The laughter started before Claire Garza had even finished raising her bidding card.
It rolled across the Beeville livestock auction yard in waves, mixed with the metallic clang of cattle gates, the shouts of handlers, and the dry Texas wind blowing dust beneath the wooden bleachers. Claire heard it all, but she kept her eyes fixed on the animal standing inside the sale ring.
The bull was enormous.
Even from where she stood, Claire could see the power in his shoulders and the extraordinary width of his chest. His reddish-brown hide stretched over a frame that looked capable of carrying more than a thousand pounds of muscle.
But something was terribly wrong.
Thousands of ticks covered him.
They clustered around his neck and shoulders, gathered thickly around the base of his ears, and spread across his sides and legs in ugly, restless patches. Some areas of his hide appeared almost dark beneath the sheer number of parasites.
The bull shifted his weight.
His head dropped slightly.
His tail flicked once.
Then again.
And again.
He rubbed his shoulder against the wooden rail, scraping hard enough to make the old boards creak.
The auctioneer looked at the animal, then at the crowd.
“Anybody interested?”
Silence.
A few men glanced at one another.
Nobody raised a card.
Claire felt the bidding paddle in her hand.
She had been watching the bull for almost five minutes.
Most people were looking at the ticks.
Claire was looking at everything else.
The enormous shoulders.
The deep chest.
The straight back.
The thick hindquarters.
The bone structure.
The broad muzzle.
And most importantly, the eyes.
The bull's eyes weren't wild.
They weren't aggressive.
They were tired.
There was a difference.
Claire had learned that difference when she was a child.
Her grandfather had taught her that cattle could tell you more than people ever could if you knew how to look.
“You don't judge an animal by the worst day of its life,” he used to say.
Claire could still hear his voice.
The auctioneer cleared his throat.
“Come on, folks. Good Beefmaster genetics underneath there.”
Someone laughed.
Another man muttered loudly enough for several people to hear.
“Underneath what? A whole colony?”
More laughter.
Claire didn't smile.
The auctioneer tried again.
“Five hundred.”
Nobody moved.
“Five hundred dollars.”
A man near the front shook his head.
“Four.”
The auctioneer stared at him.
“Four hundred?”
The man shrugged.
“Too much.”
The auctioneer sighed.
Claire's fingers tightened around the paddle.
She knew what everyone was thinking.
The bull was sick.
The bull was infested.
The bull was a liability.
The bull would cost money.
Maybe a lot of money.
But Claire also knew something they didn't.
She had seen animals come back from worse.
The auctioneer raised his hand.
“Three hundred?”
Nobody answered.
Claire lifted her paddle.
The laughter stopped for half a second.
Then it came back twice as loud.
“Five hundred!” shouted the auctioneer.
A man behind Claire called out.
“Six!”
Claire raised her paddle.
“Seven!”
She raised it again.
The man looked over his shoulder at her.
“You serious?”
Claire didn't answer.
“Eight hundred!”
The man hesitated.
Claire lifted the paddle one more time.
The auctioneer's eyes widened.
“Nine!”
The other bidder shook his head.
“I'm out.”
The auctioneer pointed toward Claire.
“One thousand dollars!”
He looked around.