Page 12 of The Auction
I pull my backpack off, unzip it, and take out the bouquet—bright, obnoxiously colorful wildflowers that look like they were picked in a field by someone with no taste.
I balance them on the seat of my bike while I shrug off my jacket. The leather’s still warm from the road, and I sling it over my forearm before grabbing the flowers again.
“Hey, Ben!” I call out, raising my voice over the breeze as I spot the oversized caretaker leading a horse toward the stables.
Big Ben lifts a hand in acknowledgment, pausing just long enough for me to catch the familiar gleam of Dominion’s coat—the prize of the farm. All black, sleek as oil, with a stride that still looks like it could break records.
The fourteenth horse to win the Triple Crown, he’s a living legend.
I nod to both of them, then head toward the front door, twisting the handle and stepping inside without knocking.
“Honey, I’m home,” I call out, already knowing where they’ll be.
Sure enough, I hear the answer from the back room, Jonathan’s voice echoing down the hallway. “We’re in here, dickhead.”
A beat later, I hear Mrs. Hayes’s soft, familiar scolding—too quiet to make out the words, but I don’t need to.
Jonathan’s response is louder. “Sorry, Ma.”
I smile and shake my head, letting the door close behind me as the smell of vanilla and old wood settles into my chest.
I pause in the doorway of the library.
She’s right where she always is.
Lilly May Hayes.
Seated in her wheelchair by the tall arched window, blanket tucked neatly across her legs, posture proud even when her body refuses to be.
She looks smaller than the last time I saw her. More fragile. Her cheekbones sharper, her hands thinner, but her eyes—still sharp. Still hers.
It punches something right in the center of my chest.
I take a breath and throw on a grin, the kind I used to use to get out of trouble when I broke a lamp in this house.
“Well,Miss Lilly May Hayes,” I say, laying it on thick with my worst Southern drawl as I step inside. “Still the prettiest lily in the bunch.”
Her lips curve faintly. Not much, but enough.
I kneel down beside her and hold out the bouquet, bright and messy, with a few pink lilies tucked in on purpose.
She places one thin hand on my cheek and pats it softly.
“Thank you for bringing the horses with you, Jackie.”
I follow her gaze to the window, where three of the mares still linger at the fence line, swishing their tails and sniffing the air like they’re waiting for a treat.
“Anything for my best girl,” I murmur, giving her a wink as I rise to my feet.
Heavy footsteps accompanied by the unmistakable clink of a tray announces the arrival of my biggest fan.
Cassidy Hayes enters carrying soup like it’s a weapon and her eyes lock on me the second she crosses the threshold.
She doesn’t say anything at first, just lifts her brows and offers me a spectacularly exaggerated eye roll—classic Cassidy, the human embodiment ofunimpressed.
She places the tray in front of her mother with practiced precision, adding a glass of water and a tiny cup of pills like it’s a ritual.
“Mom,” she says gently, “please try to eat something, okay?”
