The Valentine’s Day Disaster

The Valentine’s Day Disaster

A
T
WI
LIGHT,
T
EXAS
N
OVELLA

LORI WILDE

Contents

Chapter One

“
Q
UESTION.
H
OW CAN
anyone scowl so fiercely with a stage full of half-­naked men parading around in front of her?” asked Jana Gerard.

Sesty Snow ironed her forehead with two fingers. Honestly? She wished she could skip right over the annual Twilight, Texas Valentine’s Day celebration that now included the first ever Hunks-­in-­the-­Hood bachelor auction.

The event—­and the cutesy name—­had been her own invention, but now she was stuck with it. Last summer she’d entered a hometown competition designed to spotlight local talent and create new events. It was designed to bring additional tourism dollars into Hood County and justify the new lakeside conference center that some gung-­ho politico had convinced voters they needed.

One hundred entries, and winner, winner, chicken dinner, she’d beaten out them all.

At the time, peacock proud of herself, she collected the trappings of success. Renting office space on the town square for her fledgling event planning business. Buying her first home. Dating a hotshot lawyer.

But now?

Not so much.

However, she wasn’t a quitter. Never had been, never would be. That is unless she counted pulling the plug on her relationship with Josh Langtree. She’d quit that easily enough.

Aw c’mon
. Why was she thinking about Josh now? It had been almost ten years since she’d last seen him.

Why?

Well, the man
had
been her first love, and she was reevaluating her life since getting dumped by said hotshot lawyer. Memory lane trips were de rigueur after breakups, were they not?

That, plus Josh had been all over the news lately, first crashing spectacularly in a NASCAR race in November and then getting dumped by his fashion model fiancée. Hey, they had something in common. Both of them were losers in the game of love.

When first she heard about his accident her impulse had been to call him and give condolences, but she had zero clue about how to get hold of him. No doubt he had bodyguards, and an entourage keeping the hoi polloi at bay.

Jana snapped her fingers in front of Sesty’s face. “You stroke out on me or something?”

Sesty blinked. “Thanks for the heads-­up on the scowling. I didn’t realize I was doing that. I’m working on a headache. Getting these guys to listen to me is like herding stray cats stoned on peyote.”

“Who’s stoned on peyote?” Jana’s sidelong glance sliced to the onstage studs, her lips softening into an expression Sesty thought best belonged behind closed doors, a sultry tilt of desire and seduction. “The cats or the herder?”

“Either or.”

“Maybe both?” Jana swung her gaze back to Sesty. “Is something wrong?”

Jana was willow-­branch thin and sported a zoo of colorful tattoos that included a parrot on her left shoulder, leopard spots across her chest, and exotic green serpents twining around her right leg. She wore a floral peasant skirt, ankle boots, and a short-­waisted, brown leather jacket. Her eggplant-­colored hair was clumped in dreadlocks, and numerous piercings punctuated her face. Two years ago she’d moved to Twilight from Austin, and the towns­people viewed her as something of a lovable oddity.

Sesty’s parents had advised her against hiring Jana. “Image is important,” they’d said. “Your assistant is an extension of you. She’s far too Bohemian.”

Secretly, a small rebellious part of her liked that Jana’s appearance upset her parents. The girl was a damned good assistant, never mind her eccentricities, and that’s all Sesty cared about.

“No, no, nothing’s wrong.” Sesty resisted the urge to sigh. “It’s just that there’s so much to do.”

“I’ve never seen you this distracted no matter how much stress you’re under. Something’s up. What gives?”

“I’m fine,” Sesty assured her, tucking her tablet computer under her arm and clapping her hands. “Ian Carter, could you please put down the cell phone for two minutes?”

Ian, the owner of the local jet-­ski dealership and heart-­attack-­gorgeous, grinned a handsome-­guys-­can-­get-­away-­with-­anything grin and held up a finger. “Just one more text. I’m making V-­Day dinner rez for me and my gal at the Funny Farm.”

“Lucky girl.” Jana breathed. “The food there is delicious, and the company . . .” She cast a roving eye over Ian’s hard body and lowered her voice. “Let’s just say if he didn’t have a girlfriend, I’d hit that.”

“Men.” Sesty couldn’t contain the sigh any longer. It slipped over her lips, soft and disappointed. “Why is he waiting until Wednesday to get a Friday reservation? He’ll never get in.”

“Of course he will. Ian’s young, good-­looking, and he can bribe ­people with free Sea-­Doo rides.”

“True, but I wish they’d listen to me for two minutes. You’d think the lot of them have ADHD.”

“Seriously, Ses, do you even have a pulse? Who cares if they listen? Just look at them.” Jana swept a hand at the men in various stages of undress, from Ian in a skintight wet suit, to a cowboy in boots, chaps, and tight-­fitting jeans and nothing else, to the fireman in turnout gear, sans shirt.

“Since I’m the one who is responsible for putting on a seamless bachelor auction. I care. I care a lot.”

“Your perfectionism is showing. You gotta learn to chill a little or you will stroke out before you’re fifty.”

What was so bad about striving to always do your best? Why did ­people consider it such a character flaw?

It was the same thing Chad said to her two weeks ago when he asked for the key to his place back. He also said she was overly cautious, uptight, and provincial. Sesty notched her chin up. If expecting monogamy from your boyfriend of three months was provincial, then yes, yes, she was. Guilty as charged.

“You demand too much of ­people,” Chad had said. “Your expectations are too high.”

Of course, it turned out to be a bullshit excuse. She learned he was slipping around behind her back with the leggy bimbo who ran Perks, the new coffee shop on the square.

Dammit. She was going to miss her morning cup of mocha latte more than she would miss Chad. Why couldn’t he have taken up with the woman who owned the sports memorabilia store? She never jonesed for a Hank Aaron autographed baseball.

To rub salt in the wound, Chad had delivered this parting shot: “You think you’re so perfect, but you’re not. You’re just a control freak who you can’t ever let go, and quite frankly, that makes you a washout in the sack.”

Oh yeah, that last bit had stung, even more than his betrayal. She tried so hard to be a good lover. She read sex manuals and bought sexy lingerie, really worked at it. The only time sex had come naturally to her had been with . . . well, never mind that.

Sesty swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth and said to Jana, “What you call perfectionism, I call organization. It’s gotten me this far. I’m sticking with it.”

“There’s organized and then there’s you.” Jana chuckled.

Fine. She would own it. She loved files and spreadsheets and color-­coded tabbed folders, any and everything that smacked of orderliness. What kind of event planner would she be if she weren’t organized?

“Leaving the topic of my faults for the time being, we’ve got a week’s worth of work and three days to do it in.” Sesty pushed her bangs from her forehead and puffed out her cheeks with air.

This year, Valentine’s Day was on Friday, so Twilight was doing what they did best—­making a big production out of holidays, and stealing the entire weekend from Saint Valentine. Her bachelor auction was the linchpin of Saturday’s activities, which included a dress-­up-­your-­pet-­as-­a-­famous-­lover-­from-­film contest, a dulcimer competition, wine-­tasting featuring Texas vintners, some romance author having a book signing and for the kids, and a smashing of the giant heart-­shaped piñata in the town square.

One eyebrow shot up on Jana’s forehead. “When you hired me, you told me that Valentine’s Day was your favorite holiday. Now it seems like you’re gritting your teeth to get through this.”

Once upon a time, Valentine’s Day
had
been her favorite holiday. What wasn’t to love about flowers and chocolates and heartfelt expressions of love?

But that was before.

“All right.” Sesty folded her arms over her chest and ignored Jana’s question. “There
is
one problem. These uncooperative men are driving me batty. We need to get this dress rehearsal over with and be out of the building by one o’clock so the vendors can start setting up for the bridal show on Friday.”

“You’re not going to tell me what’s eating you, are you?”

“Nothing’s eating me.”

“Fine. Keep your secrets.” Jana stuck two fingers in her mouth and let loose with a long, loud whistle. “Yo, dudes, total attention over here.” She swirled a finger above Sesty’s head.

The men migrated to the edge of the stage, stared out to where she and Jana stood in front of the auditorium seating.

“Thank you all for volunteering,” Sesty addressed them. “All the proceeds from the auction will go to Holly’s House, a charity that helps provide medical care to needy families in Hood County. I know you are busy men so we’ll keep this rehearsal as short as possible. If you’d line up along the stage in the order listed on your instruction sheet that would be very helpful.”

The gorgeous men, in various stages of undress, obeyed. All right, so she was no longer keen on Valentine’s Day, but she had to admit the masculine eye candy was tonic for her bruised ego.

She surveyed the bachelors, did a head count. “One, two, three. Scott, Mitchell, Dickie. Four, five, six . . .” Hey wait, there were only eleven bachelors. She turned to Jana. “We’re missing one. There’s supposed to be twelve. Where’s number twelve?”

“Didn’t I tell you?” It was Jana’s turn to scowl. “I thought I told you. I know I told you.”

“No, you didn’t tell me.”

Jana’s nose crinkled. “I meant to tell you. Gray Kemper had to drop out of the auctions for health reasons.”

As a former minor league pitcher for a Texas Rangers farm team, Gray was expected to bring in the most money.

“What health reasons?” ­People had a habit of committing to something and then backing out when the time drew near. She wasn’t going to let Gray weasel out of his commitment over a minor illness.

“He ruptured his Achilles’ tendon playing basketball.”

“Ouch.” Sesty winced. “Oh, okay, good excuse, but I promised Holly’s House twelve bachelors. We need twelve bachelors. Thank heavens we haven’t printed the programs yet. Who can we draft as Gray’s stand-­in at this late date?”

“I’ve already been searching around,” Jana assured her. “But it’s not like hunky bachelors are falling from the sky or anything. Most of the good-­looking, single guys in Twilight are already up there on stage.”

Another hurdle.

Sesty took a deep breath. Fine. She could handle this. Troubleshooting was one of her strengths. “There’s six thousand ­people in Granbury. Assuming the law of averages, half of them have to be men.”

“Don’t forget we have a big retiree population. Unless you want to feature the Grampas of Hood County.”

“Well, monkey pudding.” Sesty sank her hands on her hips, tablet computer still tucked under her armpit. “What now?”

“We could settle for an ordinary looking guy. Not every guy has to be a literal hunk. We could go for hunky personalities. I bet Linc over at the feed store would do it.”

Sesty tapped her chin with the knuckle of her second finger. “Linc is a sweet guy, but he perpetually smells of medicated livestock feed and he’s six-­foot-­eight.”

“Choosy beggar.”

“Is there anyone else you can think of?”

“There’s always Chad, if you don’t mind someone bidding on a date with your main squeeze.”

Eek. Sesty gulped. She’d rather go down to the Horny Toad Tavern, yank any random drunk off a bar stool and stick him on the stage before stooping so low as to ask Chad for help.

The men were getting restless again, taking out cell phones, rehashing the Super Bowl, pantomiming boxing each other. She suppressed an eye roll. Men. Underneath, they were all thirteen at heart. She’d better stop worrying about the one that was missing and corral the eleven she had on hand.

Jana was right. She was procrastinating. Why?

Valentine’s Day. The fault lay with the silly day that honored the schmaltzy, mushy side of love.

Forget Valentine’s Day.

Right. Okay. Head in the game.

From behind her, she heard the main door of the conference center creak open, and a rectangle of sunlight spilled across the stage. She didn’t turn to see who’d come in. Mostly likely it was a local woman or two creeping inside to check out the hunks. She didn’t mind. Nothing wrong with stirring grassroots buzz about the guys. Just as long as visitors didn’t disrupt rehearsal, they were welcome to stay.

“Linc it is then,” she murmured to Jana, and then to the men she said, “Fellas, if you could—­”

“Uh, Ses.” Jana plucked at the sleeve of Sesty’s angora sweater.

“What is it?” she asked without glancing over at her assistant.

“Mmm, don’t look now, but I think a miracle might have just strolled through the door.”

“Huh?” Slowly, Sesty swiveled her head.

A man stood in the doorway, backlit by the noonday sun and letting in the crisp February air. His face was cast in shadow and she could not make out his features, but his body—­from what she could see at this distance—­well . . . ahem . . . he put every other man up on that stage to shame.

“I’m looking for Jana Gerard,” he called out. “Marge from the courthouse sent me over.”

“Down here.” Jana waved wildly.

That voice. It was eerily familiar to Sesty. Hot chills rippled across her chest and her scalp tingled. Did she know him?

The man ambled closer, moving like a well-­fed cougar idly scoping out a herd of cattle for future reference—­leisurely, relaxed, but ever watchful. The closer he got, the harder Sesty’s heart pounded. His pace was casual but controlled. It dawned on her that he was struggling not to limp. As the door clicked closed behind him, blocking out the sunlight, his features came into sharp focus.