attentive while she told a story with a lot of bouncing around in her seat to punctuate the good parts. The silver-haired but fit-looking guy in a plaid sport jacket on her right wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that he was trying to peer down her dress.
Sarah tried to remain poised, but she was still prepared to pounce if Gloria started in on any cringe-worthy anecdotes. Eric, oblivious to her nerves, poured her and Gloria each a generous glass of Burgundy, then topped off his own and lifted it in a toast.
“To the West and all its riches,” he said. “Including my two lovely dates.”
The other men lifted their glasses. The plaid-jacketed man managed to get through the entire toasting and drinking process without raising his gaze from Gloria’s breasts. Evidently he wanted two dates too. Sarah really couldn’t blame him. Gloria’s rather generous endowment was enhanced, shaped, and lifted by her dress to the point where she might as well have presented it on a platter. Sarah frowned and took another sip of wine, then another. Then another.
“Rough day, Sarah?” Gloria cast a lash-fluttering look toward Eric, who raised his glass in flirtatious appreciation.
“No, it was fine,” Sarah said. “Just the usual meetings and stuff. Fun, actually. Why? Do I look tired?”
“No, you look terrific. But you just drank an entire glass of wine in three sips, and you didn’t even read the label first. That’s not like you.”
Sarah pushed her wine glass away. Gloria was right—she was going too fast. She’d never learn about wine if she chugged it like 7-Up.
“So how did your date go last night?” Gloria turned to the plaid-jacketed man. “Sarah had a date with Lane Carrigan.”
The man jerked upright as if he’d been caught ogling her breasts, which, in fact, he had.
“Urp?”
Sarah figured he hadn’t heard Gloria’s announcement, but the other men at the table turned her way, obviously curious.
“It wasn’t a date,” she said.
Gloria slapped Plaid Jacket Man playfully, apparently as a stand-in for Sarah. “Shut up. It was so.” She leaned across the table to address Eric and the silver-haired man lapsed back into his breast-induced reverie. “It’s, like, impossible to fix her up, you know?” She turned to Eric. “I mean, what more could you do? Your brother is hot, hot, hot.” Fanning herself theatrically, Gloria simpered as he topped off her glass. “So are you, but she said I shouldn’t say so.” She shrugged, which made Mr. Plaid Jacket nearly fall out of his chair. “So what’s Lane like, Sarah?”
“He was—fine.”
“Mighty fine,” Gloria said with a Groucho-style waggle of her eyebrows.
“It really wasn’t a date, though.” Sarah wasn’t about to trash her boss’s brother in front of this crowd, but thinking about the night before made her want to down the glass in one gulp, like a cowboy downing a shot of whiskey in a Wild West movie. “And he got bucked off his bull, so we spent most of the night at the medical tent.”
Gloria simpered and flung a sultry glance across the table at a middle-aged guy wearing a bolo tie. “I’d like to spend a night in a tent with a cowboy, I can tell you that. I bet they’re really good at—you know.” To Sarah’s horror, she raised one arm and pulsed her hips like a bronc rider. “Yee-ha!”
A faint “yee-ha, baby!” echoed from the corner. Sarah was pretty sure it came from a young guy in a pin-striped suit who looked like he was probably scared of horses. He’d probably be scared of Gloria too, if he knew her. He certainly should be.
But Eric wasn’t. The Carrigan eyes were fixed on Gloria like rifle sights.
“Well, you ought to know about all that stuff,” Gloria said to Sarah. “You rode in the rodeo yourself, didn’t you?”
Sarah clamped her lips tight and gave Gloria a quick head shake, but the girl was on a roll.
“You’d never guess it, but Sarah grew up dirt poor!” She announced it as if it was something to be proud of. “And now here she is, a corporate big shot, getting me invitations to the Petronia—Petrolia—Petrolinum Club.” She giggled.
“Really? You grew up poor?” Eric turned to Sarah, his eyebrows lifted in surprise.
She waved a hand carelessly, hoping he couldn’t see it was shaking. “That’s kind of an exaggeration.”
“Did you two grow up together?” he asked.
“Oh, no way. Sarah lived in a trailer,” Gloria crowed. “My mom didn’t have squat, but it was never that bad.”
“Really,” Eric said.
“Really.” Gloria was