Our Now and Forever(18)
“Ours?” Snow said, her brows riding her hairline, but she couldn’t hide the grin.
Caleb tucked a wayward curl behind her ear. “You wouldn’t have bid if I hadn’t been here to educate you on the hidden treasure hanging in front of your nose.”
With a gleam he hadn’t seen in more than a year, she said, “True. You did come in handy today. I guess I’ll keep you around a little longer.”
“It’s cute that you think you can get rid of me,” he replied with a wink.
Snow’s grin fell away. “And we’re back to reality,” she said, turning around to face the house.
His runaway bride may have been clueless about the painting, but Snow had knowledge to spare on almost everything else in the auction. She’d gotten the dresser she wanted, which wasn’t as old as most of the other items, but that made it perfect for the transformation she had in mind. As Snow pointed out, cutting up a true antique would be a shame, but the less-dated piece would find new life and new purpose when she was finished with it.
“The textiles aren’t as nice as I’d hoped,” Snow whispered. “Nitzi Merchant is probably going to put up a fight, so if the bidding goes above fifty dollars, I’ll let her have them.”
“Are you sure?” he asked. “What about that mantelpiece?”
“I’m not willing to pay much over one hundred for it, since I won’t get more than two fifty on the resale. But I’d hate to see it sold for scrap and end up in someone’s wood heap.”
“You know of anyone else who would want it for the same reason you do?” Caleb eyed their fellow attendees. They all looked easy enough to haggle with. If necessary, he’d buy the mantel from whoever won the auction and surprise her with it.
The auctioneer’s voice boomed from the porch, announcing the final round was about to start. “We’re about to find out,” Snow said, holding her paddle tight and focusing on the man at the front.
The lace bits came and went. The price hit sixty in no time, and Snow dropped out. Three items later, the final target on her list came up as two large guys hauled the mantelpiece onto the block. The bidding started at fifty and went slow until a new bidder joined the fray at the eighty-dollar mark. Snow faced off with the determined contender until the asking price hit one fifty and she gave up. Caleb fought the urge to find the winning bidder and punch him in the nuts.
The asshole got the prize at one seventy-five, and Caleb leaned down to whisper in Snow’s ear, “You should have kept bidding.”
She shook her head. “By the time I cleaned it up and got it fit for sale, I’d have lost money.”
“So now it’s firewood?”
Snow shrugged. “Can’t win them all.”
This was a concept Caleb had never embraced. “I would have covered you.”
Snow shook her head but kept her eyes on the porch. “This isn’t your business, and I don’t want your money.”
“You are my business, and my money is your money.”
Snow spun fast enough to force Caleb to take a step back. “I said I don’t want your money. I mean it. That’s not why I married you.”
Caleb felt as if he’d landed in quicksand. “I told you, I know that. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re my wife, and what’s mine is yours.”
Cutting off the conversation, she snapped her mouth shut and turned her back on him.
“Our final item,” the auctioneer bellowed, “is a 1956 Ford F-100 pickup truck. Who’ll give me five hundred?”
Caleb hadn’t noticed a truck on the flier. He followed the auctioneer’s gesture to the left and spotted the neglected antique pull into view on the back of a flatbed hauler. Primer gray, with a busted back window and two missing wheels, the pickup was a thing of beauty.
A little paint, probably a new engine, and some TLC would bring this baby back to life.
Someone in the crowd offered up the five hundred, and Caleb swiped the paddle from Snow’s hand and indicated he’d go to six hundred.
“What are you doing?” she said.
“I’m buying that truck,” he answered, as if his intention wasn’t clear.
The other bidder went up to eight hundred, and a rush of adrenaline shot through Caleb’s system. He took the bid to one thousand. Uncle Frazier would never forgive him if he didn’t bring this treasure home.
Caleb spotted his opponent fifteen yards to his right, standing inches over most of the crowd. He wore a ball cap turned backward, and some kind of tattoo circled the forearm waving the paddle. No doubt some country bumpkin who intended to strip the thing for parts. Over Caleb’s dead body.