The Auction a Romance by Anna Erishkigal Page 3

  The tack room was empty, just like the rest of the barn, but around the edge pallets were placed to keep the now-empty grain bins off the floor. I didn't wait for Adam to unload his box, but dropped mine and headed back to my car. On the next trip in, I nabbed him peeking into an open crate of textbooks.

  "Psychology of the Gifted Child?" He held up one of the titles.

  "Yeah," I said. "That was one of Professor Dingle's classes." I didn't add that I'd taken it as a 'Me-101' class. The last thing Adam needed to know was that I considered myself to be bloody daft.

  At last there was nothing left in the car but my suitcase and the bag with my pillow. Adam grabbed the heavier luggage and left me holding the pillow.

  "Come," he called back as he headed toward the house. "I'll show you to your room. Once you unpack we'll see about getting some supper."

  My stomach rumbled as I trotted after him, scurrying to keep up with his too-long stride. "What's on the menu?"

  "You tell me," Adam said. "I was kind of hoping cooking might be included in the deal?" He shot me an expression that reminded me of a little boy who'd just snitched a cookie. "I'm a terrible cook. It will enhance your chances of surviving if you refuse to allow me to serve you a single meal."

  I gave him a mock grimace.

  "I'm not a terrible cook," I confessed. "But gourmet meals are a skill I never had time to master. I hope you like Vegemite sandwiches."

  "Then in that case we shall have Pippa's favorite again tonight," Adam said. "Cucumber and goat cheese sandwiches on white bread." He gave me a guilty grin. "Although I suspect the reason she likes them is it's the only meal I don't ruin."

  Perhaps two days' worth of razor stubble gave Adam the roguish look of a jackaroo. He must have realized he'd let his guard down, because he instantly hid his smile behind a cautious, watchful expression.

  He led me down a hallway to a sunlit bedroom with a large picture window which overlooked the Condamine River. Around the window were lace café curtains, and the entire room smelled lightly of potpourri. The furniture was 1970's modernist, with walnut veneers and boxy lines that had oddly come back into fashion.

  "This is nice."

  "This was my mother's room," Adam said. "Pippa used to crawl in with her at night whenever she had a bad dream, so I thought, maybe, while I'm gone…"

  Adam looked away, but not before I noticed the way his eyes glistened, a man who three weeks ago had just buried his mother. And now, he'd been forced to clear her room out for a total stranger.

  A lump rose in my throat. This was a far nicer room than even my bedroom as a child. A handmade double wedding ring quilt adorned the bed. I fondled the crisp cotton and neatly aligned threads which appeared to have been hand-embroidered.

  "I'll fold this over the rocking chair each night so it doesn't get dirty."

  Adam nodded.

  "That's what my mother always did."

  He heaved my suitcase on top of a large, wooden steamer trunk that had been painted dark green to complement the wallpaper. Amongst the pink paper roses and hunter green leaves, darker squares betrayed where photographs had recently been removed. One picture, however, still remained: a little blonde girl wearing a drover's hat seated upon a small white pony.

  "Is this Pippa?" I asked.

  "That's my mother," Adam said. "I guess she'd have been around the same age Pippa is now."

  I scrutinized the picture. Other than the faded colors, the photograph could have been snapped just outside the door. I realized Adam's mother must have grown up in this house as well.

  "Pippa looks like her."

  A dark shadow crossed Adam's features, but what he was thinking I could not guess.

  "I'll leave you to unpack," Adam said, "and then you can join us for supper."

  Adam shut the door behind him, leaving me to rummage through my things. I fished my pillow out of the bag and added it to the others. At the foot of the bed I folded my hideous crocheted granny-square afghan, a trick I'd learned as a teenager to feel at home. I unpacked my wardrobe: blue jeans and khaki slacks, some utilitarian T-shirts and enough button-down work shirts to wear a clean one every day. My only concession to fashion was a little black knit sheath. I shook out the wrinkles and hung it next to my everyday clothes.

  My hand trembled as I unwrapped the only frivolous item I had packed, my black leather Dubliner horseback riding boots. Even with six years gone by since I'd last ridden Harvey, the scent of horse and saddle soap still clung to them and the leather gleamed like new. The shaft came up to above my knees, and on the vamp ten laces gave the appearance of tall Victorian granny boots. I sat down in the rocking chair and pulled them on, admiring the way they showed off my ankles as I twirled my foot to keep the leather supple. It was too bad the Bristows didn't own any horses. With a regretful sigh I slid them off and placed them into the closet.

  I paused in front of the mirror to check my appearance. Purple-black circles sat underneath my dark eyes, my clothing looked crumpled, and my skin appeared sallow with a sheen of sweat. In a single day I had been reduced from future wife of a successful finance prodigy to a girl who lived out of her car. What did Adam think of me, a girl without a home?

  I picked out a clean, white shirt and peeked into the hall. This house, like most homes built on the fringes of the outback, had been built for utility. That meant I'd be sharing a bathroom with Pippa and her father.

  I laughed when I saw the bathroom sported salmon pink tiles, a matching pink toilet, and pink porcelain tub with a slender line of black edging. I fingered Adam's silver razor balanced on a tiny clear glass shelf above a pink porcelain standalone sink. My hand tingled as I pictured my tall, handsome employer forced to stand in the cramped, pink bathroom each morning to shave.

  A bottle of pink bubble bath balanced precariously on the edge of the tub along with a Barbie doll with still-wet hair. The plush charcoal grey towels looked like they'd been brought from somewhere else, perhaps the house where Adam used to live in with his wife?

  I rummaged through the closet until I found a plain white hand towel with a pink monogrammed 'B' and a matching facecloth. It smelled lightly of laundry detergent, fresh air, and Imperial Leather soap. I turned on the tap and scrubbed my face in the near-scalding water, first hot to mop away the oil, and then cold to chase away the heat. In the rush out of the house this morning I had not thought to pack my soap or shampoo. I borrowed Pippa's toothpaste, a sickening bubble gum flavor, and used my finger to brush my teeth.

  My own image stared back at me from the chrome-edged medicine cabinet, as plain as an old stock horse that'd been bred for work instead of show. Black tendrils escaped my ponytail and curled around my face, the same unruly hair as my Gitano grandmother. I pinched my cheeks to add some color. I wasn't pretty, but at least I no longer felt so ugly. I tossed my skanky T-shirt back into my room and made my way to the kitchen.

  A high, sweet voice chattered to the dog.

  "The fairies said Rosie has come to make Daddy not be so sad," Pippa said to Thunderlane. "Mommy doesn't want us anymore, so the Fairy Queen has sent us Rosie instead."

  A lump rose in my throat. After my father had left and moved back to Spain, I had spoken to Harvey the way that Pippa now spoke to her dog; although in my case I'd been fourteen instead of ten. Harvey had sustained me, my reliable, furry best friend.

  Thunderlane whined. I cleared my throat and entered into the kitchen. The Bristow's kitchen was a curious train wreck of different time periods and materials. While the grey and red Formica table was likely from the 1950's, at some point, probably during the early 1990's, the plywood cabinets had been painted country blue. The stove, however, was 1970's brown, while the refrigerator was a modern white side-by-side.

  "Hi Rosie." Pippa smiled up at me as if only moments ago she hadn't been pouring her heart out to the dog. "Guess what Thunderlane just told me?"

  "What?"

  "He told me that you and Daddy will get along just fine."

&nb
sp; I gave her an indulgent smile. Children of divorced parents often engaged in magical thinking. Once Pippa accepted her parents weren't going to get back together, hopefully she'd stop talking to imaginary friends?

  "What do you want for supper, nipper?"

  "Cucumber sandwiches," Pippa said. "With lots of goat cheese and a bit of dill."

  "Will that be with crusts, or without?"

  "Without," Pippa said. "Cut into triangles, from corner to corner."

  Pippa got out the bread and goat cheese while I peeled and sliced a cucumber I found in the fridge. Pippa smushed the cold goat cheese, which had the consistency of cream cheese, into the delicate white bread, tearing it up into an unappetizing mess. I let her do it, for how was a child supposed to learn unless you gave them the chance to master the task themselves?

  I picked delicate fronds of dill off the vibrant green stalks and crushed a few to release the grassy scent. As I did, Pippa intricately arranged the cucumbers into two green eyes and a curved up the rest into a mouth.

  "There," Pippa said. "That should make Daddy happy."

  I glanced up to see the aforementioned father had just entered the room. He eyed the sandwiches as though I had just prepared a feast.

  "Our first meal together," I said and instantly regretted the words.

  A shadow crossed Adam's chiseled features. His wife had left him, I suspected, and having me here was not something he felt entirely comfortable with.

  "Yes, let's eat," Adam said quietly.

  He turned his back and ambled out of the room.

  Chapter 3

  The scent of fresh-brewed coffee intruded into the dream where Harvey and I cantered alongside a girl on a snow white pony. The girl resembled Pippa, but the way she carried herself was anything but young. She kept trying to tell me something, but the passing wind made it difficult to hear. I tangled my fingers in Harvey's mane and leaned closer to discern what the girl on the white pony kept trying to tell me. Suddenly, I felt the experience of falling.

  "Bloody hell!"

  I caught the bed post just in time to avoid tumbling onto the floor. My heart raced. I could still almost feel the horse underneath my butt. My thighs hurt where I had tightened them in my sleep to ride a gelding that had been dead for six years.

  The scent of coffee beckoned from the kitchen. I glanced out the still-dark window, and for a moment I felt disoriented about where I'd woken up. Little by little, reality intruded back into the dream. Nutyoon. Bedroom. Monday morning. Time to get up and get to work. After two days spent getting to know the little girl, today her father would leave for his first business trip away.

  With a groan, I threw back the covers and hauled my sorry butt out of bed, feeling around with my bare feet until my piggy-toes found the soft knap of my sheepskin slippers. I pulled on my pink scuzzy bathrobe and stepped towards the window where the faintest hint of lighter grey had begun to brighten the east. Through the open window, the scent of water blended with the rich aroma of earth felt intoxicating in a land which was prone to drought. Off in the distance, the moonlight reflected off the water, or … wait a minute! What? A fire burned right from the center of the river.

  I leaned closer, scrutinizing the distant lights. A central, ethereal glow radiated out of the river, surrounded by smaller lights which danced around it in a circle, as though a group of children had gathered at a bonfire to dance while carrying candles.

  I rubbed my eyes to make certain I wasn't still dreaming…

  Something clattered from the direction of the kitchen. A baritone expletive drifted my way, spoken in the thick, broad country dialect of an outbacker.

  The coffee beckoned like a siren singing. Adam claimed to be an untalented cook, but when it came to coffee, the man could outdo the most talented barista. I glanced back towards the river, but the lights had disappeared. I decided I would see if Adam needed help.

  Adam looked different than the man I'd spent the last two days getting to know, clean-shaven and wearing charcoal designer slacks, a tailored dress shirt, with a grey striped tie draped around his neck, but not yet knotted. His clean-scraped chin only accentuated his chiseled features, and his golden-brown hair had been moussed back into the stylish cut of someone you might find in a boardroom. His language, however, was anything but Pommy as he scraped at a cast iron griddle, looking out of place in a kitchen which had been sized for a woman. From the burnt, black stack of circular objects next to him on plate, I guessed he was trying to make pikelets.

  "Do you need some help?" I asked

  Adam's head shot up, his blue-green eyes startled; as though he hadn't expected anyone to be awake.

  "I'm, uhm, good." He grabbed the griddle and forgot to put the potholder over the handle. "Bloody hell!" he yelped, elongating the 'uhd' in bloody as he yanked back his hand and shook it.

  "You should stick that under the cold water."

  "Do yer think so, mate?" Adam snapped. His eyes burned aquamarine with anger.

  I resisted the urge to snap back at him.

  "Fine." I turned to go back to bed.

  "Rosie … I’m sorry," Adam said. "I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

  I stopped and waited, and then I turned around.

  "Don't you have to be out of here?"

  Adam looked sheepish.

  "Every time I went away on business," Adam said, "my mother would get up to make me breakfast. She made a double batch and left my plate so that when Pippa got up, she could pretend she'd eaten her breakfast with me." A hint of grief made him grimace. "Mama made me breakfast a week before she died. I knew she was sick, but I had no idea the cancer was terminal, only that the last few weeks she asked Mrs. Hastings to come over to help her care for Pippa."

  He inhaled sharply. From the way his broad shoulders shuddered, his mother's death had hit him a lot harder than he was letting on.

  "I'm sorry for your loss," I said. "From how Pippa describes her, she was one heck of a lady?"

  Adam nodded. His eyes appeared too blue and bright. He rubbed his nose and looked away.

  "This will be the first trip I've made since my mother passed away," Adam said. "I'm not good at these kinds of things, but I promised my mother I would be more attentive to Pippa. I thought…"

  He trailed off and pointed at the table. Three places were set, each with a heavy ceramic plate, a blue gingham napkin, and the silverware neatly arranged the way they would be in a restaurant. Pippa's place had a handwritten note tucked under her fork along with the yellow pill he'd explained had been prescribed 'for depression.' The pikelets looked like little black manhole covers, but the coffee smelled delicious. A small, ceramic crock full of butter, a jar of homemade strawberry preserves, and a tea canister repurposed to hold icing sugar were laid out in the center of the table.

  "I think if you put a bowl over the pikelets," I said, "it will keep them warm, so when Pippa wakes up she will know you made her breakfast with love."

  Adam nodded, grateful I understood. I fished a heavy ceramic serving bowl out of the cupboard and placed it upside down upon the stack. Adam scraped the last broken pikelet out of the pan and tossed it into the sink. I didn't chastise him to fill it with water to soak, but did it myself as he rustled up two teacups to drink the coffee.

  "Please, won't you join me?"

  I gathered my bathrobe so the neckline wouldn't flop open and sat down at the Formica table: grey and red, with a chrome edge and matching chairs with duct tape on the vinyl to keep the stuffing inside.

  For the last two days Adam had acted standoffish. Not unfriendly, more like he felt uncomfortable with having a strange woman suddenly living in his house. He tipped the peculiar little coffee carafe he'd been heating directly over the gas flame to pour a steaming brown waterfall of heaven into my cup.

  "Thank you."

  Adam sat down opposite my seat and scooped out three sugars and a healthy glug of cream. I followed his example. I had taken to drinking coffee to keep me awake through my classe
s, my teacher training practicum, and the job I worked on top of that to earn the rent. Australia might be a nation of tea drinkers, but my Spanish father had always preferred coffee. It was yet another way to rebel against my mother.

  I closed my eyes and raised the cup to my nose, relishing the tickle in my olfactory senses as the caffeinated steam made its way into my sinuses. I took the first sip. Pure heaven slid like silk across my tongue, just the right balance of bitterness and sweet. I let out a low groan.

  I opened my eyes and realized Adam was staring at me. Color crept up into my cheeks.

  "This is really good coffee," I said. "You have no idea how hard it is to find an excellent cuppa long black."

  A flash of surprise danced across Adam's handsome features, as though the man had never been complimented before.

  "It's the only thing I do well," Adam said. "Sometimes my company sends me overseas. I bought this thing—" he held up the little copper carafe on a long handle, "—from a trader on the back of a camel in Saudi Arabia. With this, you can make coffee anywhere. Even over a campfire in the desert."

  "Really?" I studied the peculiar little carafe. "My father liked to use a French press."

  "You mentioned previously he was from Spain?"

  "Is," I said. "He is from Spain. He moved back there after he divorced my mother. I've only seen him once since I graduated high school."

  Adam stared into his cup, his expression thoughtful.

  "I would say that it wasn't very nice of him to leave such a lovely daughter behind," Adam said softly. "But truth is, until Eva and I split, I spent more time chasing after oil wells than taking care of Pippa."

  I sipped my coffee and tried to keep my expression non-judgmental. My mother was furious when my father returned to Spain, but I blamed her for driving him away.

  "You're taking care of Pippa now." I gestured towards the blackened pikelets. "She's a lovely girl, and this is a good first step."