man sitting across the aisle from her and one row up. His head was down, concentrating on the catalogue. The cowboy wore a crisp white shirt underneath a stylish Western suit coat that accentuated the solid breadth of his shoulders. The glint of silver from his bolo tie twinkled under the chandeliers. His profile was strong, grooved with a razor-sharp cheekbone and an angular jaw. He swung his head around and glanced at her for a split second, as if he suspected her of watching him. She panicked for an instant and held her breath. Luckily, he hadn’t lingered but went on to scan the rest of the room.
But oh my! When he’d turned, she’d gotten the full impact of his gaze and found him even more appealing than she’d originally thought. A crazy jolt of warmth surged through her body. The powerful sensation was new to Macy.
Butterflies replaced the turmoil in her stomach.
How strange.
She continued to grab eyefuls, shifting her gaze away occasionally to avoid being caught. She was grateful for her little disguise. It provided her freedom to peruse something more exciting than the auction.
The cowboy glanced over the seated bidders and up toward the podium time and again. He appeared anxious and impatient for the auction to begin.
A minute later, Ann Richardson took the podium with a welcome to everyone at the auction. After a cordial greeting, the CEO turned the microphone over to the auctioneer and he stepped up to the podium. The auction began and Macy watched as, one by one, bidders raised their paddles when the first gown was offered up.
Dear, sweet Avery sat vigilantly beside her, a pillar of quiet strength. When the auctioneer’s hammer fell, finalizing the winning bid, Avery squeezed her hand and whispered into her ear. “Just remember, your mother would want you to do this.”
Macy nodded and slid her eyes closed briefly. It was true. Her mother had loved her possessions, and heaven knew, she had not been good with money. But her mother had made a point of always making sure Macy had known that she, not her profession or her jewels, was the most important, most beloved thing in her life. Misguided as her mother’s life might have been, Macy knew she’d been loved. When her father, Clyde Tarlington, had died ten years ago, Tina might have given up, but she’d shown Macy what it was to be a survivor. To press on, even under adversity.
Once again, Macy glanced at her handsome cowboy, sitting patiently across the aisle. He’d taken off his hat, out of consideration to the people seated behind him, she presumed, as soon as the bidding had begun. His dark blond hair was well-groomed, thick and curling at the edge of his collar. The Stetson rested on his outstretched leg and Macy reeled in her wayward thoughts, thinking if she could only trade places with that hat.
The corners of her lips lifted at the idea. And Macy’s foolish heart skipped a beat.
His face was becoming familiar to her. He was a good diversion, a distraction that she couldn’t seem to shake. She was drawn to him, and she couldn’t figure out why. She lived in Hollywood, where gorgeous men were a dime a dozen. She’d acted in small movie roles opposite men more beautiful than any female starlet.
No, it wasn’t his looks that drew her to him. It was something else. He held himself with an air of confidence that belied his obvious discomfort seated in a venerable New York auction house.
She liked that about him.
For all she knew, he’d be more comfortable bidding on longhorn steers.
She liked that about him, too.
Another mental chuckle emerged. She had to stop fantasizing about him. Macy returned her attention to the auction, grateful to the cowboy for giving her something thrilling to admire while her mother’s life was being bartered away.
Soon the diamond rings would be up for sale.
Macy cringed and slithered down in her seat. She actually felt sorry for the people who wound up with them.
Three diamond rings. Three doomed marriages.
“The rings are cursed,” she whispered to Avery.
Her friend nodded ever so slightly. “Then you should be glad to get rid of them.”
Oh, she was. She was extremely glad. Those rings represented pain and heartache to anyone in their possession. The love surrounding those rings would never survive. Her mother’s three failed marriages were testimony enough. Each one Of her marriages had been horrific in their own way, and Macy had begun thinking of the diamond rings as the Love Curse Diamonds. Of course, it wasn’t a good idea to tell that to the press. She needed the money too badly to risk lowering their value. But there were stories behind those diamonds and, unfortunately, Macy knew them all too well.
The bidding was to begin on the three-carat diamond that Clyde Tarlington had given to her mother. The setting was unique, a one of a kind. The nearly perfect gem had been placed in such a way that it formed a T with surrounding smaller diamonds nestled beside it to finish forming the letter. It was by far the most exquisite ring of the trio.
Avery nudged her shoulder and Macy, deep in thought, slid her friend a sideways glance. “Take a look.” She gestured across the aisle. “That gorgeous cowboy you’ve been eyeing all afternoon is getting ready. I bet he bids on the Tarlington diamond.”
Carter wanted that Tarlington diamond so bad he could taste it. He’d spend a small fortune on it, if it boiled down to that. He groaned with impatience.
The stately woman sitting next to him, her nose in the air, reacted to the sound he made with a high and mighty puff. Then her gaze shifted to the felt hat sitting on his lap. She gave him another sniff of disapproval.
Well, hell. He’d offended her.
Because he was in a good mood, being nearly engaged and all, he sent her a smile of apology.
The woman gripped her purse with thin wiry fingers and inched away from him without returning his smile. She didn’t bother to disguise her feelings. He didn’t fit in. She didn’t approve of him being here.
He couldn’t fault her for that thinking. He didn’t fit in here. He didn’t like crowds, tight spaces or the irritating roar of New York traffic. But he had two darn good reasons for attending the auction.
The engagement ring he was determined to buy and the friend he was determined to help.
Both were important and could be life altering.
An article he’d read in the New York Times this morning about possible collusion between Waverly’s and their rival auction house, Rothchild’s, flashed into his mind. the piece had put the Waverly establishment in a bad light.
Doubt as to whether he should sink any money into the auction at all had crossed his mind and old survival instincts had clicked in. Carter was known for making sound financial decisions, and if it were anyone else, he would’ve walked away from the auction. But his friend Roark was a straight shooter. If Roark trusted Ann Richardson and Waverly’s, that was good enough for Carter. It was as simple as that.
The CEO sat up front but off to the side, overseeing the auction. He’d kept a keen eye on her since the auction began and wouldn’t let her out of his sight. He couldn’t get near her before, but he wasn’t leaving until he’d delivered the message from Roark.
Before the auction began, Ann Richardson
