“Take it back,” Libby said. “I don’t want it.”
The bartender shrugged and picked it up, made his way back down the bar.
Libby sipped her water, seeing Sam’s clenched jaw, the hard look in his eye.
“Give it a try, at least.”
Libby turned to see who’d spoken. The man from the other end of the bar was standing beside her, smiling down at her. “You look like you could use a friend. What’s your name?”
Libby snorted. “Don’t get too close, pal,” she said. “I have been known to pick up a golf club and go off on a man’s truck.”
He laughed. “That’s my kind of woman,” he said, and slid onto the barstool next to her.
The silent auction went fairly well, Sam thought, but in the end, there were a couple of items that were taken to the podium for open bidding. Sam bid on the hunting lease—he had no intention of using it, but then again, he couldn’t see vying for a sewing machine. In the middle of the auction, his phone rang again. It was Tony.
“I’ve got five hundred. Who will make it five fifty?” Gwen said, scanning the crowd. Somehow, in spite of the mess of the afternoon, she had changed into a black sheath and looked very good and poised. “Five fifty?” Gwen asked.
Sam raised his hand.
“Great. Have we got six hundred?”
Jackson Crane raised his hand. “Six fifty,” he called out and grinned at Sam. “No offense, big guy, but I want the lease.”
“Six fifty,” Gwen repeated.
“Make it seven, Gwen,” Sam said, and smiled at Jackson. “It’s a fundraiser.”
The crowd laughed.
Jackson did, too. “All right, all right. Eight hundred dollars, Gwen. And if I don’t get at least a squirrel, I’m suing Jack Wolzniak,” he said, turning around to look at the man who had put the lease up for auction.
“Eight hundred fifty?” Gwen said to Sam.
He shook his head. “Let Jackson have it. I’d hate for him to miss out on a squirrel this season.”
Everyone laughed as Gwen declared, “Sold to Jackson Crane for eight hundred dollars! Ladies and gentlemen, that brings us to the end of our auction tonight.” She stuck glasses on her face and glanced down at a piece of paper someone had just handed her. “This is great news. We’ve raised fifteen thousand dollars to date! Leo, would you like to say something?”
She stuck the microphone in Leo’s face. “I’d like to say thank you to everyone,” he said. “This means a lot to me. Many of you know that football has always been important to me, and in fact, I was playing football at the Colorado School of Mines when I was diagnosed with MND. I had hopes of playing in the NFL like I guess all boys do. Well, I obviously can’t do a lot of what I used to do, but by God, I can still coach the Broncos!”
A wild cheer went up from the crowd.
The auction was completed, and the evening began to wind down. Sam walked outside of the banquet hall to return Tony’s call. But there was no answer. He found that odd, as Tony had called him only minutes ago. He grabbed his coat from the hatcheck and walked outside to try again.
On the second try, Tony picked up. And he was crying. “Sam,” he said. “You’ve always been a real good friend to me.”
Sam’s pulse quickened. “I still am, Tony.”
“Yeah, but . . . I just wanted to thank you,” Tony said, his voice tearful and thick.
“You okay, buddy?” Sam asked, but his heart had started to race with apprehension. He began striding toward his truck.
“I’m just thinking about everyone who has tried to help me.”
“I’m coming up there,” Sam said. “Let’s go over them together.”
“Nah, man. I’d rather be alone.”
Panic flooded Sam. “Tony, goddammit, I’m coming up there. Just hang on. I’m in Pine River right now. Give me twenty minutes. You owe me twenty minutes!”
“Don’t bother,” Tony said. “I’m not worth it. You waste all this time on me and I’m nothing . . .”
“Twenty minutes, Tony!” Sam said sternly, and clicked off, quickening his step. His mind was on Tony, his thoughts up in the mountains, away from Pine River. He didn’t notice the waitress from the Stake Out until he almost collided with her. “Oh hey,” she said. “Hey, I know you. You’ve been in the Stake Out with Libby Tyler, right?”
“Yes,” Sam said. “Why?”
The girl glanced back at the Stake Out. “She’s pretty drunk. And there’s this guy, Tom Veranno, who keeps buying her drinks. He’s a dog. I tried to talk her into leaving but she wouldn’t listen to me.”
Something hard and unforgiving snapped inside of Sam. “Thank you,” he said, and changed direction, heading for the Stake Out.