How to Lasso a Cowboy (5 page)

“I'm sure the computer they used has me paired up with some nice lady,” Harlan said. One date, nothing more. It surely wouldn't lead anywhere. He'd sit here, share the agreed-upon drink with his match, then find a way to beg off from anything more. The chances of Miss Right dropping into his life right now were slimmer than none. Maybe he'd get a funny story or two out of the whole experience, something he could share on the show tomorrow.

A whisper sounded in the back of his head, one that said he'd been alone a long time and he was overdue for someone to shake up his life. Harlan shrugged off the thought.

Lulu laughed again. “They didn't use no computer to make these matches, Mr. Jones, and as for someone nice—”

“We have one last match to announce,” Sophie said, holding up a large manila envelope. Lulu stopped talking and turned to face the stage. Harlan sipped at his tea, then fished a notepad out of his pocket and began going over his list of potential guests. He'd come here so he could concentrate—he loved his dogs, but there were times when their barking and squirrel-chasing plumb drove him nuts—and now there was this thing going on. It looked about over, though, and either way, he'd probably missed whoever had been his match. No matter. He'd only signed up because Mildred had been so insistent. If there was one thing Harlan didn't have time for, it was dating.

A hush fell over the room, broken when Sophie opened the envelope. The sound of paper tearing seemed to echo through the room, but Harlan didn't look up. He had flipped out his cell phone and was scrolling through the list of names in his contact database when he heard a name called. His mind, already on the work ahead, didn't process the words he heard. Would it be better to have a top-forty music star, or maybe a music producer, to give a behind-the-scenes perspective of the music industry?

Lulu nudged his elbow, sending his pen skittering across his notebook. “That's you, cowboy.”

“Huh?”

“Harlan Jones has been matched with…” Sophie reached in the envelope, then paused and leaned toward Mildred. “There's nothing else in here,” she whispered.

“Oh my, did I forget one?” Mildred popped to her feet. “Goodness. I can't believe I forgot to put Harlan's match in the envelope.”

Several women leaned toward the stage, one of them crying out, “Me, me!”

“Pay attention, Lone Ranger,” Lulu said, nudging him again. “This could be your future wife.”

Harlan scoffed. “I doubt that.” He picked up his tea and sipped the hot brew. He'd be just as happy not to have a match, and it seemed that was the way it had turned out. Good thing.

He went back to his list while Mildred climbed the stage and took the microphone. “Seems I forgot one teeny, tiny piece of paper. And that's because I wanted it to be a surprise.” She turned to Sophie and smiled. “Can't have you staying out of the fun, now can I?”

“Me? But…I didn't even fill out a questionnaire,” Sophie said.

“I know. That's why I did it for you. I've known you nearly your entire life, and with your grandmother's help, we got all those questions answered.” Mildred yanked a folded piece of paper out of one of the pockets of her voluminous skirt. “And you, my dear, are paired with—” she reached over, grabbed the other paper in Sophie's hand, then held the two aloft, as if they were a matched pair “—Mr. Harlan Jones.”

Harlan spat out his tea. Was it too late to ask for a refund?

 

Harlan Jones?

It had to be a mistake. Sophie stared at the paper for a good five minutes before she accepted the inevitable. She couldn't very well throw a fit on the stage and refuse to participate—that would get people talking about her all over again. That was the last thing she needed—the town and the media focusing on another debacle in Sophie's life instead of on her coffees. She saw the reporter from the
Edgerton Shores Weekly
over in the corner, making notes and interviewing some of the couples.

So she flashed Mildred a smile, and acted like it was all okay. Then she'd come down off the stage, and hesitated in the center of the room instead of crossing to her “match.” Maybe there was still a way out of this. She'd had enough of living her dating life in public. She headed for the counter, deciding to grab a latte—and delay some more.

“Did I tell you what the committee decided just this afternoon?” Mildred said, coming up to the counter. She grabbed a cookie off the tiered display and plunked down some money. “Sorry you had to leave before you heard the fabulous ideas the other committee members had. Why, come to think of it, it was your grandmother who had this particular lightbulb moment. She called in to the meeting after you left.”

Sophie slipped a tiny pitcher of milk under the steamer nozzle and waited while the milk heated, moving the container around to heat it evenly. “What idea was that?”

She'd expected Mildred to say something like they'd decided to run an announcement in the paper that the event had occurred. Or maybe talk a local reporter into doing a little story about how much money they'd raised—not nearly as much as Sophie had hoped, but at least it was a start. Still, at this rate, it would be years and years before they had the community and wellness center finished.

“Your grandma thought it would be a great idea to turn these matches into a media event, and combine it with the week's Spring Fling activities.” Mildred grinned. “We've already got all kinds of local businesses on board for the Spring Fling. All we need to do is twist things up a little. It'll be a town-wide dating extravaganza.”

“A town-wide dating extravaganza?” All of a sudden
this Love Lottery thing was exploding, getting out of control and becoming a much bigger project than she'd expected. Worse, Sophie was caught in the center of the storm. With Harlan Jones. “I don't see how that's going to raise money for the center.”

“We'll have the annual dance, and charge a small admission fee. Host a bake sale, and raise a few dollars that way. Oh! I know. A carnival. Everyone loves a carnival.”

“A carnival? How are we going to pull that off?”

Mildred waved off the concerns. “Don't you worry. Leave all the arrangements to me, and you do the publicity.”

Publicity? That meant even more media presence. This was the kind of thing that could bring in outside papers…a good thing for raising money, but Sophie's worst nightmare. “But—”

“We need to raise money fast, right? And these events will do that.” Mildred wagged a finger at Sophie. “Every penny counts, you know.”

“I know, but—”

“But this will be fabulous and it's such a unique idea, we're bound to get lots of out-of-towners and lookie-lous coming by to take a peek,” Mildred said, interrupting Sophie again. “Bringing their wallets with them, I might add. So, we were thinking that during something like the lunch picnic on Tuesday, we could…”

Sophie had stopped listening. Her gaze had gone across the room to where her “intended,” Harlan Jones, waited. Three other women were hanging around his table, and he was grinning, lapping up all the attention. The man gave self-centered a whole new definition.

Mildred's words trickled through the fog in Sophie's brain. “The couples can share some sandwiches on Tuesday, go to the carnival together on Thursday and then that
weekend, we'll top it all off with the annual dance in the park,” Mildred went on. “It'll be a week of romance. We'll have to find a way to publicize it, of course. But that's where you come in. You're the queen of publicity.”

“A…a week?” Sophie jerked her attention back to Mildred. Spend a week with Harlan Jones? Acting like they were a happy couple? “As in seven days?”

“Well, you can't expect to fall in love in the space of time it takes to sip one of those something-ccino things you drink, do you?” Mildred raised a gray brow. “Who knows. Maybe Edgerton Shores will become the wedding capital of Florida after this. Which you, my dear, will never know if you don't spend some time with your match.” She gestured toward Harlan.

“But I—”

“Agreed, as did all the participants, to at least give it one date. Well, I know you didn't technically, but really, how will it look if the chair of the event refuses to participate? That would sure get tongues wagging, and I know you don't want that.”

Definitely not. Sophie didn't want to be the center of all that negative attention again, which was why she couldn't understand the logic behind Mildred's match. Sophie, attention avoider, paired with the biggest mouth in radio? The reporter from the local paper glanced over at her, a question on his face. Mildred was right. If the head of the event didn't participate, it would get tongues wagging.

Sophie was all for publicity—if it was for the causes she believed in or for her fledgling business. Just not her dating life.

Mildred waved at Sophie. “So shoo, shoo. And go see what that handsome cowboy has to offer this pretty young filly.” Then she headed back to Art, waving a cookie his way. “Art! Oh, Art! Look what I got for you!”

Leaving Sophie with no choice but to accept what fate—or Mildred Meyers—had meted out to her. One annoying cowboy who was grinning at her as if he thought this whole thing was one hilarious joke.

 

Sophie Watson looked madder than a puppy who'd lost his bone. Harlan chuckled at the glare on her face. She was sitting across from him, her back to the rest of the room, probably so everyone would think it was all happiness and tea between them.

“Why are you here?” she said.

He held up his teacup. “Just collecting on my rent payment. Don't want you to fall behind and owe me a late fee.” He gave her a grin.

“I meant here, at the matchmaking event. Why on earth did you fill out an application? Don't you have enough people fawning over you already?”

“Three reasons,” he said. “Because Miss Meyers wrangled me into it. Because I like to support the local economy. And—” he lifted his mug “—because I couldn't pass up an opportunity to have some more of your tea.”

“I could send you home with several tea bags and you could brew at home. Then you wouldn't have to worry about being here every day.”

“Ah, but Miss Watson, it is so much more fun to sit here and enjoy your companionship.” He raised his hat toward her, then returned it to his head. “Speaking of which, I'm feeling mighty parched right now. Would you be a good neighbor and chair renter and—”

“Fine.” She scowled. “One Earl Grey coming up.”

“And three of those bis-yummy things.”

“That would require a renegotiation in our terms. I believe we settled on one cup of tea. I only threw in the biscotti because I was being a nice person the other day.”

He feigned a pout. “Tea just ain't the same without them. It's like riding bareback on a horse with no hair.”

She tried to hold back her laughter, then let out the chuckle anyway. He liked the sound of her laughter—light and airy, like a spring breeze. For that moment, he forgot the responsibilities waiting for him at the radio station, the long To Do list before him, the constant worries about his brother. He felt as light as her laughter sounded.

“And may I assume you have done that, Mr. Jones?” she said.

“No, ma'am. We don't have any bald horses in Texas. But I imagine it's the same as trying to drink my tea without those delicious cookies of yours.”

She considered him for a second. “Two footstools, then.”

“Excuse me?”

“You want biscotti with every cup of tea, and I need two footstools so people can rest their dogs, as Lulu would say, when they come by. You make me my footstools and you can have your cookies.”

“I'm a busy man, Miss Watson. I don't have time to be building—”

“And I'm a businesswoman who likes to make a profit, Mr. Jones. Which means I don't give out my cookies for free.” She rose and stood there, one foot turned toward the counter, waiting for him to lob the tennis ball back.

He glanced down at the notepad before him, filled with notes and tasks he needed to accomplish. “I don't have time to build—”

“Then set those breeding chairs to work.” She winked. “I'm sure they could produce a set of stepstool twins.”

“That they might.” He chuckled. Damn, that woman had a way of convincing him to do the very things he didn't want to do. His stomach let out a growl. The part of him
that missed furniture building—something he'd had no time for the last few days—said there had to be a few hours left in his busy day to build those pieces for Sophie, if only to get her to smile at him again. In the process, maybe he'd relieve a little of the constant pressure that seemed to linger in his neck every day he sat behind Tobias's desk at WFFM. “Any chance I can get a prepayment?”

“Are you a man of your word?”

“I may be a lot of things that aren't all that good, Miss Watson, but the one thing I am is a man of my word. I say I'm going to do something and I do it. You can depend on me.”

“I don't depend on anybody. But I do know where you live, and if you eat my cookies without making my footstools, I'll be by to collect on the debt.”

He grinned. “I'm counting on that.” Then he met her gaze. “And I'm counting on you coming right back here to eat those cookies with me.”

“I have a business to run—”

“Excuses, excuses.” He waved off her words. “If I heard right, you're my perfect match.” Harlan leaned back in his chair and eyed Sophie Watson. “And that means you owe me one date. Right here, right now.”

A moment later, she returned, with a plate of biscotti, and a coffee for herself. She sat down across from him. “So, what do you want to do on our ‘date'?”

He could think of a hundred things he wanted to do with a gorgeous woman like her, but none that would be a good idea. “Talk.”