“But what if she’s destined to be an O’Donnell?” Liz asked.

“Then change her destiny.” Gemma laughed. “I’m going to check on Jasmine. Grab a beer or a plate of food and mingle. You got about thirty minutes before fortunes begin.”

***

Raylen had been watching the door for the past half hour. Becca had arrived and made a splash as Annie Oakley in jeans cut off so short that an inch of her butt cheeks showed when she was standing upright and hung lower on her hips than a bikini. When she bent over a table, even more of her cheeks peeked out, but there was not a single cellulite cell anywhere. She wore a sequined hat, had rhinestone- encrusted .38s strapped low around her hips and tied to her thigh with velvet ribbons, and a pearl-snap Western shirt that was knotted under her breasts, leaving her entire midriff bare. Her boots were as shiny as her hat and sparkled every time she took a step.

When Gemma and Liz came through the doors, and Liz removed her leather jacket, Raylen’s breath caught in his chest. Someone yelled at Gemma from across the barn and she headed in that direction. Liz looked up and saw Raylen, waved, and made a beeline toward him. He was glad for the few seconds to collect his thoughts before she reached him.

“Well, good evening, Indiana Jones,” Liz said.

Raylen sported two days’ worth of stubble, a hat like the one Harrison Ford wore in the movie, and he’d rolled the sleeves up on his gray work shirt, unbuttoned the first three buttons to show a little chest hair, and wore faded work pants rather than jeans. A leather whip circled around his left shoulder.

“And what do I call you?” Raylen touched her shawl gently.

“Madam Drabami. I’m here to tell fortunes to those who aren’t faint of heart,” she said.

“Did you figure out that he’s Indiana Jones?” Dewar walked up behind her. “That’s his costume every year. I keep tellin’ him that he looks more like Crocodile Dundee.”

“Oh, no, Crocodile Dundee wasn’t near as handsome,” Liz said.

Raylen popped his brother, who was dressed like a pirate, on the shoulder.

“Did you leave your contacts out tonight, Miss Liz? Let me show you around.” Dewar grinned.

Raylen looped Liz’s arm through his and said, “Sorry, Brother. Indiana Jones knows more about Egyptian princesses than a pirate does.”

“Are we going to find a lost treasure?” Liz asked. “Please tell me we won’t have to go into a cave where there are snakes or rats.”

“You afraid of snakes and rats? I figured something as beautiful as you could charm anything on the earth,” Raylen said in a sexy, low drawl.

Liz laughed. “You are a silver-tongued rogue, not Indiana Jones. I bet there ain’t even a treasure in here.”

Raylen chuckled. “Oh, yeah, there is, and I’ve got it on my arm. A drink for Madam Damagamy?”

Liz giggled. “Drabami. It’s the carnie word for fortune-teller, and she would love a cold beer.”