by Mandy Magro
The crowd gave Frank a rowdy warm welcome to the stage and, swept away with the excitement, Ivy, her aunts and Beryl cheered along with them – the atmosphere of the room addictively electric. Being the larrikin Frank was renowned to be, he strutted out, turning this way and that as he flexed his arms and puffed out his chest, mimicking a bodybuilder – which he was a far cry from – the entire time grinning cheekily. He was revelling in the limelight. Ivy recalled him being exactly the same at high school – forever the show pony and always happy to be the centre of attention. And unlike most of the other girls, she’d never found it attractive – but did find it hilarious to watch.
And then the auction began with Frank’s wife, Rosa, who was at the front of the sea of people, bidding forty dollars.
‘And we’re off and racing,’ Shirley sung into the microphone. She laughed as she pointed in Rosa’s direction. ‘But you already have him as your slave, Rosa, being married to him.’
‘Yeah, but at least if I pay for him he has to do what I ask him to do, like vacuuming and ironing, doesn’t he?’ Rosa called out. Her girlfriends squealed beside her.
Frank pulled a face of mock horror, sending the crowd into hysterics once more.
‘Yup, he sure does Rosa.’ Shirley was still laughing as she eyed the crowd. ‘So do we have fifty?’
‘Yup, I’ll give ya fifty,’ a bloke called out.
The spotlight fell over the bidder and Ivy recognised him as one of Frank’s fellow footy team members. ‘My lawns need mowing and my car needs detailing – you up for it Frankie boy?’ The lanky redhead held up his beer, grinning stupidly.
‘Oh fair go, Chopstick,’ Frank called back, his smile widening.
And then the bidding ramped up, with the spotlight flying this way and that. The final price ended up at one hundred and thirty dollars. Frank jumped off the stage and ran to his winner – a lady from the local Bendigo Bank – and gave her a hug. She hugged him back, grinning like the cat that had gotten the cream.
Shirley captured the crowd’s attention. ‘So one slave down and two to go people – next up we have the very suave and forever charming, Jed Freeman.’ She waved to someone offstage, as though the person was hesitating about stepping out.
And out came Jed, his face glowing a bright shade of red as he tried fruitlessly to dodge the spotlight. Reaching Shirley he gave the applauding crowd a shy wave, shoved his hands in his jeans pockets and then stared down at his shoes like they were an object of complete fascination.
Shirley wrapped her free arm around his shoulders, and gave him a squeeze. ‘He’s a quiet one, our Jed, but they say those are the ones to watch out for.’
Wolf-whistles followed, along with clapping and squealing. Jed chuckled and shook his head.
Shirley stepped forwards. ‘So who’s going to start the bidding for this fine specimen of a man?’
‘Me!’ A young woman jumped up and down, waving her hands in the air.
Shirley grinned. ‘Great, but how much?’
‘Oh, yeah, oops – thirty dollars.’
‘So we have thirty folks, but I reckon we can do much better.’ Shirley wriggled her brows. ‘So come on now, give us your best shot.’
And they were off and racing again, with bids coming from every direction of the packed pub. Ivy couldn’t help but feel sorry for Jed – he looked like a fish out of water up on stage. She wanted to run up and hug him. Within minutes, he was saved from standing there any longer when the bidding war came to a standstill at one hundred and forty-five dollars.
‘Sold to Missus Peterson,’ Shirley cried out.
The well-known CWA lady cheered with delight at her win, her champagne glass raised high in the air.
Shirley clapped along with the crowd as Jed hightailed it off the stage and then claimed the spotlight once more. ‘And last but not the very least, we have Lottie’s great-nephew and the new owner of Sundown Farm as our final slave tonight. So please give a round of applause for Ronny Sinclair!’
The audience exploded into whoops, hollers, cheers, clapping, and with the entrance of Ronny Sinclair, ear-piercing squealing and wolf-whistles. The reaction was ten times that of what Frank and Jed received. It was as though Chris Hemsworth had just entered stage left, albeit way younger, and way sexier – in Ivy’s opinion. It suddenly felt very hot inside the pub and she fanned her face with her hands. In a pair of jeans, a button-up navy shirt, cowboy boots and a black, wide-brimmed hat, Ronny Sinclair demanded every single woman’s attention without even trying. And the om tattoo on the side of his neck let her know he was a spiritual man too – hubba hubba. Yum! She hadn’t noticed it the other day as she’d been too focused on his eyes and amazingly muscular chest. And bam, there was the lightning she’d been looking for less than an hour ago – the exact same feeling she’d had when she ran into Ronny at the bank, although this time it was even more intense. The fact that he looked so familiar irked her, but he would have told her if they’d already met when she’d asked him the other day. Maybe they’d known each other in a past lifetime – something she strongly believed in.
Ivy let her eyes wander over every single glorious inch of him as she tried to shake the feeling of knowing him. Ronny Sinclair certainly looked like he’d been around the block, and she’d always had a preference for the bad boys – from the aura he gave off, she sensed he might harbour a bit of an edge – but on the other hand, everything she’d heard about him told her he was a good man. He smiled charmingly at the screaming masses of women, his slightly quivering lips and the sweep of his hands over his short, dark hair giving away the fact he was a little uncomfortable on stage. Ivy liked that, never keen on a man who liked to flaunt his sex appeal – and Ronny Sinclair had bucketloads of it. As much as she hated to succumb to his charms, she grabbed hold of the bar stool beside her as she felt herself go a little weak at the knees. He. Was. Divine. Damn it, how was she going to work alongside this magnificent man if she won him as her slave for the weekend? Thoughts of spending the time naked beneath the sheets with him made her blush and she felt tingles all over. So much for being anti-men – although she’d been doing quite well until Ronny hunky-spunky Sinclair crashed into her life. She mentally slapped herself. She needed to snap out of whatever this was – a man was not the complication her life needed right now.
As much as she fought it, her heart fluttered as though it was filled with butterflies. Taking a swig from her beer, she tried to calm her lustfulness, biting down on her lower lip. His rugged looks and rough-around-the-edges image that would stop most women in their tracks made Ronny undeniably manly; Ivy bet he could sweep a woman into his big strong arms and protect her for a lifetime. She weirdly felt like she’d already been within the comfort and shelter of them there burly arms. The feeling confused her, as did the feeling of being drawn to him. What was it that Ronny had that no other bloke in here did, other than his good looks? Because for her to have such intense feelings of attraction, there had to be something underlying. Maybe it was because there was something of a warrior in him combined with an appearance of gentleness that made her heart reach out. She laughed quietly at her train of thought. As usual, she was going way too deep when maybe it was simply because Malcolm had really messed her up. Thinking Ronny could be the man she’d always longed for was more wishful thinking thanks to the champagne and beer. And for God’s sake, she didn’t even know him from a bar of soap.
Get a grip, Ivy Tucker.
But she couldn’t help herself. Her gaze once again settled on his handsome face. With his sharp cheekbones and angular jaw darkened with a little stubble, the strong brows and eyelashes so thick they should be illegal, Ronny looked like he’d been chiselled from granite. She wished she could see his eyes better. Eyes always revealed so much to her, but the spotlight beating down on him made it impossible.
Now the gathering had calmed down, although a few women were still squealing and whistling their approval at the manly masterpiece on stage, Shirley pointed to Ronny�
�s shirt, where his pink heart badge was pinned to the top part of his sleeve.
‘And looky here, all you ladies, not only is he damn good looking, but he also wears his heart on his sleeve.’ She chuckled, as did Ivy and the rest of the crowd. ‘Now, who’s going to begin the bidding tonight?’
Ivy wanted to shout out, but there was no way in hell she was going to be the first one to bid – it would make her look desperate. May and Alice playfully poked her in the sides, telling her to do otherwise. But she bit her tongue as a woman from the middle of the crowd shouted, ‘I bid fifty smackaroos for the sexy cowboy!’ saving Ivy the embarrassment.
Shirley pointed at the middle-aged lady as she jiggled on the spot, the spotlight now on her. Ivy knew her from the doctor’s surgery: she was the receptionist, and usually so quiet and reserved. Funny what a sexy man could do to a woman.
‘So we have fifty dollars, thanks to Barbara starting the bidding. Do I hear sixty dollars?’ Shirley called as she skimmed her eyes over the throng before her.
‘I’ll give ya sixty,’ shouted Gertrude from her usual place at the bar, her extremely tight clothes doing nothing other than making her look like mutton dressed up as lamb.
‘We have sixty smackaroos, do I hear seventy?’ Shirley called with a wide grin.
Ivy was just about to call out when someone beat her to it.
‘Eighty! I bid eighty dollars.’
The spotlight moved to the bar where Amy stood upon it, Coyote Ugly style, making it obvious just how sexy she thought she was. The display made Ivy want to gag.
May waved her hands in the air. ‘We bid one hundred dollars!’
The spotlight shifted to them and Ivy shaded her eyes from the brilliance.
Shirley’s excitement raised a few notches as she called out to the crowd, ‘One hundred dollars! Does anyone want to bid higher? Come on, ladies, you know you want him as your slave for the weekend. How could you not?’ She waved her arm at Ronny. ‘Look at him!’
Ronny visibly blushed, his smile shy. Ivy could see him scanning the crowd, the glare of the spotlight making him squint a little. She could swear his gaze lingered on her a little longer than anyone else, or maybe she was just being delusional.
‘One hundred and twenty bucks,’ Amy yelled from her perch on the bar. She winked at Ronny, and then licked her lips suggestively. The men in the crowd cheered her on. She gushed with their attention.
‘One hundred and thirty dollars,’ Ivy retorted, her arms upstretched. There was no way she was going to let Amy Mayberry sink her teeth into Ronny Sinclair. Her sudden desire to protect him startled her. But with everything going on around her, she had no time to ponder it – another woman joined the bidding war from the back corner of the pub.
‘One hundred and forty dollars!’ A collective cheer followed.
Ivy had no idea who the new bidder was, she couldn’t see that far, and goddamn it – they were almost at their limit already. There was no way they were going to win this hunk of a man if the auction kept going the way it was. Her heart sank, not only because they needed a worker, but because she felt a need to get to know Ronny better. She had no idea why, but something was telling her there was more to this man than met the eye, and that intrigued her.
‘One hundred and fifty dollars!’ she called as she held her breath, wishing at the same time that all the other women in this place would just disappear. She wanted to throw her hands over her ears so that she didn’t hear a higher bid.
‘One hundred and sixty bucks!’ Amy squealed as she snapped to attention on top of the bar.
Ivy wanted to scream and her temples began to throb. Damn Amy Mayberry – couldn’t she keep her sticky fingers off the new bloke? May and Alice looked at her and shook their heads dejectedly, an indication that their bidding was now over. Ivy dropped her gaze and stared at the floor. Damn it. Her fantasy of being able to get to know him better crumbled at her feet – there was no way she’d be asking him out.
‘One hundred and seventy!’ a voice called from the left, followed by a collective squeal of the girl’s friends.
‘One hundred and eighty!’
‘One hundred and eighty-five!’
‘One hundred and ninety!’
The bidding was on fire, with offers coming left, right and centre, the spotlight moving so much it now resembled something at a rave rather than a country pub. Shirley’s gaze was flying around the room like a ball in a pinball machine.
‘Two hundred,’ Amy retorted, her voice now desperate.
‘Two hundred and fifty dollars!’
The spotlight shone in Ivy’s direction and she looked over to see Beryl shaking her arms in the air while jumping up and down. ‘I bid two hundred and fifty dollars for the fetching Ronny Sinclair!’
Amy cursed loudly from her place atop the bar and then jumped down to her usual position behind the beer taps, the scowl on her face priceless. Ivy said a silent hurrah as she fought not to punch the air. Even though they wouldn’t be inviting Mr Ronny Sinclair in as their slave at Healing Hills, she didn’t want Amy to have him either.
Shirley gave Beryl the thumbs up, before saying, ‘That’s a huge and muchly appreciated bid from the lovely Beryl Matheson. Do I hear two hundred and sixty?’
The crowd went silent. Ivy grinned at Beryl and softly clapped her hands, once again holding her breath. Beryl reached out and pulled Ivy to her, squeezing her tightly. May and Alice followed suit and threw their arms around the pair. They stood, entangled, waiting. The pub had gone so quiet Ivy was sure she’d hear a pin drop.
‘So that’s two hundred and fifty going once, going twice …’ Shirley dragged it out, making sure to give the crowd plenty of time to change their minds and resume the bidding war.
The silence now extended, Shirley clapped her hands together loudly. ‘Going three times, and sold, to Beryl Matheson!’ She pointed at Beryl. ‘Good on you love.’
The crowd exploded once again into raucous applause. Alice and May squealed and danced as Beryl whispered into Ivy’s ear, ‘I did that for you three, love, you just give me the hundred and fifty dollars you were going to spend and I’ll chuck in the hundred.’
Ivy began to protest but Beryl shushed her. ‘You do a wonderful job out there at Healing Hills and I want to do this for you and your aunts. So please, don’t say no.’ She tipped her head towards the bar and grimaced. ‘And there was no way in hell I was going to let Amy Mayberry win him. God knows what that woman would expect from the poor bloke.’
Blinking back thankful tears, Ivy embraced Beryl, as did May and Alice. The four of them did a happy jig as Shirley wound down as compere. Ivy stole a moment from the celebration to look up at Ronny. His eyes rested fleetingly on her as he smiled, sending another jolt of lightning through her. She already couldn’t wait for the moment she got to work alongside him.
CHAPTER
9
With Shirley’s spirited encouragement, the crowd gave Ronny one more enthusiastic hurrah before the band began their first set. A classic Garth Brooks honky-tonk tune drowned out the thrashing of Ronny’s heart against his chest. As the saying went, hearts were wild creatures and that’s why God chose to cage them, and Ronny sincerely believed this. He wished he could control what was going on inside him, control his emotions, but just like the other day at the bank, it was impossible when all he wanted was to take the gorgeous woman standing only metres from him into his arms and kiss her full, glossy lips. Uninvited feelings washed over him – longing, shame, remorse, protectiveness, apprehension, and something he couldn’t quite put his finger on – and he suddenly needed to be somewhere private. He gave one last charming smile to the dissipating crowd, fighting to keep his eyes from Ivy’s face, as he had the entire time he’d been standing up here, the burn of her gaze on him doing things that normally only a seductive touch would do.
The spotlight now on the long-haired lead singer, and the disco ball and flashing party lights now in full dazzling swing, the crowd’s attenti
on finally turned from the stage to having a boogie on the dance floor. Ronny fought his urge to run and instead took measured steps until he reached the back of the stage, where it was quiet and he could be alone. Relief flooded him. Leaning against the wall, he slid down it, squatting and breathing deeply while trying to steady his racing pulse. Seeing Ivy two times in a week was too much. He still hadn’t gotten over the last time he’d run into her – especially with her beautiful face visiting him in his dreams every night since. He’d known there was a big possibility she’d be here tonight, and he’d thought himself ready for such an encounter, but having her only metres from him, bidding for him, was a whole other story. And it wasn’t only the effect of the perfect curves of her luscious body in that breathtaking dress or the sexy cowgirl boots that made him want to trace his fingers all over her long, slender legs, it was also her shyness, her hesitation, the way her lips moved when she spoke to the women beside her, that made her downright irresistible. And how close he had come to being her slave for the weekend. How would that have panned out? Thank God the elderly woman beside her had been the winning bidder, because he had no idea how he would have coped having to be in the company of the beautiful Ivy Tucker for two entire days. He wasn’t a man who condoned lies, and just being in her company would make him feel like a liar if he didn’t reveal who he was. He’d already hightailed it out of the bank to avoid answering truthfully after she’d asked if she knew him from somewhere. Out of respect for Lottie, he could never tell Ivy the truth. Besides, the past was better left where it was; Lottie had been correct in saying he needed to forget Byron McWilliams ever existed if he was to have a clean slate to build his life upon, and to do that with a clear conscience, he had to try to stay away from the captivating allure of Miss Tucker, as hard as that was proving to be.
