Blue Moon by Marilyn Halvorson Page B

bucks. Half the farmers from West Valley are always at the auction market. One of our neighbors must be here.
    Well, maybe not quite always. I made three tours through the whole auction market. Along the way I had the offer of a date—from an eighty-year-old guy with noteeth. I was yelled at twice for standing in front of somebody and blocking his view of the sale ring. And when I reached up to push my hair back at the wrong moment I almost bought another horse. But I didn’t see a soul I knew.
    I was getting desperate enough to call home and explain the mess I was in to my parents. I checked my watch and scrapped that idea. Right now, Mom would be at work driving the school bus and Dad would be out in the field planting green feed. But I had to think of something. The closer I got to losing that blue roan horse, the more I started to like her.
    Then I caught a glimpse of Walt Devon. He was one of the meat buyers, running a string of sorry-looking old horses up the ramp into his trailer. When the last one was in, his helper closed the door behind it. “Ready to roll, boss?” he asked.
    Devon picked a tidbit of leftover lunch out of a crack between his teeth. “Naw, don’t get in a hurry, Bill. Think I might pick up another one cheap here in a minute.”
    That did it! Walt Devon was not going to haul my horse off to the packing plant. I took another desperate look around. Over by the corrals, three or four guys were throwing square bales onto a truck. I didn’t recognize any of them at first. Then something about one of them caught my eye—long, curly blond hair, ragged denim jacket. Yeah, it was him all right. I never thought I’d be desperate enough to ask Cole McCall for the time of day, but I was stuck. I took a deep breath. “Cole?”
    Either he didn’t hear me or he pretended not to. He kept on tossing bales. Just talking to him was bad enough. Did I have to yell his name for all the world to hear?
    â€œCole!”
    He set down a bale and slowly turned around. The two strangers he was working with turned to stare at me.
    â€œCole, I, uh, need to talk to you.”
    Cole gave me a cold look. “Don’t bother me, Blue Jeans,” he said between breaths. “We’re busy.” The other guys laughed. I could feel my face getting warm.
    â€œCole,” I said through my teeth, “would you just come here, please?”
    He gave his friends kind of a shrug. To me he gave a low bow and a taunting grin as he walked over. “What can I do for you, Blue Jeans?”
    I held my temper. “Uh, Cole, do you have ten dollars?”
    He gave me an unbelieving stare and then he laughed. “Do I look like I have ten dollars?”
    I was in no position to be rude. I meant to be polite. Really, I did. But the words just came out. “No, you look like you should be standing in somebody’s garden to scare the crows away. But I still need to know if you can lend me ten dollars.”
    That remark should have finished my chances of borrowing ten cents from Cole McCall. I couldn’t believe it when he started to laugh. “You’re somethin’ else, Blue Jeans.”
    Before I could decide on an answer to that he reached into his pocket and cameout with a crumpled five-dollar bill and some change. “That’s all she wrote. Seven good enough?”
    I shook my head. I couldn’t come this close and give up. “Check your other pockets. Maybe you’ve got some more change.”
    He stared at me again for a minute, sighed and checked the other pocket of his jeans. He shook his head. “Out of luck, lady.”
    â€œAre you sure?”
    Cole sighed. “Honest, Officer, I’m sure. You want to search me or what?”
    I could feel my face warming up again. “No!” I blurted out. “But what about your jacket pockets?”
    He shrugged and jammed his hands into the pockets of his ragged jean jacket. His right