Read The Tycoon and the Texan for Free Online

However, we’ve decided to sweeten the pot.”
    A whir of surprise filled the air as the crowd buzzed amongst themselves.
    â€œPiqued your interest? This year, a woman can overbid that special man of hers by one dollar.” She waited for the applause to stop. “I’m sure the bachelorettes are amenable to doing windows or mowing the lawn.” The auctioneer took a drink of water, preparing to continue. “For our first lady . . .”
    â€œWell, if it isn’t Miss Put-Your-Hands-Down-My-Pants.” Nick groaned under his breath, and laid his salad fork across the plate. He scanned the room trying to locate McCall, but she had disappeared. Probably being wowed by Mr. Testosterone!
    Josie’s slow Southern drawl drew out the bid into what seemed like an eternity. “We’ll start the bid on Miss Bunny Armstrong at two hundred dollars. Two hundred, two hundred.” She waved toward the center. “Harold Rasche bid two hundred. Is there three? Three hundred—”
    â€œThree hundred? That’s ridiculous. I might as well get another Scotch.” Nick raised his hand and motioned Tony in his direction.
    â€œThree hundred to Nick Dartmouth. Do we have—” The auctioneer cried.
    â€œFive hundred!” Madeline shouted matter-of-factly, before lowering her velvety voice. “Nick, darling, put your hand down. You nearly bought Buffy or whatever her name is.”
    â€œSon of a . . .” Nick glanced in the direction of his mother, then mentally finished his expletive.
    â€œSix hundred.” A man’s voice called from across the room.
    â€œSix hundred and one,” barked the woman to his side.
    â€œGoing, once. Going, twice. Sold to Mrs. Harold Rasche for six hundred and one dollars.” The gavel came down.
    With each bachelorette, the bidding got more intense. Josie landed the gavel and called a halt to the bidding on yet another woman. Beatrice Kemp overbid her husband by one dollar and quickly added an additional two thousand dollars before donating the sum to the charity.
    Where in the hell was McCall? Time had come for Nick to find out.
    Placing his napkin on the table, he leaned into his mother. “I’ve had all of this happy horseshit I can take. See ya.”
    Madeline Dartmouth grabbed his arm and lowered her voice. “No! You will sit here until we are finished, by damn. ” She tossed her head back, squared her shoulders, obviously pleased for being so gritty.
    Nick slumped forward. “Blessed. I’ve got better things to do.”
    Mrs. Dartmouth shot him a frown.
    Josie’s words drew his attention back to the stage. “For our last lady this evening”—she glided her arm in the direction of the side entrance—“Miss McCall Johnson.”
    The house lights lowered and two spotlights roamed across McCall. Gasps hummed in the air as Anson escorted her to the stage, bowed, and returned to his table. He glared directly at Nick, picked up his fan, and saluted before beginning the bidding. “Two hundred dollars.”
    â€œThree,” came a bid across the room.
    The senator bellowed, “Make it five.”
    The blond Adonis, “Six.”
    â€œSix, we have six. Seven?” Josie called.
    Nick twisted in his seat and slammed his shin on a table leg, sending a sharp pain through his body. “Son of a . . .” He grabbed for his knee with one hand, while raising his numbered fan with the other.
    â€œWe have seven. Eight? Eight . . .”
    â€œEleven hundred,” Mr. Hormonal declared.
    â€œEleven hundred and one,” Madeline said.
    â€œTwo thousand,” Anson responded.
    â€œTwo thousand, one,” Madeline bid.
    â€œFive thousand,” bellowed Harold Rasche.
    â€œHush up, you fool. You don’t have a dog in this fight,” Mrs. Rasche shrieked.
    Josie took up the slack. “Bid withdrawn. Two thousand and one dollars to Madeline Dartmouth.”