How to Lasso a Cowboy (4 page)

“Biscotti.”

“Nah. I call them bis-yummy.” He bit off another chunk.

She laughed. There. He'd accomplished his goal. She was smiling now. Even better, she'd slipped back into the chair. “I'm afraid I don't do much, Mr.—”

He raised a brow.

“Harlan,” she corrected, stumbling a bit over the use of his name. “My business takes up a lot of my time.”

“Seems a shame, considering you're living in paradise.” He waved an arm to indicate the sunny sidewalk, the palm trees dotting the landscape, the bay's beach twenty minutes
away. Like he was one to talk. These few minutes sitting outside were the extent of his time enjoying paradise. In six weeks, he had yet to visit the beaches or watch a sunset.

“Don't you have to get over to the radio station and embarrass someone else?”

He took a sip of the tea. “Nope. I've already done my show today.”

He did have a mountain of work he should be doing, not to mention a mile-high stack of financials to review. He also needed to find time to run over to Tampa General and visit Tobias. But right now he wanted nothing more than to soak up the sun. Maybe doing so would clear his head and ease that knot in his shoulders.

“How disappointed your fans must be.” Her voice was droll, sarcastic. “To have to wait until tomorrow to hear you bash another human being.”

His ego winced at the bruising. “I take it you aren't a fan?”

She arched a brow in answer.

He chuckled. “Well, I guess I'm not everyone's cup of tea.” He raised the mug in her direction.

Silence extended between them. They sat there, watching the people walking by. Everyone knew and greeted Sophie, and a surprising number of people said hello to Harlan, too. That told him the show was growing in popularity. Thank goodness.

“So what brings you to Florida from…” She let the sentence trail off, the question implied.

“Texas.” He gave her a grin. “For someone who doesn't like to call her customers by their first name, you're treading on some mighty personal ground.”

She colored and got to her feet again. “You're right. I'll leave you to your tea.”

“Do you often run away from a challenge, Sophie?” If
she wasn't such an infuriating, difficult woman, he might like the way her name rolled off his tongue.

“Me? Run away?” She parked that fist on her hip again. Given how often she did that, it was a wonder she didn't have a dent. “If I remember right, you were the one getting bristly at personal questions. Seems I'm not the one doing the running, Mr. Jones.”

One corner of his mouth turned up. “Oh, we're back to that now, are we?”

“I do think its best, don't you?” She gave him a smile that had no hint of flirtation in it and moved her chair back until it sat in perfect alignment with his. A clear signal she was done sitting with him. “Seeing as how we have a business relationship only.”

“Are you saying you want to keep it that way? Business only?” What was he doing? He had no time or desire for a relationship right now.

He wasn't pursuing Sophie Watson, he told himself. He was trying to get back at her for her constant rants about his dogs and his show.

Sophie tucked her long blond hair behind her ears and leveled her emerald gaze on him. “I'm a smart woman, Mr. Jones, and I learned a long time ago that smart decisions are the ones that serve me—and my business—best. So the answer is yes. Business only.”

Good advice—advice he should take himself. Harlan drained the last of his tea, picked up the lone cookie remaining on his plate, then rose. “Then I'll bid you good day, Miss Watson.”

“Good day, then. And kindly remember our agreement.” She picked up the tray, added his empty mug, then balanced it on her arm. She flashed him a smile that was anything but friendly. “Because if you ruin my reputation
on the radio again, you might get more than you wanted in your tea.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Why, of course not, sir.” She batted her eyelashes at him. “Just a business arrangement. I'll speak nicely of your chairs if you don't speak of me at all.”

“I'll be back tomorrow.” He wagged the cookie at her, not making any promises. “But I think I need to up my rent charge. For personal aggravation.”

He could hear her sputtering all the way into the coffee shop. An hour ago, he'd been ready to murder Sophie Watson for stealing his chairs and forcing him off his porch. But now, she'd given him a challenge he couldn't refuse. That woman had a breaking point and Harlan Jones intended to find it.

Then he'd take his chairs and his bis-yummy and go back to his own little cave, and forget that sassy woman had ever marched on up his stairs and into his life.

H
ARLAN
J
ONES
had been coming to the coffee shop every single afternoon for a week, after he got off working at the radio station. Thankfully, Sophie had too many things keeping her busy to give him more than a passing glance. She made sure Lulu had his tea ready every day, but she avoided sitting with him again. He kept to himself, spending his time poring over stacks of documents. He seemed stressed, and she wanted to ask what was wrong. But didn't.

She had no room in her life for a man right now, and especially not that man. The coffee shop consumed most of her time. If there was one lesson she'd learned from her broken engagement, it was that the business wouldn't let her down. Not like a man could.

Despite her misgivings, she'd gone along with Mildred's plan for the Love Lottery. They'd sold matches in the coffee shop and most of the downtown shops, with the big match event scheduled for this evening. Mildred had suggested they hold it at the coffee shop—what better place to hold a first date than a coffee shop, after all?—and Sophie had spent most of the day preparing extra baked goods and ensuring every inch of the café was spotless. She'd had to leave the Spring Fling committee meeting early so she
could get ready for the drawing tonight. Hopefully, she hadn't missed anything.

By four that afternoon, when Sophie returned from her last logistical meeting with Mildred and the rest of the committee, she half expected to find Harlan Jones's rear end parked in one of the seats out front. But no, the man was nowhere to be found, and according to Lulu, hadn't been in at all today. Maybe because it was Sunday or maybe he'd given up on that ridiculous notion of sitting in his own chairs and torturing her with his presence.

“Sure does seem quiet around here without him, doesn't it?” Lulu said, coming up beside her.

“Without who?”

“That tall drink of whiskey you pretend to hate.”

“I do hate him. He annoys me.” She chalked up a new advertisement of specials for the day.

“Uh-huh. Sure he does. Him and that swagger of his would annoy any woman…straight into his bedroom.” Lulu winked, then wisely disappeared into the kitchen.

Sophie let out a gust of frustration. The conversation with Lulu had messed up her concentration and she'd misspelled coffee. Twice. She took a wet rag, cleaned off the board and started over. What was with Harlan Jones? Even when he wasn't here, he could affect her day. She was going to have to find a way to get rid of him. Agreement or no agreement, she didn't want to find him at the shop when she least expected it. Today she would insist he take money for the chairs and then there wouldn't be any need to have him sitting out there, getting her all distracted.

Before Sophie knew it, the clock was ticking toward six and people were filling the coffee shop in anticipation of the big matchmaking unveiling. Even though she was glad to have the boost in business, Sophie hoped it went quickly.
As soon as she left the shop for the night she wanted to get home to check on her grandmother.

Ever since Sophie's parents had moved to northern Florida for her father's job, Sophie had been Grandma's chief caretaker, and in turn, they'd become close friends. The last few months had been hard on Grandma Watson. Some days, her recovery from her hip replacement went well. Other days, she had too much pain to enjoy her regular activities with her friends, or even to come by the coffee shop for a couple hours.

Recently, the insurance company had cut her physical therapy back to once a week, not nearly enough in Sophie's non-medical opinion. If there was a local low-impact exercise class, one within walking distance of the house, then Grandma could speed up her recovery and strengthen her bones in the process. That was exactly the kind of thing a community wellness center could provide.

Mildred came rushing in, dressed for the occasion in a multicolored floral housedress so bright, Sophie was pretty sure it could glow in the dark. Mildred's gray hair was in a wild cloud around her head and she was huffing from the exertion of hurrying. “Hello! Hello! Are we ready for the big announcements?”

Sophie glanced at the clock, then out over the filled shop. “I think so. I set up a microphone for you on the stage over there.” She gestured toward the back corner, where local bands often played on weekends.

“Oh, I'm not announcing,” Mildred said. “Why, I get as nervous as a hen in a kitty litter box when I have to speak in front of people.”

“A hen in a…” Sophie waved a hand, and gave up trying to translate that particular metaphor.

“You do it,” Mildred said, thrusting a stack of sealed en
velopes at Sophie. “It's your shop, and you are the publicity director for the project, after all.”

The thought of getting up in front of a good chunk of the residents of Edgerton Shores, several of whom had been in the pews at her aborted wedding, caused Sophie's throat to close. “I…I can't.”

“Sure you can. You'll be great at it.”

“No, I mean, I can't get up in front of people like that. The last time I was in front of a crowd…” Her voice trailed off. She thought back to that day a year ago. The running-out part hadn't been the worst part—it was the stories that had filled the front pages for a long time afterward.

“You ran out on what would have been a disastrous choice,” Mildred said. “Those silly reporters just couldn't see the truth.”

“All they saw was the fiancée of a man running for state senator ‘ruining his election chances.'” She shook her head. “I've never been one for being the center of attention and that…that was far more center than I ever want to be again.”

“How are you ever going to get over this little…hurdle in your life?” Mildred said, laying a hand on Sophie's arm, “if you don't just get up there and do it? Besides, you're publicity director. It's your job.” She smiled, then gave Sophie a hard nudge in the direction of the mike. That was how Sophie ended up on the stage, calling out names to a crowd of people she'd known since she was a little girl. She stammered and stuttered her way through it, but kept her focus on Lulu and Mildred, making the crowd seem like only two people. Thankfully, the attention was more on the paired names than on the announcer herself.

The matches inspired lots of giggles and applause, especially when Tad Harrison, a cute twenty-something with a cleft in his chin and a ready grin, ended up with DeeDee
Lewis, who had graduated two years ago and still had her cheerleader perkiness.

A roar of approval sounded when Lulu was matched with Kevin Ackerman, a local mechanic who stopped by the coffee shop on a daily basis. Given the way he was grinning at Lulu, Sophie wondered if maybe Kevin's frequent lattes were more a way to see the spunky barista than to quench his need for caffeine.

Good. She was almost done. Then she could get off this tiny stage and back behind the shop's counter, where she was happiest. Sophie let out a deep breath, then picked up the next match, which like the others was sealed inside a big manila envelope. Inside the envelope were two long questionnaires that had been stapled together by Mildred, So far, Sophie would have to say she agreed with Mildred's pairings. For the most part, she'd put together people with common interests, and already Sophie could see several conversations springing up among the newly matched couples. Maybe there was something to this Love Lottery after all.

The door to the shop opened, letting in a burst of sunshine, the kind that came just before sunset, and seemed to kiss the world with gold. Harlan Jones stepped inside the shop, doffing his cowboy hat as he did. He took a seat in the back, far from Sophie.

Was he just coming by for his usual Earl Grey? Or had he put in for a match, too? She scanned the room. Only a few single women remained, and for a second, a whisper of jealousy ran through her that any one of them would end up sitting across from Harlan, listening to his Southern drawl and eating up his smile.

Like she cared what that man did in his spare time. If she hadn't wanted those chairs so bad, she never would have
talked to him. He could date every woman in Edgerton Shores and she wouldn't care one whit.

Sophie shook her head, unzipped the envelope with one finger, then raised the paper in front of her face. She hated this—all eyes on her—and felt heat climbing her neck as the crowd waited for her to speak. “And now for our next match,” she said, “we have Miss Mildred Meyers with—”

“Mr. Art Conway!” Mildred shouted, getting to her feet and hustled across the room to her intended beau. Art leaned back in his chair, his eyes wide, as if he might make a run for it. Several of the women in Mildred's church group let out disappointed sighs.

Mildred just beamed and dropped into the seat beside Art. “It's like we were destined to meet,” she said to him.

Yeah, Sophie told herself, if Destiny was cattle prodded into the decision.

 

Harlan Jones didn't need a cup of tea. Nor did he need a snack of cookies. What he needed to do was finish booking guests for the rest of the month. WFFM had been struggling for months, and Harlan hoped that by bringing in some celebrities, he'd boost the ratings for the morning show. The ratings had risen in recent weeks, but the sales manager was still having trouble translating that into advertising dollars. In radio, advertising dollars talked—and right now, there wasn't a whole lot of chatter at WFFM.

While Tobias recovered, Harlan needed to increase the revenue stream, using the formula that had worked so well for him in Texas. Harlan couldn't blame his brother's inattention entirely for the station's troubles. The recession, and a loss of the station's top broadcaster who'd gone to a rival station in January, had delivered twin blows to WFFM's
bottom line. Now Tobias was recovering in the hospital, his mortgage was three months behind, the station was hemorrhaging money, and Harlan was busy trying to turn the station around to take one more burden off his brother's shoulders.

He cursed to himself. Damn his brother and his determination to do things on his own. If only Tobias had said something sooner, maybe they wouldn't have this mess and maybe—

Maybe Tobias wouldn't be in a hospital room right now. Responsibility for his brother weighed heavy on Harlan's shoulders. Tobias was an adult, but Harlan had never lost that urge to protect and worry.

In their weekly phone calls, Tobias had barely mentioned the station's problems. His little brother had always been upbeat, rarely complaining. It was part of his happygo-lucky, live-for-today personality, but damn, if Harlan had known sooner—

Well, he would have done something to fix it.

Then Tobias's boat had collided with another during a beer-filled weekend on the causeway. Tobias had fallen overboard, got caught between the two boats, and ended up with a badly damaged leg. Two breaks, and an infection that had kept Tobias in the hospital for weeks. Harlan had come to Florida the minute he heard, and once he saw the condition of the station's finances, he'd moved into the rental house and set to work. He'd realized pretty quickly that his brother had been spinning the truth into butter when it was really melted margarine.

Trouble was, the celebrities who had loved being on the popular Dallas station Harlan used to work for were shying away from some unknown little ten thousand–watt place in Florida. He was going to have to do some serious
fast-talking to get any top music names onto his morning show.

Good thing fast-talking was the one thing Harlan excelled at.

As he took a seat in the back of the room, Lulu crossed to him. She moved fast for such a large woman, and had a ready smile and a cup of tea with her when she deposited herself into the seat opposite him. “Well, well, Mr. Jones. You've returned.”

“Yes, ma'am.” He thanked her for the tea, then took a sip. Harlan had never been one for coffee shops—he wasn't much for paying three times more than a man should for a simple cup of joe—but there was something about coming in to a place that knew your order before you could place it that was well, nice. And, he could look at it as building an audience for WFFM. Whenever he was here, people stopped by to talk to him, offer suggestions for the show, or voice an opinion. It was good business, nothing more. It certainly wasn't about seeing Sophie Watson.

If that was so, then why had his gaze strayed to her the minute he entered the room? Why had he taken a moment to admire her lithe figure before he sat down?

“Did you sign up?” Lulu asked, thumbing toward the stage.

His gaze followed Lulu's gesture. Sophie Watson stood under the small spotlight, her golden hair glowing like a halo. She wore another yellow sweater today—this one a V-neck with white flowers curving around one side—with a pair of cropped black pants. She looked like a human sunflower. Radiant and pretty enough to put on display on his verandah. The problem was that sunflower came with a lot of thorns. When he had time for dating again, he'd be looking for someone nice, sweet. Agreeable.

“So, did you?” Lulu asked.

“Do what?”

“Sign up for a match.”

He jerked his attention back to the barista. Match? His brain, overloaded with work concerns, took a while to make the connection. “Are you talking about that questionnaire Mildred Meyers strong-armed me into filling out?”

Lulu laughed. “That'd be the one.”

“Then yes, I guess I did.”

Lulu sat back and crossed her arms over her ample chest. “Well then, this should be interesting.”

“What should?”

“Seeing who you got matched with.”

He shrugged, and his mind went back to working on the guest list again. He didn't even know why he'd let Mildred talk him into that thing. She'd stood by his chair out in front of the coffee shop, blocking the sun and going on and on about how this was part of building a good community relationship. Before he knew it, he was handing her a few dollars and answering questions like what his favorite movie was and where he'd take his dream vacation. Then he'd promptly forgotten about the encounter.