I turned around and took my sister’s hands.
“It will be okay, Dakota. I promise.” Savannah attempted to console me when it was me who was supposed to be taking care of her.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I choked out. My chest tightened as icy fingers of regret clutched my heart in a claw-like grip.
Savannah smiled sadly and tilted her head. “Neither of us have ever backed away from a challenge. It’s only three years.” She shrugged as if it was all the same to her, but I knew breaking it off with Jarod and leaving school and her life at the farm all had to be weighing down on her.
“I wish it was only me doing this.” I cleared my throat as I heard strange cat-like calls come from the other side of the heavy drapes.
“I’m not. It’s always been you and me against the world, right?” She reminded me of the promise we’d made the day we buried our mother.
I lifted up my hand, pinky out. She hooked hers with mine .
“Always. I love you. No matter what happens, know that to your soul, okay?”
She pulled me into a fierce hug. “I do know that, Dakota. Now get out there and kick some auction ass!”
I couldn’t help but chuckle as I heard my name called.
I took a deep breath, yanked my dress up at the hips so I didn’t fall up the stairs like a dumbass, and dropped the fabric when I got to the top and the curtains parted.
“And now we have the lovely and lengthy Dakota McAllister.” A round of applause rolled through the room as Madam Alana continued. “This young woman is twenty-four, strawberry blonde, also five foot ten. She can ride a horse like a champion jockey, herd cattle, and line dance with the best of them.”
I squinted against the bright lights as I tried to find my mark. I caught the red X near the front of the stage and moved toward it. At the same time my dress got caught up around my ankles, being as there was so much damn fabric, and before I knew it, I was falling forward, with the red X marking the spot like a target.
My knees crashed to the shiny black stage.
“God damn it! Fuck, that hurt!” I cried out, slammed my palms against the stage floor, and pushed myself up, fighting the fabric twisted around my legs as I did so. Then I yanked the damn thing, shook it out, and let it fall back down. After I stood up straight, I remembered where I was. “Shit,” I breathed out as the entire room went dead silent.
“Are you okay, Ms. McAllister?” Madam Alana asked, her tone sharp like a knife, cutting deep but still with a slight edge of concern.
I swallowed and pushed my shoulder-length locks away from my cheeks, blowing the longer strands from my now-heated face.
“Um, yeah. I’m good. Sorry, I got caught up in the fabric.” My cheeks heated, likely a glorious shade of pink that highlighted my humiliation.
Standing up straight, I lifted my shoulders, adjusted them back and down, and then plastered on my best shit-eating grin.
“Well, there’s nothing like a little acrobatics to get things going.” Madam Alana laughed gently.
Some low chuckles rumbled through the dark silhouettes of the audience. I clenched my teeth and tried to calm my ire and ignore the throbbing at my knees. I’d been hurt worse, plenty of times. Nothing like a fist to the face from dear old Dad or breaking a salty horse like Marigold while taking a horseshoe to the thigh to make you strong. Bruised knees were nothing but an annoyance.
“Why don’t we go right to entertaining bachelor interest in Ms. Dakota McAllister?” Madam Alana announced.
A strange quiet weaved through the room, and sweat broke out at my hairline and palms. I closed my hands into fists and waited until Madam Alana gasped.
I turned around, took in the giant screen behind me, and my stomach dropped. My mouth watered with that sick, sour taste that usually preceded vomit as I read my stats.
YES – 1
NO – 40
MAYBE – 9
Madam Alana tsked aloud. “It seems we’ll have to adjust. Apparently, the audience needs a little reminder why my candidates make the best arranged marriages around. Ms. McAllister, remove your dress, please.”
“Um, leave the stage and get changed?” I whisper-gulped.
One side of her lips curled up. “No. Remove the dress. Right here, right now.”
I licked my lips and nodded, then turned to stare out at the dark crowd.
No one is looking. It’s just like stripping off your filthy, mucked-up clothes in the mudroom back home.
Not wanting to drag this out, I reached up, pulled the bow at the back of my neck, and let the slinky, swishy fabric slide over my body like water until the entire thing was pooled around my feet. And there I stood, wearing cutout boy shorts, a modern, complicated crisscross bra over my average-sized boobs, and my cowboy boots.