Part 28 (2/2)

”You won't?” Darren sounded surprised. ”Not very good public relations.”

”Probably not very good public relations to be seen with the guy who wants to take our client's business, either,” Blake retorted.

”Now, listen here, Preston,” Darren began.

Blake cut him off. ”Sorry, Darren. You're on your own.”

”Well, what am I supposed to do with Brown?” Darren demanded.

”Hey, it's a nice drive,” Blake said. ”And if you decide you want to do dinner, try Zelda's. They make a great steak.”

Darren was still sputtering threats when Blake hung up. He wouldn't follow through on any of them, though, and they both knew it. Blake was doing a good job here and bringing in new business from neighboring towns. He was an excellent bank manager. But he wasn't a good whipping boy and, after that disastrous visit to the factory, he was done letting Darren bully him into unethical behavior. Darren could d.a.m.n well drive up here with his pet pig, let Trevor Brown drool over Samantha's company and eat bratwurst to his heart's content. Blake hoped he choked on one.

By late Friday afternoon the town was full of tourists, intrepid explorers going from shop to shop, filling bags with merchandise. And that night Festival Hall was packed with women of all ages. There was probably enough estrogen to hot-flash the entire forest to cinders and there was certainly enough perfume in the air to send anyone with an allergy right to the new medical center. The noise level was on a par with a convention of geese.

”I'd say you've got a hit on your hands,” Ca.s.s said as the judges took their places at the judges' table.

”I'd say we've got a potential riot on our hands,” Samantha said, and wondered who was doing crowd control, since half the police force were contestants. Across the hall she saw Dot's daughter, Tilda, tall and impressive in her uniform, standing at the back, frowning.

Like her mother, Tilda was tough as a turtle's sh.e.l.l. n.o.body messed with her and if Tilda stopped you for speeding there was no point in trying to talk your way out of a ticket. But even Tilda might have a problem controlling this crowd. High on chocolate and hormones, they were ready to party hearty. The men would be lucky if these women didn't rip their s.h.i.+rts right off them.

Oh, yeah. They were removing their s.h.i.+rts voluntarily.

The contest theme music started (”It's Raining Men”) and the crowd went wild. Bailey came out on stage wearing a white tux she'd picked up on sale in a tuxedo rental shop and had altered, along with three-inch heels that threatened disaster. With her curves and chestnut hair she looked like Betty Boop 2.0.

The music died down and she spoke into her handheld mike. ”Welcome everyone to the Sweet Dreams first annual Mr. Dreamy compet.i.tion. Are you ready for a good time?”

The audience responded with a wall of sound. Samantha glanced over to where Cecily and Mom sat. Mom was smiling her Miss Manners smile, ever the lady, even though Samantha suspected inwardly she was cringing and wondering how she'd gotten roped into this nonsense. Cecily looked smug. Well, she was allowed. This would go down as a big success and a nice moneymaker.

”Okay, then,” Bailey was saying up onstage. ”Meet your men!”

The music started again and the herd of beefcake paraded across the stage, some of them seeming more comfortable than others. Of course, Bill Will had to stop and do a Mr. Universe pose, which produced squeals of delight.

This really was tacky. Samantha sighed and resigned herself to a long evening.

The evening proved more entertaining than she'd expected. There was no talent compet.i.tion but Cecily and Bailey had come up with other ways for the men to show off, including a tug-of-war contest that took place in the center aisle between the seats, as well as a ”sweet talker” pickup line compet.i.tion where the men got points for originality and sincerity.

Bill Will scored high with ”I just had my thrill of the day. I saw you.” But Joe Coyote stole the heart of both the judges and the audience when he said, ”I'm not real good at pickup lines so I guess all I can tell you is what I said when I first met Lauren-'I know every guy here wants you for keeps but would you give me a chance and go out with me?'” That was rewarded with a collective sigh.

The final round of compet.i.tion required each man to explain why he should be the next Mr. Dreamy.

Brandon Wallace had a c.o.c.ky comeback when Bailey asked him that all-important question. ”Because once I've kissed you, you won't be able to dream of anything else.”

Samantha didn't like the way he looked at her baby sister when he said that. Wasn't it time for Brandon Wallace, ski b.u.m, to run away from home?

Cecily leaned over and whispered, ”I should have gotten someone else to MC.”

No kidding. Bailey and Brandon were only a year apart in age. When she was a kid she'd had a terrible crush on him and had given him her treasured rock collection. When they were in high school she'd given him her virginity. After high school he'd moved on to bigger game but the damage had been done. Bailey's heart was locked up and Brandon still held the key.

Samantha could see her sister blush even down where she sat. Bailey kept her cool. ”That's a pretty big promise,” she said. ”Are you sure you can live up to it?”

In response, he moved closer. ”Want a demonstration?”

Of course, the audience did. ”Yes, yes, yes!”

”Well, I'm not the judge,” Bailey said, trying to step away.

She stepped a little too quickly, though, and lost her balance. The crowd let out a gasp of pleasure as he caught her and said, ”Put in a good word for me.” Then he dipped her dramatically and laid a kiss on her that was hot enough to melt the contents of all those little pink boxes they'd handed out at the door. A collective sigh rose from the audience and Samantha growled.

Once he released Bailey she stood there in a stupor, forgetting her MC duties.

No one seemed to notice. Half the women in the room were in a stupor, too.

”Oh, my,” his embarra.s.sed mother said faintly.

That broke the spell and the women came back to life, t.i.ttering and clapping.

Olivia didn't know all the details of Bailey and Brandon's past (a good thing for all concerned) but she did know enough to be embarra.s.sed. Her wild boy wasn't, however. In fact, he didn't seem in any hurry to leave. He covered the mike with one hand and leaned over and whispered something in Bailey's ear.

She frowned at him and moved away, reclaiming the mike and her dignity. ”Thanks, Brandon,” she said, dismissing him. ”And now we're down to the final contestant. Joe Coyote.”

Joe limped out on stage, and Lauren and the rest of her posse hooted and clapped. Even though an accident on the job had taken him out of construction, he'd kept his construction-worker body. Caramel-colored skin and midnight-black hair added to his charm. From a distance it was hard to see the scar that marred an otherwise pleasant face.

”So, Joe, why should you be our first Mr. Dreamy?” Bailey greeted him.

He shrugged. ”I don't know that I should.”

”Yes, you should!” Lauren called from three rows back, and her friends all clapped.

”If you don't think you should be our first Mr. Dreamy, then why did you enter?” Bailey asked.

Some of the men had been lured by the prizes or they'd entered on a dare or, like poor Joe, who resembled a deer that had wandered into a hunter's campsite, because their girlfriends had suckered them into it.

”Well, Lauren asked me to,” he said, looking over to where she sat, ”and I'd do anything for her.”

Sentimental sighs rose from the audience. Then clapping. And then Joe got a standing O.

”There's our Mr. Dreamy,” Ca.s.s said.

Obviously.

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