Page 2 of Runaway Hucow

Was he going to be participating in the auction?

Tess really hoped not. The other men in the crowd made her nervous; the giant in the buffalo-hide cloak flat terrified her.

“Now then,” the auctioneer’s voice suddenly boomed out again, snapping Tess back to her senses. “Before we get started with the final round of bidding, I reckon you fine gentlemen would like to see exactly what it is you’re bidding on.”

He turned to Tess with a big, creepy grin on his face.

“Well… go on, heifer. Take off that ugly old sack yer wearin’ and show the crowd what you have to offer…”

CHAPTER 2

Tess’s heart jumped into her gullet.

She’d known this was coming. She’d watched it happen over a dozen times already today. All the hucow women before her had been forced to stand in the middle of the auction block and disrobe before the audience for inspection. A few times, men from the crowd had been allowed to come up on stage so they could test the suppleness of a particular hucow’s breasts or the perkiness of her nipples. The men claimed they were only interested in the hucows’ milk-producing abilities, but Tess had to wonder if that was really the case. Aside from their small horns and long, flexible ears, hucows weren’t so different from human women.

And now it was Tess’s turn to undress, but she found that she couldn’t move. It felt as if all the blood had suddenly drained from her body. Her fingers went still. Her hands froze in fear. Even her lungs stopped working. The only part of her that was still moving was her heart, and it was thump-thump-thumping away at the base of her throat.

Below her, the men watched and waited.

I can’t do this.

As if reading her thoughts, the auctioneer leaned over and whispered, “Take it off, heifer. If you don’t, I’ll have my men do it for you, and I promise you they will not be gentle about it.”

Tess nervously glanced back and forth, looking from one end of the stage to the other. There were men waiting in the wings on both sides. They had electric cattle prods in their hands, and they looked like they were eager for an opportunity to use them.

She had no choice. She had to do this.

Tess let out the breath she’d been holding on a long, trembling sigh. Then she took hold of her shift and pulled the damp fabric up over her head, exposing her bare skin to the blazing heat of the Colorado sun. She let the garment drop to the boards by her feet and stood naked before the watching crowd of men. Beads of sweat rolled down her body. She shivered.

Tess could feel the men’s appraising eyes roving over her body. They were sizing her up, trying to calculate how much money she would make for them over the course of her lifetime, and how much money they ought to spend on her today. Some of the men near the front of the stage were murmuring to each other, talking about her like she was a piece of meat in a butcher shop window. Tess couldn’t hear everything they were saying, but the things she did hear gave her a queasy feeling in her stomach.

Her eyes drifted to the back of the crowd.

The giant in the buffalo hides was still standing there, about as dark and quiet as a shadow. Tess still couldn’t see his face beneath the shade of his horned war bonnet, but she could see his eyes gleaming like black jewels. Another shiver wriggled up her spine.

Beside her, the auctioneer drew a small, narrow stick from the pocket of his waistcoat—the sort of stick a schoolmaster might use for pointing at a chalkboard—and he gestured toward Tess’s chest.

“Well now, what did I tell you—the best for last, yes indeed! At a mere sixteen years of age, this pretty young thing’s barely more than a calf, which means she’s got many decades’ worth of milk production left in her. And as you can see, she’s totally clean—not a brand anywhere on her.” He made a twirling motion with his stick. “Go on, honey. Give these fine gentlemen a spin so they can get a good look at you.”

Tess spun.

What the auctioneer had said about her age was pure nonsense. Her sixteenth birthday had come and gone more than a decade ago.

The other part was true, though: she had never been branded.

Branding was a common practice among hucattle ranchers—and a cruel one, in Tess’s opinion. A red-hot iron in the shape of a ranch’s insignia would be pressed against the hucow’s flesh, usually somewhere around her rump, leaving a permanent scar that would let people know who the hucow belonged to. A branded hucow could still be sold at auction, but there was a whole lot of complicated paperwork that was necessary to prove there had been a legitimate transfer of ownership. That was why most farmers preferred to buy unbranded hucattle whenever possible.

And Tess was unbranded.

As she completed her turn, her eyes instinctively sought out the dark figure standing near the back. A part of her hoped he wouldn’t be there anymore, but he was—still motionless, still staring.

Beside her, the auctioneer continued with his spiel.

“Unbranded, unblemished, not a mark anywhere on her. And aren’t those just the finest pair of udders you’ve ever laid eyes on?” He tapped one of Tess’s breasts with the tip of his stick. “Big, ripe, and full of milk!”

“Well sure, they look nice,” a man in the crowd called out, “but looks ain’t everything, mister. How does she put out?”

“Sir, I’m glad you asked that, I truly am, because I can tell you, this beauty puts out like a dream. She’ll give you a gallon a day, easy. And we’re talking about the sweetest, creamiest milk you’re ever going to taste.” The auctioneer gave a lecherous grin. “I can attest to that from my own personal experience…”