Page 55 of Wild Sanctuary

Colt doesn’t miss a beat. “Sold to the woman with excellent taste and terrifying confidence.” Then he hops off the stage and cuts through the crowd toward her. When he reaches her, he takes her hand and presses a kiss to her knuckles, and the crowd just about loses its mind.

West cuts past us in the direction of the bar and deadpans, “He’s going to be unbearable after this.”

June rolls her eyes, though there’s a smile tipping her lips upward. “He already is.”

Two more bachelors follow—solid bids, good energy, and the kind of community spirit that makes you believe people are fundamentally decent. The running total climbs, and I watch the Hendersons’ faces at the front table, the disbelief slowly giving way to something raw and truly grateful.

Then Shelby speaks over the microphone again. “All right, folks. That wraps up our bachelors.” She pauses for dramatic effect, and the crowd whistles and stomps. “Now let’s hear it for our bachelorettes.”

As the crowd applauds, my stomach sinks into my boots, though thankfully, I’m not first.

A young woman named Brooke goes up. She’s pretty, confident, and comfortable on stage in a way I will never be. The bidding is warm and lively, and she looks genuinely pleased when a lanky cowpoke wins her bid. Then there’s a woman named Carmen, who owns the local beauty salon, followed by a barrel racer named Jo-Beth, who gets the second-highest bid of the night after Colt.

Each one buys me another few minutes, while bringing me closer to a stage I don’t want to be on.

June nudges me. “You’re up next.”

“I know.”

“You look like you’re about to be sick.”

My stomach agrees. “I might be.”

“Deep breaths. It’s ninety seconds tops. You stand there and smile. Someone bids and wins, then you walk off.” She squeezes my hand in a way that’s meant to be reassuring, but all I can do is bite back the rising nausea. “You got this, honey. For the Hendersons.”

I nod on an exhale and I close my eyes. The weight of the hat on my head, Dad’s gift to me, steadies me just enough.

For the Hendersons.

Shelby’s voice floats across the tent. “Our next bachelorette needs no introduction for most of you—but I’ll give her one anyway. She spent her summers here as a kid, she’s a journalist out in Denver, and she’s Tom Monroe’s daughter. Daisy Monroe, everybody!”

The applause is immediate and warm. Not the raucous energy Colt generated, but softer. More to do with my dad’s name than mine.

I hear murmurs ripple through the crowd.

It’s Tom’s girl.

She looks just like him.

Lord, it’s been years.

My legs carry me toward the stage. I pull the hat off as I climb the three short steps, holding it against my thigh, and suddenly I can see everyone. Every face. Every table. The whole town stretched out in front of me, lit by a thousand tiny lights and looking up at me like I’m right where I’m supposed to be.

I grip the brim of my hat, eye my boots, and try to remember how to breathe.

“Let’s start the bidding,” Shelby smiles. “Do I hear⁠—”

“One hundred dollars.”

The voice comes from near the bar, gravelly and warm and instantly familiar. Old Dave is standing with his beer raised, his weathered face split into a grin wide enough to crack leather.

“One hundred for Tom Monroe’s girl!” He tips his hat at me. “I’ve remembered a few more details about that roof situation since we last talked, sweetheart. You’re gonna want your notebook.”

The crowd laughs. “I’ll bring two pens,” I call back, and Dave slaps the table so hard his beer jumps. The tension in my shoulders loosens a fraction.

“We’ve got one hundred from Dave,” Shelby announces with a smile in her voice. “Do I hear one-fifty, you guys?”

“One-fifty!” A hand goes up near the middle—a younger guy I don’t recognize, though he has a friendly face.