“It’s the same difference,” Jenny sputtered. “Besides—” she hated to sound like her sister, but there it was “—I’m Jenny, the chef, and you’re Robert Buckwalter the Third.”
“You can call me Bob.”
“What?” Jenny hadn’t realized how close Robert had pulled her until she’d stopped dancing.
“Bob. Call me Bob.”
Jenny looked up at him skeptically. He smelled faintly of some expensive aftershave. The tie around his neck was pure silk and probably Italian. His suit had to be hand tailored. “You don’t look like a Bob.”
Robert gently started Jenny dancing again. He liked the way she felt in his arms. Her head reached his chin. Not too tall. Not too short. Just right. “What does a Bob look like anyway?”
Jenny was silent a moment. “Plaid shirt. Sneakers.”
Robert started to chuckle. “I can’t do much about the shirt right now, but I left my sneakers in the bus when we drove over. I could go get them if it’d make you happy. We could both go.”
“It’s dark out there.”
“The stars are out.”
“Mrs. Hargrove said we’re supposed to stay close to the barn.” Jenny tried to hold on to her propriety.
Jenny remembered how soft the black sky was outside. Shadows layered over shadows amid the cars and trucks parked in the middle of Dry Creek. The bite of the air would be cold and sharp enough to make the inside of the bus a cozy place to talk. A much too cozy place when all was said and done.
“She’s just worried about that kidnapping rumor.” Robert watched the temptation play across Jenny’s face. He could watch her for hours. “But only a fool would kidnap anyone in a cold spell like the one tonight. There’s three feet of snow out there in some places.”
“I suppose.”
Robert noticed the frown didn’t go away. “If you’re worried about me, don’t be. I’m a gentleman. You can trust me.”
Jenny snapped back to reality. “You’re not a gentleman. You’re the bachelor of the year.”
Robert came back to reality with her. “I am? Have you talked to your sister? Have they decided?”
“No.”
“The whole thing is cruel and unusual punishment.”
Jenny nodded. She supposed the waiting and suspense did seem like that to him. He must really want the slot. “My sister says the winner will be able to write his own ticket with the advertising companies.”
Robert groaned. “I’d forgotten about that part of it. I may need to fly Charlie in to take those calls after all.”
“Who’s Charlie? Your attorney?”
Robert started to chuckle. “No, Charlie is an acquaintance of another kind.”
“Oh.” Don’t tell me he has an agent, Jenny thought in dismay. He certainly had the looks to go into modeling. But somehow, she was disappointed. “I hope you draw the line at underwear.”
Robert blinked. “Underwear?”
“You know, in the endorsements. I wouldn’t want to see you in a magazine in your underwear.”
Jenny felt the blush creep up her neck. He didn’t have to look at her that way—like she was picturing him right now in his underwear. “I just think it wouldn’t be a good example for the kids around here.”
“You’re worried they’ll grow up to be underwear salesmen?” Robert was entranced. He’d seen precious few blushes in his day. That must say something about the kind of women that usually flocked around him.
“Well, it’s not very steady work.”
“I don’t know about that. People always need underwear.”
If they hadn’t been talking, Jenny was sure she would have noticed that the music had stopped.
She did notice the loud voices from the front of the barn near the door.
A woman’s voice called, “Francis? Anyone seen Francis?”
There was a loud shuffling as the boots of the ranch hands who were sitting by the heater hit the floor with a united thud.
A man’s rough voice demanded, “Garth? Where’s Garth?”
Finally one of the teenage girls opened the barn door from the outside and shrieked, “Kidnapping! They were right! There’s a kidnapping! We saw the truck—we saw them!” The girl’s face was white, but Jenny couldn’t tell if it was from the outside cold or from shock.
“Come in, dear. Tell us what you saw.” Mrs. Hargrove was drawing the girl inside as Jenny and Robert arrived at her side.
“Bryan and I were outside looking at the stars when we heard a gunshot.”
“I told you that was a gunshot,” one of the ranch hands muttered to another.
“Are you sure it was a gunshot?” Mrs. Hargrove put a jacket around the shivering girl. “It might have been a car misfiring.”
“But there weren’t any cars running. Not even that big truck was going when we heard the shot,” the girl insisted. “Besides, I know the difference between a gunshot and a car backfiring.”
Mrs. Hargrove took a quick, assessing look at the girl. The girl was tall and skinny with a light brown skin that could signal almost any race. Finally, the older woman nodded. “We’d best call out the sheriff.”
“The sheriff? Where’s he off to anyway?” one ranch hand said.
“Some guy called in an emergency from the Billings airport,” another answered. “Something to do with some VIP.”
“I think the guys with the guns are in that big truck that just left,” the girl continued. “Bryan saw something shiny that looked like a gun.”
“Where’s Bryan now?” Robert asked the girl quietly. Something about the whole story didn’t seem right to him. Any teenage boy he knew would be in here claiming the glory of the moment. But there was no Bryan.
The girl bit her lip.
Robert looked around. There were a lot more dresses than tuxedoes in the crowd.
“Where’s Bryan?” he asked again.
“He wanted to be sure. I told him it was a gunshot, but he wanted to be sure before he told everyone.” The girl’s brown complexion went a little yellow and she swallowed hard.
“Where is he?”
“He took the bus to follow them.”
“Mercy!” Mrs. Hargrove put her hands to her mouth. “When they have guns! And the boy all alone.”
“I don’t think he’s quite all alone,” Robert said grimly as he looked over the teenagers again. Then he looked at the girl. “How many other guys are with him?”
The girl looked miserable. “Ten.”
“Lord have mercy,” Mrs. Hargrove said again.
“We’ll have to catch them,” Robert said, looking over at the ranch hands. He recognized the men’s faces from the ride into Dry Creek on the bus that was now in hot pursuit of the cattle truck. None of them would have a vehicle here. “Who’s got a pickup we can borrow?”
“You can take ours,” one of the farm wives offered as she bent to fumble in her purse for the keys.
“Anyone call the sheriff yet?” Robert asked as he eyed half a dozen of the ranch hands. “I don’t suppose anyone