How to Lasso a Cowboy (8 page)

But didn't.

“Is that what you think I'm trying to do?” he asked.

“Isn't it?”

“You're the publicity director for this thing, right?”

“Yes.” He was still holding her hand. Because he wasn't aware that he was doing it? Or because he wanted to?

“Then surely you can understand the value of buzz. What I say on my show creates buzz. Buzz increases the audience, which drives up advertising revenues, which makes the station more profitable.”

“So my life is just part of your money-making machine?”

He let out a low curse and shook his head. “No. It's more complicated than that.”

Mildred had gone to the mike and was gesturing toward Sophie. “I…I have to go.”

“When you're done, will you give me five minutes to explain?” He flashed his trademark grin at her—the same one that starred on the billboards announcing his show on WFFM. “Please, darlin'?”

Who knew a man could make two simple words sound so sexy? Her resistance melted, and she nodded. Maybe Harlan Jones wasn't as bad as she'd thought. Maybe he deserved the benefit of the doubt. After all, she'd seen snippets of a different man over the last couple of days. “Okay.”

He released her, and a whisper of disappointment ran through her. She told herself that was crazy because she had absolutely zero attraction to Harlan Jones. Even if the way he said darlin' made her toes curl.

“Then I'll see you after your speech,
Sophie.
”

Her name slid off his tongue in an almost melodic tone. She walked toward the makeshift stage set up in the center of the park, trying to push him from her mind, but not quite succeeding. Surely, it must be the Florida sun, not the way
Harlan Jones had smiled at her and touched her. Certainly not the memory of his large, strong hand holding hers.

Yeah, definitely not that.

Mildred introduced her, then turned over the mike to Sophie. She put on a smile, swallowed her nerves, and faced the crowd of couples. “Um, I want to start by thanking you all for coming today and for participating in the…” For a second, the name of the event escaped her. She was nervous; sure that group was talking about her again.
Get it together, Sophie. Get through this.

Change. She needed change—and she needed to move past that day, and the ensuing weeks of her face on the front page. The only way to do that was to talk into that round, silver mike. “For the, uh, Love Lottery. Our hope is not just to inspire a few love connections, but to build some lasting friendships.” Nervousness closed her throat again, and she stopped talking. Her gaze darted to her grandmother. “And in the process, we hope to raise money for a much-needed community center that all our residents can use.”

A few cheers went up among the crowd. Mildred sent Sophie a thumbs-up. The encouragement was enough to push Sophie through the rest of her speech. Albeit, still stumbling a little and with a knot in her stomach the size of Toledo.

“So please be generous with those free-will donations, and remember all the local businesses who have donated their services for this week's events. Also, um, a special thanks to Mike's Deli for donating the sandwiches and drinks today.” Another cheer from the crowd. Across the way, the reporter from the local paper scribbled notes onto a small pad. Sophie's face heated, and her heart hammered in her chest. “And please, tell your friends and family, so
we can spread the word about all the fun events we have planned.”

She glanced down at the schedule on the podium. Just a few more things to tell people about and she could escape this public hell. As she started reading the information about the upcoming Love Lottery functions, she noticed her grandmother crossing the park, her steps slow and sure as she made her way toward—

Harlan Jones.

Sophie prayed for her grandmother to keep going, not to talk to Harlan, because the last thing she wanted was her sweet Grandma Watson becoming fodder for Harlan's morning show—or to get tackled by Harlan's dogs, who had risen and were wagging their tails at the approaching visitor.

“Tell them about the dance at the end of the week,” Mildred whispered.

Sophie wanted nothing more than to get off the stage and head off a meeting between Grandma Watson and Harlan. But she stayed where she was, keeping one thing in her mind—the need to raise money for the community center. That forced her to keep calm and keep the words flowing.

She glanced at the group that had been talking about her before. They weren't talking now, so maybe the gossip would die down finally.

“At the end of the week, we'll, uh, be holding a town-wide dance in the town square,” Sophie said. “Everyone is invited, whether they're residents of Edgerton Shores or a nearby community, so, please, spread the word. A local band will be providing the music, and Jerry Lawson has generously offered to cater the event.”

Her grandmother had stopped beside Harlan and was talking to him. Sophie stiffened, sure his dogs would
tackle her frail Grandma, but Harlan kept one hand splayed toward the dogs. Neither dog moved, obeying their master's command. They even ignored the sandwiches and drinks Harlan had laid out on the blanket.

Sophie was about to end her speech and hurry back to disentangle her grandmother from whatever nonsense that Harlan Jones was talking, but people began raising their hands, asking questions about times and places for some of the other events that week. Sophie got tangled in a long discussion with a woman who wanted to make the bake sale into a combination bake-and-quilt sale. It was a good five minutes of Q&A, with Sophie sending several glances her grandmother's way, before she could finally step down from the podium and hurry back to Harlan's picnic blanket.

Thank God. The entire experience had been painful and difficult. As she headed toward her grandmother, she felt a hand on her arm.

“Sophie Watson? I'm Paul Leonard, with the
Edgerton Shores Weekly.
”

She nodded, wanting only to reach Grandma.

“I wanted to ask you a couple questions. As the former fiancée of a state senator, don't you think this Love Lottery thing is a desperate attempt to find another man?”

She drew up short. “Of course not.”

“Well, you did run out on your own wedding. I'm sure that doesn't bode well for future dates. Is that why you're participating?”

“Is that what you're going to write? Because that's not true at all. I'm participating in the Love Lottery because I support Edgerton Shores and the community wellness center.”

“Uh-huh.” He made some notes in his notepad. “And
what do you think about the senator's announcement that he's getting married in the fall?”

She hadn't known Jim was engaged again. The news hit her, then bounced off again. “I hope he and his new bride are very happy. Now, if you'll excuse me—” She didn't wait for an answer, and walked off toward her grandmother.

“Sophie, you didn't tell me what a nice man you were paired with,” Grandma Watson said when Sophie reached them. “What a wonderful match Mildred made for you.”

Sophie cast a glare Harlan's way. Wonderful match? Nice man? What had he said to her? Moreover, what would he do with that conversation on his radio show tomorrow? She was still fuming from her encounter with the reporter and in no mood to talk about Harlan's good qualities. For all she knew, he was as story hungry as the other reporter.

“Yes, he's charming, all right,” she said. Like a snake in the grass.

Beside her, Harlan chuckled. “I'm not as bad as you think.”

“Maybe,” she said. “Maybe not.”

Harlan leaned in close. “We'll talk later. And I'll see if I can change your mind.”

A thrill ran through Sophie at the feel of Harlan's warm breath on her throat, the low undertones of his voice. Damn. This man was trouble.

Grandma pressed a hand to her forehead. “Goodness, it's warm out today.”

“Summer's coming ear—” Sophie stopped talking when she noticed the beads of sweat breaking out on Grandma's forehead. The older woman had paled, and was trembling a bit. Sophie reached for her elbow. “Grandma, are you okay?”

“Just fine. A little faint, nothing to worry about.” She
worked a smile to her face. “I think I overdid a bit today. It's getting so warm out. I think summer is coming early this year.”

“It is mighty hot, Mrs. Watson,” Harlan said. “Do you want me to go fetch you a glass of water?”

“Why don't we get you home,” Sophie said. “And—”

Grandma tugged her arm out of Sophie's grip. “I don't want to go home quite yet. I'm enjoying my day out.”

Sophie bit back a sigh. Her grandmother could be stubborn sometimes, especially about caving to her limitations since her hip-replacement surgery. The more Sophie tried to do for her, the more Grandma Watson seemed to resist. “Grandma—”

“I'm fine, Sophie May.” Grandma straightened, but Sophie could see the effort in her face. “Besides, I don't want to miss the festivities.”

Harlan gave her grandmother a grin, shadowed by the brim of his cowboy hat. “Mrs. Watson, I believe I've had about enough of this heat myself. That sun has near beat me down.” He waved at his neck, as if he was hot, too. “What if we bring the festivities to you instead? It'll be twice as fun with a little air-conditioning.”

Sophie gave Harlan a suspicious look. Her grandmother, however, shot him a smile. “That sounds like a lovely plan.”

“Then let's get you home, ma'am.” Harlan bent down, folded the blanket, tucked it under his arm, then put the sandwiches and drinks back into the bag from the deli. He thrust the bag and blanket at Sophie. “If you'll carry this, I'll make sure Grandma Watson has a gentleman escort to help her home.”

Sophie opened her mouth to protest, then stopped when she saw how easily Grandma Watson accepted Harlan's proffered arm. He had positively charmed her
grandmother—and charmed her into taking it easy for the rest of the day.

Had she been reading him wrong all this time? Was he really a nice guy underneath that radio show?

Sophie gave Harlan a smile of gratitude, then followed behind them, carrying the picnic, while the dogs padded alongside her, stealing glances at the bag of food. “Don't even think about it,” she muttered to the dogs.

Grandma must have already told Harlan where she lived, because at the end of the park, he turned right, keeping his steps slow and steady so her grandmother could keep pace. Within minutes, the noise of the picnic was behind them, and they were strolling down the palm tree–lined street that led to Grandma's little bungalow. All the while, Grandma kept her grip on Harlan's arm, and he kept his hand on hers, while he chatted with her about the town. “So, Mrs. Watson, have you lived here all your life?”

“Just about. I moved here when I was two years old. My daddy ran a tile business for thirty years.”

“Sounds like he was quite the entrepreneur.”

“Oh, he was, he was. Biggest tile business this side of Florida. I worked there when I was a young girl.”

“What was that, last year?”

Grandma giggled—actually giggled—and gave Harlan's arm a swat. “You are quite the charmer, young man.”

This wasn't the Harlan Jones who had moved into her neighborhood. Or the one who had made making fun of Sophie into a part-time job. This was a man who had an easy, caring way about him, who looked out for those around him.

Who was this Harlan Jones?

And more, why was she suddenly looking at him and seeing him in a new light? And wondering what it would be like to spend more time with him?

“That's quite the accent you have there, Mr. Jones,” Grandma said. “Where are you from?”

“Dallas, Texas, is where I was born and raised, ma'am, but right now, Edgerton Shores is home. It's quite the nice little town.”

Grandma beamed. If there was one thing she loved as much as her family, it was her town. “It is, indeed.”

They had reached Grandma's house. Harlan helped her up the stairs, one hand gently guiding her elbow, while he continued their conversation, as if there was nothing unusual about him helping her into her house. He didn't stop talking until she was seated in a wide rocker in the front parlor. The dogs settled outside on the porch, content to wait under the shade of the roof. If Sophie didn't know better, she'd swear both Harlan and his dogs had been switched by aliens.

Almost as soon as she sat down, Grandma started to rise. “My goodness, where are my manners? Let me go get you and my granddaughter something cold to drink.”

Harlan gently guided her back into the chair, then laid his cowboy hat on a nearby table. “Now, ma'am, my momma would be mad as the dickens at me if I let a nice lady like yourself get me a drink I can darn well pour myself. Besides, I have Miss Sophie here to help me so I don't bang around in your kitchen like a lost bull.”

Grandma laughed, then settled into the chair, clearly worn out, and glad to have an excuse to stay where she was. “Well then, help yourself. There's iced tea and lemonade.”

Sophie followed Harlan into the kitchen and waited until the swinging door had settled in the doorway. “What are you doing?”

“Getting your grandmother a glass of lemonade. If you'll kindly point me to where the glasses are.”

Sophie opened a cabinet door, withdrew a trio of glasses, then pulled the iced tea out of the refrigerator. “For your information, my grandmother likes tea, not lemonade.”

Harlan took one of the glasses from her before she could pour. He ignored her sputtering protests and filled the container with ice. But he didn't hand it back right away. “What has your feathers all aflurry?”

“I don't trust you.” She yanked the glass out of his hand and filled it with iced tea. “Making fun of me is one thing, but making fun of my grandmother is quite another. If I hear one word about you turning her weakness into a laugh for your morning audience—”