The Silver Fox Bidder (Sold to the Mountain Man #2)

1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Lucy

I tug my black dress into place, smoothing the fabric over my hips before giving my reflection a critical once-over. Not bad. In fact, I look pretty damn good. Sleek. Confident. The kind of woman who knows exactly who she is. Not that I’m dressing for anyone in particular tonight.

This evening isn’t about me. It’s about Stella, my best friend, who, in a moment of madness, agreed to stand under the bright stage lights at Town Hall and auction off a date for charity. I’ll just be in the audience, cheering her on, offering my unwavering support from the shadows where she’d rather be.

It’s kind of funny, really. If someone had asked which one of us would end up on that stage, I’d have bet my entire stock of chamomile tea that it wouldn’t be Stella. She hates being the center of attention. She’d rather blend into the background, working quietly, making sure everyone else is okay before thinking of herself. The only reason she’s putting herself through this tonight is for the Hawks Roost Public Library. Books are her great love, and if parading across a stage like a prize pony will keep the library’s shelves stocked and the doors open, she’ll endure it.

Some women shrink under the weight of attention, and Stella is one of them. Though she really shouldn’t. She’s the most beautiful person I know, inside and out. I wish she’d see herself the way I see her.

As for me? I don’t mind being looked at. I know what I bring to the table—confidence, curves, and a business I built with my own two hands. If men want to look, let them. It doesn’t mean I owe them anything in return. Admiration is free, and I have no intention of selling myself to the highest bidder, charity or not.

I smooth my palms down my dress, the same steady hands that mix herbal tinctures, pour candles, and measure out teas at The Wildflower Apothecary. My shop is my heart, a place where people come seeking comfort and relief. And maybe even a little magic, if certain townspeople are to be believed. They call me a witch behind my back. To them, using herbs and plants for beauty & health, the way humans have been doing for thousands of years, is weird and unnatural . They’d rather put their faith in pills from big pharmaceutical companies than trust that the earth can sometimes offer its own remedies.

So be it. Despite the murmurs, I’ve built something real. Something that’s mine. And business is thriving.

The sharp buzz of my phone pulls me from my thoughts. When I glance at the screen, I see a message from Stella:

Get here. Now. I can’t do this alone.

I chuckle, shaking my head as I tap out a response.

Be right there. Stop panicking.

Tossing my phone into my purse, I take one last look in the mirror. My reflection stares back, self-assured, composed. Ready for anything.

With a final, amused shake of my head, I grab my keys and head for Town Hall.

I spent so much time backstage reassuring Stella that she looks amazing and that she’ll survive her moment in the spotlight that by the time I finally emerge, every seat in the audience is taken. It’s standing room only. By the looks of it, the entire town has come to see the show.

On stage, Stella stands frozen in the lineup of bachelors and bachelorettes, her arms rigid at her sides. A few of the others wave playfully or bat their eyelashes at the crowd, soaking up the attention. But Stella? She looks straight ahead, her eyes wide, her expression caught somewhere between terror and resignation.

I push through the mass of bodies until I’m front and center, right where she can see me. When her gaze locks onto mine, relief softens her face, and I give her my biggest, most reassuring smile.

I cup my hands around my mouth. “You’ve got this!” I yell.

She nods, takes a deep breath, and straightens her spine like she’s gathering courage from the ground up. The corners of her mouth even twitch into a nervous smile.

Stacy, the event organizer, steps into the center of the stage, tapping the microphone. “Welcome to the Hawks Roost Bachelor and Bachelorette Auction!” she announces, her voice bright with enthusiasm. The crowd erupts in cheers.

As Stacy explains the rules, the tiny hairs on the back of my neck lift. A slow, creeping sensation washes over me. Someone is watching me.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not a witch. I don’t cast spells, and I don’t go around whispering about auras. I don’t even read tarot. But I do believe in women’s intuition. And right now, mine is sounding the alarm.

Slowly, I glance over my shoulder.

The moment my eyes land on Tank Walker, my stomach flips.

He’s leaning against the back wall, arms crossed, his rugged face partially shadowed by the dim light. Even from a distance, the man exudes an energy that demands attention. He’s at least twenty years older than me, but damn. There’s just something about him that ticks all my boxes. Broad shoulders, salt-and-pepper hair that looks as wild as the mountains he calls home, piercing blue eyes that seem to see too much.

And he’s looking right at me.

A shiver rolls down my spine, heat chasing in its wake.

Tank arrived in Hawks Roost a few years ago, and no one knows much about him. He lives in a cabin deep in the woods and keeps to himself. The town gossip machine has gone wild trying to piece together his story. He’s a mafia boss in hiding. No, no—he’s an ex-FBI agent who disappeared to protect some top-secret government files.

Or maybe he’s just a man who wants to be left alone.

But right now, I don’t feel like he’s trying to disappear. In fact, it doesn’t seem like he notices the crowd at all. His eyes bore into mine like I’m the only thing in the room he sees.

I swallow hard and jerk my head back toward the stage. Focus, Lucy. You’re here for Stella, not to get caught up in some ridiculous fantasy about a sexy, reclusive mountain man who’s technically old enough to be your father.

I forcibly pry my eyes away from him and turn my attention back to the auction. I’m surprised to see that the bidding has already begun for a date with my friend. Pete Callahan, a mountain man almost as handsome and mysterious as Tank glowers at his competition as he says, “One thousand dollars.” His voice is low, steady, and territorial.

The crowd murmurs in surprise, and I whip my head toward the stage.

Stella’s face flushes a deep shade of pink. Embarrassment, sure. But also pleasure. I know her well enough to see it—the way her lips part in surprise, the way she momentarily forgets to breathe.

And honestly? Who could blame her? A rugged, sexy man dropping cold, hard cash just for the chance to take her out on a date?

I let out a slow exhale, my own pulse kicking up a notch.

For the briefest second, I imagine myself up there instead. The lights on me. The rush of anticipation. And when I picture the man standing below, bidding on me with that same quiet intensity...

It isn’t Pete I see.

It’s Tank.

I push the thought aside, mentally shaking myself for indulging in such a silly fantasy. I don’t need validation from any man, but especially not from one who may or may not be connected to the mob.