bid on them.
“But aren’t there any local women?” the host asked. “I mean, why can’t you—”
Tiffany’s hunk spoke up. “The nearest single women our age are a long way off. When I take a lady home after a date, I’m lucky to be back at the ranch by daylight, and there’s still a day’s work ahead. We’re mostly farmers and ranchers…and we can’t afford to lose time chasing all over southern Utah and Nevada.”
The camera focused in on the host, who was all smiles. “There you have it, ladies. You heard it first on WNN. If there are any of you who need a man, here’s your chance.”
He turned his attention to the men on the couch. “So, exactly where is this auction taking place?”
“Pennington, Utah,” the hunk replied, then gave the date and time.
“And do you men keep the money that’s bid on you?”
The other man, a half hunk, shook his head. “No, sir. All proceeds from this auction go to a shelter for battered women, not that we have many of those. All we’re asking for is the chance to meet some eligible—and hopefully attractive—ladies who wouldn’t mind ranch life in Utah.”
Bridget groaned, then added, “Sure thing, buddy. I’m real anxious to spend my life barefoot and pregnant in southern Utah! In between kids, I could rope steers and brand calves. Maybe take a few quilting lessons. Yee hah!”
Tiffany turned to Bridget, her face animated. “This is a hoot. Let’s go!”
Bridget rolled her large brown eyes, even as her smile broadened. The word “dramatic” fit Tiffany Russell to a tee. But then, that didn’t seem so odd when she remembered that Tiffany’s ambition in life had been to be an actress, only that hadn’t panned out. Instead she’d had to settle for working in one of Houston’s largest and most prestigious department stores as a buyer for women’s clothing.
Too bad becoming an actress hadn’t become a reality, Bridget thought, because with Tiffany’s long blond hair, gray eyes and sharp wit, she would have been a killer on stage. But it wasn’t to be.
“God, Tiff, what would make anyone want to go bid on some sodbuster, anyway?”
“I don’t know…I guess I’m just bored. My life’s headed straight down the toilet.” Tiffany gestured dramatically as if to better illustrate her point.
Bridget laughed outright, only to suddenly turn sober. “Believe me, I know how unhappy you are.” She paused. “If it’s any consolation, my life’s headed in the same direction…but I’m still not grabbing the next plane to Pennington, Utah!”
“Do you suppose planes even land there?”
“Who knows? From the way those men made it sound, you probably have to fly to Salt Lake City, then work your way down by pack mule. What do I know about Utah?”
“About as much as I do. Still, your life’s not in the toilet. That’s a bunch of baloney, and you know it.” Tiffany’s lips curved downward. “Oh, just forget I said anything. It’s just that I’m down. I hate my job so much.”
“Well, at least you have one,” Bridget countered on a more sober note.
Tiffany’s eyebrows perked up. “I’ll trade places with you anytime. Heck fire, you’re a big-time Houston lawyer with brains and looks.”
“And no job, remember?”
Tiffany made another gesture. “Not for long. Every firm in this town will soon be knocking on your door.”
“Wrong, Tiff. The very second word got out that I filed a sexual harassment suit against Mason Wainwright, the you-know-what hit the proverbial fan. From then on, my name was mud. Job or no job, as long as I remain in Houston, it’ll stay that way.”
“All the more reason to take a mule to Utah!”
Bridget’s voice took on its best courtroom tone. “Miss Russell, there are games of chance and games of fat chance. My going to Utah comes under the latter category, even if there’s no future left here for me.”
“That’s not true, and you know it. Your old man’s one of the best attorneys in Houston, and he’s got clout! Why, he can open doors for you that would be cemented shut for the normal person. All the other firms are afraid of him!”
“Even if he was willing, I wouldn’t let him.” A pained expression dulled Bridget’s features. “Right now, I’m not his fair-haired child. He and Mother are both…upset.”
Tiffany’s lips formed a semblance of a smile. “Why don’t you say furious and be done with it?”
Bridget’s answering smile was equally lukewarm. “Okay, they’re furious.”
“See? Don’t you feel better having gotten that off your chest?”
Both women were seated on the couch in Tiffany’s apartment, which looked more like an art deco studio than a typical Houston dwelling. Tiffany had rented the upstairs in an older home in the refurbished Heights area and furnished it with upscale junk, or at least, that was Tiffany’s way of describing it. Although Bridget would never even have looked at this place, much less lived here, it fit her friend’s personality perfectly.
Now, after reaching for an oversize pillow near her, she tossed it at Tiffany. “No. As a matter a fact, I don’t feel a bit better. I’d rather tell them to their faces what I feel.”
“Then why don’t you?”
“They’d both have heart attacks on the spot.”
“So?” Tiffany grinned.
“You’re bad to the bone, girl,” Bridget said, but found herself grinning, as well.
“I’d rather call it truthful.”
“Okay, so my parents went ballistic when I brought that civil suit, but they’re still my parents.”
Tiffany frowned. “Look, I didn’t mean—”
“I know,” Bridget interrupted, her tone distant. “First off, they’ve never learned how to loosen up. And second, they expect me to be just like them.”
“Which you’re not and never will be.”
“Sometimes I think I must’ve been adopted. As uptight as they are, I can’t imagine them conceiving me!”
“Sorry, but you look too much like your mother. And, I might add, she’s still a knockout.”
“She’d thank you for the compliment.” Bridget paused again. “Right now, my parents are pretty far down on my list.”
“That’s too bad, but I understand. Hey, you want some coffee?”
Bridget shook her head and plunged a potato chip into the clam dip. “No, but if you have any tea made, I’ll have a glass.”
“I’ll make some,” Tiffany said,
