business.” She stood and grabbed a stack of flyers.
“Where are you going?”
“The animal pens. There are a ton of hands on duty over there.”
“They’re all working. I doubt they’ll want to stop to fill out a questionnaire.”
“They will if I’m offering an incentive.” Livi pulled a white bakery box from beneath the table.
“What are those?”
“Seductive Strawberry cupcakes. A lady over at the diner makes them. The place was full of old geezers from the local VFW hall all going nuts over these. There was a line clear out the door. I figure if they can stir up the old guys, they might help out with the younger ones. I bought a full dozen. I’m thinking this will nab at least twelve men. Twenty-four if we cut them in half.”
“Five minutes and writer’s cramp for half of a Seductive Strawberry cupcake. Sounds like a fair trade.”
“Hey, I’m desperate. And desperate times call for desperate measures. See what you can do to get more men to stop here. Undo a few buttons.” She motioned to Sabrina’s blouse. “Or hike up the skirt.”
“Why don’t I just strip down to my underwear and do a table dance.”
“Great, but make sure to peel off the granny panties first.” Livi winked and disappeared.
She was not doing a table dance. Not yet, at least.
She pulled out more flyers, grabbed her clipboard and rounded the table. If she couldn’t lure the remaining one hundred and twenty-seven eligible cowboys still needed over to her table for information, she would take the information to them.
She spent the next hour walking the aisles and approaching every available man. And a few not-so-available ones who hadn’t been wearing their wedding rings. She’d been cussed at ( Mrs. Tammy Johnson, wife of thirty-something Max Johnson, whose three daughters were showing goats in the arena next door) and kicked ( Mrs. Denise Carter, wife of Harley Carter, a professional steer wrestler and competition eater signing autographs over in the barbecue tent), and all in less than ten minutes.
“I’m really sorry,” Sabrina called after the blonde as pain radiated up her calf. “He’s not wearing a wedding ring.”
“He doesn’t have to. The entire town knows he’s mine. Now you do, too.”
“It was an honest mistake,” she tried again, but the woman had already rounded the corner.
“Don’t let Denise bother you,” came a voice from behind. “She’s got somewhat of a temper.”
Sabrina turned to see a seventyish woman wearing a flower-print dress half covered with a pink apron, a large white box clutched in her hand. Her silvery-white hair was rolled into fat sausage curls and piled high on top of her head. A pair of pink bifocals sat low on her nose. The scent of rich chocolate and cheap hairspray filled the air. “Why, she once threw a package of fish sticks at old Mrs. Shivers for looking at Harley in the checkout line at the Piggly Wiggly. Almost gave her a concussion, too, since the frozen-foods cooler runs a good twenty degrees lower than it should on account of Mr. Ricks—he’s the owner—is too cheap to get the darn thing fixed. Name’s Sarah Jean Hunt,” the woman said, hefting the box to one arm and holding out her hand. “I own Sarah’s Sweets. It’s the one and only bakery in town.”
“Sabrina Collins. I’m with—”
“FindMeACowboy.com,” Sarah Jean finished for her. “I heard. The whole town’s heard. You guys are here to sign up cowboys for your new website. Talk about exciting stuff.”
“Your town hosts one of the biggest rodeos in Texas and you were just featured in a Famous Texas Outlaws episode. I can’t imagine a website start-up is big news.”
“To me it is.” The older woman drew a deep breath as if gathering her courage. “I’m here to sign up for your hook-up service.”
“I’m afraid we’ve reached our quota on females. We’re here in town to sign up more men.”
“I know. That’s why I brought these.” She held up the bakery
“Where are you going?”
“The animal pens. There are a ton of hands on duty over there.”
“They’re all working. I doubt they’ll want to stop to fill out a questionnaire.”
“They will if I’m offering an incentive.” Livi pulled a white bakery box from beneath the table.
“What are those?”
“Seductive Strawberry cupcakes. A lady over at the diner makes them. The place was full of old geezers from the local VFW hall all going nuts over these. There was a line clear out the door. I figure if they can stir up the old guys, they might help out with the younger ones. I bought a full dozen. I’m thinking this will nab at least twelve men. Twenty-four if we cut them in half.”
“Five minutes and writer’s cramp for half of a Seductive Strawberry cupcake. Sounds like a fair trade.”
“Hey, I’m desperate. And desperate times call for desperate measures. See what you can do to get more men to stop here. Undo a few buttons.” She motioned to Sabrina’s blouse. “Or hike up the skirt.”
“Why don’t I just strip down to my underwear and do a table dance.”
“Great, but make sure to peel off the granny panties first.” Livi winked and disappeared.
She was not doing a table dance. Not yet, at least.
She pulled out more flyers, grabbed her clipboard and rounded the table. If she couldn’t lure the remaining one hundred and twenty-seven eligible cowboys still needed over to her table for information, she would take the information to them.
She spent the next hour walking the aisles and approaching every available man. And a few not-so-available ones who hadn’t been wearing their wedding rings. She’d been cussed at ( Mrs. Tammy Johnson, wife of thirty-something Max Johnson, whose three daughters were showing goats in the arena next door) and kicked ( Mrs. Denise Carter, wife of Harley Carter, a professional steer wrestler and competition eater signing autographs over in the barbecue tent), and all in less than ten minutes.
“I’m really sorry,” Sabrina called after the blonde as pain radiated up her calf. “He’s not wearing a wedding ring.”
“He doesn’t have to. The entire town knows he’s mine. Now you do, too.”
“It was an honest mistake,” she tried again, but the woman had already rounded the corner.
“Don’t let Denise bother you,” came a voice from behind. “She’s got somewhat of a temper.”
Sabrina turned to see a seventyish woman wearing a flower-print dress half covered with a pink apron, a large white box clutched in her hand. Her silvery-white hair was rolled into fat sausage curls and piled high on top of her head. A pair of pink bifocals sat low on her nose. The scent of rich chocolate and cheap hairspray filled the air. “Why, she once threw a package of fish sticks at old Mrs. Shivers for looking at Harley in the checkout line at the Piggly Wiggly. Almost gave her a concussion, too, since the frozen-foods cooler runs a good twenty degrees lower than it should on account of Mr. Ricks—he’s the owner—is too cheap to get the darn thing fixed. Name’s Sarah Jean Hunt,” the woman said, hefting the box to one arm and holding out her hand. “I own Sarah’s Sweets. It’s the one and only bakery in town.”
“Sabrina Collins. I’m with—”
“FindMeACowboy.com,” Sarah Jean finished for her. “I heard. The whole town’s heard. You guys are here to sign up cowboys for your new website. Talk about exciting stuff.”
“Your town hosts one of the biggest rodeos in Texas and you were just featured in a Famous Texas Outlaws episode. I can’t imagine a website start-up is big news.”
“To me it is.” The older woman drew a deep breath as if gathering her courage. “I’m here to sign up for your hook-up service.”
“I’m afraid we’ve reached our quota on females. We’re here in town to sign up more men.”
“I know. That’s why I brought these.” She held up the bakery
Similar Books
