The Pregnant Proposition. Sandra Paul

to admit, they can be formidable.”

      “Yeah, but I’m hoping money might make the difference. I thought I’d offer some of the lease money Troy’s willing to pay as incentive to my prospective groom.”

      Misty looked impressed. “That’s a good idea. Who are you thinking of asking?”

      “I’m not sure yet. Maybe Dave Sarten.”

      Misty shook her head. “He just got engaged to Pam Watkins. What about Jack Ryder?”

      “He got a job managing a ranch up in South Dakota. Left last week. I was thinking maybe Travis Wesley …”

      “Nope. He’s got a steady girlfriend in Abilene. Buck Boulter might do it, except—”

      “He’s good friends with Cole,” Ally finished for her.

      They lapsed into gloomy silence, staring out the bug-splattered windshield. The cab was hot and smelled like cigarettes, gasoline and rotting vegetables—not too overwhelming when driving, but not especially pleasant when sitting in the blazing sun.

      Misty picked up a crumpled fast-food bag by her feet. She looked inside, and wrinkled her nose. “So that’s what stinks. These fries are just about petrified. Ally, your brothers—”

      “I know,” Ally said glumly, batting at a fat fly that wandered in. “They’re all slobs.”

      Misty tossed the bag over the seat. “You let them get away with too much. You need to—” She tensed, her eyes widening as she stared past Ally’s shoulder at someone across the street. “Hey, Ally! What about him?”

      Ally turned and lifted her hand, shading her eyes against the sun as she studied the figure walking away. “Dwayne Cronk?” she asked doubtfully. “I guess, since he just bags groceries at the Piggly Wiggly he could probably use the money, but he always smells like cooked cabbage—”

      “Not him—him! The guy who bought the Laundromat and turned it into that antique store! What’s his name? Tim? Tom?”

      “Theodore—Theodore Bayor,” Ally told her, a vague memory surfacing. She squinted to read the fancy gold-and-black script scrawled on the store window across the street. “Of Bayor’s Antiques and Collectibles. What about him?”

      Misty’s face shone with enthusiasm. “He’d be perfect! After all, he’s new in town, and Tammy told me that though the store’s been open two months now it isn’t making much—so he probably needs the money.”

      Ally studied the man arranging a pair of silver candlesticks in the store’s front window. His face was hidden by a dark brown mustache and full beard, but judging by the thick, curly brown hair on his head and his athletic build—wide shoulders, lean hips—he appeared to be in his late twenties or early thirties. “Are you sure he isn’t married?”

      “Tammy says he bought the store with an elderly woman named Mrs. Bayor—that must be his mother, over there.” Misty pointed out a plump, gray-haired woman about seventy or so in a dark dress, standing behind a counter. “Tammy told me they’re both from California. It’s just the two of them, so he’s obviously used to working with a woman and—Oh, hide! Quick! He’s looking this way!”

      The girls ducked. Misty made the move with smooth grace, but Ally’s longer legs got in the way and she whacked her knee on the dashboard. “Ouch!”

      “Shush!” Misty commanded.

      They stayed slouched a few seconds in frozen silence. Then Ally said dryly, “Did we really need to hide?”

      Misty gave a small chuckle. “I panicked,” she admitted. “But we don’t want him to see us sit back up—that might look suspicious.”

      She glanced at Ally. “Anyway, like I was saying, if he’s used to working with his mother, he shouldn’t have any problem working with you. Here—” She groped around the floor and came up with the binoculars the boys kept in the truck. “Uck! They’re sticky,” she complained. She wiped the lenses gingerly with her crumpled tissue, then held them up to her eyes to take another look. “He’s not bad-looking. At least he doesn’t resemble his mother. Why, the poor woman’s three plucked hairs short of a unibrow. Take a look.”

      She passed the glasses over, and Ally peered at Theodore’s mother. Misty was right; the woman’s thick, dark brows almost met over the bridge of her long nose.

      “And,” Misty added, as Ally slunk back beneath the window’s edge, “he can’t be intimidated by your brothers, ‘cause he doesn’t know them.”

      “He’s met Linc and Luke,” Ally pointed out. “Luke’s the one who mentioned him awhile back. He said the new guy is pretty good at pool, so I guess he plays Friday nights at Big Bob’s. They’ve never mentioned getting in a fight with him, though.”

      “There you go!” Misty exclaimed, as if that clinched the matter. “What else do you need?”

      Lifting the glasses, Ally chanced another peek. He was looking the other way, so she studied his face. He had thick dark hair and nice-enough eyes, she decided. Like Misty said, not bad looking at all, unlike his mother. Ally pointed the glasses Mrs. Bayor’s way—and found her glaring back.

      “Damn!” Ally quickly ducked, guiltily dropping the binoculars. “I think his mother saw me.”

      Misty checked. “No. She’s still cleaning.” She glanced at Ally. “So? What do you think?”

      “He’s okay,” Ally admitted. “And, anyway, beggars can’t be choosers. Do you think I should just go in there and ask him now? Forget about getting dressed up?”

      “No,” Misty said decisively. “Dressing up is always good. Besides, you don’t want to corner him, especially on his own territory—and with his mother watching, too. Better to approach him on neutral ground—like Big Bob’s bar on Friday!” she declared, beaming with sudden inspiration. Then she frowned. “No, wait, you said the twins hang out there.”

      “They used to. They’re banned for fighting.”

      “What about Kyle? Or … Cole?”

      Hearing the diffident note in Misty’s tone, Ally assured her, “Cole never goes out.” Happy to see Misty’s tense expression ease, Ally added, “And Kyle’s been going to Abilene every weekend. He must be seeing someone there.”

      Misty smiled, saying again, “There you go, then. We’ll get you dressed up in something so sexy, you won’t have to approach Theodore, he’ll come to you. And even if he doesn’t, we’ll shake someone out of the woodwork,” she added on a practical note.

      Ally smiled wryly. That might be true for Misty, who even with mascara smudged beneath her eyes, tearstains smeared on her cheeks, and her designer blouse wrinkled, still looked feminine and sweet. Unlike Ally, who felt sweaty and worn-out from her sleepless night. And all her T-shirt was likely to attract was a tractor fanatic. “I don’t have anything sexy. And since Tammy won’t take the dress back—”

      “Oh, pooh on Tammy” Misty said darkly. “She’s never getting my business again.” Apparently forgetting they were hiding, she straightened indignantly in her seat.

      Ally slowly sat up, too. She glanced toward the antique store. Mrs. Bayor was staring directly at them. Misty saw her and waggled her fingers cheerfully. Ally waved tentatively, too. Mrs. Bayor scowled harder.

      Ally hastily turned toward Misty, who’d opened her door to jump out of the truck. “Let’s get some coffee, collect your dress from Tammy, and then you can follow me to my house,” Misty suggested. “I’ll lend you an outfit that’ll be so smokin', the men at Big Bob’s will gather round you like Scouts at a campfire, eager for a weenie roast.”

      Ally tried to protest. “Honestly, Misty, men never think I’m hot.”

      “They will when I get through with you,” Misty promised. She