Saddle Up. Mary Baxter Lynn
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I would’ve turned around and taken the next Spirit of St. Louis back to Texas.”
“Aw, and miss out on all this fun? Come on, pay up, then let your hair down, for heaven’s sake. We’ll enjoy the auction, get a load of eye candy—” Tiffany nudged Bridget’s shoulder “—eat some barbecue, then head to the motel.”
“And then go home, right?”
“Only after we see a little of the country,” Tiffany said. “I’ve never been this far west, and I aim to take advantage of it. Besides, once the auction’s over, you should be able to get that pained expression off your face and have a good time. You look like you just saw Wainwright again!”
Bridget threw up her hands, but she couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her face. “You’re impossible.”
“That’s why you love me so much. Now, about that fifty bucks…”
“Damn you, Tiff!”
Tiffany merely laughed as Bridget slapped bills into her friend’s outstretched hand. She watched as Tiffany made a kissing sound before stuffing the money into her purse.
“Go to hell,” Bridget whispered.
“Thanks, I will, with a new purse hanging on my shoulder. This fifty smackers will help pay for it.” She paused. “It’s going to be all right, I promise. You’ll have a good time.”
“Sure I will, Tiff. I’ll probably cherish this moment forever…like I would having all my teeth pulled,” Bridget mumbled under her breath, turning away from Tiffany’s mischievous eyes.
Tiffany nudged her again, harder. “Hey, take a gander at that fellow with the black hair and mustache. He could do anything he wanted in my bed.”
“Behave yourself! You act like you haven’t had any in a long time.”
“If you’re referring to nooky,” Tiffany whispered, “I haven’t. Remember, you’re the one with the man.”
Only she hadn’t had any from him in a long time, Bridget thought, her mind turning to Hamilton and the hissy fit he’d thrown when she told him that Tiffany was trying to talk her into going away with her for a few days. Even now, she could see Hamilton in her mind’s eye. Tall and always impeccably dressed, which only heightened his gym-toned body to perfection, he was handsome in a stodgy sort of way. A successful stockbroker, his best asset was perfect white teeth, which he used to charm his clients. But on that particular day, the smile had turned into a grim frown.
“Why would you do a thing like that?” he’d asked with unusual bluntness. “You know how I feel about her.”
Bridget saw red, as she did so often of late when she was in his company. “You don’t have to like her. She’s my friend.”
“I still think you could do better. After all—”
“Save it, Hamilton. I don’t care what you think about Tiffany, or any of my other friends, for that matter.”
He had looked at her for a long time, that frown still in place. “What’s happened to you?”
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