Only a Cowboy Will Do--Includes a Bonus Novella

by A. J. Pine

  Kimmy hugged Mateo. “Tell Ian I remembered my promise to make his family lunch every Saturday for the next month.” She was lucky her family let her barter for services.

  “Lunch every Saturday for a month,” her dad said, chest puffed out in pride as he looked at Kimmy. “A kept promise is a true sign of character.”

  “And love,” Kimmy murmured.

  “I won’t have to remind Ian.” Uncle Mateo rubbed his stomach. “He knows how good your food is. We all do.”

  The front screen door screeched open. “Dinner!” her mom shouted, letting the door bang closed behind her.

  Kimmy grabbed her purse. “I haven’t even cleaned up.” She ran out of the truck and up the stairs outside the garage.

  Skippy, her three-legged cat, met her at the door. The small apartment felt larger now that her sister, Rosalie, had moved out.

  “We’re running late, Skippy.” She scooped up the gray tabby and gave her a cuddle as she crossed the small living room to the bedroom.

  The only thing going slow in her life was the food truck renovation. Everything else was coming at her fast—Hay’s wedding, Booker’s return.

  What could possibly happen next?

  “Mims.” After sending his parents home, it had taken Booker three hours to find the Widows Club president. “Can we talk?”

  Hair wrapped in big pink curlers, Mims sat under a hair dryer in the Sunshine Valley Retirement Home salon, sound asleep, arms crossed over her fishing vest.

  “Shhh.” Lola Williams was fixing Harriet Bloom’s hair. “Her hair will be dry in five minutes. Then you can wake her.” Lola sprayed Harriet’s hair, teased it with a long comb, and then sprayed it once more for good measure until it looked like a gray helmet.

  The salon was small and looked even smaller with one wall painted a dingy rose color. The liveliest thing in the room was a large black feathered headdress hanging from the wall. It looked like something a Vegas showgirl would wear.

  “Lola, I wish you’d master the art of a comb-out, instead of wasting your time on shopping for frivolous clothes.” Harriet pointed to Lola’s legs. “Have you ever seen such unusual legs, Booker?”

  “Uh…” Booker hedged.

  “Hush. You’re embarrassing the man,” Lola said but it was the hairdresser who was blushing. She wore an elegant black dress and lug-soled black boots. But what had caught Harriet’s attention was her white stockings with edgy black tattoo patterns on them. “There’s a viewing for Brillo Bryson later.” Lola also worked as a hairstylist and makeup artist for the mortuary. “He was a biker. He’d appreciate my choice. And even if he wouldn’t, sometimes a girl has to make a statement.”

  Kimmy had made a statement. She wasn’t interested in seeing Booker’s menu. He had to get her buy-in before he began officially selling sandwiches in Sunshine, because his sandwiches were her sandwiches. He wanted to make Kimmy an outright offer for her recipes. Cash money. But it wasn’t the kind of business transaction you just tossed at a person without discussion and the appearance of negotiation.

  The appearance.

  Inwardly, Booker cringed. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined his financial position would hinge on the work of someone else. He had to set things right without losing his friendship with Kimmy.

  Mims snored. The loud kind that should’ve woken her up. It didn’t.

  Booker checked the time on his phone. Three minutes to go before her hair would be dry.

  “I hear you’re the best man at Haywood’s wedding.” Harriet caught Booker’s gaze in the mirror. “That’s a big responsibility. You’ve gotta make sure the groom doesn’t have second thoughts.”

  “He won’t.” Hay had loved Ariana since they were in the sixth grade, probably since the time Kimmy had been crushing on Hay and Booker had been crushing on Kimmy.

  “But he could,” Harriet continued, holding her sharp chin high while Lola swept hair from her neck with what looked like a large paintbrush. “Who’s your backup?”

  “The other groomsmen?” Not that he needed them.

  “No.” Harriet made a derisive noise that deteriorated into thick coughs. It took her a moment to catch her breath. “I mean your wedding date. You need a date to keep you sane when Haywood’s toes catch a chill.”

  “I…” He glanced at Mims, hoping she’d wake up and save him from this conversation. “I thought I was there to carry the rings.”

  “Nonsense.” Harriet scoffed, turning her head to and fro to check out Lola’s work. “You’re there to have an escape plan in place for Haywood, if needed.”

  Lola laughed, heading toward a waiting walker. “Don’t let her throw you off your game, Booker.”

  She already had.

  “Have pity on me.” Harriet inched her chair around with the toes of her white orthopedic shoes. “I don’t get out much. Who’s your wedding date?”

  “I don’t have one yet.” He’d been hoping to ask Kimmy. But even though they’d discussed her options, she hadn’t seen Booker as anything more than a man who appreciated her sandwiches.

  She’ll never know how much I appreciate those sandwiches.

  That wasn’t true. Booker planned to tell her. Of course, if he told her, it was a certainty that she wouldn’t be his wedding date. Which was why he had to talk to Mims. He had a feeling the secrets he had to tell would send Kimmy running. He needed her to sit still and listen.

  Lola rolled the walker to Harriet and helped her out of the chair.

  “You could take Lola,” Harriet said without any tact. “Her husband’s dead.”

  “Only just.” Grief flickered over Lola’s features. “You’d try the patience of a saint, Harriet.”

  “Foolish girl.” Harriet worked her way slowly toward the door. “Look at Booker. He’s prime real estate. You need to strike while the iron is hot.”

  “Crotchety old woman,” Lola countered, albeit good-naturedly, as if their arguments were common. “You owe me a nickel for whining about my work.” She glanced at Booker and then gestured toward a shelf, where her whining jar was halfway full of nickels and pennies.

  “I’ll bring a dime next week.” Harriet cackled. “Same day. Same time.”

  Lola turned off the standing hair dryer, startling Mims awake.

  “Booker. What are you doing here?” Mims opened her eyes wide. “No one is supposed to know I’m here. Barb over at Prestige Salon cuts my hair but she’s booked, and my grandchildren are coming to town. Not to mention there’s the bachelorette auction this weekend. I don’t want to look like an unkempt mountain woman.”

  “Nobody’s going to tell Barbara.” But Lola made time to close the salon door behind Harriet.

  “Mims, we need to talk,” Booker said firmly, prepared for an argument. “I can’t emcee the bachelorette auction.”

  The old woman blinked at him. “Why not?”

  “Does it matter?” He didn’t want to tell her the truth. “I promise to show up and bid.” If he won Kimmy, she’d be his for an hour. The bachelorette auction included an informal dinner at the bar immediately afterward.

  “Ah, I see.” Mims gave him a forgiving smile. “Bring lots of cash. We don’t accept credit or checks. And I expect Kimmy to go for a high price.”

  “Kimmy?” This was why Booker avoided Widows Club events. They could read minds and weren’t shy about butting in where they weren’t wanted. “Who said anything about Kimmy?”

  “Who indeed?” Mims chuckled as Lola began unrolling the big pink curlers.

  “Please don’t get any ideas.” His words had as much chance of being respected as a snowball in the Sahara. “Kimmy’s made it very clear on several occasions over the years that she just wants to be friends.” Which made his attraction to her inconvenient. He valued Kimmy’s friendship too much to attempt to date her. “But if I do buy her—for reasons that have nothing to do with romance—can you make sure she gets a wedding date?”

  “My boy, I have the perfect man in mind for her.” Mims’s
smile wasn’t reassuring. There were plans springing in that head of hers.

  “Great.” Booker said his goodbyes and headed for the door. “As long as you’re not talking about me.”

  Her laughter followed him out into the hallway.

  Chapter Four

  How do I look?” Kimmy smoothed her green lace sheath over her hips. “I was going for sexy and sophisticated but now that I’m here, I think I might look grandmotherly and dated.”

  “You look fabulous.” Her friend Priscilla Taylor was quick to reassure her. “If my divorce was final, I’d put myself out there too.”

  Kimmy was glad Priscilla wasn’t joining in the auction festivities. She’d always been the center of male attention, while Kimmy had always been the girl on the outskirts of the crowd, male or female.

  And speaking of crowds, Shaw’s Bar & Grill was packed. The local hangout had a big stage and a dance floor on one end, and on the other were padded booths and large wooden tables surrounding a well-used pool table. The center of Shaw’s featured a long, narrow bar ringed with stools. There were license plates on the walls and saddles mounted on the rafters. And on Saturday nights, customers tossed shells from free peanuts onto the floor.

  It being Saturday, Kimmy had to watch her step in heels.

  “Look at all these women.” Priscilla grabbed on to Kimmy’s arm. “They’re lined up like it’s Black Friday and there’s a great deal on Michael Kors handbags.”

  Kimmy stopped walking and took count. Fifteen women. That was a lot for Sunshine. “This is a mistake.” But she couldn’t back out. She’d promised.

  “It’s no mistake.” Priscilla pointed toward the dance floor. “Look. Have you ever seen so many cowboys?”

  Kimmy hadn’t been looking at the men. But now she could see there were cleaned-up cowhands milling about the dance floor, as well as local men in all shapes, colors, and sizes. Paul Gregory was wearing a suit and elbowing his way to the front of the stage, holding what looked like a strawberry daiquiri.

  “The good news is I don’t see my brother.” Priscilla dragged Kimmy toward the line of bachelorettes up for auction. Her older brother was the sheriff, and when it came to fun, Drew was something of a wet blanket.

  “The bad news is he would’ve made a good wedding date.” Kimmy wouldn’t have had to worry about Drew drinking too much and making advances. Although he probably wouldn’t have been able to talk intelligently about food. Or more accurately, he might have dozed off while she did so.

  “You’re here!” shouted Clarice. She checked something off the list on her clipboard and took Kimmy’s other arm. “Right this way.” She gave Priscilla a frosty stare. “It’s against the rules for married women to participate.”

  “I guess I’ll be at the bar.” Priscilla grinned and headed toward the center of the room.

  “I wrote an introduction for you.” Clarice continued to use her outdoor voice. Who could blame her? The crowd noise was nearly deafening. “Do you want to read it?”

  Kimmy shook her head.

  Clarice made another check mark on her clipboard and hobbled off without her walking stick, her purple tie-dyed muumuu swaying with each step.

  Kimmy took her place behind Darcy Jones at the end of the line. If Darcy was up for auction, Jason Petrie was most likely in the audience. Since they were an item, Darcy’s purchase was a sure thing. Kimmy, being last, wasn’t such a sure thing. She wasn’t showing as much leg, as much cleavage, or as much makeup as most of the young women in line. By the time it was her turn, most of the rowdy cowboys would have lost their enthusiasm for the sport or already purchased their date.

  Confidence. She needed confidence.

  Lacking some, Kimmy started to sweat.

  Mims moved to center stage and turned on the microphone. For all Kimmy had made jokes about the Widows Club and events like this, Mims’s poise was calming. She wore a blue dress and white sandals and looked as comfortable as if she were wearing her fishing vest and blue jeans. “Thanks for showing up to the Date Night Auction to benefit the Sunshine Valley Boys & Girls Club. The bachelorettes for auction tonight—”

  The crowd erupted with applause, whistles, and hollers.

  Mims made a settle-down gesture with her hands. “Our ladies will be available for prescreening for the next few minutes on and around the stage.” 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.”

  Paul Gregory sauntered along the line. He’d lost the straw for his daiquiri, the drinking of which had stained his upper lip, making him look as if he had a red mustache. He stopped by Kimmy and said, “You look pretty tonight without your apron.”

  “Thanks?” Kimmy murmured, not wanting to encourage him, but he was a good customer and a good exterminator. And she did so hate bugs.

  The cowboys who ambled by next checked out the women up for auction the way she imagined they checked out cattle for sale. Kimmy smiled, in case good teeth were important in their judgment.

  More residents came by. Dr. Janney, who did her annual exam. Jay Parker, a plumber who still wore his work coveralls. Darnell Tucker, a mechanic at the local garage. All customers at the deli.

  During a lull, Kimmy touched Darcy’s shoulder. “I feel awkward.” Like she was lined up in gym class to be put on a soccer team.

  “You’ll be fine,” Darcy reassured her. “Just remember it’s for a good cause, and these people are your friends. Except for some of the cowboys. In which case, just remember dinner only lasts an hour.” She turned to speak to the woman in front of her.

  “Right,” Kimmy said under her breath. “Good cause. Good friends. One hour.”

  Iggy King walked by. He paused when he saw her. “Hey, Kimmy. I’ve never seen you on sale before.”

  On sale? Panic set in. She grabbed his arm. “Iggy, I’ll give you free sandwiches for a week if you buy me.”

  Booker appeared at Iggy’s shoulder, looking handsome in a suit and tie. “You look great, Kim.”

  Ditto. But she couldn’t say it. He’d think she wanted him to buy her.

  “Thanks?” she said instead.

  Who was she kidding? She’d be thrilled if he did. Not that he would. He was more likely to bid on someone from his side of town. And even if he did, it wouldn’t solve her wedding-date dilemma.

  Kimmy tried to catch Iggy’s wandering eye.

  “I’ll think about it, Kimmy.” Iggy headed toward Priscilla and the bar. “Good luck.”

  Shoot. That sounded like Iggy had thought about it and made a negative decision.

  “Hey.” Booker leaned in close enough to be heard over the crowd. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m at the end of the line.” Kimmy’s heels were beginning to pinch her toes. “I think Iggy is my last resort.” Heaven help her.

  Booker frowned. “If it’s stressing you out, don’t do this.”

  Easy enough for him to say. “I have to. Wedding date, remember?” She straightened her spine. “Plus I promised.” An Easley always kept a promise.

  “It’s time to get this party started.” Mims’s voice raised the roof once more.

  A few minutes later, the bidding began.

  Mims was a skilled auctioneer. Paul bid often but lost every time. He ordered another daiquiri and continued to suck his drink down without a straw. His bright-red mustache deepened in color. Winning bidders escorted their dates to reserved tables. Iggy and Priscilla were yukking it up at the bar, which in hindsight was where Kimmy should have been.

  And every few minutes, Kimmy took a few steps closer to the stage. When Darcy’s name was about to be called, she turned to Kimmy and wished her luck. And then Darcy was walking out on stage. Sure enough, Jason was in the audience and bid on her. He outbid Paul, who must have been on his fourth daiquiri.

  “And now…” Mims smiled at Kimmy and gestured for
her to join her on the stage. “Our last bachelorette of the evening, Kimmy Easley.”

  There were weak whoops and a round of applause, nothing like the enthusiasm for Mims’s opening remarks.

  Mims read Clarice’s introduction. “Kimmy is a Sunshine girl. She creates gourmet sandwiches at Emory’s Grocery. She likes long walks in the park, and in her spare time, she likes to garden.”

  Gah! She sounded boring.

  “A hundred bucks.” Paul swayed near Kimmy’s feet.

  Kimmy swallowed, seeking out Iggy in the crowd. He wasn’t even looking at her!

  “One twenty-five.” That came from a cowboy with a friendly smile.

  She hoped he loved long walks in the park and food, especially garlic.

  “One fifty.” That bid came from the back of the crowd. Kimmy couldn’t see where.

  “Two hundred,” Paul said wearily.

  Kimmy would’ve felt sorry for him if she weren’t his last chance for a date. The whole purpose of this exercise was to find a man who might be a good wedding date, someone who’d talk about food, not bugs.

  “Two and a quarter.” The cowboy was still smiling. He was wearing a straw hat and a blue chambray shirt that looked soft to the touch. He probably loved grilled steak.

  She made a mean T-bone.

  “Two seventy-five.” Whoever was bidding in the back must have been short or hidden behind several Stetsons beyond the stage lights. Kimmy still couldn’t see him.

  “Three fifty.” Paul set his drink on the stage, placed his palms on either side of it, and hung his head as if he might be sick.

  Mims and Kimmy exchanged a glance and backed up a step.

  “Four hundred dollars!” came the bid from the back.

  The crowd gasped. It was the highest bid of the night.

  The cowboy made a cutting gesture across his throat.

  Paul lifted his heavy head and tried to spot his rival. He wasn’t the only one looking. Everyone up front was turning around.