Something's Gotta Give. Teresa Southwick

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      “I’ve seen armed robbers get less than thirty days,” Sam blurted out angrily.

      “Keep talking and I can go forty-five.” Sam started to protest, and the judge’s eyes narrowed in warning. He closed his mouth and Judge Gibson continued. “Your thirty days will be auctioned off at the philanthropic public sale that we here in Charity City like to call Buy-a-Guy. Proceeds go to a foundation to fund the town’s charitable endeavors.”

      “Let me get this straight,” Sam said. “I’m being sold for thirty days?”

      “That’s about the size of it.”

      “Last time I checked, buying and selling human beings was against the law.”

      “It still is. This is community service.”

      “What do I have to do?”

      “Your pertinent information will be listed on the town Web site and anyone who’s in need of your particular skills will pay for them.”

      “What if I don’t have any skills?”

      The judge looked down at the paperwork in front of him. “Says here you’re LAPD. A detective. Retired. You any good?”

      “At being retired?” Sam shrugged. There was that whole SOB thing again. “Haven’t been at it long enough to find out.”

      “Smart-ass you’re good at,” the judge commented wryly. “What about police work?”

      “I put away my share of bad guys.” Some he couldn’t keep behind bars.

      “I know someone who could use a good detective.”

      “So this is a setup.” Sam wasn’t asking. The crafty old judge had known his background and availability when he’d handed down the sentence.

      “No. You broke the law. These are the consequences.”

      “Harsh consequences given the circumstances.”

      “Guess you shouldn’t have given up your right to an attorney. And remaining silent wouldn’t have done you any harm, either.”

      This wasn’t the first time he should have kept his mouth shut. “I want to change my plea.”

      “Can’t. It’s already entered into the record.”

      Sam was seething. “I’m being scammed and we both know it.”

      “You say scam, I say justice. Since I’m the one wearing the black robe, my say goes.” The judge glared as he pointed. “And before you open your mouth again, I’m warning you. One more outburst and you’ve got sixty days.”

      Sam clenched his jaw.

      The irony was he hadn’t intended to stop in this town, but the highway billboard had caught his attention. Charity City, The Town That Lives Up To Its Name. Then he’d remembered that his friend Hayden Blackthorn had moved here to open a branch office for his company, Blackthorn Investigations.

      That’s when Sam had decided to pull into the Lone Star Bar and Grill in order to look up his old friend. Charity might begin at home but he was a long way from there.

      “I think your parents bought you a man last night.”

      “No way, Abby.”

      “Yes, way.”

      Jamie Gibson had thought that eating lunch in her office would be less stressful than hassling a crowded restaurant. Now she wasn’t so sure. Abby Walsh had become her friend after she’d handled her divorce from a husband as flaky as a French pastry. The guy had gone to Hollywood to audition for a reality show and never came back. More proof, as if Jamie needed any, that men couldn’t be counted on.

      “My parents bought a man?” She shifted the phone to her other ear as she unwrapped her sandwich. That revelation cranked up her stress level by a couple notches.

      “Yeah. You weren’t at the auction last night to keep them in line,” Abby said.

      “I had briefs to write.”

      “Riddle me this—if you have to work overtime to write them, why are they called briefs?”

      “Named by a man,” they both said together.

      “I’d much rather have spent the evening with you and Molly,” Jamie added, taking a sip from her drink.

      Her gaze slid to the framed picture on her desk of herself with her two friends—brown-haired, blue-eyed Abby Walsh and redheaded Molly Preston. She’d hated missing her evening with them. And apparently it wouldn’t have hurt to keep an eye on her folks. “What happened? They bought a man?”

      “First things first. I got the ex-army ranger.”

      Jamie frowned. “The one who donated the weekend campout you wanted?” She was dying to take a bite of her sandwich but didn’t want to chew in her friend’s ear.

      “That’s the one. Kimmie is determined to get her Bluebonnets outdoor badges, and since I don’t know a tent pole from a fishing rod, Riley Dixon is our man. He donated the weekend for sale because the foundation gave him the start-up capital for his security business.”

      “Good for him.” Jamie knew that Abby’s daughter would be thrilled with the campout. “Now what about my folks?” she prompted.

      “Yeah. I’m getting to that. But first I have to tell you about Molly.”

      “Okay. But can you move it along. You’re killing me here, and I’ve got to eat my lunch. This is like waiting for the other shoe to fall.”

      “If you’ll stop interrupting, I’ll tell you everything.” She took a breath. “Molly made me bid on Des O’Donnell.”

      “Didn’t Des take over the family construction company after his father passed away?”

      “Yes. And he donated a home repair for auction because his company got the contract to do the new wing at the preschool where Molly teaches.”

      “And she made you do the bidding?” Jamie asked.

      “Yeah. I have no idea why she was being so secretive, but everyone thinks I bought two men. Mayor Wentworth had some fun with that.”

      “I bet he did. So are you finished toying with me yet? What did my parents do?”

      “One of the guys for sale was an ex-LAPD detective and they bought him.”

      Jamie groaned, suddenly losing all interest in her food. “Probably not for a busboy at the restaurant.”

      “I don’t think so. Your folks give new meaning to the words overprotective,” Abby agreed. “I’m sure they’d have followed you and Stu to New York if they could have found a way.”

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