thought you were trying to get a man.”
“It’s fine, Mom.”
“Is it?” Janet gave her a wintry little smile that said she didn’t agree. She glanced over at Amy and cooed at her. “Hello, sweetheart. Are you bidding on a man, too?”
Amy just chuckled. “No, my boyfriend’s working today.”
“Look at that,” Janet said in a low voice, leaning in toward Layla. “She’s got a boyfriend and her hair looks fantastic. What a coincidence?”
“Ugh, Mom. Please. Just stop it.”
Janet raised a be-ringed hand in the air. “I’m just saying, Layla-belle. You know I just want you to be happy.”
“Do we have any more bids?” Sage called. When no one else answered, she banged her gavel on the podium. “Sold, for five hundred thirty dollars. Congratulations, you two!”
Everyone at the table clapped politely. Layla noticed that Amy added that to the math on her napkin, but it wasn’t enough. Unless the final bachelor pulled in twenty-five hundred dollars, it wouldn’t be what the city needed to make the project a success. And no one had gone for more than seven hundred fifty that day.
Janet leaned over to Layla, still clapping. “That last one was a bit gray. Are they all older?” She gave her daughter an interested look. “Should I find myself a sugar daddy? Are any of them rich?”
“Mom,” Layla groaned.
Amy just laughed. “I don’t think any of them are exactly wealthy, Mrs. Schmidt. Everyone’s bidding on the total package—the dogs, the skills the bachelor can provide, and for charity.”
“Well, that’s disappointing,” Janet said brightly, then leaned over to her daughter. “Besides, I already have a sugar daddy.”
Layla groaned again and buried her face in her hands.
“Oh, stop being such a baby,” Janet said. “I’m allowed to have needs.”
“It doesn’t mean I want to hear about them.”
“Well, who else am I going to tell?” She sat on the edge of her chair, peering at the stage. “So where is your man? Which one is he?”
Amy shot Layla a curious look.
Right. She’d told her mother she was going to be bidding on a guy she liked here. Looked like she was going to have to bid on Jack Watson either way. With luck, someone would outbid her quickly and she could feign disappointment and then this whole sordid mess would be over. She’d take out her feelings on some pastries and an evening of cross-stitching pithy sayings about narcissists and feel better by morning. “He’s coming up soon.”
“Well, while we’re waiting, I brought you something.” Janet tossed her bright red hair and reached into her purse. She pulled out a folder of papers and slid it toward Layla, then offered her a pen. “You said you’d notarize these for me, right? I thought I’d bring them over.”
“I didn’t say I’d notarize anything, Mom.” Janet was a master at the art of pushiness. She pretended like you’d already agreed to something, hoping you’d forget and cave. “What is this?”
“Just those documents that we talked about. For the property.”
Layla flipped open the folder. There were maps, weather charts, and discussions about flooding. Pictures of the land. A long, detailed letter explaining that to the party’s best knowledge, no flooding had occurred since ownership had transferred to Janet Schmidt’s hands. Well, that was a flat-out lie. Rather than create a scene, Layla closed the folder again. “I’ll look at it later.”
“Just do it fast,” Janet said brightly. “I want to get that property on the market quick. If I sell by summer, I’m going to take a European cruise.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but the microphone whined with feedback, gathering everyone’s attention. A dog howled somewhere offstage.
“Sorry about that,” Sage chirped into the mic. “Are we ready for our final bachelor? He’s a good one!”
Amy grabbed Layla’s arm in silent terror.
Right. This was the moment she’d promised she’d bid if no one else did. Janet grabbed Layla’s other arm, no doubt thrilled to get a good look at her daughter’s “man.” Layla felt a little like she was trapped between two opposing forces.
The music started and the lights flickered. This time, the song was “Where Have All the Cowboys Gone” and a tall man strolled onto the stage with the same dachshund from before.
“One dollar!” Cora bellowed.
“Oh my,” Janet murmured as Jack Watson swaggered onto the stage. Layla didn’t say anything. Her tongue was glued to the roof of her mouth.
Because Jack Watson was an utterly gorgeous dream of a man. It had been months since she’d seen him, and so Layla had forgotten just how intimidatingly perfect he was. He was tall, with broad shoulders, and seemed to take up half the stage with his sheer presence. His cowboy hat and clothing were entirely black, giving him a sinister, sexy vibe. He had the wiener dog tucked under his arm like a football, and scratched at the floppy copper ears with a big, work-hardened hand.
He’d shaved, too. Layla had remembered a scruffy beard—so incongruous with a man as gorgeous as him—but it was gone now. Instead, she could see his chiseled jaw, the full lips, the perfect nose that led up to thick, equally perfect brows, and gorgeous dark eyes. He grinned out into the crowd, and his teeth were as perfect as the rest of him.
“I’ll bid on his package,” Janet murmured, fanning herself.
“Mr. Watson is a ranch hand at the Swinging C,” the mayor called out, as if reading a bio. “He’s a Virgo and a bit of a romantic. Want to ride horseback into the mountains for your date? This is your man. He’s also good at helping repair fences and working in the barn if that’s more your thing. Bid on him and you can discover what you’ve been missing in your life without a big, strong cowboy.”
“I know what I’ve been missing,” Janet commented.
“Mom!”
“What are we bidding for our cowboy?” Sage asked. “Shall we start?”
“ONE DOLLAR,” Cora bellowed, disgruntled from her tone of voice.
This would be so funny to Layla if she didn’t have to be part of it. As it was, the room got quiet, and her stomach dropped. She remembered that Jack was a last-minute volunteer and had no significant other lined up to start the bidding on him. Surely that was criminal. A man that perfect should have legions of women lined up to bid on him. As it was, she sucked in a deep breath and raised her hand.
“Five hundred dollars,” Janet cried, bidding before Layla could get the chance.
What the hell?
About the Author
New York Times bestselling author Jessica Clare writes under three pen names. As Jessica Clare, she writes erotic contemporary romance. As Jessica Sims, she writes fun, sexy shifter paranormals. Finally, as Jill Myles, she writes a little bit of everything, from sexy, comedic urban fantasy to zombie fairy tales.
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