Call Me Irresistible

CHAPTER TEN

On her way home from work that evening, Meg passed the town’s resale shop. She loved good vintage stores and decided to stop. Another of the red flyers hung in the window advertising the Win a Weekend with Ted Beaudine contest. She opened the heavy, old-fashioned wooden door. The sunny yellow interior smelled faintly musty, the way most resale shops did, but the merchandise was well organized, with antique tables and chests serving both as display areas and section dividers. Meg recognized the clerk as Birdie’s friend Kayla, the blonde who’d been behind the front desk at the inn the day of Meg’s humiliation.

Kayla’s sleeveless pink and gray camouflage-print dress definitely wasn’t resale. She wore it with stilettos and a set of tasseled black enamel bangles. Even though it was nearly closing time, her makeup was still flawless—eyeliner, contoured cheekbones, glossy mocha mouth, the personification of a Texas beauty queen. She didn’t pretend not to know who Meg was, and like everybody else in this stupid town, she had no regard for tact. “I hear Spencer Skipjack’s got a thing for you,” she said as she stepped away from the jewelry rack.

“I don’t have a thing for him.” A quick glance at the merchandise revealed boring preppy sportswear, pastel church suits, and grandma sweatshirts decorated with Halloween pumpkins and cartoon characters—all of it hard to reconcile with this stylish creature.

“That doesn’t mean you can’t be nice to him,” Kayla said.

“I am nice to him.”

Kayla planted a hand on her hip. “Do you have any idea how many jobs that golf resort will give people in this town? Or the new businesses that will spring up?”

Useless to mention the ecosystems it would also destroy. “Quite a few, I imagine.”

Kayla retrieved a belt that had fallen off a rack. “I know people around here haven’t exactly put out the welcome mat for you, but I’m sure everybody would appreciate it if you didn’t use that as an excuse to screw us over with Spencer Skipjack. Some things are more important than holding on to petty grudges.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Just as Meg turned to leave, a display caught her eye—a gray menswear shirt with a matching bandeau top and short shorts with a paper-bag waist. The pieces were edgy updates of 1950s summer fashion, and she walked over to examine them more closely. When she found the label, she couldn’t believe what she saw. “This is Zac Posen.”

“I know.”

She blinked at the price tag. Forty dollars? For a three-piece Zac Posen? She didn’t have forty dollars to spare at the moment, not even with Ted’s tip, but still, an incredible bargain. Hanging nearby was an avant-garde dress with a beautifully constructed green and melon corset top, at least two thousand dollars new, but now priced at one hundred. The label bore her uncle’s name, Michel Savagar. She examined the other clothes on the rack and found a silky chartreuse tank dress printed with the elongated head of a Modigliani female, a startling origami jacket with steel gray pencil pants, and a black-and-white Miu Miu miniskirt. She pulled a girly fuchsia cardigan with crocheted roses off the rack, imagining it with a T-shirt, jeans, and Chuck Taylors.

“Nice pieces, aren’t they?” Kayla said.

“Very nice.” Meg put the sweater back and fingered a Narciso Rodriguez jacket.

Kayla regarded her almost slyly. “Most women don’t have the body to wear these clothes. You have to be really tall and thin.”

Thank you, Mom! Meg did a quick mental calculation, and ten minutes later, she walked out of the store with the Miu Miu mini and the Modigliani tank dress.

The next day was Sunday. Most of the employees grabbed a quick lunch in the caddy room or a corner of the kitchen, but she didn’t like either place. Instead, she headed toward the swimming pool with the peanut butter sandwich she’d made that morning. As she passed the dining patio, she spotted Spence, Sunny, and Ted seated at one of the umbrella-shaded tables. Sunny had her hand on Ted’s arm, and Ted seemed perfectly content to leave it there. He was doing all the talking as Spence listened intently. None of them noticed her.

The pool was crowded with families enjoying the long holiday weekend. Conscious of her lowly employee status, she found a spot in the grass around the corner from the snack shop and away from the members. As she sat cross-legged on the ground Haley appeared, carrying a drink cup printed with the green country-club logo. “I brought you a Coke.”

“Thanks.”

Haley freed her hair from the ponytail her job required and settled next to Meg. She’d unfastened all the buttons on her yellow employees’ polo, but it still pulled over her breasts. “Mr. Clements and his sons are playing at one o’clock. Dr Pepper and Bud Light.”

“I saw.” Meg checked tee times each morning in hopes of improving her tips by memorizing names, faces, and the members’ drink preferences. She hadn’t exactly received a warm welcome, but no one except Kayla’s father, Bruce, had mentioned getting rid of her, something she attributed to Spencer Skipjack’s interest rather than the quality of her service.

Haley gazed at the short pendant nestled inside the open collar of Meg’s detestable polo. “You have the best jewelry.”

“Thanks. I made it last night.” She’d assembled a small, quirky necklace from bits of the rescued costume jewelry: the mother-of-pearl face of a broken Hello Kitty watch, some tiny pink glass beads she’d taken off a lone earring, and a silver fish that looked as though it might have been part of a key chain. With a little glue and wire, she’d pulled together an interesting piece, perfect for the silky black cord she’d shortened.

“You’re so creative,” Haley said.

“I love jewelry. Buying it, making it, wearing it. When I travel, I find local artisans and watch them work. I’ve learned a lot.” She impulsively unclipped the cord. “Here. Enjoy.”

“You’re giving it to me?”

“Why not?” She fastened the pendant around Haley’s neck. Its funky charm helped downplay her overly made-up face.

“That’s so cool. Thanks.”

The gift unlocked some of Haley’s natural reticence, and while Meg ate, she talked about attending the county community college in the fall. “My mom wants me to go to U.T. instead. She’s being a real rag about it, but I’m not going.”

“I’m surprised you don’t want to head off to the big city,” Meg said.

“It’s not so bad here. Zoey and Kayla are always talking about how much they’d like to move to Austin or San Antonio, but they never do anything about it.” She took a sip of her Coke. “Everybody’s saying Mr. Skipjack’s obsessed with you.”

“He’s obsessed with my celebrity connections, and he’s really persistent. Just between us, I’ve been trying to get him to back off by telling him I’m in love with Ted.”

Haley’s big eyes grew even larger. “You’re in love with Ted?”

“God, no. I have more sense. That was the best I could come up with on short notice.”

Haley pulled at a tuft of grass by her ankle. Finally, she said, “Have you ever been in love?”

“I thought I was a couple of times, but I wasn’t. What about you?”

“For a while, I had this thing for this guy I graduated with. Kyle Bascom. He’s going to County Community next year, too.” She glanced up at the clock on the snack shop wall. “I have to get back to work. Thanks for the necklace.”

Meg finished her sandwich, grabbed an empty golf cart, and drove back to the fourteenth tee. By four o’clock, the course had begun to empty, leaving her with nothing to do except obsess over her failures.

That evening when she pulled the Rustmobile up to the church, she found an unfamiliar car parked by the steps. As she got out, Sunny Skipjack came around the corner from the graveyard. She’d traded in the marigold yellow number she’d been wearing at lunch for shorts, a white top, and a pair of cherry red sunglasses. “Doesn’t it bother you, living out here alone?” she asked.

Meg tilted her head toward the cemetery. “They’re fairly harmless. Although a couple of those black markers give me chills.”

Sunny came closer, moving with a sinuous rhythm that emphasized her round hips and full breasts. She wasn’t a woman who obsessed over not being a size zero, and Meg liked that about her. What she didn’t like was an aggressive attitude that signified she’d mow down anyone who had the audacity to oppose her.

“I wouldn’t object to a cold beer,” Sunny said. “I’ve spent the last two hours with my father and Ted. We’ve been trudging around the land Spence is considering buying.”

“No beer, but I have iced tea.”

Sunny wasn’t someone who’d settle for less than exactly what she wanted, and she declined. Since Meg was anxious to go for a swim, she decided to speed things along. “What can I do for you?” As if she didn’t know . . . Sunny was going to warn her away from Daddy.

Sunny waited a moment too long to reply. “The . . . dress code for the party tomorrow? I thought you’d know.”

It was a lame excuse. Meg took a seat on the step. “It’s Texas. The women tend to dress up.”

Sunny barely paid attention. “How did Jake Koranda’s daughter end up in a hick town like this?”

Meg had good reason to ridicule this hick town, but Sunny was merely being a snob. “I’m taking a break from L.A.”

“Quite a change,” Sunny said.

“Sometimes change is what we need. I guess it lets us look at our lives in a new way.” And hadn’t she turned into the wise philosopher?

“There’s nothing I’d want to change about my life.” Sunny slipped her bright red sunglasses to the top of her head, where the stems pushed the long layers of dark brown hair away from her face and highlighted her resemblance to Spence. They had the same strong nose, full lips, and air of entitlement. “I like things just the way they are. I sit on the board of my father’s company. I design products. It’s a great life.”

“Impressive.”

“I have a bachelor’s in mechanical engineering and an MBA,” she added, even though Meg hadn’t asked.

“Nice.” Meg thought of the degree she didn’t have in anything.

Sunny sat on the step above her. “You seem to have stirred up the town since you got here.”

“It’s a small town. Easy to stir up.”

Sunny rubbed a smudge from her ankle that she must have picked up during the land survey. “My father has quite a lot to say about you. He enjoys younger women.”

She’d finally gotten to the point of today’s visit, and Meg couldn’t have been happier.

“They obviously enjoy him, too,” Sunny went on. “He’s successful, outgoing, and he likes to have a good time. He keeps talking about you, so I know you’ve caught his interest. I’m happy for you both.”

“You are?” Meg hadn’t expected this. She wanted an ally, not a matchmaker. She stalled for time by untying her sneakers. “I guess I’m surprised. Don’t you worry about . . . gold diggers? You might have heard that I’m broke.”

Sunny shrugged. “My father’s a big boy. He can take care of himself. The fact that you’re a challenge makes you even more intriguing to him.”

The last thing Meg wanted was to be intriguing. She slipped out of her sneakers, pulled off her socks, and said carefully, “I don’t really go for older men.”

“Maybe you should give one of them a try.” Sunny rose from the step and came down to Meg’s level. “I’m going to be straight with you. My father has been divorced from my mother for nearly ten years. He’s worked hard all his life, and he deserves to enjoy himself. So don’t worry about me getting in your way. I have no problem with the two of you having fun together. And who knows where it might lead? He’s never been stingy with the women he dates.”

“But . . .”

“I’ll see you tomorrow at the party.” Her business accomplished, she headed for her rental car.

As she drove off, Meg put the pieces together. Sunny had obviously heard about Meg’s professed interest in Ted, and she didn’t like it. She wanted to keep Meg occupied with her father so she’d have a clear field to stake out St. Sexy for herself. If she only knew the truth, she wouldn’t have wasted her time.

Meg had no trouble finding the Moorish mansion where Shelby and Warren Traveler lived. According to gossip, Kenny and Torie hadn’t been happy when their father had married a woman thirty years his junior who also happened to be Torie’s sorority sister. Even the birth of a half brother hadn’t appeased them, but eleven years had passed since then, Kenny and Torie were both married, and all seemed to be forgiven.

An impressive mosaic fountain sat in front of the house, which was built of rose-colored stucco with a crenellated tile roof straight out of the Arabian nights. One of the catering staff let her in through a set of carved wooden doors bracketed by arched windows. The English country decor was a surprise in a house with such pronounced Moorish architecture, but somehow the chintz, hunting prints, and Hepplewhite furniture Shelby Traveler had chosen sort of worked.

A pair of doors with mosaic inlays led to a terrace with high, stucco walls, long benches covered in jewel-toned prints, and tiled tables holding brass buckets spilling over with red, white, and blue flower arrangements augmented with small American flags. Shade trees and a mist cooling system kept the guests comfortable in the late-afternoon heat.

Meg spotted Birdie Kittle and Kayla huddled together, along with Kayla’s BFF Zoey Daniels, the local elementary-school principal. Several country-club staff members were helping serve, and Meg waved at Haley, who was passing a tray of hors d’oeuvres. Kenny Traveler stood next to an attractive woman with honey brown curls and baby-doll cheeks. Meg recognized her from the rehearsal dinner as his wife, Emma.

Meg had showered in the ladies’ locker room, scrunched some hair product into her rowdy curls, applied lipstick and eye makeup, then slipped into the chartreuse tank dress from the resale shop. With the elongated Modigliani woman’s head printed down the front, the dress didn’t require a necklace, but she hadn’t been able to resist attaching a couple of quarter-size purple plastic discs to each of her Sung dynasty earrings. The dramatic juxtaposition of ancient and mod complemented the Modigliani print and pulled the whole posh-meets-kitsch look together. Her uncle Michel would have approved.

Heads began to turn at her appearance but not, she suspected, because of her great earrings. She’d expected hostility from the women, but she hadn’t anticipated the amused glances some of them exchanged as they took in her tank dress. It was a perfect fit, and it looked great on her, so she didn’t care.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

She turned to see a tall, thin man in his early forties with straight, slightly disheveled brown hair and wide-spaced gray eyes visible through the lenses of wire-rimmed glasses. He reminded her of a college lit professor. “Arsenic?” she asked.

“I don’t think that will be necessary.”

“If you say so.”

“I’m Dexter O’Connor.”

“No, you’re not!” The words came out before she could stop them, but she couldn’t believe this bookish man was the glamorous Torie Traveler O’Connor’s husband. It had to be the mismatch of the century.

He smiled. “Obviously, you’ve met my wife.”

Meg swallowed. “Uh . . . It’s just that—”

“Torie is Torie, and I’m . . . not?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Well, I mean . . . I guess that could be a good thing, right? Depending on how you look at it?” She’d just unintentionally insulted his wife. He waited, a patient smile on his face. “I don’t mean that Torie’s not terrific . . .” She stumbled on. “Torie’s practically the only nice person I’ve met in this town, but she’s very—” Meg was only digging herself in deeper, and she finally gave up. “Crap. I’m sorry. I’m from L.A., so I have no manners. I’m Meg Koranda, as you probably know, and I like your wife.”

His amusement at her discomfort seemed more appreciative than mean-spirited. “So do I.”

At exactly that moment, Torie came over to join them. She was startlingly beautiful in a sleeveless, embroidered Chinese red top and royal blue mini that showed off her long, tanned legs. How could a firecracker like this be married to a man with such a quiet, scholar’s manner?

Torie hooked a hand through her husband’s elbow. “See, Dex. Now that you’ve met Meg you can see she’s not the bitch everybody makes her out to be. At least I don’t think so.”

Dex gave his wife a tolerant smile and Meg a sympathetic one. “You’ll have to forgive Torie. Whatever pops into her head comes out her mouth. She can’t help it. She’s spoiled beyond belief.”

Torie grinned and gazed at her egghead husband with such affection that Meg felt a surprising lump form in her throat. “I don’t get why you think that’s a problem, Dex.”

He patted her hand. “I know you don’t.”

Meg realized that her initial impression of Dexter O’Connor as a gullible egghead might not be accurate. He had a quiet manner, but he was no fool.

Torie dropped her husband’s arm and grabbed Meg’s wrist. “I’m getting bored. It’s time to introduce you to some people. That’ll liven things up for sure.”

“I don’t really think—”

But Torie was already pulling her toward Kenny Traveler’s wife, who’d chosen a cheery tangerine shift with eyelet petals at the hem. The warm color enhanced her brown eyes and butterscotch curls.

“Lady Emma, I don’t think you’ve officially met Meg Koranda,” Torie said. And then, to Meg, “Just so you know . . . one of Lady Emma’s closest friends is Ted’s mother, Francesca. Mine, too, but I’m more broad-minded. Lady Emma pretty much hates your guts like everybody else.”

Kenny’s wife didn’t bat an eyelash at Torie’s bluntness. “You’ve caused Francesca a great deal of pain,” she said to Meg in a quietly clipped British accent. “I don’t know all the circumstances, however, so ‘hates’ is much too strong a word, but Torie prides herself on creating drama.”

“Don’t you just love the way she talks?” Torie gave the smaller woman a bright smile. “Lady Emma is a stickler for fairness.”

Meg decided it was time to give these blunt-spoken females a small dose of their own medicine. “If being fair toward me is too much trouble, Lady Emma, I give you permission to set aside your principles.”

She didn’t even blink. “Just Emma,” she said. “I have no title, merely an honorific, as everyone here very well knows.”

Torie gave her a tolerant look. “Let’s put it this way. If my daddy was the fifth Earl of Woodbourne like yours was, I’d sure as hell call myself Lady.”

“As you’ve made abundantly clear.” She turned her attention back to Meg. “I understand Mr. Skipjack has taken an interest in you. May I ask if you intend to use that against us?”

“Oh, so tempting,” Meg said.

Ted stepped out on the patio along with Spence and Sunny. He wore a boring pair of tan shorts and an equally boring white T-shirt with a Chamber of Commerce logo over the breast. Predictably, a shaft of sunlight chose that moment to cut through the trees and spill all over him so it looked as though he’d stepped into a string of twinkle lights. He should be embarrassed.

Haley took her job as his personal assistant seriously. She abandoned the elderly man reaching for one of the buffalo wings on her tray and rushed to Ted’s side to serve him.

“Oh, dear,” Emma said. “Ted’s here. I’d better go out to the pool and check on the children.”

“Shelby’s got three lifeguards on duty,” Torie said. “You don’t want to face him.”

Emma sniffed. “The contest to spend a weekend with Ted was entirely Shelby’s idea, but you know he’ll blame me.”

“You are president of the Friends of the Library.”

“And I planned to talk to him first. Believe me, I had no idea they’d get the flyers out so quickly.”

“I hear the bidding’s already up to three thousand dollars,” Torie said.

“Three thousand four hundred,” Emma replied, a little dazed. “More than we could make in a dozen bake sales. And Kayla had trouble with the Web site last night or the bidding might have gone higher.”

Torie wrinkled her nose. “Probably best not to mention the Web site to Ted. It’s a sore spot.”

Emma pulled a very full bottom lip between her teeth, then released it. “We all take such advantage of him.”

“He doesn’t mind.”

“He does mind,” Meg said. “I don’t know why he puts up with all of you.”

Torie waved her off. “You’re an outsider. You have to live around here to understand.” She gazed across the patio toward Sunny Skipjack, cool and sexy in white slacks and a powder blue tunic with a keyhole neckline that displayed an enticing amount of cleavage. “She sure is giving Ted the works. Look at that. She’s rubbing her boob against his arm.”

“He seems to be enjoying it,” Emma said.

Was he? With Ted, who could tell? Only thirty-two years old, and he was carrying not only the weight of Sunny Skipjack’s breast on his arm but also the burden of the entire town.

He surveyed the crowd and almost immediately found Meg. She felt her own internal twinkle lights begin to flash.

Torie lifted her long hair off her neck. “You got yourself a bit of a dilemma, Meg. Spence is champing at the bit to get his hands on you. At the same time, his daughter has your love object in her high beams. Tough situation.” And then, in case Emma had missed the point, “Meg told Spence she’s in love with Teddy.”

“Who isn’t?” Emma’s smooth brow furrowed. “I’d better go talk to him.”

But Ted had already turned the Skipjacks over to Shelby Traveler so he could make a beeline for Kenny’s wife. First, however, he took in Meg with a slow shake of his head.

“What?” she said.

He regarded Torie and Emma. “Is anybody going to tell her?”

Torie flipped her hair. “Not me.”

“Nor I,” Emma said.

Ted shrugged and before Meg could ask what he was talking about, he’d pinned her with his tiger eyes. “Spence wants to see you, and you’d better cooperate. Smile at him and ask him questions about his plumbing empire. He’s real big on his new Cleaner You toilet.” As Meg arched an eyebrow at him, he spun on Emma. “As for you . . .”

“I know. I’m dreadfully sorry. Really. I fully intended to talk to you first about the contest.”

Torie jabbed him in the shoulder with one manicured fingernail. “Don’t you dare complain. The bidding’s already up to thirty-four hundred dollars. Not having children yourself, you can’t imagine how much the library means to the sweet little babies in our town who are crying themselves to sleep every night because they don’t have any new books.”

He wasn’t biting. “Your expenses will eat up every penny of that thirty-four hundred. Did anybody factor that in?”

“Oh, we have the expenses all worked out,” Emma said. “One of Kenny’s friends has volunteered his private jet, which takes care of airfare to San Francisco. And your mother’s connections will get us great hotel and restaurant discounts. Once we tell her we need them, of course.”

“I wouldn’t bet on her help.”

“On the contrary. She’ll like the idea very much . . . after I point out how brilliantly this contest has taken your mind off your recent . . .”

As Emma searched for the right word, Meg jumped in to help her out. “National humiliation? Public debasement? Looking like a weenie?”

“That’s uncalled for,” Torie protested. “Considering you were responsible.”

“I’m not the one who dumped his sorry ass,” Meg said. “Why can’t you people get that through your thick heads?”

She waited for the inevitable retort. That everything had been fine until she’d come along. That she’d taken cruel advantage of Lucy’s bridal nerves. That she’d been jealous and wanted Ted for herself. Instead, he waved her off and focused on Emma. “You should have known better than to go along with this harebrained contest.”

“Stop looking at me like that. You know how wretched it makes me feel when you frown. Blame Shelby.” Emma glanced around the patio for her mother-in-law. “Who seems to have disappeared. Coward.”

Torie poked him in the ribs. “Uh-oh . . . Your newest conquest is headed this way. With her father.”

Meg could swear she saw Ted frown, except all she actually saw him do was curl his mouth into one of his boringly predictable smiles. But before the Skipjacks could get to him, a shriek cut through the party noise.

“Oh my God!”

Everyone stopped talking and turned to locate the source of the noise. Kayla was staring at the small screen of her metallic red smartphone while Zoey stood on tiptoe to peer over her shoulder. A tendril of hair tumbled from her casually arranged updo as she lifted her head. “Somebody just raised the last bid by a thousand dollars!”

Sunny Skipjack’s crimson lips curved in a satisfied smile, and Meg saw her slip her own phone into the pocket of her tunic.

“Dang,” Torie grumbled. “Topping that is going to put a serious dent in my discretionary income.”

“Daddy!” With a cry of distress, Kayla left Zoey behind as she dashed through the crowd to her father. Just that morning, Meg had served Bruce Garvin an orange soda and received zero tip in exchange. Kayla grabbed his arm and engaged him in a furious conversation.

Ted’s lazy smile wobbled.

“Look on the bright side,” Meg whispered. “The dear little babies of Wynette are that much closer to curling up with the new John Grisham.”

He ignored her to address Torie. “Tell me you’re not really bidding.”

“Of course I’m bidding. Do you think I’d give up the chance for a weekend in San Francisco away from my kids? But Dex gets to come with us.”

An overheated arm settled around Meg’s waist, accompanied by the cloying scent of heavy cologne. “You don’t have a drink yet, Miss Meg. Let’s take care of that.”

The plumbing king looked like Johnny Cash, circa 1985. The silver in his thick black hair shone, and his expensive watch glittered in a nest of wrist hair. Although most of the men wore shorts, he had on black pants and a designer polo with a small tuft of hair visible at the open neck. As he maneuvered her away from the others, he rubbed his hand across the small of her back. “You look like a movie star yourself today. That’s a beautiful dress. Did you ever happen to meet Tom Cruise?”

“I never had the pleasure.” It was a lie, but she wouldn’t let him trap her into a discussion of every star she’d met. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sunny give Ted her bold smile and watched Ted smile right back. A fragment of their conversation drifted her way.

“ . . . and with my software,” Ted said, “communities improve their power efficiency. Dynamic load balancing.”

The way Sunny licked her lips made her response sound like soft-core porn. “Optimizing their existing infrastructure. That’s brilliant, Ted.”

They soon formed a foursome. Sunny, Meg observed, was the whole package. Sexy, smart, accomplished. Her father obviously adored her, and he went on ad nauseum about her accomplishments, from her GRE scores to the design awards she’d won for the company. Ted introduced them to everyone, which turned out to be surprisingly entertaining, because even Birdie, Kayla, and Zoey had to be polite to Meg in front of the Skipjacks. She’d never been around so much sucking up in her life, not even in Hollywood.

“Wynette is the best-kept secret in Texas,” Birdie trilled. “This is God’s country for sure.”

“Just walking down the street, you can run into Dallie Beaudine or Kenny Traveler,” Kayla’s father said. “Name another town where that could happen.”

“Nobody can match our scenery,” Zoey offered, “and people in Wynette know how to make strangers feel welcome.”

Meg could have debated that last point, but a hand that didn’t belong to Spence gave her elbow a warning pinch.

By the time the barbecue was served, Sunny was treating Ted like a long-term boyfriend. “You have to come to Indianapolis, doesn’t he, Dad? You’re going to love it. The most underrated city in the Midwest.”

“That’s what I’ve heard,” the mayor replied with all kinds of admiration.

“Sunny’s right.” Spence gave his daughter a fond look. “And I guess Sunny and I already know just about everybody in town.”

Kayla came over to flirt with Ted and announce that the bid had gone up another five hundred dollars. Since she seemed happy about it, Meg suspected “Daddy” was responsible. Sunny didn’t seem threatened by either the higher stakes or Kayla’s blond dazzle.

When Zoey joined them, Ted introduced her to the Skipjacks. Although she wasn’t as obvious about it as Kayla, her gazes at Ted left no doubt how she felt about him. Meg wanted to tell both Zoey and Kayla to get a grip. It was obvious Ted liked them and just as obvious his feelings didn’t stretch any further. Still, she felt more than a little sorry for both women. Ted treated all females—Meg being the lone exception—as infinitely desirable creatures, so it was no wonder they continued to hold out hope.

Sunny had grown bored. “I heard they have a beautiful pool here. Would you mind showing me, Ted?”

“Great idea,” he said. “Meg’s been wanting to see it, too. We’ll all go.”

Meg would have thanked him for making sure she wasn’t left with Spence if she hadn’t recognized his true motive. He didn’t want to be alone with Sunny.

They all wandered out to the pool. Meg met their host, Kenny’s father, Warren Traveler, who looked like an older, rougher version of his son. His wife, Shelby, came across as a bubblehead, an impression Meg knew could be deceptive in Wynette, and sure enough, she soon learned that Shelby Traveler headed the board of the British boarding school where Emma Traveler had formerly been headmistress.

“Before you start yelling at me,” Shelby said to Ted, “you should know that Margo Ledbetter made an audition tape for you and sent it in to The Bachelor. You might want to start practicing your rose ceremony.”

Ted winced, a string of firecrackers went off, and Meg leaned in close enough to whisper, “You really need to get out of this town.”

The small muscle she was becoming increasingly familiar with began to tick at the corner of his jaw, but he smiled and pretended not to hear.