Page 43 of Winter Vows

“It won’t do you any good to argue,” he said. “They’re a stubborn bunch.”

Trish heaved a sigh. “So I’ve noticed.”

Sharon Lynn beamed. “Good. That’s settled. I will let you okay the menu, though, in case there’s anything you absolutely hate. Do you want TexMex? Something more formal?”

“I’ll trust your judgment. Whatever will bring the most people out.”

“This time of year, when winter boredom has set in, you could get them out for chips and dip,” Hardy said.

“I think I can do better than that,” Sharon Lynn said, grabbing a pad of paper, a pen and moving out from behind the counter to sit beside Trish. “Okay, let’s decide on a theme. How about English tea? Doesn’t that sound perfect for a bookstore? You could do it on a Sunday afternoon.”

“I love it,” Trish said, enchanted. “That’s exactly the sort of atmosphere I want to create.”

“Tea?” Hardy echoed disdainfully. “Itty-bitty sandwiches? We’re talking cowboys here, ladies. Big appetites.”

“He has a point,” Sharon Lynn said.

“Then we’ll have lots of itty-bitty sandwiches,” Trish said. “And scones and cakes.”

Hardy’s expression brightened. “Cakes? Personally I like chocolate with fudge icing.”

“Petits fours,” Trish informed him, enjoying the way his expression fell. “Itty-bitty individual cakes,” she added for emphasis.

“Girl food,” he declared, dismissing it.

“Women buy more books than men,” she pointed out. “Why shouldn’t I cater to their tastes?”

“Yoo-hoo,” Sharon Lynn said, waving a hand between them. “Remember me?”

They stared at her as if they’d forgotten her existence. Trish barely restrained a moan. This was exactly what she’d hoped to avoid. She and Hardy had been so busy arguing with each other, Sharon Lynn might as well have been on the moon. And Sharon Lynn knew it, too. The knowing sparkle in her eyes was proof of it.

“I think we can update the tea idea a bit to satisfy the male appetites,” she told Trish. “I’ll make a more substantial filling for some of the sandwiches, maybe some little ham biscuits or even miniature barbeque buns.”

“Better,” Hardy agreed.

Trish scowled at him. “I’m so delighted you approve.”

“Regular cake, too,” he said, ignoring her and appealing directly to Sharon Lynn. “Sliced thick, with lots of frosting.”

“I hate to say it,” Sharon Lynn said, “but knowing the men in my family, they’d go along with Hardy on this one.”

Trish recognized when she was beat. “Okay, regular cake, then.”

“What about beer?” Hardy asked.

“Not on your life,” Trish declared. “Champagne, maybe. Sharon Lynn, what do you think?”

“Let’s stick with tea. It will be Sunday afternoon. We’d better do both hot tea and iced, though. I can’t see these clumsy men balancing little tea cups in their hands while they shovel cake into their mouths. The phrasebull in a china shopcomes to mind.”

“Hey,” Hardy protested. “Men are not clumsy.”

“I still think we’d better not risk Granddaddy Harlan’s best porcelain, which I intend to borrow for the occasion. He’s the only one who has enough for a huge crowd.” She made another note on her paper, then turned back to Trish. “What about invitations?”

“Since you two seem to be caught up in party planning, I think I’ll go back next door and get some work done,” Hardy said.

To Trish’s discomfort, he gave her shoulder a quick, friendly squeeze before he left. Naturally Sharon Lynn caught the affectionate gesture. No doubt her imagination would run wild.

“You two seem to be getting along well,” she observed, her gaze fixed on Trish’s face.

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