Life After Wife (Three Magic Words Trilogy, #3)(23)

She sat down and really studied the party layout. It was all backward to what she and Maud had done, but it could work. The old girl would turn over in her grave if they had a bad sale the first year they were out of the chute. She’d given her energy and life for the ranch—fought mesquite, rattlesnakes, and coyotes; pulled calves; managed the finances; and loved it all. To let it slide into mediocrity because Sophie was too stubborn to listen to good common sense would be a shame.

“Tell me more,” she said.

“We move out equipment today and clean the barn. Starting tomorrow morning, there will be a caterer out of Dallas here every day. They will set up a table and a bar in this corner.” He pointed to the backside of the barn, away from the center where the cattle would be displayed one at a time for the auctioneer to sell.

“Why there?” she asked.

“Put it close to the door and the buyers might be tempted to sneak on outside after they’ve gotten a drink or a food tray,” he explained.

“We didn’t wine and dine them during the sale before,” she said.

He sat down beside her. His face was serious, and there were no twinkles in his blue eyes. This was totally business. “They’ll stay if they have food and drinks. This is as important as the after-party. A man gets hungry, he’s going to find food, believe me. He’ll leave and maybe he’ll come back later, or maybe he’ll just go on home and watch NASCAR on television. If he stays, he’ll see a cow or a bull or a lot of calves that he wasn’t really expecting to buy, but they’ll look good. He’ll bid and the man who really came to buy those calves will bid higher because he really wants them. It’s all…” he looked for the right word.

“Manipulation,” she finished it for him, not knowing whether she liked it or not.

“I’d say ‘good business tactics.’ Are we in agreement up to this point?”

She nodded, even if it did mean swallowing a heck of a lot of pride. “It’s going to cost double what we paid for the sale last year.”

“We’ll make it back and more. Trust me.”

Trust him!

Now that was an oxymoron. He was a man, wasn’t he?

“The caterers will bring enough help during the days of the sale that they will circulate in the balcony with trays of drinks. Iced tea and lemonade. Drunk men don’t keep their heads on for bidding.”

“You got it all figured out, don’t you?” she said through clenched teeth.

“Yes, I do,” he said shortly.

“Don’t snip at me. I’m not stupid. I understand your logic. Keep them in the balcony, and they’ll buy more,” she shot right back.

He ran his fingers through his shoulder-length, straight black hair. It still had water droplets clinging to it from his morning shower and smelled so good that Sophie had trouble keeping her mind on the party. The white gauze undershirt didn’t hide a single bulging muscle. No, sir. It just clung to his well-defined abs like paint on a park bench.

“OK,” he went on. “Three days of sales. Starting at ten in the morning. Stopping at three.”

“We started at eight and went to five,” she muttered.

“Let them sleep in and have a leisurely breakfast at their motels or in their campers. Stop in time that they can prowl around the antique shops with their wives and think about what’s going on the bidding block the next day,” he said.

It made sense, and she wondered why she and Maud hadn’t thought about things like that. “Is that all?” she asked.

“Then, after the last bull is sold, we hire double the help to whip the sale barn into shape, and this is the layout for the party. White tablecloths, good food, and music that says thank you.”

She waited several seconds to see if he was finished. “I insist on the same caterers for the party that we’ve always used. They will take care of the sale business much cheaper than anything out of Dallas. And they’re big enough to have all those white tablecloths. Maud just never wanted to pay for that much.”

“No problem. You already have an appointment with them?”

She was shocked speechless. “Yes, I do. They’ll be here in an hour.”

“Then I’ll call the Dallas caterers and tell them to cancel their appointment for this afternoon. If the local one can do the job and keep business closer to home, that’s good business,” he said.

“That’s what Maud said,” she told him.

“Just one addition.” He flipped open a book and looked at the menu from last year.

“And what’s that?” Sophie asked.

“Steaks. Tell them we want a couple of big grills set up outside the back door of the barn so that the smoke won’t get in the ladies’ hair when they come inside. No one wants to smell like T-bone when they’re dancing with a good-lookin’ man.” He made a notation on the side of the page.

“Why?”

“Because perfume and good-smellin’ hair smells better to a man than steak when he’s hugged up to a woman on the dance floor.”

“Not that. Why steaks? They bring every kind of barbecue you can think of for the buffet,” she said.

“Because of the smell of a grill. It drifts out across the pasture and yard and makes them hungry even before they step in the doors. They’ll remember that for a long time, and it’ll bring them back next year,” he answered.