Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Then reality hits me, and I fight back a rising wave of nausea.
Any one of them could be a part of my future. I’m about to enter another world, a place of unknown danger. The man who buys me could be worse than my father. He could make me do terrible things.
My father slams his fist against the side of the car before tearing open the passenger door that was keeping me upright. I struggle to steady myself as he steps aside, and the shabby man comes into view.
“Hi, Taylor, I’m Eric Chepstow, running today’s auction. Now, are you gonna come with me or am I gonna have to lasso you?” His gravelly voice sounds worn away by years of tobacco and hollering. But it’s not unkind.
I glance towards my dad, who looks away. He coughs and takes a step back.
“Go with Mr. Chepstow here.”
I do as I’m told and watch Mr. Chepstow give my father a pile of papers, which he stuffs into his shirt pocket.
The two men spit and shake hands in an act that sickens me to the pit of my stomach but somehow doesn’t surprise me either; selling his eldest daughter to clear his debts. It’s despicable and horrific. Bile rises in my throat.
I turn to grab my bag from the back seat before climbing awkwardly out of the truck. My father gets in on the other side, asking nothing of me other than to ‘shut the goddamn door’.
And just like that, he’s gone in a cloud of dust, leaving me with a stranger.
“Don’t look so glum, girl!” Mr. Chepstow’s voice is calm, and I sense he’s been doing this a while. Tall and wiry, he looms over me with a loose ponytail of silver hair trailing down his back and deep lines etched into the corners of his eyes.
“We do this here all the time. You’ve got nothing to be scared of. Ranchers are good men. Salt of the earth. God-fearing like your father.”
I almost choke on my own spit. “My father?”
“He told me about your ‘trouble’.” His gnarled fingers make air quotes. “Getting involved with his friend, an older man. It’s right to save your reputation this way before it’s too late.”
Lost for words and incredulous at my father’s brazen lie, I follow Mr. Chepstow into the huge barn where the cluster of cowboys has disappeared into a front entrance.
We go through a rear entrance into a kind of holding room. The daylight is immediately replaced with subdued lighting and stuffy heat. I’m hit by the scent of sickly-sweet perfume mingled with hay and dust. I cough again as the effect catches in the back of my throat.
“Drop your bag here. I’m gonna see about getting you some water.”
There are five other women in the room. Two chatter excitedly. The others wear expressions as grim as mine.
“You wanna pretty yourself up in the bathroom?” He looks questioningly at me, and I nod, since I’m bursting to use the restroom. I don’t have any makeup, just a hairbrush. But splashing some cold water on my face might make me feel better.
“I’ll leave you here. When you’re done, come back to this point, and Dixie will call you when it’s time. Do you know much about cowboy country?”
I shake my head, frightened that my voice will crack.
“You got nothing to be scared of. Just make sure you work hard, follow the rules, and don’t give them any hassle. This could be a life-changing opportunity for you, kid.”
He has no idea. I strengthen my resolve. “I’ll do my best.” The quaver in my voice is pathetic.
He lifts my chin with his huge, meaty hand and looks into my eyes. I fight the urge to turn away but manage to hold his searching gaze.
He wipes the single tear straining at the corner of my right eye. His skin is rough, but his touch is gentle.
Then he turns and saunters off, wishing us all luck without looking back. I wonder where he’s going.
I’m a lamb to the slaughter.
When I’ve done my business and cooled my cheeks, I leave the restroom, bolstered by adrenaline. I return to the holding point and begin to take in my surroundings. Bales of hay are stacked at different heights for us to sit on. The other girls are all about my age. My attention is drawn to an attractive girl with oversized, gold-hooped earrings set amidst a mop of dense auburn curls. She vigorously chews on gum and stares down at her phone. She’s doing a good job of looking confident, but I’m not so sure. Twisting locks of her hair around her fingers with increasing intensity, she fidgets her foot restlessly. When her gum pops, she unsettles herself as much as the rest of us. She’s nervous, glancing around to see who noticed her mask slip. She sits up tall, faking bravado in her pink checked shirt, which she has tied up in a loose knot at the front, revealing a panel of smooth, tanned flesh. She has every reason to be confident, but still, this is not your average Saturday afternoon.