"Suck it in, sweetie."
"I am." Valiantly Regan gritted her teeth and held her breath as Ed tugged at the zipper of a skirt the size of a place mat.
"Trouble is, you've got a figure. I've got bones." Mouth clamped tight in determination, Ed hauled, and tugged. Then, with a wheeze of triumph, sat back on Cassie's bed. "She's on, but I wouldn't make any sudden moves."
"I don't think I can make any moves." Testing, Regan took a step. The skirt, already dangerously high, snuck up another fraction.
"You got a little height on me, too," Ed announced, and pulled out a cigarette. Her eyes sparkled with amusement as she let her rhinestone glasses fall to her chest. "If it was much shorter on you, Devin would have to arrest you."
"I can't see." Though she rose on her toes and turned carefully, Cassie's mirror offered nothing but a view from the waist up.
"You don't have to, honey. Take my word, he will."
"I got the kids settled," Cassie said as she walked in. She stopped short, her mouth forming a shocked circle. "Oh, my..."
"It's a hot little number," Ed agreed. When she'd worn it last time, at the Legion dance, eyes had popped loose. The way Regan was filling it out, Ed Imagined they'd not only pop, but go flying across the room.
"Try those shoes with it now," she ordered. "I stuffed some tissue in the toes to bring 'em down to size."
Regan braced a hand on Cassie's dresser, stepped gingerly into the four-inch spikes. "I'll get a nosebleed in these."
"Honey, you'll cause nosebleeds." Ed gave a raspy laugh. "Now let's try some war paint." Happily she upended her enormous purse onto the bed.
"I'm not sure I can go through with this. It's a crazy idea."
"Don't go chicken on me now." Ed riffled her hand through a department-store array of cosmetics. "You want that man, don't you?"
"Yes, but—"
"Then sit down here on the bed and let me buff you up. This here red's a killer," she murmured fondly as she unscrewed a lipstick.
"I can't sit," Regan stated after a single attempt. "I'd damage an internal organ."
"Then stand." After making her choices, Ed rose and went to work. "Now, you said nine-ball, right?"
"Yeah."
In her forty-two years—forty-five, if God was listening—she'd never seen a woman less likely to chalk a stick than Regan Bishop. "Ever play pool, honey?"
"Billiards." Regan uttered a silent prayer as Ed advanced with eyeliner. "With my father. Several times."
"Hell, honey, billiards ain't nothing. Why, nine-ball's the second-best thing you can do on a pool table." She cackled when Cassie flushed scarlet. "Now listen up while I explain how it works."
Balls smacked and clattered when Rafe shot his cue. The five ball thumped satisfactorily into the corner pocket.
"Luck," Jared said, and lazily chalked his cue.
Rafe only snorted. "Six off the nine and in the side." He made his shot, lined up the next.
"Never could beat Rafe at nine-ball." More interested in the little redhead at the bar than the game, Shane leaned on the juke. She was all alone, and looked as cuddly as a new down pillow. "Seen her around before, Dev?"
Devin glanced up, over. "Holloway's niece, from up on Mountain View. She's got a boyfriend the size of a semi who'll break you in half if you breathe on her."
It was all the challenge Shane needed. He sauntered o
ver, leaned on the bar and turned on the charm.
Devin gave a resigned smile. If the boyfriend came in, Devin would have to use his badge. And that would blow bis night.