The Sex Solution (3 page)

“What about him?” Every eye at the table turned to peer across the semicrowded dance floor.

“Girl, get out of here,” Janice shook her head. “Your roots are showing, Eileen.”

“What, like, is that supposed to mean?”

“That you’ve been married so long you’ve forgotten what
hot
means. We’re not talking sweaty.”

Eileen, a petite blonde, stiffened and straightened her baseball jersey that sported Team Mom in royal blue letters. “Well, when I, like, sweat, it usually means I’m hot.”

“Ignore her,” Janice told the other women. “She doesn’t get out much. So what about him?” Janice wiggled her eyebrows and pointed out a man currently two-stepping around the dance floor, a smiling redhead in his arms. “He certainly can fill out a pair of Wrangler jeans.”

“He’s not very handsome.” Brenda Chance, ex treasurer of the Chem Gems, adjusted her wire-framed, rose-tinted glasses.

Brenda worked as an interior designer in Austin now, but in her day she’d recited the elements table faster than anyone in Kendall County. While she had a practical head on her shoulders, she also had a romantic nature that had her wearing an old-fashioned lace dress that looked suspiciously like a pair of window sheers.

“That’s definitely a face only his momma could love,” Brenda went on. “My Cal has a great face.” She sighed dreamily, then glanced around before zeroing in on another man. “What about him?” She smiled as she indicated the guy from their high school past voted Most Likely to Spit on Old People. “He’s got nice eyes—the exact color of Cal’s.”

“Girl, he’s about as nice as a pit bull,” Janice said. “Besides, he’s got puny arms. We need some muscle.”

“And good hands,” Sarah added.

Back in her day, Sarah Buchanan had been part of the in crowd, the only one among the Chem Gems. She’d been smart
and
beautiful
and
the baddest bad girl in Cadillac. She’d changed her ways the day of Sharon’s death, however, and she now sat quietly, her long red hair pulled up in a tight ponytail, her mouth void of the red lipstick she’d always loved. Longing filled her eyes for a brief moment. “I used to love great hands on a guy.”

“And a mustache,” Brenda chimed in. “They’re sooo dreamy. Cal has a mustache.”

“They’re lethal to supersensitive skin.” The comment came from the bride-to-be. “She’s supposed to kiss him, not break out.”

“Let me get this straight.” Brenda adjusted her glasses again. “She has to dance with him
and
kiss him?”

“If she wants to win the game,” Sarah said.

“So what if she kisses him but doesn’t dance with him? Does she get half the points?”

“Girl, it’s all or nothing,” Janice said.

“So does she, like, kiss first or, like, dance first?” Eileen asked.

“It doesn’t matter.” Madeline fingered the game card and scoped out prospects. “I could do either.”

“You can’t just walk up to a guy and kiss him,” Brenda said. “It’s too forward. Whatever would he think?”

Madeline smiled and indicated the game spread out on the table. “That maybe I’m the baddest babe in Texas?”

“I say you dance with him first,” Cheryl Louise offered. “Talk a little. Then kiss him. It’s more romantic.” She sighed and gazed dreamily at a man standing near the bar. A group of men surrounded him, their beers lifted in salute. He glanced over his shoulder and smiled at her. She waved back. “That’s how Jack and I met. He asked me to dance at the Charity Chili Chowdown last year. We ate and talked and swayed. Afterward he kissed me so softly and tenderly that I just knew he was the one.”

“How totally sweet,” Brenda sighed.

“How tame.” Sarah looked wistful.

“How abnormal.” Janice gave a shiver.

“I don’t see how dancing and kissing and finding the man of your dreams can be construed as abnormal,” Cheryl Louise said.

“The bride and the groom having their parties at the same small-time honky-tonk is what’s whacked-out. Girl, how in God’s green earth are you supposed to let your hair down with your fiancé a few feet away?”

“I don’t have enough hair to let down. Besides, this is the only place in town that has a dance floor. The Pink Cadillac is much too small for two-stepping.”

The Pink Cadillac was the only bar inside the city limits. It was a great place to get together to visit and suck down a few cold ones, but it didn’t have the party atmosphere of a real sawdust-on-the-floor, country-crooning dance hall like Cherry Blossom Junction.

The bar was owned and operated by Eden Hallsey Weston, a bad girl in her own right who’d married the town’s golden boy a few years ago. The news had shocked everyone, especially Madeline, who’d heard from Janice, who’d heard from Cheryl Louise, who’d been at the wedding. Eden had always been so outrageous while Brady had walked the straight and narrow path set forth by his conservative family. They’d been opposites, yet they’d fallen madly in love anyway. Just like in a fairy tale.

Madeline didn’t do fairy tales. Hot, hunky, badass bad boys didn’t gravitate toward shy, geeky good girls.

Which was why she’d traded in the old Madeline when she’d rolled out of Cadillac the day after Sharon’s funeral. Maddie had seen for herself how precious life was, and she’d made up her mind then and there to live it to the fullest. That meant conquering her fears and taking chances. Being a bold, brazen woman who lived for the moment rather than the shy, geeky girl who’d spent her days dreaming and baking in her father’s doughnut shop.

While she wished Eden and Brady the best of luck, she wanted more out of life than a husband and a handful of kids and a boring existence in a desperately small town.

Particularly since said town held so many bad memories. Of being a nerd and getting overlooked by the boy of her dreams, and losing her closest and dearest friend.

Her lungs constricted and she forced her attention back to her friends and the conversation.

“…could have driven to Austin,” Janice pointed out. “I know this great little club that specializes in exotic male dancers.”

“And get back at the crack of dawn? I need my beauty sleep for tomorrow.”

“
Half-naked
exotic male dancers,” Janice added.

“I like knowing that Jack is here.” Cheryl Louise waved again and Jack winked back before shifting his attention to his buddies.

“
Cute,
half-naked exotic male dancers.”

“Give it up,” Madeline told her. “G-strings don’t interest a woman who’s helplessly in love.”

“Unless it’s the man she loves wearing the G-string,” Brenda pointed out. “Cal wears one for me.”

“Come on, girls,” Cheryl Louise said. “Madeline needs to find a guy and our yapping isn’t going to help her concentrate.”

“So who wants her to concentrate?” Sarah asked. “Sorry, Madeline, but I want to win.”

“It’s just a game,” Cheryl Louise said, fingering the makeshift veil one of the girls had made for her. “A silly little game that’s supposed to be fun.”

“Girl, you say that because you’re about to trade in your bad-girl status and promise not to be bad, but there are those of us who’d like to keep our reputation.”

“You don’t have a reputation,” Cheryl Louise pointed out to Janice. “And you never had one. The only one who had anything remotely bad going for her was Sarah, and even she’s as boring as they come now. No offense, Sarah,” she said to the quiet redhead. “You’re just anxious to win so you don’t have to pick up Uncle Spur from the airport.”

“Uncle Spur’s coming to the wedding?” Madeline asked, her mind rushing back to her childhood and the ornery old man who’d come to visit Cheryl and Sharon every Christmas. He’d sat in the living room with his chewing tobacco and a soda can and offered an opinion on everything from making strawberry jam to the state of world politics. Uncle Spur had liked to talk. Even more, he’d liked being right.

“Of course he’s coming,” Cheryl Louise said. “He’s my oldest living relative. I couldn’t get married without Uncle Spur.” As though she just noticed the effect of her news, her eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong with Uncle Spur?”

“Nothing,” Madeline said. “It’s just…he’s quite a character.”

“An obnoxious character,” Brenda added.

“He spit on me the last time I saw him,” Janice said.

“He was just showing off,” Cheryl Louise explained. “He was the Waller County Spit-Off champ back then. But then the cataracts set in and he came in third to his two brothers. He never spits now. Besides, I would pick him up myself, but I don’t have time.”

“Don’t you worry about it,” Madeline told her. “One of us will do it.”

“Yep,” Janice said. “The loser gets the privilege.” She turned on Madeline. “Pick someone, or forfeit and let Sarah take her turn. She’s next in line with points if you don’t pull this off.”

But Madeline wasn’t forfeiting. It wasn’t so much about winning—while Uncle Spur wasn’t the most pleasant person, Madeline could endure a two-hour drive from the airport with him if it meant helping out a friend. Rather, this game was about conquering her fears and living life. About proving to all of her friends, and herself, that she truly had changed when she’d left the comfort of her small town for the excitement of the big city. About picking the hottest, hunkiest guy in the honky-tonk and approaching him as bold as you please.

Something the old Maddie would have been too frightened and embarrassed to do because she’d been more content to fantasize about life than actually live it.

No more.

She glanced around, found her target standing just inside the doorway and summoned her courage. Her moment of truth had finally arrived.

T
HIS WAS A BIG WASTE
of time.

The truth echoed in Austin Jericho’s brain the minute he stepped inside Cherry Blossom Junction, the one and only dance hall in Cadillac, Texas.

Not that Austin had anything against dance halls, particularly this one. The place had character. Once a train depot near the turn of the century, Cherry Blossom Junction was far from the typical Texas honky-tonk. Beers were served up from behind the original hand-carved ticket counters. Instead of a mechanical bull, the very first engine to chug out of the station sat in the far corner. Train schedules graced the walls rather than the typical neon beer signs. And when the band cranked up the “Orange Blossom Special,” an authentic train whistle blew along with the music.

Nope, it sure-as-shootin’ wasn’t the place itself Austin had a problem with.

It’s just that if a man had set his mind to add more fruit to his diet, he certainly wouldn’t mosey over to the Dairy Freeze for a double-dipped. Likewise, if a gambler had decided to save his money rather than throw it away, he would damned sure stay far away from Pete, the numbers runner at the bingo hall.

Since Austin had decided to find himself a nice, quiet, conservative woman to settle down with him on his ranch, Cherry Blossom Junction was definitely at the bottom of his potential meet-market list. He needed to stick to church picnics and bake sales to find the kind of filly that would make him happy for the long haul, a goal he’d been working on for the past three weeks.

He’d narrowed it down to a handful of prospects—Debbie the kindergarten teacher, Christine the registered nurse at the retirement home, Angela the church choir director, Jennifer the head of the local Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals and Claire who ran the town’s only day care. They were all nice. Pretty. Wholesome. The trouble was, they all sort of blended together with their freshly baked apple pies and their show-me-thering-and-I’ll-show-you-some-lovin’ smiles, and he didn’t have a clue which one to choose.

But he’d given his word to Miss Marshalyn Simmons and he aimed to keep it. Miss Marshalyn had been the town’s librarian and expert cake baker for special events. She was also the most stubborn pigheaded woman ever to wag a finger at him and the closest thing to a mother he’d known since his own had passed away when he was five years old. He’d promised her that he would slow down and settle down in time for her going-away party—she was moving down to Florida to live with her sister. While the old woman wanted proof that he’d changed, she didn’t expect him to find and marry someone before she left. She merely wanted to see him with a serious, suitable candidate. In return, she’d pledged one hundred acres of prime pastureland.

While he was more than willing to buy the land, she’d refused to sell it to him. She wanted peace of mind, not money, and so she’d made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.

The land wasn’t the only reason for his decision. While he’d reached a brick wall in his professional life—he needed that land to expand and beef up his herd—he’d also hit a big one in his personal life. A man could only work so much. When the sun set and the day was done, he had to head home.

But Austin didn’t have a home. Sure, he had his own place, bought and paid for with his own sweat. But he didn’t have a
home
—a warm, comforting place filled with plenty of laughter and good smells and warmth. Miss Marshalyn’s house had had all three, and it had been the closest thing to a real home he’d known way back when.

He wanted his own now and a family to go with it, and that meant finding the right kind of woman. The kind who taught Sunday school and helped old ladies across the street. The kind who planted a vegetable garden and shelled peas and made candied sweet potatoes. The permanent kind who had more on her mind than one night.

All the more reason he should be anywhere but inside Cherry Blossom Junction.

“Hey, buddy. Over here!” The familiar voice drew Austin’s attention.

His gaze shifted to the group of men clustered at the bar. Stetsons bobbed as heads turned and hands waved.

Austin couldn’t help but grin at the group, particularly the cowboy wearing a foam ball and chain around his neck and a Kiss Me I’m The Groom button.

Jack Beckham was one of Austin’s oldest friends and he was tying the knot tomorrow afternoon. Austin couldn’t very well miss giving his buddy a grand send-off just because he was on a time limit to find himself a suitable wife.