She was no Boston lady. No lady at all, the way he could swear she was flirting with him. Did she just wink at him? He blinked his eyes hard and raised the bottle to his lips, only to suck air. He let it drop, studying it as it rolled. 

“Come on, Boston, drink up!” Another bottle shoved into his hand. No Boston spirits, either, but effective, nonetheless, extremely, very, quite verily, very, very effective. He took a deep swig, wiping his chin with his sleeve when he was through. If his friends could see him now. If Grandfather could. He started chuckling at the thought, falling against Johnny.

Johnny draped an arm around him. “Watch it there, you ain’t ’xactly my type.”

“I’ve seen your type.” He tried to make Johnny have just one face again, forgot the rest of what he meant to say, but it would have been good.

“Yeah, well, we’ll see who gets what by the end of the night. So, you got a pretty one picked out?”

His eyes drifted back to her. Johnny’d been right about them getting prettier. And all it took was the one bottle. Well, maybe two. He took another swallow. She had huge dark eyes, like luminous pools a man could drown in, an almost sweet face framed by a mass of soft ringlets that beckoned to his fingers to come play. And the little minx knew how to act coy, pretending to be more interested in her cohorts, turning her back to him, flaunting her voluptuous rear, awakening his lust like he knew she meant to. “That one,” he whispered to Johnny, enunciating precisely, loud enough so anyone could hear, “with the ravishing rump.”

And then he was he was being pulled to his feet, pushed in her direction, before he was really ready.

“Go ask her to dance, then,” his brother was saying. “Wait!” Johnny pulled him back by one arm, almost sending him face first into the dirt. “Gotta look your best,” he said, making a show of straightening the collar of his tan shirt. “She probably gonna turn you down anyway.”

He brushed Johnny’s hands away. “I’ll have you know Scott Lancer has never, not ever, been turned down. Watch and learn, little brother, watch and learn.” Holding himself as straight as he could, he balanced carefully toward her. He could hear Johnny laughing behind him, a little too much, but there was no turning back now. Johnny’d dared him, told him he wasn’t man enough to satisfy one of these femme fatales. Scott Lancer not man enough? Utterly unthinkable, incomprehensively impossible. And it wasn’t like there would be a second chance. This flock of frolicsome females was just passing through. Johnny had arranged this little soiree, said a friend owed him a favor. And Murdoch was away.

He stood before his winsome one, caught off guard when she turned to gaze solemnly into his eyes, her long lashes blinking slowly, seductively. Was he supposed to say something?

It was she who broke the silence: “Baaa!” With a flick of her tail she trotted to the middle of the flock.

So she was going to play hard to get, huh?