The Bachelor Cowboy Read online

  “There you are,” Janet cooed. She thumped into the empty chair next to Layla and set her Birkin bag on the table, blocking Layla’s view of Cora entirely. “How goes the bachelor hunting, Layla-belle?”

  “It’s just fine, Mom. What are you doing here?” God, even her tone sounded sulky and petulant, like she was fourteen again.

  Janet licked her thumb and tsked, reaching forward and smoothing a flyaway hair at Layla’s temple. “Honey, did you even fix your hair this morning? I thought you were trying to get a man.”

  “It’s fine, Mom.”

  “Is it?” Janet gave her a wintry little smile that said she didn’t agree. She glanced over at Amy and cooed at her. “Hello, sweetheart. Are you bidding on a man, too?”

  Amy just chuckled. “No, my boyfriend’s working today.”

  “Look at that,” Janet said in a low voice, leaning in toward Layla. “She’s got a boyfriend and her hair looks fantastic. What a coincidence!”

  “Ugh, Mom. Please. Just stop it.”

  Janet raised a beringed hand in the air. “I’m just saying, Layla-belle. You know I just want you to be happy.”

  “Do we have any more bids?” Sage called. When no one else answered, she banged her gavel on the podium. “Sold, for five hundred thirty dollars. Congratulations, you two!”

  Everyone at the table clapped politely. Layla noticed that Amy added that to the math on her napkin, but it wasn’t enough. Unless the final bachelor pulled in twenty-five hundred dollars, it wouldn’t be what the city needed to make the project a success. And no one had gone for more than seven hundred fifty that day.

  Janet leaned over to Layla, still clapping. “That last one was a bit gray. Are they all older?” She gave her daughter an interested look. “Should I find myself a sugar daddy? Are any of them rich?”

  “Mom,” Layla groaned.

  Amy just laughed. “I don’t think any of them are exactly wealthy, Mrs. Schmidt. Everyone’s bidding on the total package—the dogs, the skills the bachelor can provide, and for charity.”

  “Well, that’s disappointing,” Janet said brightly, then leaned over to her daughter. “Besides, I already have a sugar daddy.”

  Layla groaned again and buried her face in her hands.

  “Oh, stop being such a baby,” Janet said. “I’m allowed to have needs.”

  “It doesn’t mean I want to hear about them.”

  “Well, who else am I going to tell?” She sat on the edge of her chair, peering at the stage. “So where is your man? Which one is he?”

  Amy shot Layla a curious look.

  Right. She’d told her mother she was going to be bidding on a guy she liked here. Looked like she was going to have to bid on Jack Watson either way. With luck, someone would outbid her quickly and she could feign disappointment and then this whole sordid mess would be over. She’d take out her feelings on some pastries and an evening of cross-stitching pithy sayings about narcissists and feel better by morning. “He’s coming up soon.”

  “Well, while we’re waiting, I brought you something.” Janet tossed her bright red hair and reached into her purse. She pulled out a folder of papers and slid it toward Layla, then offered her a pen. “You said you’d notarize these for me, right? I thought I’d bring them over.”

  “I didn’t say I’d notarize anything, Mom.” Janet was a master at the art of pushiness. She pretended like you’d already agreed to something, hoping you’d forget and cave. “What is this?”

  “Just those documents that we talked about. For the property.”

  Layla flipped open the folder. There were maps, weather charts, and discussions about flooding. Pictures of the land. A long, detailed letter explaining that to the party’s best knowledge, no flooding had occurred since ownership had transferred to Janet Schmidt’s hands. Well, that was a flat-out lie. Rather than create a scene, Layla closed the folder again. “I’ll look at it later.”

  “Just do it fast,” Janet said brightly. “I want to get that property on the market quick. If I sell by summer, I’m going to take a European cruise.”

  Layla opened her mouth to protest, but the microphone whined with feedback, gathering everyone’s attention. A dog howled somewhere offstage.

  “Sorry about that,” Sage chirped into the mic. “Are we ready for our final bachelor? He’s a good one!”

  Amy grabbed Layla’s arm in silent terror.

  Right. This was the moment she’d promised she’d bid if no one else did. Janet grabbed Layla’s other arm, no doubt thrilled to get a good look at her daughter’s “man.” Layla felt a little like she was trapped between two opposing forces.

  The music started and the lights flickered. This time, the song was “Where Have All the Cowboys Gone” and a tall man strolled onto the stage with the same dachshund from before.

  “One dollar!” Cora bellowed.

  “Oh my,” Janet murmured as Jack Watson swaggered onto the stage. Layla didn’t say anything. Her tongue was glued to the roof of her mouth.

  Because Jack Watson was an utterly gorgeous dream of a man. It had been months since she’d seen him, and so Layla had forgotten just how intimidatingly perfect he was. He was tall, with broad shoulders, and seemed to take up half the stage with his sheer presence. His cowboy hat and clothing were entirely black, giving him a sinister, sexy vibe. He had the wiener dog tucked under his arm like a football and scratched at the floppy copper ears with a big, work-hardened hand.

  He’d shaved, too. Layla had remembered a scruffy beard—so incongruous with a man as gorgeous as him—but it was gone now. Instead, she could see his chiseled jaw, the full lips, the perfect nose that led up to thick, equally perfect brows, and gorgeous dark eyes. He grinned out into the crowd, and his teeth were as perfect as the rest of him.

  “I’ll bid on his package,” Janet murmured, fanning herself.

  “Mr. Watson is a ranch hand at the Swinging C,” the mayor called out, as if reading a bio. “He’s a Virgo and a bit of a romantic. Want to ride horseback into the mountains for your date? This is your man. He’s also good at helping repair fences and working in the barn if that’s more your thing. Bid on him and you can discover what you’ve been missing in your life without a big, strong cowboy.”

  “I know what I’ve been missing,” Janet commented.

  “Mom!”

  “What are we bidding for our cowboy?” Sage asked. “Shall we start?”

  “One dollar,” Cora bellowed, disgruntled from her tone of voice.

  This would be so funny to Layla if she didn’t have to be part of it. As it was, the room got quiet, and her stomach dropped. She remembered that Jack was a last-minute volunteer and had no significant other lined up to start the bidding on him. Surely that was criminal. A man that perfect should have legions of women lined up to bid on him. As it was, she sucked in a deep breath and raised her hand.

  “Five hundred dollars,” Janet cried, bidding before Layla could get the chance.

  What the hell?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Janet looked over at Layla with a little shrug. “What can I say, Layla-belle? You have great taste.”

  “Mom,” Layla hissed. “This is not cool, okay?” How could her mom be such a jerk? If she thought Layla truly liked the guy, why was she doing this?

  “Oh, it’s all in fun, sweetheart. Lighten up. You said it was for charity, right?” She gave an exaggerated wink to Amy.

  Layla glanced up at the stage. They weren’t far away from it, and she was close enough that she could see Jack’s gaze meet hers. He seemed to be watching them with amusement, and as she stared at him, he lifted the dog in his arms and kissed one floppy ear.

  Damn it, and there went her ovaries, melting like butter.

  “Do we have any other bids?” Sage called.

  Layla flung her hand in the air. “Thousand.”

&nb
sp; Janet gasped, and Layla couldn’t tell if her mother was delighted or annoyed. “Eleven hundred!”

  “Why are you bidding against me?” Layla whispered angrily. “I thought you wanted me to date.”

  “Maybe I’m just nudging things along!”

  Or maybe you’re being a jerk, Mom, she bit back, didn’t say it aloud. She never did. It was no good with someone like Janet. And Layla was competitive. And stubborn. And she really, really hated when Janet pulled this crap. Scowling, she glanced at Amy’s napkin, ignoring her friend’s gaping expression. They still needed about twenty-five hundred to make the auction a success. All right, then. Layla raised her hand in the air again. “Two thousand six hundred.”

  A low cheer went up. Under the table, Amy grabbed Layla’s knee. “You don’t have to do this, Layla.”

  Oh yes, she did. Her mother was a textbook narcissist, and most of the time, Layla was fine with it. She tolerated it because everyone had their flaws. But this irritated her for some reason. Why was it that everywhere Janet went, she made it all about her? This reminded Layla all too much of graduation, when her mother had spent hours fixing Layla’s hair and makeup, and then when they got to the ceremony, she’d promptly told Layla that she looked like a whorey sausage in her cap and gown. Her mother had apologized later and said she’d been drinking, but Layla knew the real reason.

  It was because all of the attention hadn’t been on Janet, so she’d torn Layla down. It happened at weddings. Family get-togethers. Holidays. It had beat her father down so much that he’d divorced Janet and then moved halfway across the world to get away from her.

  And Layla was tired of it.

  So maybe she was spending a little too much on a bachelor auction. Maybe she’d regret cleaning out a large chunk of her savings later, but darn it, right now it felt good to stick it in her mother’s face. Layla cast a triumphant look in Janet’s direction. She’d done her mother’s finances in the past. She knew Janet didn’t have the money. Five hundred? Janet could squeeze it on a credit card somewhere. But a couple of grand? Wasn’t gonna happen.

  And they both knew it.

  Janet’s perfectly lipsticked mouth flattened, just for a moment. Then she shrugged lightly. “He’s all yours, Layla-belle. I just hope you know what you’re doing with a man like that.”

  Implying that she didn’t. “Thanks, Mom,” Layla said.

  “Any other bids?” Sage called from the podium. She looked around again and then banged the gavel. “Sold! To Layla, for two thousand six hundred, the largest amount in the auction!”

  The room was filled with polite cheers, and Layla’s cheeks flushed with a giddy sensation. She looked up at the man on the stage, and he was smiling at her. It wasn’t a friendly, nice-to-meet-you sort of smile. It was a slow curve of perfect lips, a knowing look in those dark, liquid eyes, and a hint of a smirk that told her he wasn’t displeased with who’d bought him. In fact, he was busy looking her up and down as if she was the one onstage.

  That made Layla blush. Hard.

  Dear lord, she’d just bought a date. With a gorgeous man that was way, way out of her league. When was the last time she’d gone on a date? College? Oh god, was it really college? She was such a loser.

  She watched, thunderstruck, as he trotted off the stage. Instead of handing off the dog, he grabbed the bouquet of flowers he was supposed to hand his winning date and carried them both over to her, a grin on his face. Layla could feel her face heating with every step that he took toward her, and the blood was pounding in her ears.

  “You’re one of the best friends ever,” Amy told her, hugging Layla before running off to find Becca and Sage and share the good news that the bachelor auction had been a success. It didn’t give Layla a chance to tell her that it wasn’t that Layla was a good person at all. She was a stubborn mule and her mom was a jerk, and so she’d bid.

  And bid. And bid.

  Her “date” came up to her. Smiled and held out the roses. She took them with a trembling hand and he jiggled the little dog in his arms. “I know I’m supposed to give him back, but Oscar gets scared if someone puts him down. Couldn’t stand to see the little guy shaking, so I swapped him out for the dog I was supposed to carry. Hope that’s okay.”

  Layla reached out for Oscar’s long nose to pet him.

  The dog snapped at her, barking.

  “He’s named after Oscar the Grouch,” the cowboy said helpfully.

  “Wish you would have told me the context before I reached for him,” Layla muttered, rubbing the hand that he’d snapped at.

  The cowboy chuckled again. “I’m Jack. No grouch.”

  “I know. Layla.” She gave him an awkward little wave and then wanted to smack herself. Waving. At her date. Who did that?

  Dorks like her, she supposed.

  “Well,” Janet said loudly. “I can see the romance flowing between the two of you already. I’m glad my little matchmaking ploy worked.”

  Layla rolled her eyes.

  Jack bit back a grin and looked over at her mother. “Was it a ploy? Very clever.”

  “My daughter told me that she’d been waiting to bid on you,” Janet said, moving up to him and patting his arm. She patted his biceps for a little longer than a normal person would, then shrugged. “You’ll notarize those papers for me, Layla-belle? You know what my signature looks like.”

  “I said I would look at them,” Layla corrected. And she sure wasn’t going to forge her mother’s signature.

  Another flash of annoyance crept across Janet’s youthful face and she shrugged, looking Jack up and down. “Be good with my baby girl, will you? Romance her right. She’s still a virgin so she’s going to be awkward around a handsome man like you.”

  Layla knew Janet would say just about anything to get attention, but that was really a low blow. She gaped, stunned, as her mother picked up her expensive purse and swanned out of the room, leaving Jack staring at her.

  * * *

  * * *

  Well, this had quickly turned into a mess.

  He’d had an idea of how this would all go. Jack had thought about it as he’d approached the stage, holding the far-too-bitey little dog in his arms. He’d turn on the charm for whoever won his auction, maybe dip the winning lady, kiss her hand, and flatter the hell out of her. He’d initially been reluctant to do this, but after seeing the enthusiasm of the elderly women as they bid on their equally elderly beaus, Jack had been caught up in the spirit of things. He loved women, young or old, and there was nothing wrong with showing someone a good time. He’d been thinking this was going to be romantic, when it was all really just for fun and for a good cause. For the “date,” he’d take someone out horseback riding, maybe, show someone his uncle’s age a good time, and that was it. Bring a little bright spot into a dull day or something.

  The first bidder had alarmed him, though. A dark-haired woman of about forty to fifty years old, she’d given him such a lascivious look as she’d bid that he’d immediately hoped she wasn’t the winner. She was expecting a much different kind of date than he’d have to offer.

  And then the woman right next to her had bid a thousand. And then twenty six hundred. And he’d gone back to smiling again.

  Jack recognized her as the cute accountant friend of Becca and Amy. The one that always stared past him when he ran into her. She was the youngest bidder at the auction . . . and the highest. Maybe she wasn’t so disinterested in him after all.

  Valentine’s Day was looking up.

  He’d gotten off the stage and grabbed the flowers, then headed over . . . and felt as if he was walking into an argument. The dog in his arms bit at Layla. His new “date” was squabbling with the cougar, who turned out to be her mother.

  And then the cougar flounced in the most dramatic of ways. Be good with my baby girl, will you? Romance her right. She’s still a virgin so she’s going t
o be awkward around a handsome man like you.

  A look of horror had crossed Layla’s face, and Jack had frozen. Because what the hell did you say to that? They both stared at the woman’s retreating back, and everything grew silent and uncomfortable.

  Jack was the first to clear his throat. “Your mom is something else.”

  Layla recovered, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. She pushed her glasses back up on her nose and shook her head. “She’s a textbook narcissist.”

  “Ah.”

  “It’s okay.” She sighed, crossing her arms over her frumpy sweater. “I’ve had years and years of therapy to learn how to handle it. In fact, I should probably schedule my next appointment right now.”

  He chuckled, because she was funny. That was a plus. He liked a woman with a sense of humor. “She always make such a dramatic exit?”

  “As far as Janet Schmidt exits go, that one was a seven on a scale of one to ten for dramatic exits.”

  “Damn. I’d hate to see a ten.” He couldn’t imagine having a mother like that. Now that he stood next to Layla, he could see some of the resemblance between her and the other woman. They had the same face shape and full mouth, but Layla’s face was hidden by glasses and her figure by a sweater over a T-shirt. Her hair was dark and thick like her mother’s, but instead of big, bouncy waves, Layla’s was twisted into a knot. She looked as if she’d be an easygoing sort to hang out with. The type that wouldn’t spend two hours in the bathroom to get ready just to go to a movie. Ironic that he found that so appealing, because Jack was vain. He was the one that would be the bathroom hog if they were a couple.

  Not that they were a couple, but it was fun to imagine.

  She grimaced. “It’s not pretty.”

  “Did you come here just for me? Or am I the backup prize because someone else stole your Prince Charming?”

  He watched, fascinated, as a flurry of emotions moved over her face. Her cheeks grew pink and she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, then glanced up at him. “I was told to bid on you if no one else did.”