Chapter 22

twenty-two

BEN

"Do I have five thousand dollars?" Pastor Adam's voice boomed across the main meeting room of the New Life Church.

The auctioneer's car had broken down somewhere north of Denver. Despite his best efforts to get his vehicle to a garage, it was unable to be driven. So, Adam had done the unthinkable and was standing at the front of the room, leading the auction process.

I had no idea if he was doing everything correctly, but it sounded impressive. And more importantly, everyone in the room was enjoying themselves.

Daniel stuck his hand in the air. "Ten thousand dollars."

The excitement in the room had grown as Daniel and another man bidded against each other for Riley Murphy's painting. But even I gasped this time. "Are you sure?" I whispered from beside Daniel. "That's a lot of money."

He looked over my shoulder and leaned in close. The other bidder was two rows behind us. "Riley's paintings sell for more than forty thousand dollars in European galleries."

My eyes widened.

The man behind us placed another bid.

Daniel stuck his hand in the air. "Twenty thousand dollars."

Silence fell over the crowd. All eyes turned toward the other bidder.

"Twenty-eight thousand."

The audience went wild. Claps and cheers rang out across the room. Even Pastor Adam looked as though he was astounded that anyone would buy a painting for that amount of money.

"Silence, please," Adam yelled into the room. He looked at Daniel. "Do we have another bid?"

I bit my bottom lip, half-praying that Daniel shook his head. The oil painting was stunning, but paying more than twenty-eight thousand dollars was ridiculous. For most people, it was a down payment on a house, a new vehicle, or enough groceries for two years.

"Thirty-five thousand dollars."

The roar from the crowd drowned out Adam's response.

I dropped my chin to my chest. Oh, my Lord. That amount of money would pay The Welcome Center's utility, phone, and grocery bill for an entire year. They could buy new blankets and sheets and replace the washing machines and dryers.

Adam's gavel was banging so hard against the desk that it sounded like a machine-gun spitting bullets across the room. "Quiet, please!"

No one was listening, except the man two rows behind us.

When most of the noise had died down, a deep voice yelled, "Thirty-seven thousand dollars."

I grabbed hold of Daniel's hand. "Don't do it." I looked at him, pleading with Daniel not to increase the bid. "It's an incredible painting, but that amount of money?—"

"Is nothing compared to what I earn," Daniel whispered in my ear.

I closed my eyes, scrunching them tight as I waited for what he'd do next.

"Forty thousand dollars," he yelled.

Mass hysteria descended over the room. Adam tried to bring order to the chaos, but no one was paying him any attention.

Daniel squeezed my hand. "Breathe."

"I can't," I yelled back. "It's too much money."

"Order! Order!" Adam's voice boomed across the room.

I would have laughed if it weren't Daniel who had placed an astronomical bid on the painting.

"Do we have any more bids?" Adam yelled.

The audience gradually calmed down, waiting to see what happened.

The man behind us remained silent.

My shoulders relaxed and I breathed a sigh of relief. At least Daniel wouldn't be spending any more money on?—

"Forty-five thousand dollars," the man behind us yelled.

Pastor Adam's mouth dropped open. He looked at Daniel. "Do we have another bid?"

Daniel shook his head and I slumped in my chair. Thank goodness it was over.

"Sold to the man in the blue sweater," Adam yelled. "Congratulations."

Daniel leaned against my shoulder. "What's next?"

"Are you serious? You nearly spent forty thousand dollars, and you still want to bid on other things?"

"It's an auction. It's for a good cause." Daniel plucked the program out of my hand. "There's a barbecue in here somewhere that Jenny told me about."

My eyes narrowed. "Have you cooked a meal on a barbecue in the last ten years?"

"Of course I have," Daniel muttered.

If his nose could have grown, it would be as long as his arm.

I pointed to lot thirty-two. "It's there. If you win the barbecue, I want a picture of the first meal you cook on it."

For some reason, Daniel looked incredibly smug. "Deal."

Adam banged his gavel on the desk and the next item appeared on the stage. And before I knew what was happening, I was in a bidding war for two baskets of preserved pickles and jams.