Cori stuffed two profiteroles in her mouth and moaned with pleasure. Who didn't love the little balls of creamy goodness? Nobody, that's who. Show her that person, and she'd show you someone who was crazy and found little pleasure in life. Yes, occasionally the books discussed at Sabrina Holloway's book club were mind-numbingly boring, but the food never disappointed.

“You want to talk about your day?” Sabrina asked and set out a plate of éclairs. She'd commented on Cori's puffy eyes earlier, and like a dog with a squeaky toy, Sabrina could be just as tenacious. She'd keep at it until the squeaker no longer worked, or in this case, until Cori spilled her guts.

Cori waved her hand dismissively as if to say it wasn't a big deal. “Not much to talk about. I lost my temper and told everyone within shouting distance to suck it.”

“Oh, my,” Sabrina said.

Cori scanned the room. All the book club members were staring at her. She groaned, knowing they would want the details. “Remember that co-worker I mentioned?” She tossed her head to the side in an impersonation of Mitzi. “You know, like the one that, like, never works.”

The others nodded and groaned. Conversations about Mitzi had been a must at every meeting.

“Yeah, well, she got promoted to assistant manager of the department.”

“Over you?” Sabrina asked.

Cori laughed wryly. “Come on, Sabrina. We all know I wasn't going to get a fair shake there, or I suppose y'all knew, and I just figured it out today.”

“Or admitted it,” Ronna, a psychologist said. She was always going Freudian or Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders on them.

Cori was not in the mood. Profiteroles or not, she was still one on-point comment away from crying. “Can we talk about something else, please? Maybe the book and the douchey main guy?” Cori knew that would get at least half the room's focus redirected.

“You didn't like our main man?” Deb, Sabrina's horse trainer, asked Cori. It never failed that when it was Deb's turn to pick a book, she picked a steamy romance, apparently liking her sex out in the open and hot. Or a murder mystery, preferring the macabre. Often Cori wondered about the older woman. She was mostly quiet and easy-going, but Cori believed outward appearances were all smokescreens anyway. Cori was willing to bet that if she needed to off someone or wanted advice on her sex life, Deb would be her go-to person.

“I liked him okay,” Cori said. Maybe not as much as this food, though. “It’s just that sometimes I want the girl to rescue herself. Why does a man have to do it?” Cori moved away from the veggies and dip toward the éclairs.

“I'm just gonna point something out here and let you ponder it a bit,” Ronna said.

Cori braced herself and grabbed a second éclair to help.

“Every time we read a romance or a book with a love story in it, on some level—”

“Which has been almost every book,” Cori pointed out. She had a feeling she knew where Ronna was going with this.

“True, regardless, these are not your favorite books, and you always are disappointed in the female lead and the...hero, as Deb calls him,” Ronna said.

“Yeah, and?” Cori hovered by the pastries, her stomach tightening in apprehension. She hated having the spotlight on her and, even more, anything that smacked of confrontation where she would have to dissect her emotions or behavior. She worked from one premise: do no harm and mind your own beeswax (okay, that's two), but so far, that attitude had served her well and kept her nose clean. No one could hold any current grievances against her. She couldn't ask for more.

“Only, it makes me curious as to why these things bother you.” Ronna, a good foot taller than Cori, stared down her nose, a julienne carrot pinched between her fingers.

Cori decided a quick answer might deflect the discussion and move it on to something else. “I like my fiction a bit more realistic. I mean, seriously, what woman shaves her legs every day? You don't read about that in these books. Him sliding his hand up her prickly leg? Nope. And they're so helpless, these girls. Waiting for Mr. Six-Pack-Abs to solve the problem.”

“Hey,” Deb exclaimed. “I pick books with strong females.” She sounded offended, but she winked at Cori, which managed to help loosen the knot in her stomach. “But I admit, I do try and pick books with hunky men. I do like me an alpha.”

Cori shifted uncomfortably and pushed her glasses up her nose. That was the other thing she hated about the books. Show her a man with a six-pack and sculpted muscles, and she'd show you a man who sat on the couch and farted while scratching his belly, demanding his dinner. Yeah, she was being shortsighted, but men were all alike. Dragging their knuckles was an inherent behavior. No thank you, she was not interested.

“What books do you prefer? If I remember correctly, you had picked that one about Hemingway's wife, right?” Ronna asked.

Cori nodded. There was a realistic book about love, life, and all the bullshit that came with it.

“Cori likes nonfiction,” Sabrina said and patted her arm.

“Not many surprises with those books,” Cori said.

Ronna smiled and nodded. “I see,” she said, as if she'd been let in on some great secret.

“You see what?” Cori wondered if she could make an excuse to leave. All the profiteroles were tumbling around in her stomach.

Ronna sighed and placed her water glass she was holding on the table. “One day, Cori, you are going to be faced with an opportunity that will require you to take a chance. Your instinct will be to run, but I hope you pause and consider staying. See it out. You might be pleasantly surprised on the other side.”

Pleasantly surprised that regret isn't as painful as it seems, Cori thought. She was about ready to spill other snarky retorts, but was startled from her thoughts by Sabrina who clapped her hands in excitement.

“Oh my, I have an idea,” Sabrina said. “Wow, you weren't kidding, Ronna, because I have an opportunity for you, Cori.”

Cori swung her attention to Sabrina who stood next to her, hands clasped prayer-like, the tips of her fingers touching her lips.

With her dark hair and creamy skin, Sabrina looked like an angel that could work for either side. Innocent and bewitching.

“So it's safe to say you're currently between jobs. Do you have a plan?” Sabrina asked.

Cori was glad for the subject change, such as it was. “You know me, thinking of playing it fast and loose with my free time. Maybe I'll go to school full-time or something. Good ol' Babs is still trying to get on some reality TV show about housewives of convicts. If that happens, I'd like to not be around Brewster, surrounded by people who dislike my folks. Know what I mean?” Cori smiled at the group, but her lips felt stiff and she was uncertain how to make them curve. It was the same faux smile from all those beauty pageants she'd been in as a child where she'd been forced to fake-smile for hours, feeling as if her face would crack and her flippers, those stupid-ass fake teeth she had to wear, would fall out.

“Your mom's been doing that for a while, right?” Deb asked. Even though they all stood around the well-stocked and beautifully decorated table, no one was eating. For a group of women who liked angst in their books, they loved it when Cori talked about her personal life, which was rare. It never ceased to provide the drama they craved.

Cori nodded. The group knew her story. But who didn't since it had been in the state papers, even making national news? It had been huge news in Texas. It wasn't every day that a small-town mayor was convicted of embezzling, fraud with check kiting, and cattle rustling. What Charlie Walters managed to get away with was being a shitty father and an overall disappointment as a human being. After Charlie was sentenced to a decade in prison, her mom, Barbie, had shifted her one life goal. She ceased being the wife of a rich tycoon and mother to a beauty pageant winner and embraced being the victim. Now, she was the wife to a crafty tycoon, who himself was the victim of jealous people. Good ol' mom had conveniently dropped off any aspirations she might have had for her daughter. Barbie played martyr well, wearing her stiletto and tears into the prison weekly to visit her husband. Filming it for all her Facebook friends to see and sympathize. Funny how her father had been court ordered to pay back what he stole, which he professed unable to do and filed bankruptcy, yet Barbie lived comfortably in a McMansion on the outskirts of Dallas, Charlie's internment not even a blip on Barbie's radar. Cori, saddled with the moral fortitude that had escaped both her parents, knew it was her responsibility to pay back what she could. She'd gone years without luxuries most took for granted: haircuts, meals out, and underwear without holes in them. Her one luxury had been used camera equipment, and most of that she'd been given for work she'd done.

“I have a job proposition for you,” Sabrina said. “But it's a weird one.”

Cori moved to the drink station and decided she would need something stronger than water. Knowing what Sabrina did, Cori couldn't imagine what this job could be. Trying to make Cori a mail-order bride was such a ridiculous notion Cori almost laughed at the thought. “Hit me,” she said and pulled a beer from the silver ice chest.

“Okay, keep an open mind.” Sabrina raised her brows, waiting for Cori to acknowledge the request.

Again, Cori nodded.

“There's this... ah...lawman, I suppose you could say, a county deputy who is looking to run for sheriff, but the town is small and folks are old-fashioned and they want a married man as their sheriff. He needs to be moving toward the altar for the townsfolk to consider him.” Sabrina picked up a bottle of San Pellegrino and toyed with the screw top.

“What's that about?” Deb asked. “Sounds like it's the old west.”

“Right,” Cori said. She lived in a backward town already. Did she want to trade one in for the other? Even temporarily?

“Well, it's all about trust and showing the town you're there to stay. That you're part of their community.” Sabrina gave Cori a purposeful look. “You and I both know that's still no guarantee. But this man, this lawman, he's a good one with the right intentions, and he's asked for my help.”

“So I'm supposed to go marry this man to get him elected?” Cori asked and then gulped down several swallows of beer. Liquid courage don't fail her now! Because as asinine as this pitch sounded, Cori found she was intrigued. Not enough to get married, but curious enough to hear more.

Sabrina's laugh was brief. “No, you won't have to actually marry him. Only pretend that you're going to marry him.”

Encouraging Sabrina to continue, Cori asked, “How does it end?” She took another gulp of beer.

“You'll leave him at the altar,” Sabrina said, then bit her lip.

Cori choked and spewed her last sip. But, more importantly, she retained control of her plate. Dropping her profiteroles were not an option. She was going to need their comfort. Once she gained control, her throat spasms subsiding, she said in a raspy voice, “So, I'm to be a pariah in two towns. Awesome. Kinda unprecedented.”

Sabrina's smile could pass for a grimace. “You're not a pariah in Brewster. Your parents are.”

Cori raised her bottle in the air. “Guilt by association.” She finished off the brew while sadly acknowledging there was no more courage within her, only gas and the urge to expel it.

“Maybe we can come up with something less awful than leaving him at the altar,” Sabrina mused.

“You think?” Cori rubbed her stomach.

“He needs the town's sympathy, but maybe a dramatic breakup before the wedding would work.”

“Either way, whoever the fake fiancé, she'll be taking it on the chin.” Cori stared at the tiny, cream-stuffed puffy balls and decided something more substantial was needed. Like a pint of ice cream, or a gallon.

“I know, it’s not the best situation, but you'll be helping out an entire town because the other guy running is bad.” Sabrina's pointed gaze spoke volumes. “The kinda guy we are familiar with and dislike immensely. Did I mention it was also a paid position?”

Ah, yes. That got her attention for sure. Money she needed, and the opponent being a grifter like her own dear daddy had appeal, too. “So, it would be like I'm fighting crime. Kinda a superhero in disguise,” Cori said.

“Sure,” Sabrina said. “Stopping shysters one at a time. It's respectable, if you think about it. Going up against these sorts of people.”

Cori waved her hand in the air, rejecting Sabrina's words. “Don't try to spin it. There's nothing respectable about coning a con.” She would not be like her father. Nope. No way.

But the money would give her a do-over. A fresh start she longed for.

Sabrina sighed. “We both know that the only way to deal with people like this is to play their way. A pretend con is not the same as a real one. There are no rules when dealing with greed.”

Sabrina was right. Hustlers were shortsighted. They rarely saw past their objective.

Sabrina continued. “It's in Wyoming. Beautiful. Imagine the pictures you could take there.”

Cori pressed her lips together. Now Sabrina was just being mean, going straight for Cori's passion for photography. Just last night, Cori had been looking at the rules for the Smithsonian's Photo Contest. Not that she felt she had anything worthy to submit at this point, but crap on a cracker, she really wanted to enter. Validation she could take a good picture would do her self-esteem good. Maybe then her well of positive experiences would start to fill and balance out, and dare she hope, exceed the well of negative ones.

“How much money?” She'd be a fool not to ask, and she'd spent enough time being a fool.

“Enough to start over somewhere. Might even have some extra for college.”

Cori narrowed her gaze, trying to read Sabrina's mind. It all seemed too good to be true. “This guy? He's the good sort? I'm not going to have any problems with him?” Cori couldn't believe she was asking.

Sabrina bit her lip before answering. “Well, you might get off to a rocky start, to be honest. You're both similar in personalities, but if you keep focused on the goal, then you should make it work. There's little chance you'll fall for each other so that will make leaving easier.”

“That's counterintuitive for you. Must feel weird.” Cori watched Sabrina closely. It was strange that a matchmaker was setting her up to fail at the match.

“You're helping a friend. I'm only involved in this because I have connections. Don't think of it as me making a match.”