by Hope Ramsay
He sure hoped Timmy appreciated what he’d done for him.
Because, damn, Charlene looked like she’d come to the party intending to have a really good time.
Elsie Campbell took one look at Charlene’s dress and big hairdo and blushed so hard that her dark skin turned rosy. “Gee, Charlene, that’s quite a dress you’re wearing.”
Charlene didn’t let Elsie’s reaction daunt her. She was man-hunting tonight. And if Tim Lake and his Altar Guild didn’t like her dress, then they could just lump it.
The Altar Guild chairwoman also frowned at the mantini in Charlene’s hand—her second of the evening. The drink was a delicious concoction of bourbon and vermouth with a dash of chocolate bitters. She’d watched Hugh deBracy make them, and they were a masterpiece. They also made her lips tingle.
“I’m glad you like the dress,” Charlene said, ignoring Elsie’s clear disapproval. She hadn’t married Tim yet. “I found it on sale at Belk’s. I thought it made my boobs look great.”
Elsie almost choked on her club soda and lime. “I reckon it does, hon. But you might think about not having another one of those drinks.”
Charlene didn’t respond. Instead she let her gaze wander over the crowd, and like a compass finding true north, she zoomed in on Mike Taggart. Good lord. He’d been born to wear a tuxedo.
Not only did he look comfy in formal wear, he also seemed to be a master at working the room. A veritable herd of women wearing purple bead bracelets had surrounded him. Where had these gals come from?
Not Last Chance, clearly. They all wore over-the-top dresses, some even more outrageous than Charlene’s. The formal department at Belk’s had probably made a killing this week. And if Charlene were keeping score, which she most definitely was not, the majority of the women had gravitated to Mike. Although Dr. Dave ran a close second.
Tim, wearing his sober Roman collar and drinking water, not so much. Only Andrea Newsome seemed interested in Tim. Charlene was kind of surprised to see the therapist wearing a purple bracelet. And now that Charlene gave it some thought, Andrea definitely had a medical background.
Drat. The competition had become ridiculous.
In fact, the single women had come out in droves. AARC would make a boatload of money on this event. But all these out-of-towners put a real crimp in Charlene’s man-buying plans.
It might cost her plenty to buy the guy of her dreams. And his brother appeared to have actually found his soulmate. Which was kind of heartbreaking, because, if Tim hooked up with Andrea, then Rainbow would be set for life.
Andrea was thoughtful, kind, sweet, smart, and a child therapist, for heaven’s sake.
She turned her gaze back to Mike. He seemed intent on flirting with every woman in sight. Except her.
Which kind of reminded her of that time in eighth grade when Brad Muller asked her to the harvest dance, and then turned around and danced with every other girl in attendance. Boy, she had been picking losers for a long, long time, hadn’t she?
She drained her glass, causing Elsie’s eyes to nearly pop right out of her head. “Excuse me for a minute,” Charlene said. She put her empty glass down on a tray that one of the servers was carrying, then she elbowed her way through the gaggle of women surrounding Mike.
“Hey,” she said when she’d finally wormed her way to the front of the pack.
He looked down at her, and his pupils dilated the moment he glanced at the sweetheart neckline of her dress. That little crack in his otherwise neutral expression unleashed a tsunami of hormones. Her insides got all molten, and her knees almost gave way.
The feeling went way past hot flashes, right into killer chemistry. Either that or the mantinis were aphrodisiacs.
“Is it true that you made up the whole thing about Miriam Randall and me marrying your brother?”
He blinked. “No, I didn’t make that up.”
Disappointment nipped at her insides. “So she told you I was destined to marry Tim?”
“Charlene, I wouldn’t lie about a thing like that.” His face grew solemn, and for an instant, something flickered in the depths of his eyes. What was it? Pain? Heartache? Emotional baggage? Or was he just lying through his teeth? She couldn’t tell. And wasn’t that always the case?
She couldn’t help herself. She yearned to lift him out of his sadness. Stupid fool that she was.
She might have leaned into him, or kissed him on the cheek, or said something sultry, but a buxom blonde wearing a strapless dress that was even more revealing than her own planted an elbow in her ribs and beat her to the punch.
Predictably, Mike looked down at her boobs, too. Which only proved that he was 100 percent heterosexual male. And not at all the kind who committed.
“Hey, Sugar, you’re cute,” Blondie said as she simultaneously grabbed him by the arm and took a salacious lick off the salted rim of her margarita glass. “Come on over here and meet my friend Tammy.”
She pulled him away toward a red-headed woman with even bigger hair than Charlene’s over-the-top do.
A sickening wave of jealousy percolated through Charlene. She took it as a warning. She needed to avoid Mike come hell or high water. She wasn’t the kind of girl who could really carry off a one-night fling. In theory it sounded great, but in practice not so much.
She headed back to the bar. Drinking looked like a much better option than having her heart mashed flat.
Angel had every reason to be happy tonight.
The number of women who had bought tickets to the fund-raiser assured that AARC would more than break even. The silent auction had been well-supported by the merchants in Allenberg and Last Chance. Hugh deBracy’s mantinis had the crowd floating on a happy buzz. Everything was going well.
But Angel’s worries about Dave overshadowed everything. Five people had cornered him this evening with whispered questions about the vet. Somehow the gossip had started, and he could not help but feel that it was his fault.
Anyone who had heard what Savannah said last Tuesday at the Knit & Stitch could have figured it out. Dave should have worn the standard-issue tux like everyone else. That white dinner jacket was obvious, in addition to making him look handsome.
Angel stood at the corner of the bar, sipping a mantini as he watched the man of his dreams. Dave was not comfortable with the crowd of women around him. He kept taking out his handkerchief and mopping his forehead. It only took a couple of moments before most women figured it out. One by one they came into the room, checked out the bachelors, and then gravitated toward Dave. And after a two- or three-minute conversation, they abandoned him for Mike Taggart.
Without question, Mike would bring the highest price tonight. The women loved him. Including Charlene, who had just thrown herself at him only to be usurped by a chubby blonde.
Angel worried about Charlene, too. She had already consumed two mantinis, and while the drinks were not very strong, Charlene was also not much of a drinker. Charlene finally turned away from Mike and headed back to the bar.
She came to stand next to him and ordered another drink. Then she turned with a sigh. “So, did you get Wilma to buy Dave for you?”
Angel shook his head and took a sip of his drink. “She would not do it for me. She quoted Betty Friedan.”
“Oh, boy. Which quote?”
“The one about how it is easier to live through someone else than to become complete yourself. Basically she told me that, if I wanted to bid on Dave, I would have to do it myself. Then she suggested I read this poem by Longfellow about the courtship of Priscilla Mullins and Miles Standish.”
Charlene snorted. “As in speak for yourself, John?”
He nodded and cast his glance toward Dave. “He’s having a miserable time.”
Charlene said nothing. And Angel let go of a long sigh that probably would classify as mournful. And if there was one thing Angel hated, it was gay men who got all mournful over relationships.
Maybe he should muscle the girls aside and make a heartfelt declar
ation of his admiration.
He was giving this idea serious consideration when Molly Wolfe, his employer’s wife, came striding up with a frown on her face. “Angel, I just heard the strangest thing from Aunt Millie.”
“Oh, boy,” Charlene muttered.
“What?” Angel turned just as Hugh deBracy handed Charlene her mantini. Charlene took a big gulp. “I’m afraid Amanda opened her big mouth at the Cut ’n Curl this afternoon and let the cat out of the bag.”
“What cat?”
“So it’s true?” Molly’s eyes rounded in surprise. “Oh, my God. I had no idea.” She paused a moment. “Oh, Charlene, that’s terrible. You had a big crush…” Her voice faded out.
So Molly and Millie hadn’t figured it out either. Charlene felt better about her gaydar. “Yeah, I did,” she said, taking another big sip of her drink. “I had a big, honking crush on a gay guy. Pathetic.”
Molly put her arm around Charlene. “I’m so sorry. Life can throw some real curves sometimes, can’t it? But, hey, things are looking up. From what I hear, you’re going to find your soulmate tonight.” She frowned. “Which kind of begs the question as to why you’re over here at the bar and Pastor Tim is across the room with Andrea Newsome.”
“Yup, that is the question of the century,” Charlene said, taking another sip of the mantini.
“Honey, how many of those drinks have you had?”
She shrugged. “Lost count. You know, it’s a shame I’m Drew’s cousin, because he’s one of the cutest guys here.”
“I think we should get you some coffee,” Molly said.
“No. No coffee for me. I intend to have a rip-roaring good time. And I’m not going to let either one of you spoil my fun. I think I’ll go flirt with Ross Gardiner. He might be practically engaged to Lucy, but he’s kind of hunky.” She pushed off the bar and sailed across the room, mantini in hand.
“I better go warn Simon that he’s going to need to drive her home.” Molly headed off in another direction, leaving Angel still standing at the bar trying to figure out what he should do. Dave had been outed by the gossips of Last Chance. By next week, all the people who had only suspected that he was gay would know for certain.
He could warn him. Or he could try to show him that being out was a whole lot better than trying to hide the person you really are. He pushed away from the bar and headed off to the foyer, where volunteers were selling purple bracelets.
He plunked down twenty-five bucks and bought one for himself.
CHAPTER
22
Tim felt exposed as he walked down the runway. He fervently wished he’d rehearsed this, but he kind of doubted that even a rehearsal would have prepared him for the flock of single women who had descended upon this event.
They had come from miles and miles away, and their presence here said something kind of sad about the state of love in South Carolina. Young people had to rely on bars and events like this.
His palms sweated, and his heart thumped. He plastered a stupid smile on his face and walked stiffly to the end of the walkway, while Grant Trumbull smoothly announced his name, date of birth, occupation, and a short summary of his life. Grant made him sound like some kind of paragon.
But Tim knew better. He squinted into the lights, looking for a familiar face, but the lights blinded him. He prayed that one of those predatory females wouldn’t win this bid. He couldn’t imagine having dinner with some of the women who had turned up for this event.
He took his place next to Drew Polk and stood there as the rest of the bachelors strutted their stuff up and down the runway. Allen Canaday didn’t actually strut. He danced his way up and back, making some truly suggestive hip motions. The women hooted and hollered, but Tim noticed it was mostly the out-of-towners.
The rest of the bachelors walked and waved, except for Mike, who sort of sauntered and had to gently discourage several women from actually crawling up onto the stage with him. His ease with this event must have something to do with his living in Vegas.
After the introductions, everyone assembled backstage, peering from the wings as Drew Polk was auctioned off. The bidders had pink, heart-shaped bidding paddles, and Grant Trumbull turned out to have impressive skill at managing the bids.
The bidding for Drew started at fifty dollars and was pretty brisk for about a minute and a half. A young lady Tim didn’t recognize won Drew for the price of $130.
Tim’s turn next.
He pulled his inhaler out of his pocket and took a hit. It seemed to ease the pressure in his chest as he walked onto the stage. Still, his collar was strangling him, and he wondered how on earth he’d let Wilma Riley talk him into doing this.
“And now, ladies, we come to the catch of the night,” Grant said in his mellifluous radio voice. “Tim Lake is a Methodist minister with a deep and abiding love for animals and the Lord. You can’t go wrong with this guy, especially if you’re looking for something long-term. The opening bid for this gent is set at fifty dollars. Do I hear fifty?”
He was such a hypocrite. He didn’t have a deep and abiding love for animals. In fact, he mostly disliked them. Intensely.
The blinding light gave him a headache, and his chest squeezed so tight that he worried about having a full-fledged asthma attack. Long minutes seemed to go by; time hung suspended. And then someone in the audience put up a pink paddle and said, “I bid five hundred dollars.”
Tim couldn’t see her and didn’t recognize the voice. He guessed that Charlene had saved him. He’d heard all the gossip about Miriam Randall and her prediction. Bless her. He didn’t think he loved her, but at least she’d saved him from the clutches of those out-of-town floozies who had overtaken the event.
“Wow,” Grant said. “Obviously Pastor Tim has a female admirer. Or maybe just a really committed animal lover. Do I hear five hundred and ten?”
No one upped the bid. Grant struck his wooden gavel. “Sold to number six ninety-eight, who I believe is the beautiful and wickedly smart Dr. Andrea Newsome.”
Andrea? Andrea had bought him?
He stumbled on his way off the stage. Thank God, Mike was there to catch him before he landed on his face. They had a moment where they stood eye to eye as Grant Trumbull announced Allen Canaday’s name.
“Andrea bought you?” Mike asked, frowning.
“I guess.”
“Not Charlene?”
“No. I guess Charlene didn’t have a spare five hundred lying around. Andrea’s bid was preemptive.”
“Damn,” Mike said, releasing his grasp on Tim’s shoulders.
Suddenly Tim had had enough of his newfound brother. “Look, Mike, I know you think Charlene and I are some kind of match made in heaven, but if you really want to know the truth, I’m glad Andrea bought me. I’ve wanted to ask her out to dinner for a while now. The fact is, I’m attracted to Andrea. Not Charlene. So, while I understand that you are looking out for Rainbow’s interests, and I realize that Rainbow has connected with Dr. Polk, the fact is, the only woman I’m interested in courting right at the moment is Andrea. And I think she’d make a lovely mother for Rainbow. She understands children, and she’s been extraordinarily helpful to me during this transition in my life.”
If his words had upset Mike, he didn’t show it on his face. Mike simply nodded. “I guess you have a point there. Andrea knows something about kids, doesn’t she? We’ve been paying her for her expertise.”
“Yes, we have. But she’s gone above and beyond. Especially the day you were arrested.”
Mike nodded as the audience erupted in a whole bunch of hoots and hollers. Tim turned to look over his shoulder as Allen Canaday took off his jacket and tossed it to the crowd. The bidding was going fast and furious.
“I’m so grateful I didn’t have to go through that,” Tim said as he turned back. “But I have a feeling it’s going to be ugly when you get out there. You’re liable to get torn to bits by those women.”
Mike nodded. “Yeah, and I doubt that there’s an An
drea Newsome out there ready to rescue me either. This is what happens when you make a sucker bet.”
“Good luck.”
“Thanks, I’m probably going to need it.”
Charlene sat in the section reserved for bidders, clutching her auction paddle. She’d been assigned number 513, and so far she hadn’t had any opportunity to use it. She’d been all ready to raise her paddle for Tim Lake, but Andrea Newsome beat her to it with a bid so large that Charlene couldn’t afford to counter. Oddly, she wasn’t all that disappointed. Clearly Miriam’s forecast had been for someone other than her.
Story of Charlene’s life.
“I’m sorry,” Angel said as he leaned toward her. Angel had bought himself a purple bracelet and was carrying a paddle with the number 639. “I know you were trying to talk yourself into Pastor Tim, but it was not meant to be. Tonight, chica, you and I are going to throw caution to the wind and do what our hearts tell us is right.”
Uh-huh, she’d believe that when she saw it.
Allen Canaday came out on stage and started taking off his clothes—a state of affairs that didn’t surprise Charlene in the least. She might be man-hunting tonight but Allen was too young for her.
She picked up her drink and sipped. She’d lost track of how many mantinis she’d consumed. Her lips were definitely numb and her buzz had almost turned into dizziness.
“You do not believe me, chica.”
“Angel, are you really going to out Dave right here in front of everyone?”
He nodded soberly, which made her giggle, because Angel wasn’t exactly sober. He’d probably consumed as many mantinis as she had. And that was a sizable number, even if she couldn’t exactly remember the specific number.
“Okay. I can’t wait for this.” She giggled again.
They watched and sipped their drinks as six more bachelors were auctioned off for remarkably large sums. Charlene passed on all of them because they were either too young or too old. And then they called Dr. Dave’s name.
And the dreamboat came strolling onto the stage looking perfectly perfect, as he always did. The white dinner jacket was the right touch. He looked classic and classy and drop-dead gorgeous. His black hair fell over his forehead, and he struck a pose that made him look exactly like a GQ model.