Hoots, whistles, and hollers erupted. The horde sounded like over-sugared, deep-voiced children who’d been told it was time to open Christmas presents.
“—will be available for prescreening for the next few minutes on and around the stage. Ladies, we’re still taking names if you want to join in on the fun.” Mims stared down at the crowd. “Gentlemen, as a reminder, bidding starts at one hundred dollars. This is a cash-only event. Any man who sets foot on the stage makes an immediate purchase. Winning bidders also pay for dinner and drinks afterward.”
Was he really thinking about bidding on Wendy? Drew shelled a peanut, shifting in his seat. His wallet was fatter than usual in his back pocket, considering he’d withdrawn $400 in cash from the ATM. If that wasn’t intent to bid, he didn’t know what was.
The noise was nearly deafening. Drew craned his neck to see the women who’d agreed to this mad dating game but he had yet to see Wendy. He had too much pride to push through the crowd and confirm her presence.
A few minutes later, the auction started with Tiffany Winslow, who’d been in the same grade as Drew’s sister Eileen. Tiff worked as a checker at the pharmacy and sold for $250.
Daisy Newbury went next. She worked at the convenience store and sold for $200 to a cowboy Drew didn’t recognize.
If Wendy hadn’t come, Drew would’ve bet he’d be in bed early tonight without anyone in one of his jail cells. The crowd was noisy but behaving.
His sisters were not.
Priscilla claimed the stool next to him. “Wish me luck, Bro. I’m going on the auction block. All I need to do is track down Clarice and the sign-up sheet.” Priscilla worked at a bank and normally dressed conservatively with little makeup. Tonight, her eyes were lined like Gigi’s imaginary raccoon, and her fire-engine-red blouse plunged alarmingly.
Drew nearly choked on a peanut. “You aren’t going up there looking like…like that.” Like she wanted a man to value her physical assets more than her personality. “You’re practically thirty, not twenty-three. Noah, sell me a Shaw’s T-shirt. Extra large.”
“Forget the T-shirt, Noah.” Pris sniffed. “And I’m size medium, not XL.”
“Whatever it takes to cover you up.” Drew couldn’t bring himself to look directly at his sister.
“You’re such a prude.” Pris blew a kiss to someone across the room. “Now I know why Eileen isn’t talking to you right now. Tyrell was a total hottie, and you had no right to run him out of town.”
“I didn’t run him out of town,” Drew said through clenched teeth, thinking about Eileen’s latest stray. “He stole Eileen’s SUV and was arrested in Denver.”
“Only because you reported the SUV stolen. Eileen said he had her permission.”
“Only to drive to the drug store in town, not to Denver.” Drew gripped his beer glass so tight that he thought it might shatter.
“Anyway, landing the right guy takes time and the right bait.” Pris bumped her shoulder against Drew’s. “Tonight is going to be awesome because I’m feeling wonderful.”
Wonderful. It was a word the Taylors used to tell each other they were okay.
“Tone it down a notch.” Or ten. Anything less than wonderful. Drew took a deep drink from his beer.
After his father had left and his mom had taken on two jobs, Drew had needed a system to determine which sister needed help and what kind of support she needed. Woe-Is-Me meant someone needed alone time. Watch-Out-World meant he needed to give a brief lecture and then hunker down somewhere safe until the storm was over. And Wonderful? Wonderful meant everything was normal, no intervention needed.
“I heard Jason Petrie is here.” Pris craned her head around him, leaning every which way, scoping out the crowd gathered on the dance floor. “I’m not going to catch him with a Shaw’s T-shirt.”
“You’re not going to catch him no matter what you wear. He always bids on Darcy Jones.” The bull-riding champion played the field on the circuit but protected his interest in Darcy when he was home. “If you go up there, I can guarantee you that Paul Gregory and his man boobs will bid on you.” Drew risked a sideways glance at his sister. “The ink on your divorce papers is barely dry. Enjoy that freedom you wanted so badly. You know you don’t need a man to complete you, right?”
“Freedom is overrated.” But there was a wrinkle on her brow. “I see other hot cowboys in the crowd. I like cowboys.”
Drew ran a hand over his face. He would bet Wendy never had these types of conversations with her older brother.
Noah joined them on his side of the bar. “My money’s on Paul. He’s waving fifties. But it’s a moot point. The widows already closed entries.” He caught Drew’s eye and mouthed, You owe me.
Pris slumped enough to make her red blouse gape in front.
“Posture! Posture!” Drew shoved his napkin at her chest.
Pris straightened and tossed his napkin on the floor. “Great. It’s Saturday, and I’m dateless. That means my big brother needs to buy me dinner. Nothing fancy. Just a burger and fries here at the bar.”
“Have I just been played?” Drew glanced from Noah to Pris.
Indeed he had. They were both laughing.
Before he could bicker and eventually cave in to feeding his sister, he heard Mims announce the next date being offered: “Lola Williams.”
Catcalls and hollers of appreciation practically raised the roof.
Lola stepped into the spotlight, wearing a shimmery white cocktail dress and high-heeled white sandals that weren’t made for walking. Her long brown hair fell in lustrous waves over her shoulders. She looked like an angel, until you saw the fire in her eyes.
Buy her, a voice in Drew’s head said, probably because he valued keeping the peace, and the expression on Lola’s face was anything but peaceful.
“I’ll tell them about me.” Lola grabbed the microphone from Mims. There was a Watch-Out-World edge to her voice. “I’m Randy Williams’s wife. He used to run Your Second Husband Handyman Service.”
The crowd quieted, either because they were stumped that a woman in the date auction claimed to be married or because they saw the wild look in her blue eyes and weren’t sure whether it was a good wild or a bad wild.
Bad. Definitely bad.
Drew swore and hopped off the barstool, pushing his way through the crowd. Passing Paul, who was waving fifties in front of his face like a fan. Passing Jason, who was grinning up at Lola. Passing a cowboy who raised his glass in Lola’s direction and spilled beer on Drew’s arm.
Drew was only halfway to the stage when Lola said, “Randy’s dead, but I want to know who my husband was handy with besides me.”
The energy in the crowd shifted from wary to predatory, like a watchful cat who’d spotted an unsuspecting mouse and was preparing to play with it before moving in for the kill.
Lola was oblivious to the target being painted on her. “Randy was handy with another woman. Or maybe another man…” She looked bewildered by this statement, as if she couldn’t quite believe it herself.
Had she been drinking? Drew couldn’t tell. She didn’t slur her words. She hadn’t stumbled across the stage.
The men on the dance floor had been drinking. The volume in the peanut gallery increased as ribald comments were tossed about like volleyballs at the beach on a holiday weekend. The crowd’s need for spectacle wrapped around Drew’s chest and squeezed. He worked harder at reaching the stage, hoping to keep his landlady from starting a riot.
Off to the side, the Widows Club board was in urgent conference. Bitsy looked up and caught sight of Drew. She nudged Mims. When Mims saw him, the apprehension on her face morphed to relief and then, as she took a glance toward Lola, to calculation.
Drew didn’t like that look. Especially when he saw Wendy in the wings wearing blue jeans, cowboy boots, and a frilly pink blouse buttoned to her neck.
“Please. I need to know.” Lola closed her eyes, as if she didn’t really want to know the truth. “Why was my husband unfaithful?”
The crowd drained of energy.
Some of the fight seemed to drain from Lola too.
Mims took advantage and reclaimed the microphone. “We’re ready to bid. Remember, Lola isn’t your average local. She’s from New York City. She does hair and makeup professionally. We’ll start the bid at one hundred dollars.”
Lola froze, staring above the crowd as if wishing she were above the mess she’d made.
Drew finally reached the stage. From his vantage point, his landlady’s legs looked incredibly long. Distractingly long.
With a raucous crowd at his back, Drew couldn’t afford to be distracted. “Lola.” He reached for her. “Come down.”
She was coming down all right. She was coming down from Watch-Out-World mode and sliding into Woe-Is-Me territory. She blinked watery eyes. “Sheriff?”
“How about seventy-five?” Mims didn’t seem to be working the crowd as much as she was working Drew. She smiled down at him. “Do I hear fifty?”
Lola’s brow furrowed. “I’m being marked down?”
“For God’s sake, Mims.” Drew hopped onto the stage. “We made a deal.” That the widows wouldn’t bamboozle Lola into participating.
“Sold!” Mims grinned triumphantly. “For fifty dollars to Sheriff Drew Taylor.”
“I didn’t bid,” Drew snapped. He took Lola’s arm and turned her toward the stairs, catching a whiff of alcohol on her breath. He nearly ran into Wendy waiting in the wings. Her gaze dropped to the floor, along with his hopes that she might be his best defense against Jane.
“Rules are rules, Sheriff.” Mims tsk-tsked into the microphone. “Fifty dollars is a bargain and for a worthy cause. Please pay the cashier.” She gestured toward Clarice. And then she lowered the microphone, raising her voice to be heard above the crowd. “We didn’t break our agreement. Lola volunteered.” The Widows Club president glanced toward the bar. “Of course, if you want to be a stickler about it, I could take Priscilla in Lola’s place. She looks pretty tonight, and she mentioned she might be ready for some excitement.”
No way was Drew letting his sister on that stage. He paid Clarice and led Lola away as the next bachelorette was put on the chopping block.
It was a long walk to their booth. People smiled and shouted congratulations as they passed.
Lola lagged half a step behind Drew, ducking her head to avoid attention.
Drew slowed, eased his grip, and leaned close to her ear. “Are you okay? I can take you home if you like.”
Her blue eyes caught his, and she gave him a tentative smile. “I—”
“Hey, Sheriff,” Iggy King called from the bar, tipping back his straw cowboy hat. “Way to take advantage of a fire sale.”
Lola’s smile hardened. She quickened her steps, beelining to their table and the full flutes of champagne, as determined as his twin sisters to find trouble.
Drew was faster and body-blocked her. “You’ve had enough.”
“I’m just beginning.” Lola elbowed Drew out of her way, nothing soft about her now. “This is my date. I call the shots.” She flounced onto the bench seat.
Drew scowled. “Technically, I bought you.”
“Pity purchases don’t count.” She flung her sun-kissed brown hair over one shoulder, radiant in her Watch-Out-World indignation.
“It was a rescue.” Drew bared his teeth in a smile. Lola was exactly the kind of woman he and Becky didn’t need—obstinate and unpredictable.
“He said, she said.” Lola raised her glass. “To the truth.” She drained her bubbly and reached for the bottle.
Drew’s hand got there first. He parked the champagne on the seat next to him.
The crowd laughed at something Mims said, and the bidding began anew. On Wendy.
“If you don’t pour me another glass, I’m going to interrogate you.” Lola fixed Drew with a steely-eyed glare worthy of the finest police detectives in New York City. “You weren’t surprised when I told you about Randy’s laundry habits today. You knew he’d strayed.”
“How much have you had to drink?” Drew countered.
“A couple pregame shots. For courage,” she added. “Did Randy use your house for his dirty deeds?”
The last thing Lola needed right now was the truth about her husband. If Drew told her there’d been two sets of headlights every few nights, she’d grill each woman at Shaw’s who drove a car, including Pris.
Drew’s gaze drifted to his sister. When her marriage had begun to crumble a year or more ago, she’d separated from her husband. His mother had let slip once that Pris had found someone new. That relationship hadn’t panned out, obviously…Because Randy had died?
Pris laughed at something Noah said and ordered a beer.
Drew shook his head, refusing to believe Pris had been Randy’s other woman.
Next to his sister, Iggy stared at Lola as if he were a bird dog and she were a plump pheasant he’d startled from the brush.
Without meaning to, Drew jutted his chin.
“He did cheat at the farmhouse.” Lola sat back and raised her voice. “Did Randy host wild parties? Did you double-date with my husband? Did he dance with blow-up dolls?”
Several passing patrons glanced their way.
“Keep it down.” Drew took a swig of champagne. “Identifying Randy’s lover won’t make you feel any better.”
“Wanna bet?” But Lola’s words lacked fire, and she pressed her eyes closed. When she opened them, she looked at Drew with a vulnerable expression, like the one his sister Eileen got when she lost a stray she’d been trying to save, the one with watery eyes and too much trembling around her mouth. “I just want to know. Was it a long-term affair or something intense and brief that Randy regretted? Did he think I was stupid?” She swiped his glass, raised it to her lips, and then put it back down, untouched. “I have to know.” Her voice dropped to a whisper that Drew had to strain to hear. “Was it real? Did he love me?”
The helplessness in her voice reached deep inside Drew and took hold.
His annoyance with Lola dissipated, and it wasn’t a hardship to meet her tearful gaze, to admire her fragile beauty, to hope she’d find her way past the shock she’d had today. “No one can answer that but Randy.”
Chapter Five
You need to eat.” Drew studied Lola as if she were a perp he was considering arresting. “Shots and champagne don’t sit well on an empty stomach.”
As if on cue, Lola’s stomach pitched and threatened to empty. She took a shallow breath and slid Drew’s champagne flute back into his space. “You can’t distract me from getting answers.”
He flashed the detached smile he used when handing over his rent check. “This isn’t completely about your empty stomach. I’m hungry.” He gestured toward the stage, where the auction was still going on. “And if I’m the only one ordering, Mims will have my hide.”
Wendy Adams was sold to Paul Gregory for $400. Drew frowned.
Were Drew and Wendy an item?
The bench seat seemed to roll beneath Lola. She gripped the table. Drew and Wendy didn’t matter. The truth about Randy mattered. “You’re trying to distract me again.”
“I’m not,” he said, as stiff as his starched uniform.
Not that Drew was always stiff. In fact, he’d surprised her when he’d escorted her to their table. He’d moved in close, and his warm breath had wafted over her cheek. His offer to take her home had made her feel less the betrayed outcast and more like a woman a man could be interested in, truthful with, loyal to.
“Why did you volunteer for the auction?” Drew leaned forward slightly, brown eyes pinning her as if he were conducting an investigation and she was withholding a key piece of information.
Lola didn’t flinch. “I thought it’d be the best way to get the word out.”
“What word?”
“That I want to talk to Randy’s mistress.” Lola watched Drew closely, ready to capture the most minute reaction, anything to tell her what he knew. “Is she
here tonight?”
“How would I know?” Oh, he had a good poker face. It was all that starch. “What do you plan to do with this woman when you find her?”
“I told you.” She tried to smile, but her cheeks seemed too heavy for her lips to lift. “I want to know if—”
Noah Shaw appeared, bearing two plates. He set a burger in front of Drew and a turkey sandwich and fries in front of Lola. “I know. I’m a mind reader.”
Drew stared at his plate. “What? No fries?”
“You need to watch your waistline.” Noah turned away but not before flashing a friendly smile at Lola. He was handsome, but Lola felt no howdy-do.
“The next thing he’ll be doing”—Drew grumbled in a most un-sheriff-like fashion—“is serving me light beer.”
Lola had rarely seen Drew exhibit a sense of humor. It almost made her smile. She tore off a piece of crust and chewed it slowly, allowing Drew to eat a few bites of his meal before resuming her push for information. “Never fear. I’m not out to shoot or stab the other woman. You can tell me who she is.”
“I don’t know the who or the why.” He eyed her fries. “But I wonder if you’re asking for proof this woman can’t provide. How did you know Randy loved you when he proposed?”
Of all the…“He wouldn’t have proposed if he didn’t love me!”
At the bar, Iggy glanced their way again. On stage, Avery went up for auction.
Drew considered Lola in that measuring way of his. “Did he get down on one knee with flowers and a ring? Or was it one of those spur-of-the-moment things?”
If Lola could choose one otherworldly ability, it would be shooting daggers from her eyes. She’d take aim at that gold badge on Drew’s chest and—
“Ah.” Drew stole a fry. “A moment-of-passion proposal.”
“It wasn’t.” Lola couldn’t lie. She slumped. “It was.”
They’d met in Times Square, literally bumping into each other in a crowd. It had been Randy’s first time in New York, and he’d been looking up. Lola had still been grieving over her grandmother’s passing a few days before and had been looking down.
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