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?”