"I think Mike started this rumor about Miriam's prediction. He's a gambler, honey, and he knows how to play games with people. You want to know how crazy that man is? He almost had me convinced that I should buy Pastor Tim for you, just in case he couldn't get you to buy the man for yourself."

"He tried to get you to buy him for me?"

"He did. And honey, I had a conversation with Angel on Wednesday. He told me Miriam had no recollection of ever saying one word about you and Tim. I know Angel told you this. So you're just being ornery and bull-headed. And I wouldn't be any kind of friend if I didn't stop you from doing something destructive."

Charlene raised her head and looked at Ruby's reflection in the mirror. Kindness and sympathy filled the hairdresser's eyes, as if she understood how confusing things were. "Miz Ruby, you give me big, showgirl hair, you hear? I want to walk into that fund-raiser tonight looking like a s.e.x kitten."

"Charlene, honey, you don't mean to buy" Amanda's voice faded out when Charlene glared at her in the mirror.

"I don't know who I'm going to buy. But you better believe I'm going to buy someone, and I suddenly don't care if he's emotionally available. If Miriam Randall has no forecast for me, and I'm destined to become a spinster cat lady, then I'm going to go for one last outrageous fling."

CHAPTER.

21.

On Sat.u.r.day evening, Mike left a long list of instructions for Liz Rhodes, the teenager he'd hired to babysit Rainbow. He felt sort of stupid doing that, since Liz seemed really competent, and besides, she already knew Rainbow from Bible camp. But he couldn't help himself.

It only took fifteen minutes to drive to the VFW hall in Allenberg where the bachelor auction would be taking place. But the moment he parked the Hyundai, he had to stifle the urge to call Liz and check in. He had to remind himself that Liz was also the sheriff's oldest daughter. So if anything happened, she'd know how to get help fast.

He needed to relax. But relaxation had eluded him the last few days. He hadn't been sleeping well. Rainbow and Tigger were both rebelling against his plan for helping Rainbow "get over" her affection for her cat.

Clearly he needed to rethink. Mike certainly had never "gotten over" his affection for Angie. And he had doubts that he'd ever get over his growing affection and concern for Rainbow. And he sure was having a lot of trouble "getting over" his feelings for Charlene, which were admittedly a little on the X-rated side but still very affectionate. Avoiding his curvaceous next-door neighbor wasn't helping.

And neither were the cold showers.

He wondered if he'd still need cold showers when he got back to Vegas. He wondered if he'd be stifling the urge to call Timmy every five minutes to see if he was doing a good job with the kid. He wondered how on earth he could keep his mind on poker when he'd be worrying about Rainbow.

He heaved a huge sigh and headed toward the front doors of the VFW lodge, a windowless brick building with a big parking lot situated on Main Street in Allenberg. He pushed through the doors and into a small anteroom where tables had been set up for attendees to register for the opportunity to bid on a bachelor.

In addition to the tables, several big posters had been set up around the foyer with photographs of sad-looking dogs and cats peering through cage bars. Guilt a.s.sailed him. In a matter of days, Tigger would probably become one of these cast-off animals. He didn't exactly love Tigger, but the idea of sending the cat to death row in some animal shelter made him feel like the lowest sc.u.m of the earth.

A tall woman bearing a clipboard and an impatient expression came over to him. She was almost his height and wore an iridescent, light blue formal dress that matched her eye shadow. "You are late," she said.

"I'm sorry I was-"

"I'm Wilma Riley. I'm in charge of the bachelors. And I know all about you, Mike, and the way you and Elsie have been manipulating things."

After this speech, Mike wondered what "in charge" meant. By the evil-looking smile on her lips, he had a feeling Wilma's notion of being in charge would probably irritate him.

"Uh, you know, Wilma, I'm thinking I ought to come with a disclaimer."

She snorted a laugh. "Honey, every man should come with one of those. But to ease your mind, I think our MC is planning to introduce you as a rambler and a gambler, which should tell the ladies all they need to know."

"Uh, thanks, I think. But kidding aside, I'm not going to be here for much longer. Maybe only a few days."

"Well, that's typical." She looked down at her clipboard and rearranged some of the papers. "Now, come on back with me. We're behind schedule, and I need to rehea.r.s.e you boys."

"Rehea.r.s.e us? In what?" His stomach churned with acid.

"Walking the runway, of course."

She bustled away, and he followed her into the main hall, which had been decorated with crepe paper streamers in various shades of blue. A runway had been set up perpendicular to the raised stage at the far end of the room. Table rounds, each with white tablecloths and blue flower arrangements, filled the s.p.a.ce around the raised platform. Each folding chair sported a white fabric cover and a dark blue bow.

For all the streamers and flowers and big bows, the place still looked like a VFW hall, with gray linoleum floors and dark paneled walls sporting photos of heroes in uniform and unit citations. The veterans had also spared no expense when it came to the bar. It occupied the front corner of the room, and it looked exceptionally well-stocked. "Uh, Wilma, wait up. I need a beer."

She took him by the arm. "Not until after rehearsal." She led him down to the front of the room where the rest of the victims, including his brother, had convened. Timmy stuck out like a sore thumb. He'd bypa.s.sed the tuxedo and had come with his Roman collar firmly in place. And oddly, given that his backward collar looked kind of tight, Timmy managed to look way more comfortable than most of the other guys in their monkey suits.

"All right, y'all, now that everyone is here." Wilma gave Mike a little unfriendly glare. "I need to go over what we expect of you. We'll be having a silent auction for a number of items on the tables around the room. That will take place during the c.o.c.ktail hour. We want y'all to meet and mingle with the crowd. Especially the single ladies wearing purple bead bracelets. The ladies with the bracelets have paid the fee to partic.i.p.ate in the bachelor auction.

"Precisely at eight p.m., we'll begin the auction. Grant Trumbull, our local radio personality, will be our master of ceremonies."

She pointed to a guy standing at the bar hoisting a beer and wearing a white dinner jacket.

"Now, when the auction starts," Wilma rambled on, "each of you will be called by name. You're to come out from behind that curtain." She pointed to the navy blue curtain on the stage. "And then strut your stuff down the runway and back. Drew, you'll be the first one out, and when you're done, you go stand on top of the masking tape X on the stage floor. The rest of y'all will take a position next to the man who preceded you onto the stage. When the introductions are done, y'all will exit to the left and go backstage. Then each of you will be called out one by one for the auction."

"You mean slaughter," Mike said under his breath.

This earned him another glare from Wilma.

"Uh, I have a question," Timmy said.

"What is it, Pastor Tim?"

"What exactly do you mean by strut our stuff?"

"Don't you worry, no one expects you to do any strutting. Just come out and walk to the end of the runway and wave and smile. You'll get a chance to rehea.r.s.e it all." She cast her glance over the bachelors wearing tuxes. "I expect Pastor Tim to be the model of restraint. As for the rest of y'all, just remember to keep it clean."

Mike cast his gaze over the dozen or so bachelors. They ranged in age from their twenties to their seventies. And they all looked nervous. Especially the guy wearing a white dinner jacket with black lapels. His tux didn't look rented. Which begged the question, who kept a white dinner jacket in his wardrobe?

Easy answer: James Bond or a seriously gay guy. And this guy looked so nervous he had broken out in a sweat.

Mike stuck out his hand. "h.e.l.lo, I'm Mike. I don't think we've met."

White dinner jacket guy nodded. "I've heard a lot about you. My receptionist is a Methodist, and Charlene is my a.s.sociate. I'm Dave Underhill. Creature Comforts Animal Hospital is my veterinary practice."

So that explained how a gay guy got roped into a man auction. "So, did Charlene win a bet with you, too?"

"A bet?"

"Yeah. I'm only here because Charlene bet me that she could get Rainbow to eat broccoli. I was a fool to take that bet."

"No, she didn't bet me. But I kind of had to agree to do this, you know? Being the vet and all." The guy looked like he needed a stiff drink.

They all looked like they needed to have their att.i.tudes adjusted.

"Wilma, sweetie," Mike said, taking charge of the situation. "I know we're just a bunch of dumb dudes, but I think we can handle the runway walk without practicing." He turned toward the rest of the bachelors. "What do you say, guys? I think we should adjourn this meeting to the bar."

To a man, the bachelors nodded their heads, even Timmy, who didn't drink. It was all over for Wilma, as a black-and-white herd of bachelors stampeded to the bar.

Twenty minutes later, with a beer in hand and a group of guys to bond with, Mike felt much better. Almost in control of himself. Until Charlene Polk walked into the room wearing the s.e.xiest d.a.m.n dress he'd ever seen in his life.

Holy G.o.d, it looked as if someone had spray-painted that thing on her. It displayed every one of her curves. And that didn't even count the fact that the neckline showed a ridiculous amount of cleavage. He drank it all in and then he checked out her hair.

He was done. Charlene looked hot while simultaneously sending out a good-girl vibe. Oh, yeah. How the h.e.l.l had she known about his terminal weakness for smart, curvaceous, sweet women who knew how to dress trashy?

He sure hoped Timmy appreciated what he'd done for him.

Because, d.a.m.n, 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 b.o.o.bs 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 compa.s.s 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 compet.i.tion 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 gla.s.s, causing Elsie's eyes to nearly pop right out of her head. "Excuse me for a minute," Charlene said. She put her empty gla.s.s 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 b.o.o.bs, too. Which only proved that he was 100 percent heteros.e.xual 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 gla.s.s. "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 h.e.l.l 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 a.s.sured 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 & St.i.tch 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."