The Auction a Romance by Anna Erishkigal Read online

  Back Cover Description

  Dumped at the altar and left without a home, Rosie Xalbadora takes a job as a governess at the edge of the Australian outback. There she meets Pippa Bristow, a sensitive child who copes with her parent's bitter divorce by escaping into a magical world of fairy queens and unicorns. Pippa's enigmatic father, Adam Bristow, is willing to endure whatever he must to keep his daughter safe from his oil heiress ex-wife.

  Struggling to shield Pippa from her mother's games, Rosie must face the ghosts of her own painful past while fighting a growing attraction to her handsome, emotionally unavailable employer. But help comes in the form of a quirky elderly neighbor, a friendly Outback town, and two ghost riders who visit Rosie each night in her dreams. When Rosie and Pippa save a small, white pony from slaughter, their ill-timed compassion puts Adam's custody dispute, Pippa's fantasies, and Rosie's worst fears all up for bid in an epic showdown.

  The Auction is a sweet, contemporary romance styled with the heart-wrenching, Gothic undertones of Jane Eyre and just a hint of the supernatural.

  .

  “A mystical, magical landscape, and old legends take on a new life…” —Romancing History Blog

  .

  “I was instantly drawn into the characters’ lives, and felt like I was right alongside Rosie as she struggled to keep her life from falling apart…” –N.Y. Times Best Selling Author Stacey Joy Netzel

  The Auction

  (A Romance)

  Song of the River

  .

  Copyright 2014 - Anna Erishkigal

  All Rights Reserved

  Dedication

  I dedicate this book to the compassionate angels who devote their lives to rehabilitating and saving our equine brothers.

  Acknowledgments

  I’d like to thank the people without whose support this novel would have died a plot bunny hopping around on a hard drive.

  To my wonderful husband … who tolerates my 'writing hobby.' Yes … he really does get up before dawn to cook my kids breakfast and leaves it underneath a bowl to keep it warm.

  To my lovely children who have survived years of benevolent neglect while Mommy talks to her 'imaginary friends' by all becoming fledgling authors themselves.

  To my alpha-reader Cindy Leppard Green, who pointed out all sorts of horsey errors and other bugaboos so I could fix them. Thank you! Easter Egg alert … Cindy rides a polka-dotted appaloosa.

  To Mel Findlay, who beta-read my Australian slang. Easter Egg alert … she calls her horse Nipper.

  To my friend and fellow author Dale Amidei, who shares my abhorrence of killing and eating our equine brothers.

  And to all my friends and readers who stay connected to me on my various social media pages and share lots of interesting things for me to write about. There are lots of Easter Eggs in this book! Hunt for them, and guess who inspired all the fun little tidbits.

  Table of Contents

  Back Cover Description

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  About the real-life Luna

  Do you run a non-profit horse advocacy program?

  A Moment of your Time, Please…

  Join my Reader Group

  About Anna Erishkigal

  Other Books by Anna Erishkigal

  Copyright

  *

  The wind of heaven

  is that which blows between a horse's ears.

  .

  Arabian Proverb

  Prologue

  A desolate wind rattled through the sunburned thistle, kicking up reddish dust-devils as the small white pony stood at the gate, searching the horizon for her little girl. Each day the land grew drier, the forage more sparse, and the dam dried down to a muddy trickle, brackish with salt and filled with parasites that made her sick. The other horses wandered deeper into the outback, searching for food to quell the constant rumbling of their tummies, but the white pony dared not go too far because, if she did, she wouldn't be here when her little girl came back to ride her.

  Before the horse trailer had dropped her off here to fend for herself, the little girl came every afternoon to braid her mane and tail with pretty ribbons. Then they would ride in a ring with all the other pretty ponies until they were tired and happy and filled with laughter and whinnies. If she closed her eyes, she could still remember how good it felt when the little girl gave her sweet, succulent carrots and curried her coat with a soft-bristled brush. Oh! How she missed the little girl! She loved her dearly, and she couldn't understand why the little girl had sent her away.

  Many turns of the seasons had passed since the last time the white pony had seen the little girl, but each afternoon, as soon as the sun began to dip towards the Never-Never, the white pony wobbled to the gate, now so emaciated and thin she could barely walk, and patiently waited for her little girl to come and take her home.

  Chapter 1

  A girl never forgets her first, great love. Tall and golden-haired, with deep brown eyes and ears which perked forward every time I entered the stall, for nearly a decade I had no interest in any other male but Harvey. Why should I when, at the end of each day, he waited patiently at the gate for my return? He would listen non-judgmentally as I spilled forth my woes; and then he would carry me to freedom just beyond the stable doors.

  When she killed him, that bitch who called herself my mother, I cried for weeks, and then I ran away. Oh, sure, she sic'd the police on me and made them haul me back from the airport, but I got back at her. Yes I did! The day I turned eighteen, I moved out of the house and called Dad to tell him to cut off Mother's child support. It was a fitting punishment, to watch her lose the house, because she put down my horse to get back at him for leaving her.

  Perhaps it was karma that now I was losing my own home?

  I forced back a tear as my 'second great love' helped me carry the last of my belongings out of the apartment we'd shared for the last three years. He grunted as though he carried something heavy as the green garbage bag carrying my pillow bumped against his lanky frame. I heaved my own sturdy
cardboard crate full of textbooks into the back seat of my red 2007 Ford Falcon and stepped aside so he could stuff it into a cavity between the boxes.

  "That's everything you brought into the relationship." He spoke in a monotone. "The rest of the stuff is mine."

  Brown-haired and brown-eyed, with the tall, slender build typical of a finance major, Gregory Schluter looked awkward in a crisp white pinstripe dress shirt with his sleeves rolled up to help me get my stuff out of our apartment. A 'matched pair' everyone called us through four years at the University of Queensland, although my hair was long and I had the black eyes of a Gitano grandmother. Gregory's brown Barren loafers pointed back at the door as though at any moment he might spook and bolt back into the safety of our old flat.

  "That's right, this stuff is mine," I said, my dark eyes boring into his. "And now you'll be rid of me!"

  Gregory skittered back as I slammed the car door as though he was fearful I might curse him or lob something at his head.

  "Don't say it like that, Rosie." Gregory's voice warbled with guilt. "You make it sound like I'm throwing out the trash."

  "Aren't you?" My voice turned hard with bitterness.

  "We're just different, that's all," Gregory said. "We never had much in common."

  I clenched my jaw, refusing to get sucked into another argument so he could blame me for the demise of our relationship. We'd met as freshmen, moved into an off-campus apartment our sophomore year, and for the next three years I'd worked on top of my classes to earn our rent while Gregory studied so he could graduate magna cum laude. Our dream wedding was supposed to happen just after the New Year. Instead, the moment he landed a job offer, the bloody bastard asked me to give him back his engagement ring and terminated the lease on our apartment.

  "Fine." I fought back tears as I rummaged for my car keys. "You'll never have to see me again!"

  "Don't be like that, Rosie." Gregory's voice took on a high-pitched pleading edge. "Can't we just be friends?"

  I met his gaze. Gregory's brown eyes darted furtively back towards the apartment which would be empty as soon as the moving van arrived to take his stuff to the luxury condo he'd just conned his new girlfriend into putting a down payment on in Sydney.

  "No." I lifted my chin. "You're a bloody user, Greg. And I'm all done being used!"

  That sense of knowing I'd inherited from my Gitano grandmother rippled through me as I felt any connection I might have left to the bloody bastard die. I plopped down into the seat of my Falcon and turned the key, not even bothering to buckle my seatbelt as I jammed the car into gear. The tires chirped and Gregory yelped. Good! I hope I'd run over the bludger's foot! The V6 revved reassuringly, like a muscle car, as I sped out of Brisbane onto the A2. The sense of strength was illusory, a symptom of a muffler which would soon need to be replaced, but at the moment it felt strong and I needed every ounce of strength I could get.

  "Jerk!" I screeched at the open highway. "I hope somebody does the exact same thing to you!"

  I drove, unseeing, until the urban landscape transformed into amber waves of pasture stretching from horizon to horizon. The grass had become desiccated by the early summer sun into a pleasing golden color which reminded me of Harvey's mane. Little by little, my tears abated. This was horse country, the kind of place I'd dreamed about moving to once I grew up and got a place of my own; the kind of place where Harvey would have run free in a pasture instead of standing in an overpriced paddock at a fancy suburban riding school.

  I turned on the radio where the Australian Top-40 sang of babes and boobs and betrayal. The Madden Brothers came on with their corny jingle, and after a while, despite my anger, my fingers began to tap the tempo of We Are Done on the wheel.

  My petrol tank light began to blink. I pulled off the nearest exit and found a servo not too far off the highway. After a quick trip to the toilet, I waited in line to pay and scanned the headlines on the newspaper stand in front of the counter.

  --Drought Decimates Outback Stations--

  Next to it a full-color rag sheet had plastered all over the front page some blonde bimbo and the latest chapter in her high-profile divorce:

  --Oil Heiress Jets Off With Venezuelan Billionaire--

  I passed over the newspapers in favor of one of those machines that rolled hot dogs, two for $5 plus a bag of chips and a fizzy drink. As I watched the little brown tubes of mystery meat turn golden and juicy, I debated whether or not to splurge. I could almost taste the crisp bite of sausage blended with soft white bread, yellow mustard and sauerkraut, but until I found a job, I was just another battler with too much week and not enough money. It was better to pass and eat the Vegemite and bread I'd tossed into the front seat of my car.

  I asked the kid behind the counter for directions to the address Professor Dingle had scribbled on a piece of paper and learned it was another half-hour from here to Toowoomba; beyond that the kid wasn't sure. I went back outside and proceeded to fill up the Falcon.

  An ancient Buick pulled into the opposite pump, the kind you usually see on 'classic car night.' A little old lady got out and went inside to pay, her white-blue hair and magenta lipstick clashing with her orange clothing. Her equally elderly husband got out and opened up the petrol cap, waiting for the kid inside to turn on the pump. He gave me a jack-o-lantern grin.

  "G'day, miss," he said. "Ain't seen you around here before."

  "I'm just passing through."

  I pretended to stare at the petrol pump as the numbers crept up to $60, half of the money I had left in this world. If I didn't land this job, every penny I had would be spent simply driving out to do the interview.

  "You headed to the horse auction?" the old man asked.

  "Horse auction?" That part of me that'd been raised to be an equestrian piqued with interest.

  The old man gestured to a red cardboard sign staked into the ground with an arrow pointed down a side road. It said, 'Lockyer Horse & Saddlery Auctions. Next Auction: November 1st.'

  "They hold it the first Saturday of every month," the old man said. "But lately they been holding it every other weekend 'cause there's been so much stock to move because of the drought. Most people who come off the highway are hunting for the auction."

  I pulled out the slip of paper I'd tucked into my pocket, the one Professor Dingle, my former Psychology of the Gifted Child professor had given me after I'd broken down in her office and told her I had no place to go.

  "I have a job interview in the Darling Downs near Nutyoon."

  I waved the paper in front of him.

  "Nutyoon?" the old man's eyebrows bunched together in surprise. "That's way out there in the middle of nowhere."

  "Yup."

  We stood in silence as the petrol pump clacked quietly through the numbers. The wife shuffled out, her enormous white purse tucked beneath her arm. She gave me that appraising look all women do whenever they spy a younger woman chatting it up with their husband.

  "She going to the horse auction?" the wife asked.

  "Nope," the old man said. "She's going to Nutyoon. She's got a job interview out there."

  "Nutyoon?" The elderly woman snorted. "Ain't nuthin' out there but dying fields. Drought's hit everything hard. The farmers keep coming here, trying to sell their stock before the poor things starve to death, though there's so many of them that most of the poor things end up going to the doggers. Won't be no jobs for no farm hands in out in Nutyoon."

  Her voice sounded caustic, but her blue eyes were filled with worry as she took in my worldly belongings piled into the back seat of my car.

  "I'll be taking care of a kid," I said. "The position includes my room and board."

  "Well I should hope so!" the old woman said. "Cause there ain't much for hotels in that part of the country. Ain't much out there but wheat and cows."

  The couple gave me directions to loop back up to the A2 so I wouldn't need to backtrack. As I pulled out, I glanced at the red and white sign which said 'Lockyer Horse & Saddlery Auctions.
' Once upon a time … no! I pushed the wishful thought out of my mind. First I had to find a job, and then I had to save some money and find a new apartment. Moving in with my mother wasn't an option, and my father had moved back to Spain when I was sixteen.

  I hit Toowoomba exactly as the kid had promised and then headed southwest on the A39. The highway narrowed out into a two-lane road, and the landscape grew flatter and definitely drier. At some point I turned on the air conditioner even though it was so hot outside it did little good. The landscape took on a reassuring sameness. Only the slight variation in shades of beige indicated where the endless fields of wheat turned into barley and sorghum. Even to my untrained eye, the crops looked too dry for this early in the growing season.

  At last I came to the exit given in my directions. I turned off into an even narrower road which cut in a straight line through kilometers of sparse, scrubby trees; though occasionally to my right I could see a glimmer of water. I drove forever until at last I saw the dirt road which would lead to my destination.

  A small, wooden sign said 'Condamine River Ranch.' Beneath it was taped a paper poster board with large purple letters that said --Welcome Rosamond--. A pink sparkly unicorn graced one side of the sign, and on the other a crooked rainbow disappeared into a pot of gold guarded over by a fairy. I stepped out of the car. A lump rose in my throat as I read the scrawled, childish text at the bottom that said 'don't be scared of Thunderlane' along with a stick-figure dog.

  I knew the little girl's name was Pippa. Her parents were recently divorced, and she lived with her father who traveled a lot on business. Beyond that, I would need to find out the rest when I got there. I pulled out my mobile phone and snapped a photo of the sign. There was only one bar, not enough reception to upload it for my friends, so I just hit 'save.' Not since my dad moved back to Spain had anybody cared enough to make me feel welcome. Maybe this gig wouldn't be so bad after all?

  My car shuddered as I rattled cautiously over the cattle grid. A long dirt driveway wound forever through overgrown fields, but unlike everywhere else, there was nary a cow in sight. At last the center-raised roof of an enormous white monitor-barn came into view with a barn door which faced the pasture large enough to drive two cars into it side-by-side. Across the courtyard stood a modest yellow ranch-style house surrounded by neatly clipped faded grass, empty window-boxes, and lightly overgrown hedges. As I drove through a narrow gate, a black and tan Australian shepherd came running out, barking.