May lifted the paddle.
“Forty-five.”
A murmur replaced some of the amusement.
She was not laughing.
That mattered.
Vernon noticed.
His grin narrowed.
“You understand these are real bids, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“You’re expected to pay.”
“Yes.”
“Today.”
May nodded.
“Yes.”
The cloth purse suddenly felt heavy at her wrist.
She had saved the money slowly.
Eggs sold to neighbors.
Garden work.
Feeding animals while families traveled.
Two birthday envelopes she had never opened until that morning.
Samuel had once told her that saved money should always have a job before it left your hand.
May knew exactly what job this money had.
The auctioneer raised his microphone.
“Forty-five dollars. Forty-five going once—”
A different voice interrupted.
“Fifty.”
May immediately looked toward the sound.
Calvin Rusk sat halfway down the right-hand benches.
Unlike most of the ranchers around him, Calvin did not look amused.
He was fifty-two, lean, dark-haired, and dressed in a gray western shirt with polished boots. Rusk Machinery occupied almost an entire block outside North Platte. He bought old tractors, combines, balers, engines, attachments, and parts estates across three states.
Samuel had known him.
Not well.
Enough.
May remembered one sentence.
If Calvin Rusk smiles while buying something, check what he knows that you don’t.
Calvin was not smiling now.
He was looking at May.
Then at the tractor.
Vernon sounded pleased.
“Fifty dollars from Mr. Rusk. Fifty-five?”
May raised the paddle.
“Fifty-five.”
Calvin’s eyes sharpened.
The atmosphere inside the barn changed almost invisibly.
The laughter did not stop completely.
But fewer people joined.
“Sixty,” Calvin said.
“Sixty-five,” May answered.
A farmer beside Calvin leaned closer.
“What are you seeing?”
Calvin ignored him.
Vernon looked between May and Calvin.
“Seventy.”
Calvin lifted two fingers.
May’s stomach tightened.
Eighty-six dollars and thirty-five cents.
If Calvin went to ninety, she was finished.
She raised the paddle.
“Seventy-five.”
The room became quieter.
She had eleven dollars and thirty-five cents left.
Calvin stood.
That frightened her more than another bid.
He did not call eighty.
Instead, he walked toward the tractor.
Vernon watched him.
May’s pulse accelerated.
Calvin moved around the rear tire, bent slightly, then glanced beneath the frame.
He had noticed.
Maybe not the number.
But he had noticed where May kept looking.
She stepped from the wall.
Vernon slammed one palm against the podium.
“That’s enough.”
Everyone turned.
May stopped.
Vernon pointed directly at her.
“Put down the paddle.”
The room fell quiet.
May stared.
“Why?”
“Because you’re wasting everybody’s time.”
“I’m the high bidder.”
“You’re a girl with eighty bucks buying something you don’t understand.”
Several farmers looked uncomfortable now.
May felt anger replace embarrassment.