Life After Wife (Three Magic Words Trilogy, #3)(34)

“Oh, stop the theatrics, and let’s get on to our jobs. I was thinking that the tables should be set up randomly until the party night. Then we’ll put them diagonally toward the dance floor so everyone can see the band.”

Elijah nodded. “Sounds like a good plan to me. Give them room to talk and visit about the sale stock while they nibble on Tillman’s finger foods. I was afraid you’d order cucumber sandwiches and fruit dip.”

It was her turn to roll her eyes. “Aunt Maud would claw her way up out of that grave and use a peach tree switch on me for a stunt like that. This is a cattle sale. We’ll serve beef in all its forms, from shish kebabs to steaks. Dang! Cucumber sandwiches? Give me a little credit.”

Elijah threw back his head and roared. “Got you almost cussin’ mad with just one sentence. You really did get your granny’s temper.”

At noon they both rushed back to the house to clean up for the first of the lookers. She took a fast shower and donned crisp, ironed designer jeans; her red cowboy boots; and a red-and-white-checked, Western-cut shirt with a wide lace yoke. She applied mousse to her curls, taming them into a manageable hairstyle, and slapped her new red cowboy hat on her head.

Elijah was waiting for her in the dining room. He wore creased jeans stacked up over black eel dress boots; a big silver buckle embossed with a bull rider; a white Western, pearl-snap shirt open at the neck; and he smelled like heaven on a stick.

Sophie clamped her jaw shut so tightly that it ached. But it kept it from falling open like a fish out of water.

Elijah offered her his arm. “You look pretty spiffy. One of these ranchers is liable to try to talk you into going home with him.”

She slipped her arm through his. “Only one?”

“Maybe the one from Australia?”

“I scared him off last year. He doesn’t want a woman who’s got an Irish temper. He wants someone to walk two steps behind him and tell him how wonderful he is.”

Elijah opened the door and stood to one side, but when they were outside, he tucked her arm back into his. It felt so right and natural, and maybe if the first of the prospective buyers saw them together, they wouldn’t flirt with Sophie.

Yeah, right! his inner voice hollered at him. They aren’t blind, and she’s a gorgeous woman. If you are interested, you’d best do more than offer her your arm.





CHAPTER TEN


Sophie’s face was frozen in a permanent smile. It’s a wonder her head hadn’t fallen completely off her shoulders from nodding at the buyers when they talked cattle and made cute ranching jokes. But she’d survived day one, and, even though it pained her to admit it, Elijah had been right. The buyers ate, drank, and stayed around longer than they did when refreshments weren’t there.

Cowboys propped a leg up on the corral fence and studied the cattle, marking numbers in their books that Elijah provided right along with ink pens. Both had the ranch brand and logo on them, so they were a tax write-off.

At least he said they were when they arrived by mail the day before, and he’d assured her the overnight express postage and merchandise were a wise investment when her eyebrows had jacked up toward the ceiling. Aunt Maud would have thrown a Texas-size hissy at such nonsense, but Sophie noticed several buyers showing them off to one another.

Finally, the day ended. The new ranch hands were tucked away in the bunkhouse. Frankie said they weren’t making food out there that night because they’d all sampled Tillman’s kebabs all day. Sophie had been too nervous for anything more than a taste of the meat, peppers, and onions, so after her shower that evening, she was starving. She padded to the kitchen in her cotton terry-cloth robe and opened the refrigerator.

“Ain’t much there. I’m havin’ bologna and cheese,” Elijah whispered.

His warm breath on her still wet neck sent tingles down her spine. She straightened up so fast she bumped her shoulder on the refrigerator door.

“Why are you eating in the dark?” she asked.

“Don’t need a light to chew and swallow,” he said.

She left the refrigerator door hanging and flipped the light switch. When she turned around, Elijah was barely a foot from her. He wore plaid cotton pajama bottoms and a gauze undershirt that stretched over his muscles. The bologna and cheese sandwich in his hands was half gone, and a Dr Pepper sat on the cabinet beside him.

“You’re all out of Pepsi,” he said hoarsely. He’d thought she was gorgeous in her cowgirl getup that afternoon, but she was something else with her white fluffy robe belted around her tiny waist, a towel wrapped turban-style around her head, and bare feet.

She pulled out bologna, cheese, mustard, pickles, lettuce, tomatoes, and one of his Dr Peppers. He wanted to argue, but he couldn’t find enough air in his deflated lungs to say a word.

Sophie ignored him and went about making a sandwich. She’d buy him a whole case of soda pop to replace the one she intended to drink right then, but she was not going to put it back if she had to whip his sorry rear end with one hand tied behind her. She’d hang onto her sandwich in her whipping hand and bet dollars to cow chips that she didn’t even squash it during the fight. She was that thirsty, and iced tea just didn’t sound good.

“That looks pretty good,” he said.

“Want one?”

He nodded.

“It’s my famous sandwich. Worth a lot,” she told him.