars…from the woman up front. Do I hear eight hundred?”
Was it the heat from the lights or his own anxiety which made the stage feel like an Arizona desert? A bead of sweat slid down his back between his shoulder blades. His dark hair was pasted against his forehead and his collar was damp. Tugging his Stetson from his head, he tapped it against his leg, strolling down the main aisle. The catcalls grew in intensity. With his hat off, he could see the audience better. Or maybe it was because many of the women now crowded the stage.
“Ride ’em, Cowboy.”
“Turn around and show us your jeans.”
Some of the shouts stood out from the cacophony while others sounded like white noise. Remembering the event manager’s advice, Marcus smiled, but his grin felt tight and forced. Step, step. Turn. Step. He paced across the stage. Just his normal stride, as if heading into the arena to pick his bull. Nothing going on here. No women, no bidding. The voice in his head kept up a monologue, making his anxiety soar.
“I want to ride that!”
“Do you think Café French would throw in some chocolate syrup so I can lick it off him?”
“Ladies…who would love a National Bull Rider at your beck and call all day?”
Bidding flags flying, women jumped to show their number to the emcee.
“Going once…one thousand dollars… Can I hear fifteen hundred? Yes…fifteen hundred. Can I hear more?”
Marcus’s gaze searched the crowd. Who was bidding such an outrageous amount for a picnic? That money was more than he paid for his mortgage. Unable to stand the heat from the stage, he noticed the stairs at the end of the main runway. Tuning out the bidding and hollering, Marcus strolled down the stairs and out into the crowd.
The audience swarmed him. Hands moved over his arms, back, and butt. Spinning on his toes, he gently dislodged them. Trapped like a bull in the gate, he experienced a moment of panic. Images of being trampled by high heels filled his mind.
He’d spied the woman behind this whole mess he’d gotten himself into—Angela Kyncade. Changing his pace to a march, he headed directly for her. He gritted his teeth and set his jaw tight. With his eyes only on the brunette jumping up and down, he strode toward her table. He paused as the tall blonde next to Angela downed her drink then slammed it on the table. She was the one he’d seen earlier, who’d caught his eye.
“Wait… Hold your horses. We have a bid of five thousand dollars. Going once, going twice, sold…to the woman standing next to Mrs. Kyncade.”
Marcus’s brain clicked. Five thousand dollars? For a horse ride and picnic? The bid winner suddenly listed to the side then crumpled.
He slammed his hat on his head then scooped her up into his arms as she passed out. Her heart-shaped face and full pink lips would have made any other woman appear childlike, but not her. She seemed innocent and pure. He longed to see what color eyes lay behind the long dark lashes resting on her cheeks. A smattering of freckles across her pert little nose finished off her cuteness. Marcus longed to hold her tight and protect her from the world. This fierceness overwhelmed him. He’d never felt this way about a woman before. Sure, he’d slept with some buckle bunnies and had his fill of local mothers trying to engineer a fiancé for their daughters, but those women were long gone from his memory after five minutes spent with them.
The hall erupted in cheers. A tug on his arm forced Marcus to take his gaze off the vision in his arms.
“Marcus, this way.” Angela pointed toward the women’s bathroom. “There’s a sofa in here. You can set Carlie there.”
Carlie…he’d learned her name.
***
“Let me off the merry-go-round.” Carlie blinked and opened her eyes. A man stood over her. “I’m sorry. Can you have them stop the ride?”
; He didn’t answer her. Maybe he wasn’t really there, just a figment of her imagination. After all, why would she be at an amusement park? She tried to reach up and touch him, see if her fingers would pass through him, but her hand wouldn’t cooperate.
His gaze held concern. The dark, almost-black curls covering his head gave him an angelic appearance. But it was the dimple on his chin and the dark-brown eyes that had her thinking of Hell not Heaven. She stared at the scruff on his chin and wondered if he had to shave more than once a day. Too bad he’s not real. He’s cute.
“Can you make the spinning stop? I don’t feel good.” Again, she tried to talk, but her words sounded like gibberish. When the man nodded his head at her garbage talk, she shook her head. I know I’m not making sense. Why is he acting like I am? “Do. You. Speak. English?”
“Carlie. Carlie. Carlie. Wake up.” Angela’s voice called out to her. Angela’s on the carousel, too?
Carlie turned to find her friend then her stomach revolted. Suddenly, the alcohol she’d ingested had decided it was done. Rolling to her side, Carlie fell to the floor on her hands and knees. “Please stop spinning,” she cried, the heaves starting. Then she was being cradled in someone’s arms.
She sat on the cold tile of the bathroom with a toilet in front of her. Someone lifted her hair off her shoulders while she let go of her stomach’s contents. A warm hand rubbed her back as she dry heaved before finally snagging a piece of toilet tissue and wiping off her mouth.
“Are you okay now?” A deep masculine voice spoke in her ear. Slowly, Carlie turned to find her imaginary angel caring for her. She could only nod. Then she was in his arms before blacking out once again.
CHAPTER THREE
Cowboy Strong Page 17
