“So what are you two waiting for?”
Linc looked at Clarence. Clarence looked at Linc. Then the two of them looked at him guiltily. “Waitin’ fer Charmaine,” Clarence finally disclosed.
“What?” Raoul practically yelled. “Charmaine is supposed to stay in hiding, to be inconspicuous. What could she be thinking? The Horny Bull? I… don’t… think… so.”
“Are you talking about me?” Charmaine asked sweetly, coming out onto the porch. “You must be the famous Am-el-ie.” She gave a little wave to Amelie. Then her eyes latched on to his arm on Amelie’s shoulder, and he could swear she growled. “Good friends, indeed!” she muttered under her breath.
Four jaws had dropped open at the sight that Charmaine presented. She wore skintight, white jeans and red high-heeled cowboy boots, which matched perfectly her red lipstick and red fingernails. From her ears dangled a god-awful bunch of shiny things that looked like fishing lures. Her dark hair was poufed up and out and over her shoulders in a mass of curls designed to look as if she’d just fallen out of bed, but had probably taken an hour to perfect. On top… oh, my God… on top, she wore a stretchy white, long-sleeved shirt, tucked into her jeans. It was covered with red and gold sequins that would no doubt glow in the dark and sported the logo I AM A TEASER.
In essence, Charmaine represented every man’s fantasy of a sex kitten. A wet dream in the flesh.
And Charmaine did it on purpose. She had deliberately made herself into a bimbo. It pretty much said, “In your face, bozo.” In the face of everyone, for that matter. Like it or leave it, was the message she proclaimed with this attire, like a blinkin’ red light.
“Uh… nice outfit,” Amelie said, which was laughable coming from her since she wore a very demure jeans skirt down to midcalf and a long-sleeved plaid shirt. Makeup on her was at a minimum. Belatedly noticing the little smirk on her face, Raoul decided that she’d meant her comment to belittle, not compliment. How unlike Amelie!
“Thanks, sweetie,” Charmaine replied, in a not-so-sweet voice, giving Amelie a sweeping head-to-toe survey of disdain.
Mon Dieu, next he would be witnessing a catfight.
“You are not going anywhere, dressed like that,” he said, dropping his hand from Amelie’s shoulder and walking slowly up the wooden steps. He was so angry he could hardly breathe.
To her credit, or to her stupidity, she didn’t back up one bit. “I beg your pardon,” she said, batting her eyelashes, which were too big to be real. “Who died and named you master? Oops, sorry, have you suddenly decided to become my forever husband?”
“Charmaine, stop acting like a child.” But, man oh man, you don’t look like a child. Not in those pants you must have painted on. Not in that tease-me shirt that outlines every curve of your breasts. Be still my heart… and other body parts.
She put her hands on her hips. “Get out of my way, cowboy. I’m going dancing.”
“You are not.”
“Try and stop me.”
“Rusty, let her go.” Amelie had moved to the bottom of the steps and was tugging on his sleeve. “She’s a big girl. You are not responsible for her actions.”
“Yeah,” Charmaine said. “Let me go, please… pretty please.”
His eyes bulged and his hands fisted. He probably looked like a lunatic. He didn’t care. “Hell, no, I’m not letting her go,” he informed Amelie. “For reasons I can’t go into, Charmaine’s life is in danger. She needs to stay out of sight.” He tried to tamp down his temper when he addressed Charmaine. “Now, go back inside and watch TV or something, like a good girl.” He immediately recognized his poor choice of words and wished he could take them back.
“Good girl? Are you for real, Lanier?” Charmaine just laughed. “Do they sell oyster shooters at this bar?” she asked Clarence.
“Oh, yeah,” Clarence said. He and Linc were enjoying this argument immensely.
“Oh, goody.”
I’d like to give you a good dose of “goody,” you willful, outrageous bundle of female orneriness. “Listen, Charmaine, if you go to The Horny Bull dressed like that, every cowboy within fifty miles is going on testosterone alert. The cowboy grapevine is going to broadcast your presence. Bobby Doucet is for sure going to hear about your whereabouts.”