blanched. He hadnât had a mother until he was fifteen, but heâd learned better table manners than that in the foster care system. He glanced up at Red, who was watching with an expression of mingled amusement and horror. The man met his gaze and the two of them shook their heads.
âWhat?â Cooter said. âYou think I donât know my Western women? I tell you, me and Brady here probably know more cowgirls than anybody you could ask. And Iâm talking about knowing âem in the biblical sense, right, Brady?â
Brady slunk down a little in his seat and pretended to be absorbed in something outside the dinerâs plate glass window.
â Right? â Cooter insisted.
âSpeak for yourself, man,â Brady said. âI donât think Redâs looking for the one whoâd be best in bed.â
âNot at all,â Red said. âIâm looking for a woman who represents the best of the Westâa strong woman, a real role model. Of course, she needs to be a beauty too. Goes without saying.â
He did a little slurping of his own.
Brady poured a couple creamers into his cup and stirred them, watching the white milk plume like clouds in a time-lapse video.
What was that song about âclouds in your coffeeâ? âYouâre So Vain,â that was it.
That song probably described him. Heâd been so vain, so full of himself, that heâd just assumed Suze would fall at his feet, grateful that the great Brady Caine deigned to notice her.
Last night, it had seemed like he was right. But this morningâ¦
âBrady?â said Red.
Brady pulled himself out of his reverie. âIâm sorry. I was thinking about something. What did you say?â
Cooter sniggered. âThinking about some honey you had last night?â he asked.
Brady grabbed the edge of the table. If it hadnât been screwed to the floor, he probably would have overturned it onto Cooterâs lap, hot coffee and all. But the resistance it offered gave him time to clear the rage that had bloomed in his mind like the cream in his coffee.
Cooter didnât know who Brady had been with last night. He wasnât insulting Suze. He was just being his usual disgusting self.
âI was just asking if you had a suggestion,â Red said.
Brady nodded. Fortunately, he had a couple of other girls to recommendâboth of them barrel racers. Brandy Hallister and Megan Wright were both pretty, strong, and talented. Not as pretty, strong, or talented as Suze, but then again, they hadnât thrown him out of their trailers either. As a matter of fact, they were the kind of girls who could stay friends with a man after a roll in the hay. He knew that for a fact.
In fact, Cooter had both of them on his lengthy list of suggestions. As he read off the names, he made it clear theyâd all been conquests. He kept glancing up at Brady, as if he was checking to see if he was impressing him.
He wasnât.
âI gotta tell you,â Red said. âWeâve checked out most of the girls you listed. Rodeo queens, barrel racers⦠Most of them already endorse other products. We want somebody new, fresh. Somebody different. And remember, we want to emphasize that Lariat clothing is for the strong Western woman. Do you guys know any ranchersâ daughters who would work? Maybe a horse trainer?â
âI know a joke about a rancherâs daughter,â Cooter said.
Brady and Red both ignored him.
âGuess weâll have to keep looking,â Red said. âI appreciate you guysâ hard work.â
âOh, it was hard , all right,â Cooter said.
âShut up, Cooter.â Brady tried to sound like he was joking, but he could tell from the anger that flashed in Cooterâs eyes that he knew Brady meant it.
Well, Brady didnât really care what Cooter thought of him. Cooter was a jerk whoâd never had an honest emotion in his life outside of