Saddle Up. Mary Baxter Lynn

If it’s any consolation, he’s the best of the lot…by a long shot!”

      “Don’t torment me, please.”

      Tiffany erupted into laughter. “Me torment you? I think it’s the other way around. You’re the one who plopped down a cool thousand simoleons for the man.”

      Bridget had never felt so foolish in her entire life. She couldn’t remember feeling like this even as a teenager, when she’d first discovered boys and giggled with her friends about them. Well, what was done, was done and while she couldn’t undo it, she could fix it. Or at least, she hoped she could.

      “What next?” Tiffany asked.

      “Where is he?”

      “By he do you mean your hunk, Mr. Jeremiah Davis?”

      Bridget glared at Tiffany. “He’s not my hunk. And yes, I mean him.”

      “Well, at the moment,” Tiff drawled, “he’s shooting the breeze with the other fellows offstage.”

      “Is he looking at me?”

      “As a matter of fact, he is, and with quite a lot of curiosity, I might add.”

      “You’re loving this, aren’t you?”

      “Yep. I want to see how the counselor at law handles this one.”

      Bridget considered strangling Tiffany on the spot, but the auctioneer chose that moment to rap his gavel. “That’s it, ladies. You’ve made your choices, and in doing so, you’ve helped us collect thousands of dollars for the women’s shelter. Now it’s time for you winners to grab your men and join in the fun.”

      Everyone laughed and cheered—everyone except Bridget, who continued to sit in her chair, fearing if she moved, she would have a panic attack. She took several deep breaths and turned stricken eyes toward her friend, who also remained seated.

      “So what are you going to do?” Tiffany asked in a bland tone.

      Bridget wasn’t fooled. Underneath that bland exterior, laughter ached to bubble through.

      “I wish to God I knew.”

      Tiffany was loving every minute of her discomfort, but then well she should, Bridget thought. This served her right for acting holier than thou. Now she was having to choke on every word she’d said.

      But more than that, what was she going to do about Jeremiah Davis, the man she had won? At any moment, she feared, he would walk up and say something to her. He had to think she was a sex-starved nympho. What if he made advances based on that assumption?

      Tiffany voiced those exact thoughts. “I expect your man to appear on the scene at any second. And from the looks of him, he’ll make you think of Hamilton as a fond memory. Jeepers, did you see the size of his hands? Not to mention several other parts?”

      “I don’t want to talk to him or his parts,” Bridget responded in a strained voice, feeling the anxiety build inside her. Not a good sign. “I’ll just pay my money, then we’ll leave.”

      “Without saying anything to him?”

      “Yes.”

      “Fat chance. That man, all these men, think they have the makings of a relationship with the women who won them. After all, that’s what this was all about—someone to share their lives and their work.” Tiffany chuckled.

      “Well, you and he can both forget that. I don’t know what happened to me, Tiff. I had no intention of saying a word.”

      “If I’d had any extra money, I would have snatched him up myself.”

      “You’re welcome to him…and I didn’t snatch him up!”

      “Whatever you say, but a thousand dollars says you did. Argue with that! Look, I’m going to mingle, have something to drink and a bite to eat. You want to come?”

      Bridget shook her head. “The thought of food makes me sick.”

      “Suit yourself, but I’m starving.”

      Bridget’s panic flared anew. “You mean you’re going to leave me? Alone?”

      Tiffany’s lips twitched. “Yeah, as a matter of fact, I am. The last time I checked, you were a big girl. You’ve been dressing yourself for years now. Of course…you just bought yourself some help with the undressing.”

      “I’ll get you back, Tiffany Russell. Count on it.”

      Tiffany winked, then walked off.

      Bridget was tempted to go with her friend, but she didn’t think her legs would cooperate. They had as much consistency as water, which was what she needed to take a pill, her anxiety having reached a dangerous level. She dug in her purse, nabbed a tiny tablet and tossed it down cold turkey.

      “Mind if I join you?”

      She hadn’t seen him coming, and though she’d known his appearance was inevitable, she wasn’t prepared. Swallowing hard, she turned and looked into Jeremiah Davis’s face.

      Up close, he was even more intimidating and fascinating. He had to be well over six feet tall—she knew that because he was towering above her. Against that tanned skin, his sandy hair and mustache looked almost gold. But again, it was those piercing green eyes that were his best asset among uneven features.

      “Why? Am I coming apart?” she asked, hoping the remark would make him keep his distance.

      His lips twitched, as though he knew she was uncomfortable. Still, he lowered himself into the chair that Tiffany had vacated and plopped down the Stetson he’d had in his hand. That was when she smelled his cologne. Instead of being offensive, it evoked the same feeling inside her that she’d felt when he first swaggered onto that stage. Nor could she ignore the way his thighs filled out his jeans to perfection.

      Something foreign had a stranglehold on her, and she jerked away from his gaze before she made a bigger fool of herself than she already had.

      “So, want to tell me your name?” he asked, his voice sounding low and slightly rough around the edges. But then, he was rough around the edges in every respect. Still, she couldn’t help but compare that voice to Hamilton’s, whose precise vowels oftentimes sounded high and whiny. As for the men themselves, there was no comparison.

      “Well?”

      Realizing she hadn’t answered his question, she cleared her throat and said, “It’s Bridget Martin.”

      “You’re not from around here, are you, Bridget Martin?”

      “Actually, I’m from Texas.”

      He chuckled. “I sort of figured that. I love women with Southern drawls.”

      I bet you just love women, period, she thought, then wanted to kick herself for her cattiness. But more than that, for even caring if he’d slept with every woman he’d ever met.

      “Did this sideshow bring you to these parts?”

      Her eyes narrowed. “Do I hear contempt for what just went on?”

      He eased back in the chair, then said, “Yep, you did.”

      “Then why did you participate?”

      “I thought that was obvious. I need a woman.”

      Bridget sucked in her breath and without thinking looked at him. The way he was staring at her, she might have been the only woman in the world. Shaken, she jerked her eyes from his, but not before she saw his lips twitch again. He was toying with her, and loving every minute of it. But why? What had she ever done to him?

      “Then I’m afraid there’s been a mix-up. Just because I helped out a women’s shelter doesn’t mean I need a man,” she managed to say, though the last part seemed to lodge in her throat.

      “Of