Branded as Trouble (Rough Riders #6)(21)

This is an interesting prize, a one of a kind tattoo, courtesy of India’s Ink. Who’ll start the bidding?”


Silence.


India wanted to throw up.


“Come on, folks, this is for a good cause. Shall we start the bidding at one hundred dollars?”


More silence.


“How about fifty dollars?”


She had to force her feet to stay in place and not run out the back door in sheer mortification.


“I’ll give ya twenty,” some guy shouted from the front row and the whole room erupted into laughter.


“Seriously, folks. Minimum bid is fifty dollars. Do I hear fifty dollars?”


Then, “I’ll bid one thousand dollars.”


A collective gasp rippled through the crowd.


The auctioneer pointed. “I have a bid of one thousand dollars.


Going once. Going twice.” Crack. The gavel landed on the podium.


“Sold to the artistically minded gentleman in the black hat, for the sum of one thousand dollars.”


A smattering of applause broke out.


And rather than rejoicing, India seethed.


Colt McKay was a dead man.


Chapter Six


As India headed for the punch table, she formulated a plan of attack. She didn’t know whether to confront him here, or put the anger whammy on him when he least expected it. Her temper was a vile thing. Letting it fly was always a last resort, especially in public, since she usually picked up the nearest heavy object and let it fly too.


Colt snatched the choice away when he snuck up behind her and drawled, “I didn’t think dances were your thing, India.”


“You don’t know everything about me.” She whirled around.


“Where’s your date?”


“Where’s yours?” he countered.


“I’m here by myself because no one asked me.”


“I’m sure my cousin Blake would’ve been happy to escort you.


Or aren’t there any headboards here that he needs to fix?”


“You’re hilarious, McKay.”


Colt flashed his teeth. “I try.”


“I expected better from you.”


People around them were starting to stare.


“Meaning what?”


Through clenched teeth she said, “Meaning, I don’t need your f*cking pity.”


“Why would I feel sorry for you?”


“Because no one else bid on my prize, and you’re throwing cash around like—”



“It’s my money and I can do what I want with it.”


“Were you buying the tattoo package as a gift for your date?”


He scowled.


“She’s not exactly the tattoo type, is she? And God forbid anyone else in this town would admit in public they’d pay to cavort with a low-class ink slinger like me.”


Fury darkened his eyes. “Watch it.”


She gave him an innocent look. “Did I insult her?”


“It ain’t my date you’re insulting, it’s yourself, and that pisses me off worse, so knock it the hell off. I expected better from you, sugar.”


“Don’t you sugar me, Colt McKay.” India tugged her wallet out of her back jeans pocket and unclipped the chain. “How about if I write you a check for a thousand bucks and we’ll call it even.”