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)
Another girl sneezes in the far corner, on a higher bale.
“Fat lot of good I’ll be as a cowgirl!”
A petite, brunette girl sits hunched in a corner, sobbing into her sleeves. Her arm’s grip tightly around her knees as she comfort-rocks herself.
I force away rising thoughts of Molly and the guilt of leaving her behind. This isn’t my choice. If I don’t go through with it, I’ll have nowhere to go.
My bag was placed on an empty bale, and next to it, someone placed a small plastic bottle of water. I’m touched by the gesture. Even such a tiny act is not something I’m used to, and it threatens to spill my emotions from where I’m holding them out of sight. As I move slowly towards it, several pairs of eyes from around the room follow my steps.
I glance down at my loose-fitting pants and the t-shirt that hangs on me. It’s clean and pale blue, my favorite color, but I could do better. I rummage around for inspiration, hoping there will be something prettier in the bottom of my bag, even as I suspect there isn’t.
“Never mind, sweetheart. It’s too late to change now. You’re up!”
I turn to see a tiny, pretty lady somewhere in her thirties with twinkly green eyes and lips painted a pale, glossy pink.
When she smiles, her teeth are a perfect row of white pearls, and her breath is fresh and minty as she moves closer and grips me steadily around the top of my right arm.
“You’re a natural beauty. Youth is on your side. I’ve got a good feeling about you. Great boobs and ass.”
Her eyes assess me briefly, settling on my right cheekbone.
“Let me cover up that bruise for you, honey. It’ll show up out there.”
She removes something from her shirt pocket and dabs it on my cheekbone. I don’t flinch.
I assume this is Dixie and trust her immediately, as much as anyone can trust in the bizarre situation we’re all in.
“I’ve been doing this for years, honey. I know a good one when I see one. And there are some pretty good guys out there today, too. Hold your head up high, you hear me? Your life’s gonna turn around from this point, now. You gotta believe it.”
Embarrassed, I shy away from her kind words, so unused to receiving a compliment that accepting it graciously would be like forcing my grown foot into a child’s shoe.
As I walk away from the group of girls up for auction, I know that every single one has a story to tell, a past full of troubles and an unknown future. They’re all desperate in one way or another, or they wouldn’t be here. They all need a fairy tale, a happy ever after, a knight in shining armor.
I silently pray for each of them as I step out into a vast yet sparsely packed arena. Dixie ushers the rest of the girls to follow.
Whatever happens, this is my ticket out of here. Even if no one wants me, my dad has gone. The great high sky can swallow me up for all I care, as long as I can figure out how to get Molly back to me. We’ll make it all right. We don’t have to be prisoners at the mercy of a toxic bully.
My mom and my grandma will be with us in spirit.
A momentary hush descends. A bead of sweat pools at the back of my neck, and my legs turn to jelly.
Who am I kidding?
Dixie stands behind me and gently ushers me up a small set of metal steps, which clang as I ascend, breaking the silence. The other girls remain at the bottom, gathered together, half frightened, half curious.
My feet have grown roots, and my heart hammers out of control.
I catch a scent of musky cologne in the air, mixed with fresh sweat. My stomach does a little flip, and I find my resolve again.
“Smile, honey, smile!” Dixie urges me forward.
I’m so relieved when she guides me to a bale in the middle of the raised platform we’re now standing on. I sit awkwardly, adjusting myself several times as sharp straw ends scratch into me.
I feel separate from my body. A ghost looking down at the person they used to be.
There’s a general stirring of deep voices rumbling from the crowd. I’m beyond relieved that I don’t have to parade around like the cattle stinking up the air outside.
Another hush descends, and the man at the microphone comes into clearer view. In his seventies, with a long white mustache and a battered Stetson, he’s a cliche I almost find amusing.
“Do you want to say a few words, Taylor?” His voice has a twang that I like and offers a hint of encouragement, but his invitation catches me off guard. The spotlight seems to brighten with my silence. The intense glare from the beam weakens my vision, but still, my eyes are drawn to a group of men in the front row, tall and broad with their eyes my way. They’re somewhat older than me but younger than my dad and seem to be a group of friends. One of them nods at me. It’s curt rather than warm but encouraging, nonetheless. I focus on his high cheekbones and his strong, chiseled jaw. The man next to him has unearthly light blue eyes that seem to look right through me.