Elizabeth Bevarly - Monahan's Gamble

“‘One hot tomata’ seems like a more appropriate label for her to me,” Cullen added.

None of the other men disagreed with the evaluation, including Sean. In fact, he noted, all of the other men observed a moment of worshipful silence in honor of the occasion. So what could Sean do but respect that by observing a moment of reverential meditation himself.

Then Ted broke the spell. “Okay, so I guess I can see why Gordon was going out with her. But he should have realized there’d be a time limit on the thing. He shouldn’t have involved his heart. Hell, he never should’ve involved any other body part than his—”

“Oh, man, did you see her at Josh and Louisa’s wedding last month?” Charlie—delicately—interrupted.

Oh, man, indeed, Sean echoed to himself. Had he ever seen her. She’d looked good enough to— Well. A number of ideas erupted in his brain at the recollection, all of them vivid, none of them decent. She’d worn a paper-thin dress of some flowery, gauzy fabric, and every time she’d crossed in front of the reception hall windows that bright, sunny afternoon, every male breath in the place had gone still.

She might as well have been wearing nothing at all, so clearly outlined had her body been under that dress. It had more than made up for the wide, ridiculous-looking straw hat she’d worn on her head, the one whose brim had been big enough to obscure the beautiful face beneath. Then again, Sean thought, few people had been looking at Autumn’s face that day.

Normally, though, that wasn’t the case at all. Because in addition to being a ‘free spirit,’ as Finn had tagged her, she was also, most definitely, what Cullen had called her, too. One. Hot. Tomata. True to her name, Autumn’s hair was a tumble of auburn curls that spilled in a rich, riotous cascade down to the middle of her back. Her eyes were the color and clarity of good Irish whisky—and every bit as intoxicating. Finely sculpted cheekbones and one of those faintly turned-up noses gave the impression that she had posed for any number of classical paintings. And her mouth…

Oh, her mouth.

Sean could write rhapsodies about that full, luscious, decadent mouth. Her complexion seemed to be perpetually golden, regardless of the season, and somehow Sean knew—he just knew—that there were none of those irritating bathing suit lines to mar the color. Autumn Pulaski, free spirit, oddball and one hot tomata, just seemed like the type who would go for nude sunbathing.

“Gordon will get over it,” Charlie said confidently as he went back to arranging his hand. “Every man Autumn’s ever dated has gotten over it. Eventually.”

“I still don’t see why Gordon got involved in the first place,” Ted said. “I mean, he’s actually been looking for a long-term relationship, and everybody in town knows that Autumn’s hard-and-fast rule has always been that no man—no man—will ever last longer than four weeks when it comes to dating her.”

“Why does she have that rule, anyway?” Cullen asked. “I never could understand the reasoning behind it.”

Sean glanced up just in time to see Ted shrug. “No idea,” Ted said. “But ever since she moved to Marigold—what?…two years ago?—she’s always made that clear. I get the feeling it’s a rule she’s had in place for a lo-o-o-ong time. I’ll open,” he added carelessly, tossing two chips into the middle of the table. Just as carelessly he continued, “Hey, Gordon was lucky. At least he got in the full four weeks with her before she dumped him. A lot of guys never even make it to the half-moon.

“She is such an oddball,” Ted said again.

“Free spirit,” Finn corrected once more.

“Well, whatever she is, I’m not asking her out,” Cullen announced. “I have enough trouble with women, thank you very much. I don’t need one starting a timer on me the minute she opens the door.”

“You and me both,” Charlie agreed. “I don’t think there’s a man in Marigold—hell, in the entire state of Indiana—who could last longer than four weeks with Autumn Pulaski.”

Sean shook his head slowly and tossed two chips into the pot to see Ted’s opening bid. “I could date Autumn Pulaski for more than four weeks,” he stated quite seriously—and not a little proudly.

“You?” a chorus of incredulous echoes erupted from around the table.

Sean gaped his indignation at the disbelief that was so evident in each of his compatriots. “Yeah, me. What’s so unbelievable about that?”

Each of the men gazed at him in silence for a moment, as if they couldn’t imagine why he would even ask such a thing. But it was Finn who challenged, “What makes you think Autumn would go out with you for any length of time, let alone more than her very standard, very adamant, lunar month?”

Sean shrugged. “I’ve got a way about me.”

Now each of his compatriots laughed. Quite raucously, in fact, something Sean decided he probably shouldn’t dwell on.

But he did. “Well, what the hell is so funny?” he demanded.

“You’ve got a way about you all right, boyo,” Finn said through his chuckles. “But it’s not necessarily the one you think.”

“Hey!” Sean cried even more indignantly. “Women love me.”

“Autumn’s different,” Cullen said.

Sean took some heart in the fact that at least Cullen didn’t deny that women loved him. After all, there was so much evidence to the contrary. Women really did love Sean. Often for weeks on end.

Sean threw his little brother an indulgent look. “Autumn’s not different,” he said. “Women are all alike. Deep down they all want one thing.”

Four male faces gazed back at him, this time in very expectant silence. But it was Finn who said—and he was clearly battling a giggle when he did so—“Oh?”

Sean nodded.

His big brother grinned tolerantly. “And what, oh omniscient knower of women, would that one thing be that they all want?”

“Equal pay for equal work,” Cullen offered with a smile before Sean had a chance to answer.

“No, men who do their own laundry,” Ted piped up with a chuckle.

“No, men who not only do their own laundry but sort by light and dark, too,” Charlie threw in for good measure.

“Oh, hardy-har-har-har,” Sean replied. “Very funny, wise guys.”

Eventually the men stopped laughing—again. And when they did, Finn turned a more serious—sort of—gaze on his brother. “Truly, Sean,” he said. “What is this one thing that all women want? We’re on the edge of our seats.”

Sean lifted his chin a bit defensively. “A wedding ring,” he said.

Cullen narrowed his eyes at his brother. “Gee, they can get one of those down at Huck’s Pawnshop for twenty bucks. Thirty if they want one that’s not hot.”

“A wedding ring with a husband attached,” Sean clarified—not that any clarification would be necessary if it weren’t for the fact that he was sitting at a table with his four moronic friends and relatives.

“Oh, hey, I’m sorry, but Huck doesn’t include that kind of service with his pawn,” Cullen said. “A man has to draw the line somewhere.”

Sean sighed impatiently. “You know what I mean,” he said evenly. “Women—all women—want to get married. They want to find that one special someone and settle down forever, then milk the poor sap for everything he’s got—socially, financially, emotionally, spiritually, you name it. Women want to be wives. That’s all there is to it.”

There wasn’t a single comment from anyone present at the table for a moment, then, “Stand back, everybody,” Finn said mildly, “I think his brain is about to blow.”

Sean growled under his breath. “Look, all I’m saying is that if Autumn Pulaski has this ridiculous rule about not dating anybody for more than a month—”