Her Christmas Cowboy (The Wyoming Cowboy #5) - Jessica Clare Page 0,106

go home alone.”

“That’s amazing.” Amy clutched at her chest.

“Total baller cougar move,” Layla agreed, and Cora just chuckled and waved a hand in the air.

The lights flashed and went down and the music stopped. A microphone clicked on and when the lights flicked back up, Sage Cooper-Clements came out on stage. She was wearing a bright red sweater dress and beamed at everyone. “Thank you so much for coming out to support the Painted Barrel Animal Helpers Committee. This committee was founded in order to provide our town with a place for stray animals to stay in safety. As you all know, since we’re on the small side”—she paused for the inevitable chuckles—“we don’t have very many municipal buildings. Our library is in the water department, as is city hall and my office and . . . well, pretty much every city job imaginable.” She grinned, dimpling. “But if we raise enough money today, we’re going to add on to the municipal building and make a place for our furry friends. To show you just who we’re building this addition for, each of our bachelors is going to come out with a dog that is currently being housed with volunteers until we can find him or her the perfect forever home. So you can not only bid on a bachelor today, but you can bid on a dog, too.”

Polite applause filled the room.

“But I don’t want to stand up here and talk to you all day. We’re here for the men, right?”

More polite applause.

Oh god, Layla was secondhand embarrassed for poor Sage, having to try to pep up this mostly empty room. Seriously, why were there so many tables? Painted Barrel wasn’t a huge town, and if half of it had shown up, Layla wasn’t sure if the gym would be full then. This seemed like a lot for just eleven bachelors to be auctioned.

As if she could read Layla’s mind, Amy leaned over, a worried look on her face. “We were supposed to team up with another town to do this but they fell through on us.” She bit her lip. “I can’t believe it’s been so hard to pull a charity together.”

“I know, you’d think people would want the tax deductions, am I right?” Layla joked.

Amy batted at her arm. “Very funny.”

Well, to Layla it was.

“We’ll start the bidding at five dollars for each guy,” Sage said. “And we’ll go in increments of fives until there’s a winner. You’re bidding on each gentleman and his particular skill set. The person that wins their bachelor will coordinate with him for the ‘date’ of their choosing. Good luck to all the ladies out there.” The music started again and Sage exited off the stage and went to a podium just at the edge. “We’ll start with bachelor number one . . . Garvis Newsome!”

The music from Magic Mike started playing—“Pony” by Ginuwine.

Layla groaned and picked up her crochet again. “I am sweating, Amy. This is so mortifying for these men.”

Garvis strutted out onto the stage. He had the skinny, bowed legs of a man that had spent most of his life in the saddle, and a weathered face with a white handlebar mustache that Layla had only seen in memes. She knew a lot of people in Painted Barrel, but Garvis was not one of them. He tipped his cowboy hat back and then started to do a little dance. She wasn’t sure if it was the Cabbage Patch or a dab, but it was making her incredibly uncomfortable. As he strutted forward in his red-and-black-plaid shirt and leather vest, he carried the leash of a very confused copper dachshund. The wiener dog gamely trotted after the cowboy, and sat the moment they hit the middle of the stage and scratched at his ear.

“Garvis is a much-in-demand farrier,” Sage called out in a chirpy voice. “Do your horses need a little TLC? Do you need a little TLC yourself? Then take a good look at Garvis! He’s our first bachelor for the day. Let’s start the bidding, shall we?”

“One dollar!” Cora called out in a reedy voice.

There was a ripple of laughter. Sage smiled, and then leaned into her microphone. “The bids start at five dollars, everyone.”

“Two dollars!” Cora yelled.

Layla leaned over to Amy. “I am totally nervous-sweating right now.”

“Oh god, I am, too,” Amy whispered back. She clutched at Layla’s hand, making it impossible for Layla to do more crochet. Not that she could, anyhow—her hands were so clammy