I press my lips together, observing the scene. They're right. Cole is measuring boards and cutting them with a saw, directing traffic.
"He's pretty good at building, it seems like. He's the one in charge of this place. Look, him and your Uncle Leroy look like they're telling everybody else what to do."
I smile, appreciating the opportunity to observe Cole in this light. I've only seen him as handsome and confident, but now I'm observing him differently.
As I watch him work with his hands, I realize he's also really capable, strong. Giving orders, but not in a brash way. Just in a way that tells me he knows exactly what he's doing. And all the other cowboys are listening.
"So," Rachel says, turning away with a grin, "how are we going to win these boys over with our baskets? What did you ladies make?"
We all show off our baskets to each other. Rachel made fried chicken, which is a good choice. Sarah went with a pasta salad. I don't have the guts to tell her no man wants pasta salad. They want meat and potatoes just like Aunt Ella said.
Sarah made chocolate chip cookies for dessert, and Rachel made Jello shots which makes us all laugh. “Luke is perfect for you,” I say, cracking us all up.
My friends ooh and aah over my cherry pie. And I'm happy I went with a full pie, not just a few slices. Last year, I made lemon bars. A pie though? This is next level.
We work with the other women from the Ladies’ Support Society and set up the auction tables with red and white checkered cloths, putting up a banner and working our butts off, though not as hard as the men are over at the barn.
By 4:00 in the afternoon, the guys are calling it quits for the day. And they got far enough that it will be an awesome place for the dance tonight.
"Look," Rachel says. "The floorboards are all in. The rafters are up. It's going to be so fun tonight."
"I can’t wait to go home and change into my cute new dress,” Sarah says. “It’s light pink with white lace on the sleeves. I got it in San Antonio last month. What are you two wearing?”
“I got black leather pants and a red pushup bra,” Rachel says, wiggling her eyebrows.
“I’m borrowing a red dress from my aunt that she wore in the 90’s. I’m calling it vintage,” I say with a laugh.
“But is it short?” Rachel asks with mock seriousness. “That’s what I need to know.”
I bite my bottom lip to suppress a grin. “Short enough!”
Sarah smiles. “Can’t wait to see if it’s Brady or Cole enjoying your 90’s minidress.”
“Same,” I say, looking over at the men lining up.
We're lucky that the older women in the society stay and decorate for the dance. Since forever, the single women have been the ones who auction off their baskets and the married women stay back and do all the preparations for the dance.
"So should we start the auction?" Sarah asks.
I nod. "Looks like now's the time."
There are 12 baskets going up for auction. And the first few go for $100 and $200. Sarah’s face falls when hers only racks up $240, but that's on her. Maybe she'll learn that for next year, you do not make a cowboy a pasta salad. Still, the cowboy who wins her basket, Tim, is a nice guy I have seen around the Callaway ranch and I’m glad she is going to go out with a gentleman.
Luke bids on Rachel’s for $400, and he smiles at her, all cocksure and proud. In that red pushup bra of hers and with Jello shots to boot, I’m guessing those two are gonna have a great night.
When it's time for my basket, I feel a flutter in my belly. Brady's here and so is Cole. And they're both looking at me with intention.
Rachel bumps her hip against mine. "Oh my God, they're literally staring at you."
"Who?" I say.
"You know who. Brady and Cole. How does it feel to have two men fighting for you?"
"Nobody's fighting for me," I say, shaking my head.
"You sure about that?" she asks. "Laura, look at them. They're both walking to the front of the group of cowboys and they're eyeing each other."
She's not exaggerating. When Sarah begins auctioning off my basket, showing off each item I prepared to entice the bidders, Brady begins with a raised hand. "$50," he says.
Cole counters with $100.
"$500," Brady says, cutting to the chase. There's a collective "ooh" from the crowd and my cheeks turn red.
"Oh my God," Rachel says. "There's only one time a basket went for more than $500. And that was when Thomas was proposing to Tiffany. Remember that?"
"No," I say. "I wasn't here."
"Well, I was just a kid watching that year and it was so romantic."