8 Chapter 8

Beatrice

Cole's wearing jeans and boots, a white button down shirt, and a black vest. His cowboy hat is tipped down low, throwing shade over his face. After not seeing him for three days, I figured he was avoiding me and that I would never see him again.

So maybe it's the shock that makes me start panting.

Who am I kidding? As much as my ego doesn't want to admit it, I want him bad. Panting kind of bad. I make eye contact for a split second but look away, quickly. His eyes should be illegal. They're ladykiller eyes. Maybe he's a serial killer. That's a hopeful thought. I can't be attracted to a serial killer, right? Oh, hell.

"There you are," Bessie says, wagging her finger up at him. "The pulled pork sandwiches are selling like hotcakes. What are you going to do about it?"

"Hello...Bessie," he drawls in his sexy baritone. "What would you like me to do about the pulled pork?"

"These poor women are plagued by heathens. You were supposed to provide a babysitter. Where's the babysitter?"

"Yeah, where's the babysitter?" I growl. I might be slightly upset that he's ignored me after kissing me. This is the first time that I've confronted one of my rejecters. It feels great. "We're drowning in kids here. Kids. Rosalind even changed a poopie diaper."

"I don't want to talk about it," Rosalind says and runs a hand down her couture sheath dress to calm herself. "PTSD."

I point at Rosalind. "Poopie diaper PTSD! And that's on you." I poke Cole's chest and break a fingernail. It's like he's made of steel. It's like he's immune to fat. My lower parts get warm, and I bite my lower lip.

"It's okay," Olivia says, wrestling on the ground with her two-year old and losing. "I don't deserve a babysitter." She's a wreck. She's gone from a normal looking woman to a poor wretch with something pink and sticky in her hair, and her face is streaked with dirt.

I give Cole the guilt look I learned from watching Rhoda reruns. It works. He thumbs his phone. After a couple of minutes, he returns the phone to his pocket. "There's been a scheduling problem, but I've fixed it," he says giving me full eye contact. No blinking. I realize that I'm holding my breath, and I gasp in some oxygen.

"Grab a child," Bessie tells him. "Shep Johnson is in the pulled pork line, and he can put away ten sandwiches. It's a toss-up if I'm going to eat today."

Cole takes two children in his arms, leaving the baby for me, and Olivia takes the four-year old by the hand. Cole looks great holding a child in each arm, and he barely flinches when one of them picks his nose and wipes it on Cole's vest. I try not to look at him. Even if I'm desperate, I don't want him to know, and besides, I'm sick of waiting around for him to save me. I'm sick of playing the victim.

No amount of hot billionaire is worth being victimized.

We get a table, and it turns out that Shep Johnson hasn't eaten all of the pulled pork sandwiches. There's plenty left for us. The moment that Cole leaves to buy us all lunch, Rosalind and Olivia attack me.

"What's going on? What's happening?" Olivia demands.

Rosalind riffles through her purse and throws eyeliner at me. "Hurry. His back is turned."

"I don't need more makeup," I say, handing her back the eyeliner. Bessie grabs it and hands it back to me.

"Put on the liner. Your eyes have disappeared into your face. You look like Val Kilmer," she says, throwing a look over at Cole's back. "You gotta show him something, honey. I wish you wore a pushup bra."

"This is ridiculous. He doesn't want me. Besides, he told me to my face that he only dates women for a week. A week! He doesn't deserve eyeliner."

Bessie shakes her head. "I deserve eyeliner. You think I want to look at Val Kilmer all day?"

I line my eyes. Halfway through my right eye, Tiffany, the babysitter shows up at the table. She's dressed head to toe in cowgirl, and she's with another young woman her age dressed exactly the same but a few sizes bigger.

"Hello, Mick, Keith, Ronnie, and Bianca," she greets the kids, smiling. "Aren't they cute, Holly?" The other woman nods. "I'm so sorry I can't babysit today. Holly and I are barrel racing in about an hour."

I'm not sure how you race a barrel, but I take her word for it. Holly clutches her stomach. "I shouldn't have eaten that last funnel cake," she complains.

"I think it's just nerves," Tiffany says. "We've got a chance at the blue ribbon. It's very exciting."

"Jana Wilder thinks she's going home with the ribbon," Bessie says. "But my money is on you two."

"Thanks!" Tiffany squeals. "Anyway, the inn has two more babysitters for you. They should be here any second. I just wanted to apologize personally."

"Thank you, Tiffany," Rosalind says and hands her a twenty. Tiffany thanks her, pockets the money, waves at the kids, and disappears into the crowd.

"Wow, Holly sure has packed on the pounds," Bessie says the second they leave. "She used to be a little thing like Tiffany, but she porked up this year. Her horse is going to have a dickens of a time getting around those barrels."

"Hold on to your panties, ladies, here he comes," Olivia says, looking toward the sandwich stand. I turn around to see Cole holding a large box, and he's walking our way. He's a head taller than everyone around him, but it's his stunning good looks that make him stand out. As he walks, he's looking right at me. "Wow," Olivia breathes.

Wow, indeed. I pull at my shirt because I'm having a hard time breathing. It pisses me off that I'm so attracted to him.

"He's not that good-looking," I say.

"Are you kidding?" Olivia says. "My eyeballs have a hard on. It's like Gerard Butler, Liam Hemsworth, and Chris Pratt got it on in a really sexy porno scene in an HBO original series, had a baby, and that baby had major surgery from a highly skilled plastic surgeon and then the blue fairy threw gorgeous dust all over him to make him ten times better looking and that's Cole Stevens. He's like a Nutella-dipped Butterfinger bar."

Oh, shit. She's right. He's a Nutella-dipped Butterfinger bar. What am I doing? I can't eat pork in front of him.

"Quick," Rosalind says. "What's happening? What did he say to you? We need to make a quick exit, give you time with him."

"Uh," I say.

"Think seduction, Beatrice," Rosalind instructs me. "Think Mata Hari or Rihanna."

"You can do it," Olivia says. "Maybe we should drug him. I wish I had some roofies. Or meth. Meth would be good."

Thankfully, there isn't enough time to drug him. He's got long legs and makes the trip from the pork stand to our table in five strides. He hands out the meals to us, pausing a moment when he gives me my sandwich, chili cheese fries, and a Coke. It seems like he's trying to communicate something to me, but I don't know what. It could be that he wants to kill me through junk food, but I prefer to think it's love. I begin to daydream about our wedding and our honeymoon. We'll go to Bali or Bora Bora or somewhere else exotic that starts with a B.

What am I supposed to be doing? Seduction?

"Cotton candy!" Olivia's son yells and pounds on the table. "Cotton candy! Now!"

"I'm eating a pork sandwich," Rosalind says, aghast at how far she's fallen in the social order. "I just want to point that out to you all. I'm sitting on a metal folding chair, eating a pork sandwich next to a kid who's eating her boogers."

Sure enough, Olivia's daughter is going to town on her boogers. Blech. I'm almost not hungry anymore. Thankfully, the inn's replacement babysitters arrive, and they've thoughtfully brought snacks to lure the little heathens away. There's some quick talk of logistics, bath times, and Barney, and then like a miracle, the kids are gone, and the table is populated only by adults.

Quiet. Peace.

Chewing and awkward silence.

I look everywhere except at Cole, but I know he's looking right at me. Beautiful brown eyes of hotness boring through my head down to my soul and all of my lady parts. Damn.

Rosalind kicks me hard under the table with the pointy tip of her designer pumps. My head whips toward her, and she's jutting out her chin and rolling her eyes. The message is clear: Say something to him. Get to work. Seduce the billionaire.

"Uh," I say and take a bite of my pulled pork sandwich. Half chewed, I wash it down with a handful of chili cheese fries. Sexual frustration makes a woman do terrible things.

"Are you enjoying the rodeo so far?" Cole asks.

I look around to see who he's talking to. Everyone's staring at me. I poke my chest and raise my eyebrows. "Me?" I ask.

He smiles wide. His teeth are gorgeous, white and straight and no pulled pork, anywhere. The smile brings out his dimple and transfigures his face into something breathtaking. "Yes, the events start soon, but I hope you've been enjoying the attractions today."

I nod my head. Forgotten are the days with no word from him. Right now, his attention is wholly fixed on me, and it feels fabulous. Rosalind kicks me again, and I oomph, loudly. I'm going to have a doozy of a bruise. "I'm having a great time," I say. "This is my first rodeo."

Coles smiles again. "Is it? I would love to show you around, give you an idea of what's happening. There are so many events that it might get confusing, if you're not familiar with it."

Rosalind kicks me under the table, again, and this time, I kick her back. She oomphs and bends down, presumably to rub her leg. "I would love to, Cole," I say, letting his name play on my tongue a moment. It's the first time I've called him by his first name, and I giggle. He promises to take me for a VIP, behind-the-scenes of the rodeo just as soon as I finish eating. Olivia gives a subtle shake of her head to hurry up, and I shovel the rest of the chili cheese fries into my mouth.

At about the same time, another hottie cowboy walks by and slaps Cole on his back, hard. He's another Butterfinger bar, but with blond hair and green eyes.

"Hello, Sprinkles," he shouts at Cole, who grinds his teeth and flattens his lips.

"Uh oh," Bessie says, taking a bite of her sandwich.

"Hello, Rock," Cole says with no enthusiasm. "Grab a seat." Rock sits next to Cole and across from Olivia.

"A lot of sausage around here, huh?" Bessie tells Olivia, who's still staring at Cole's guest like he's a movie star. And he might just be. "Good kind of sausage, though. No fillers. Organic. And big."

Olivia is obviously thinking about the big sausage at the table, which is a relief to me, because the focus is not on my seduction of Cole for a change.

"How's it going, Sprinkles? Are you going to introduce me?" Rock asks. He's got a permanent smile on his face with about fifty-percent more teeth than the average human, and each one is perfectly straight and blindingly white. He's wearing jeans, boots, and a button-down shirt, just like Cole, but the only thing on his head is thick, wavy blond hair.

"You already know Bessie, of course," Cole says, gesturing around the table. "And this is Beatrice, and her sisters, Olivia and Rosalind. Everyone, this is Rock Clarke, an old...acquaintance." At the mention of Olivia's name, she giggles uncontrollably, sounding like she's been huffing helium for the past hour.

"So many beautiful ladies," Rock says and winks at me.

"Uh oh," Bessie says with her mouth full. "This is going to get bad."

Rosalind looks from Rock to me to Cole and back to me. "This is going to get good," she says.