Lone Star Baby Scandal (Texas Cattleman's Club: Blackmail 7)

“Ms. Prescott? You certainly know how to make a man feel desirable.” With a shake of his head he reined his horse toward the trail leading back to the ranch. Sophie followed, biting her tongue.

Impertinent man.

Four

The days of summer rolled into Texas, raising the temperatures and bringing thunder that rumbled across the sky, hinting at rain that rarely fell. But despite the heat, both the ranch and the small town of Royal were abuzz with activity. Tonight the Texas Cattleman’s Club Fourth of July celebration would be held. A large terrace had been built at the back of the clubhouse building. Complete with retractable awnings in case of rain and a soundstage for the twelve-piece orchestra selected to play in time with the fireworks, this year’s festivities were expected to be the celebration of all celebrations. Just seeing the huge deck raised Sophie’s excitement level.

She had volunteered to oversee selecting and ordering the wines and ingredients for the various cocktails along with stemware, plates and bowls for the pies and ice-cream dessert. She’d done similar tasks before when Clay held a formal dinner consisting of six courses for fifty couples at his ranch house. Even though more people would be in attendance tonight, this was a piece of cake by comparison.

Earlier she’d opened the door to the clubhouse and stepped into a whirlwind of activity. A dozen or so volunteers each had their assigned task lists. Sophie recognized a few of Clay’s ranch hands right off the bat. In fact, she’d caught a ride over with George and Alan. They were the strong arms. Aided by a couple more cowboys from the nearby ranches, they would unload the truck moving all the cases of wine, champagne and various setups for cocktails into the storage room.

Checking off each case, she unpacked the sample of plates and glassware. In light of the occasion, she’d selected an assortment of William Avington china in red, white and blue with gold rims and matching inner gold circles on the plates and matching gold rims on the coffee cups, saucers and bowls. But, as Simone Parker had told her, at only a couple of hundred dollars per setting, it wouldn’t be a great loss if some were broken. At that thought, Sophie rolled her eyes and smiled. Not exactly like the Independence Day celebrations back home where her dad would cook hot dogs on a homemade grill in the backyard while her mom made her family-famous potato salad and baked beans, usually served on paper plates. The beverages consisted of beer for the adults and lemonade for the kids. How in the world had she managed to land in such a totally different world?

“Are you almost finished?” a deep voice asked. She didn’t have to turn around and look at Clay’s tanned face to know it was him.

“Just about. Did you need me for something?”

Sophie glanced at Gayle Brown, one of the volunteers, who stood tongue-tied in front of her, staring over Sophie’s shoulder at Clay. He leaned down to Sophie and whispered, “Ask me that when we’re alone.” Aloud he said, “Can I offer you a ride home?”

She turned and smiled at him. “That would be great. Thank you.”

“Okay, Gayle, where were we?”

“The wine is... We...we were at the wine,” she stammered, her eyes glued to Clay, who was casually dressed in his T-shirt, a pair of holey jeans and well-worn boots. He could easily wow the pants off any woman in the room. And he didn’t have to be a billionaire to do it.

Sophie hoped the woman wouldn’t literally start to drool.

“And...what about the wine?”

“The... Oh. It’s here. And the new champagne flutes came in last week. They are expecting about five hundred members and guests, give or take, based on past years. If there are more, the kitchen crew will keep the dishwashers going full-time.”

“Sophie, I have a total count of the stemware,” said another volunteer, smiling intently at Clay. “Where do you want them set up?”

Sophie looked around the vast room. There was no place for all of the stemware in the main ballroom. “Let’s set up a table for each type at points around the room. There are six serving stations. I think we need to break down what type of beverage we will be serving, what glasses we need and put out a large tray for the used glasses at each one. I’m betting there will only be enough room for thirty to forty glasses. The rest will have to be brought from the back as needed.”

“Okay. Sounds like a good plan to me,” Gayle replied. “I’ll find Martha and we’ll get started on it.”

“Perfect.” Sophie smiled at Gayle, who had again locked her gaze on Clay. “And make sure each station has plenty of cocktail napkins and stir sticks. Can you think of anything else we missed?”

“Ah. No?” Gayle turned to Sophie. “Some of the guys are manhandling—” she cleared her throat “—the...the ice for the drinks, but like with the glasses, most of it’s gonna have to be kept in cold...ah, hum, excuse me, storage in the back and brought out as needed.” She gulped the air deep into her lungs as though she wouldn’t have another opportunity. Ever.

“Good enough. Do you happen to know if the two ice sculptures have arrived?”

“No, ma’am. I haven’t seen them and I haven’t heard anyone talking about them.”

“Sounds like I need to make a couple of phone calls. Thanks so much for your help, Gayle.”

“Ah...sure. No problem.”

“You’re not helping.” Sophie glared at Clay after Gayle hurried off.

“What did I do?”

She rolled her eyes. “You showed up.” She received a pursed-lip smile in response. He knew exactly the effect he had on women.

Clay stood by patiently while she grabbed her cell phone. “Let me call and check on the ice sculptures.” She hurriedly placed the call. A few minutes later she was satisfied the sculptures were on their way and all was good. Absently smiling, she turned to Clay.

“All good on the ice sculptures?” he asked.