Relentless (Fallon Sisters Trilogy: Book #1) by P. J. O'Dwyer Page B
Authors: P. J. O'Dwyer
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toward Aiden. "Grab the crate for Finn."
Aiden pulled it over by the rail.
"Hop up, sweetheart." It was a large step, but he managed with the help of his brother.
Bren pulled out a wad of bills—her first week's pay from Jeremy since starting as his assistant and a thousand-dollar donation she'd picked up on the way to the sale barn and planned to use for feed and supplies—and handed it to Finn through the rails. "He's your horse, baby, and you're going to have to fight for him."
He nodded and took the money.
Bren gave him a peck on the top of his head and then lifted her chin toward Wes. "Just so we're straight. This is my son Finn. He's seven and far more mature than you'll ever be. He loves this colt, and he's willing to go toe-to-toe with you to get him."
Wes pursed his lips, his silver eyes twinkling with anticipation under his brows.
It wasn't the money now, it was the principle. She'd eat cold cereal for breakfast, lunch, and dinner to prove
this
point.
Wes settled into the lawn chair and placed his hands behind his head. "Okay, little man, let's get to it."
Lyle began his auctioneer rhetoric. "Seven twenty-five, seven twenty-five, do I hear—?"
"Seven seventy-five," called Wes.
Finn gave Bren a look of uncertainty and she nodded to him. "You're good. Bid in twenty-fives."
Finn nodded and looked at the colt standing idly by. He offered his first bid. "Eight hundred."
Wes countered, and Finn bumped him by twenty-five each time. Lyle's voice continued in auctioneer mode. Bren smiled inwardly. She was so proud of Finn. She'd put him in an awkward situation and he'd rallied, his voice growing stronger with every counter. The crowd cheered each time Finn upped the ante and moaned when Wes topped it. The bid was up to nine seventy-five after Wes's counter, and Finn looked to Bren for guidance, his sweet face flushed.
"Mom?" He raised his eyebrows and squinched his nose to adjust his glasses.
She wanted to hug him. She nodded assurance, and he continued.
The bid had risen to a thousand fifty, and it was Wes's turn. He leaned forward in his chair and took a long drag off his cheroot, then dropped it to the floor, flattening it with his expensive black leather dress shoe. He took a breath and eyed Lyle conspiratorially. Something passed between the two; Bren wasn't sure what that meant for Finn, and she clenched her hands to her side.
Wes let out a chuckle and pushed back in his chair. "I'd say you made a fair enough profit, Lyle, wouldn't you?"
And then it hit Bren like a hoof to the head. This was never about wanting the colt and his mother for slaughter; Wes wanted to make a point. He controlled the sale barn, both he and Lyle. And together they controlled her, since a fair amount of her rescues came from auction.
Kill buying was only pocket change for Wes. He only did it for recreation, which irritated Bren more than if he were doing it to eke out a living. His moneymaker was the Clear Spring Horsemen's Club, where the affluent came to play. Since Bren and anyone she knew were working class, Wes's world was a distant planet and inaccessible.
The gavel came down and the words "gone" reverberated up to the peak of the barn. Finn pumped his little arm in celebration, his cheering section whooped and hollered, and Bren's blood boiled in her veins.
"Why, you jackass," she seethed and started in Wes's direction.
Wes stood and moved toward the rail. His ruddy complexion deepened, and his cheeks puffed with indignation. "You pull another stunt like last month, and I'll see your ass in jail, girl." He pointed his thick, blunt finger her way.
Bren, still in the chute, moved to the left where Wes stood, her body pressed up against the rail, their faces inches apart. "Screw you."
Wes reached out to grab Bren, and she jumped back. The broodmare to her left reared hard, the rope snapping from the rail.
To her right, a dark form came at Bren, jumping the rail and knocking her to the ground. She rolled with it.
Aiden pulled it over by the rail.
"Hop up, sweetheart." It was a large step, but he managed with the help of his brother.
Bren pulled out a wad of bills—her first week's pay from Jeremy since starting as his assistant and a thousand-dollar donation she'd picked up on the way to the sale barn and planned to use for feed and supplies—and handed it to Finn through the rails. "He's your horse, baby, and you're going to have to fight for him."
He nodded and took the money.
Bren gave him a peck on the top of his head and then lifted her chin toward Wes. "Just so we're straight. This is my son Finn. He's seven and far more mature than you'll ever be. He loves this colt, and he's willing to go toe-to-toe with you to get him."
Wes pursed his lips, his silver eyes twinkling with anticipation under his brows.
It wasn't the money now, it was the principle. She'd eat cold cereal for breakfast, lunch, and dinner to prove
this
point.
Wes settled into the lawn chair and placed his hands behind his head. "Okay, little man, let's get to it."
Lyle began his auctioneer rhetoric. "Seven twenty-five, seven twenty-five, do I hear—?"
"Seven seventy-five," called Wes.
Finn gave Bren a look of uncertainty and she nodded to him. "You're good. Bid in twenty-fives."
Finn nodded and looked at the colt standing idly by. He offered his first bid. "Eight hundred."
Wes countered, and Finn bumped him by twenty-five each time. Lyle's voice continued in auctioneer mode. Bren smiled inwardly. She was so proud of Finn. She'd put him in an awkward situation and he'd rallied, his voice growing stronger with every counter. The crowd cheered each time Finn upped the ante and moaned when Wes topped it. The bid was up to nine seventy-five after Wes's counter, and Finn looked to Bren for guidance, his sweet face flushed.
"Mom?" He raised his eyebrows and squinched his nose to adjust his glasses.
She wanted to hug him. She nodded assurance, and he continued.
The bid had risen to a thousand fifty, and it was Wes's turn. He leaned forward in his chair and took a long drag off his cheroot, then dropped it to the floor, flattening it with his expensive black leather dress shoe. He took a breath and eyed Lyle conspiratorially. Something passed between the two; Bren wasn't sure what that meant for Finn, and she clenched her hands to her side.
Wes let out a chuckle and pushed back in his chair. "I'd say you made a fair enough profit, Lyle, wouldn't you?"
And then it hit Bren like a hoof to the head. This was never about wanting the colt and his mother for slaughter; Wes wanted to make a point. He controlled the sale barn, both he and Lyle. And together they controlled her, since a fair amount of her rescues came from auction.
Kill buying was only pocket change for Wes. He only did it for recreation, which irritated Bren more than if he were doing it to eke out a living. His moneymaker was the Clear Spring Horsemen's Club, where the affluent came to play. Since Bren and anyone she knew were working class, Wes's world was a distant planet and inaccessible.
The gavel came down and the words "gone" reverberated up to the peak of the barn. Finn pumped his little arm in celebration, his cheering section whooped and hollered, and Bren's blood boiled in her veins.
"Why, you jackass," she seethed and started in Wes's direction.
Wes stood and moved toward the rail. His ruddy complexion deepened, and his cheeks puffed with indignation. "You pull another stunt like last month, and I'll see your ass in jail, girl." He pointed his thick, blunt finger her way.
Bren, still in the chute, moved to the left where Wes stood, her body pressed up against the rail, their faces inches apart. "Screw you."
Wes reached out to grab Bren, and she jumped back. The broodmare to her left reared hard, the rope snapping from the rail.
To her right, a dark form came at Bren, jumping the rail and knocking her to the ground. She rolled with it.
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