Her Perfect Hero

The auction was over in less than two hours, and she watched dejectedly as items from Brady’s went out the door—the neon lights, the rickety tables and chairs, the dartboards and pool tables, the TVs, even the liquor. A bottle of aged scotch was the one thing that had elicited spirited bidding.

Clem, the auctioneer, approached Julie with a sheepish look. “I’m really sorry, Ms. Polk. I don’t know what happened. I gave it my best shot, but these folks just weren’t in a bidding mood.”

She patted his arm. “It’s okay, Clem. I know you did your best. Just bad luck.” And some conniving firefighters.

Chapter Four

The fire marshal had gone, and a woman entered the bar, heading straight for Julie. She was about Julie’s age and very beautiful, with light brown hair subtly highlighted with gold and a complexion that indicated she took care of her skin.

Her clothes were good quality, too. Lord knew, Julie could spot such things. The woman also looked vaguely familiar. She’d probably shopped in the department store or eaten in the tearoom.

“Are you Julie?” the woman asked.

“Yes, that’s me.” Julie held out her hand, and the woman shook it in a businesslike fashion.

“Priscilla Garner. I understand a number of your items didn’t meet their reserve prices.”

Julie mentally snapped her fingers. Priscilla Garner, of course! Julie should have recognized her. Her parents were friends of the Davidsons. “Yes, that’s right.”

“I’ll take them off your hands.”

“You’ll pay the reserve?”

“Well, no. But I’ll give you something for them.”

Julie figured she couldn’t afford to be on her high horse. Maybe she’d set those reserve prices too high. She and Priscilla did some horse trading, and in the end they reached an agreement. Julie would be getting a little more than half what she’d hoped for, but it was better than nothing.

The one thing she hadn’t sold was the carved wooden bar, and she was secretly glad about that. No one was willing to pay the steep price she’d put on it, and she wasn’t about to take less. Once she’d polished it, it was pretty impressive. She could incorporate it into the design of the tearoom. She’d already decided she would play up the historic-landmark angle. With the money she’d raised—quite a bit less than she’d planned on—she didn’t have many options but to make lemonade from the lemons she was stuck with.

The place was almost deserted. Clem had taken off, Belinda had gone to her waitress job and only a few of the bidders remained, working out how to transport and pack some of the larger items they’d bought.

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