Читать книгу A Bride for a Blue-Ribbon Cowboy - Judy Duarte, Judy Duarte - Страница 10

“You know, I’ve missed those guys.”

Cindy glanced at the handsome cowboy at her side, then followed his gaze to the front of the courthouse, where Dutch and Buster sat. The two crusty old men spent the daylight hours parked on that green-wood-and-wrought-iron bench and watched the world go by.

“You never used to like this town,” she said. “Or too many of the residents.”

“It’s funny what a few years’ perspective will give a man. Dutch and Buster are a hoot. Haven’t you ever taken time to talk to them?”

Dutch, the tall, lanky one of the two, chose that very moment to spit a stream of tobacco into the rusted coffee can that sat on the sidewalk and served as a joint spittoon.

His aim wasn’t very good, and Cindy could have sworn he hit Buster’s boot.

“I’ve never really chatted with them, although Grandpa does. They seem kind of crotchety, if you ask me.”

“Only if they don’t like you.” Blake chuckled. “Those two don’t miss much. And they’ve got an interesting philosophy of life, especially when it comes to the people who live in Blossom.”

Cindy had her own opinion about some of the townspeople, too. And she wondered if that came from sitting on the outside looking in, much like the two old men did.

“Come on,” Blake said. “I want to say hello to them.”

As she and Blake approached, Dutch remained seated while Buster stood.

The short, heavyset man wore a stained white shirt, green suspenders, a dusty red baseball cap and a smile. He reached out a gnarly hand to Blake. “Well, now. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

Blake accepted Buster’s shake, then reached out to Dutch. “It’s good to see you guys. Looks like you’re just as ornery as ever.”

“And we’re gonna get a whole lot ornerier,” Dutch said as he leaned forward in his seat to spit into the can. “That dad-burn bunch of moral misfits aim to run us off our bench.”

Buster crossed his arms over a belly that put a real strain on his suspenders. “But they’ll have a fight on their hands. Nobody’s going to tell us where we can sit. Or where we can spit.”

Dutch leaned back in the bench and stretched out his long legs. “A couple of revenuers tried to run my daddy off the farm once. And they got a load of buckshot in the side of that fancy black car they drove.”

Buster took his seat beside his longtime friend. “This is a public bench. And just because we’ve got a little silver in our hair and gold in our teeth doesn’t mean we got metal in our brains. We’re not going to let those uppity moral morons tell us what to do.”

“By the way,” Dutch said to Blake. “I wanna congratulate you. Heard you went eight seconds with ol’ Flame Thrower. Ain’t no one done that, yet.”

Blake smiled. “It was a good day. And a good ride.”

“Folks are talking about the Blossom County rodeo and how happy they are that you’re going to compete. Why, Buster and I might even leave our bench and come watch.”

“I hope you do.”

“How’s Tuck doing?” Buster asked Cindy. “We heard he was down at the clinic last week.”

Cindy’s heart nearly jumped out of her chest. She didn’t know anything about her grandfather’s visit to the doctor. “He doesn’t appear to be sick.”

“Well, it ain’t nothin’ a little romancin’ won’t cure,” Dutch said with a chuckle. “We heard there’s a pretty nurse who works there. We been meanin’ to go have us a look-see ourselves.”

Grandpa was interested in a woman? She supposed that was better than him having medical problems and needing to see the doctor. But Cindy couldn’t imagine the old cowboy having a romantic streak. He was still pining over the loss of his wife. Dutch and Buster must be mistaken.

“I hate to run,” Blake told the men, “but it’s burning daylight and we still have a few errands to run. I hope to see you both at the rodeo.”

“We’ll be there,” Buster said.

Blake nudged Cindy. “We’ve got work to do, unless you’ve changed your mind.”

“I haven’t.” She picked up her pace to match his, as they cut across the lawn toward the shops that lined the north side of the town square. “You know, Dutch and Buster were right. Everyone in town is happy you’re back.”

“Only because I’ve made a name for myself. You know as well as I do that wasn’t always the case.”

Blake was right. When he first came to Blossom, people had looked down on him. He’d always said it was because he was half Indian. But Cindy and Grandpa had suspected his initial don’t-mess-with-me attitude had played a part.

“I don’t have any ties to Blossom,” he said, “other than you and Tuck. And I’m only riding in the rodeo because Jason and Trace asked me to.”

Mayor Jason Strong and Sheriff Trace McCabe had become friends of Blake’s back in high school, after they’d stepped in during a teenage brawl and saved Blake from getting the tar beaten out of him.

Blake’s loyalty to the two men was admirable, and she respected him for it. His loyalty to her and Grandpa was admirable, too. But she really had to get her mind back on the business at hand.

“Where are we going first?” she asked.

“To the Mercantile.” He placed a hand on her shoulder, guiding her toward the upscale dress shop.

Cindy purchased her clothing at Family Fashions, a discount store that made shopping a handy, one-stop experience for her and Grandpa. And the last winter, when she’d acquired what seemed like a sudden interest in women’s fashion, she’d made a point of walking by the Mercantile whenever she was in town.

She liked to peer through the big picture window at the mannequins on display. But even though she was often tempted to step inside, she never had. She would feel a bit awkward entering a fancy place like that by herself.

So having Blake as her guide was going to be an adventure, for more reasons than one.

When they reached the entrance, he dropped his hand, leaving her feeling almost abandoned, as he opened the door to let her in.

A burst of nervousness buzzed through her as they walked into the shop filled with racks of stylish outfits. And although she wanted to slip her hand in his, she resisted the urge.

After all, she’d been the one who’d agreed to a makeover. And the one who’d decided to set her sights on Robby and ask for Blake’s help. So she’d have to be woman enough to face her nerves head-on.

“May I help you?” a well-dressed saleslady asked.

“I’d like to buy a couple of outfits for my friend,” Blake told her.

Cindy nudged him with her elbow. “I only asked for your advice. You’re not paying for anything.” She patted the small purse she carried. “Besides, I have plenty of cash saved up for this.”

“Well, you can put your money away. I’m paying for everything.” Blake looked at the saleslady. “We’d like something young and stylish. Can you give us some suggestions?”

“Of course.” The salesclerk indicated a chair where Blake could wait. Then she eyed Cindy carefully. “Let’s get you in the fitting room, and I’ll see what I can do.”

Twenty minutes later, Blake continued to sit on a red-velvet-covered settee that was so delicate he hoped it would hold him. His black Stetson rested on the cushion beside him as he thumbed through a fashion magazine.

He knew the Mercantile was a women’s dress shop, but you’d think they’d set out reading material that might interest a man who had to tag along. Of course, he hadn’t been inside a place like this for years, not since his mother had dragged him to the mall back home and made him wait while she tried on every darn thing in several stores. He didn’t like shopping with a woman back then, and he sure as heck didn’t like it now.

But this was a favor for Cindy.

“Are you ready for a fashion show?” the brunette saleslady asked with what he suspected was an I-work-on-commission smile.

“Sure.” He set down the magazine and stretched out his legs. They may as well get the show on the road. Then they could get out of here.

“The first number is a sundress designed by Catarini, a new designer out of New York.”

Oh, for Pete’s sake. The woman could can the commentary. All he cared about was whether it looked good on Cindy and whether she liked it.

But as Cindy walked timidly from the fitting room, wearing a slinky green sundress that showed off a heck of a lot more of her than the jeans and shirt she’d worn in there, he nearly dropped his teeth.

The petite redhead tugged at the material that slid tauntingly over her hips. “What do you think? Is it too small?”

No. Yes. Heck, he didn’t know.

She turned around and glanced over her shoulder to get a different view of her reflection. “I’m not comfortable with my legs showing.”

He didn’t know why. She had great legs. Not very long, of course, since she only stood a whisper over five feet. But they were shaped perfectly.

“The dress looks good,” he said, his voice coming out in a choked whisper. Real good.

“Do you think Robby will pay more attention to me if I wear something like this?” she asked.

Heck, yeah. Unless the bookworm was blind. All Blake knew was that it would sure make him sit up and take notice.

She tugged at the hem, which rested just above the knee, apparently still stressing about the length.

“Why aren’t you comfortable with your legs showing?” he asked.

“Someone once told me that my knees were knobby, so I’ve kept them covered up ever since.” She glanced in the mirror, checking her hemline. Then she looked at him as though wanting confirmation.

Something told him that he might have been the one who had teased her. “If it was me, I’m sorry. You have great legs and knees. I was either lying, or you outgrew that coltish stage.” Then he looked at the salesclerk. “We’ll take it.”

The woman clapped her hands without making much of a sound. “I knew you’d like it. She has a lovely shape and can wear those formfitting outfits.”

“I’m a little self-conscious dressed like this,” Cindy admitted.

“You shouldn’t be, dear.” The woman grinned. “Now go in and try on those black cropped pants and the top that goes with it.”

Before long, Cindy returned wearing a pair of pants that rode low on her hips and a jungle-print blouse that left a strip of her waistline bare. Blake knew that was the style. And he liked the look, especially on other women. But he wasn’t sure he wanted Cindy parading the streets of Blossom like that.

He’d had no idea what she’d been hiding behind denim and flannel.

Ten minutes later, Blake paid for the purchases, which included three different pants outfits, two dresses—one yellow, the other black—and a pair of black heels. The salesclerk also rang up the white silky blouse, blue skirt and strappy sandals Cindy was wearing.

As the saleslady carefully packed each item in a piece of tissue, she smiled.

No doubt about it. That had to be an I’m-counting-my-hefty-commission grin. But what the heck. Cindy deserved a shopping spree, and he was happy he could provide her one.

“You don’t mind if I wear this out, do you?” Cindy glanced at the skirt she wore, again tugging at the hem even though it really wasn’t too short. “It’s kind of skimpy.”

“And very fashionable,” the clerk added. “You look fabulous.”

Blake had to agree. But he still wasn’t sure he wanted her walking around town like that. And he didn’t have the foggiest notion why.

Just looking out for her, he supposed. That’s all.

As they headed for the door, he studied the young woman who walked in front of him.

The stretchy blue fabric caressed the curves she’d been hiding beneath baggy denim, and he doubted there was a man alive who wouldn’t take a second look. At least from the neck down.

If she learned to fix her hair and put on some makeup, she’d actually be able to set her sights on someone a lot better than Robby Bradshaw—an assessment Blake easily made without even meeting the guy.

As they stepped out into the late-afternoon sun, Cindy balked. “I feel half-dressed, no matter what that saleslady told me. Maybe I ought to run back inside and put on my jeans.”

“Don’t bother. You may as well get used to the attention. Those new clothes look nice on you. That saleslady wasn’t just stringing you along.”

Cindy beamed, then threw her arms around him and gave him a quick hug. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” As he returned her embrace, his hands slid along the sleek fabric of a blouse that rode a little too high up her back, and a jolt of heat shimmied through his blood. He dropped his arms and stepped back.

Cindy may have been twenty-two, but to him she was just a kid. A babe in the woods.

A woman-child poised on the verge of consenting adulthood. And he meant to look after her until she could handle being at that stage in her life.

“Come on. Next stop is the Cut N Curl.”

A bell over the door announced their arrival, as Blake and Cindy entered the only beauty shop in town, a busy place with a bright orange-and-yellow decor. The scent of hairspray and nail polish lingered in the warm and stuffy room.

It looked different than it had the last time Cindy had been in here.

A petite woman with big hair the color of an orange neon light sat behind the appointment desk. She looked up and flashed them a cheerful smile. “Hello, there. Welcome to the Cut N Curl. My name is Wanda Mae. How can I help you?”

Cindy looked at Blake. He seemed to know what he was doing, or at least what he had in mind, so she let him do the talking.

“Does someone have time for a cut and style?” he asked.

“I’m sure we can fit it in.” Wanda Mae scanned her appointment book.

Cindy took that time to survey the busy room. Each of the customers had a personal beauty expert working over her, except for the lady with her gray hair rolled in pink curlers, who waited alone under the hood of a big yellow dryer, and the gal with her hair covered in little foil squares, who thumbed through a gossip magazine.

A matronly woman appeared to be dozing while her bare feet soaked in a bubbling tub of water. Getting a pedicure, Cindy supposed.

One young girl, who looked as though her hair had been dyed with jet-black ink, sat before a mirror, watching closely as a tall blond beautician took a scissors to locks that were already short and scraggly.

The place was amazing, and not at all what Cindy had remembered. She couldn’t believe the lengths women went to improve their looks.

Had that been her problem in the past? Too little fuss and effort?

Wanda Mae clicked her tongue and furrowed her brow, as she twisted a lock of neon-orange hair and studied the book. “We’re a little full, but I suppose I could do it myself.”

Oh, no. Cindy could imagine herself walking out of here with her hair the same color as a highway worker’s safety vest.

She tugged at Blake’s chambray shirtsleeve and cupped her mouth to indicate a secret. As he bent toward her, she whispered, “If she so much as starts toward me with a bottle of hair dye, I’m going to poke her in the nose and knock her on her fanny.”

Blake peered over the reception desk and looked at the appointment book.

“Maybe someone has time to give her a manicure or pedicure,” he suggested. “Then you can fit her in when one of the hairstylists has time.”

“Now, that I can do,” Wanda Mae said with a smile. “We’ll give her the works.”

“Sounds good to me.” Blake reached for the doorknob. “What time should I come back?”

“Give us until five o’clock. We’ll have her as pretty as a picture.”

As Cindy watched Blake saunter out of the beauty salon on his own, she had half a notion to follow him. What had she gotten herself into?

“It’ll be just a few minutes,” Wanda Mae said with a flashy smile. “The manicurist will be ready for you as soon as she finishes polishing that lady’s toes. And while you’re waiting, you can enter our baby pool.”

Cindy was almost afraid to ask. She’d heard of baby showers. “What’s a baby pool?”

“Tammy Wright, one of the gals who lives in Blossom, is due to have a baby at the end of August. Rumor has it that the doctor says the little one is a boy, but don’t tell anyone I told you.”

Cindy knew Tammy; they’d gone to school together. And even though they’d never socialized much other than at school, Tammy had been one of the few girls she’d considered a friend.

Wanda Mae whipped out a poster board that listed names, dates and hours. “It only costs two dollars to get in the pool. All you have to do is pick a day and a block of time that hasn’t been chosen. Then write down whether you think it’s a boy or girl. The winner gets two hundred dollars.”

Oh, why not? Cindy dug through her purse and handed Wanda Mae two one-dollar bills. Then she chose August twenty-eight. She’d heard most babies came in the middle of the night, so she took the hours between midnight and six in the morning. And since Wanda Mae had mentioned that the doctor said it was a boy, she figured it would be silly to guess Tammy’s baby would be a girl.

After returning the chart to Wanda Mae, she took a seat near the front window. She didn’t have to wait long until she was called.

From that moment on, Cindy was pampered and fussed over until she thought she could really get used to the special attention.

She couldn’t help marveling at how soft her hands were. She could have sworn they were going to stay permanently chapped. Her skin smelled good, too. Like orange blossoms and cream.

And her toes sported a pretty pink polish that matched her fingernails.

She’d even agreed to have her eyebrows waxed. Ouch.

As she sat in a swivel chair before a big gold mirror, she could hardly recognize the image of the woman who looked back at her.

The beautician studied the awkward strands, tugging, poking. “It’s a beautiful color. You really ought to wear it down and show it off.”

“I’ve always had a hard time running a comb through it,” Cindy explained. “And if I don’t bind it up somehow, by nighttime it looks like I barely survived a Texas twister.”

“We’ll see what a little styling and conditioning does about that.”

Moments later, the woman got to work, and Cindy sat back and watched.

After a conditioning process and a practically tangle-free comb out, Cindy decided she would have to stock up on some conditioner to use at home. Then she watched the beautician go to work, combing, lifting, snipping. And before long, the woman took a rounded brush and a blow dryer, carefully styling as the hair dried.

“Well,” the stylist said, after shutting off the hot air and handing Cindy a handheld mirror. “What do you think?”

She didn’t know what to think, other than that the results were magical. She had no idea how long it would last, but it looked pretty darn good, even if she did say so herself. “I’d always considered my hair one of my biggest flaws. And I can’t believe what you’ve done to it.”

“Thanks. I take pride in my job, especially when I have something to work with. You’re a pretty woman. Now all you need is a dab of lipstick. Why don’t you get it out of your purse.”

“I…don’t wear makeup,” Cindy said.

“Well, I suppose you don’t really need it. But we’ve got some new products on display that a lot of our clients have been raving about.” She hollered to the front of the shop. “Wanda Mae, will you bring me a tube of Pretty in Pink?”

By the time the women had finished with her, Cindy held a sack full of beauty supplies and a detailed list of instructions for their use. And even though she still felt like a guppy in a mason jar, her self-esteem had sure gotten a shot in the arm.

But that was nothing compared to the jolt she received when Blake strode into the Cut N Curl at five o’clock.

As Blake’s eyes lit on Cindy, he froze in his tracks.

Talk about beauty makeovers. She’d gone from Calamity Jane to a redheaded Cinderella in a few short hours.

“What do you think?” she asked, nibbling on her bottom lip.

Heck, he didn’t know what to think.

Her hair hung loose to her shoulders in a sexy array of curls that seemed to dance whenever she moved her head. He wasn’t sure what they’d done to her eyebrows, but they sure made a guy focus on those expressive green eyes.

And the pink lipstick she wore made her lips look…well, they looked just plain kissable.

“Is it too much?” she asked.

No. It was just right. But he couldn’t seem to open his mouth to tell her.

“For Pete’s sake, Blake, you’re making me so darn nervous I could bust.”

“You look fine. Nice.” He had to force the words out, as well as make himself breathe.

He’d expected a makeover to help her look somewhat attractive. But he hadn’t expected her to bubble over with…whatever it was that was bursting from the seams of that little blue skirt and white silky blouse.

“Don’t let him kid you,” Wanda Mae said. “I saw the way he nearly tripped over his jaw when he took one look at you. My gosh, girl, you’re as pretty as a fashion model.”

“Do you think Robby will be surprised?” Cindy asked him.

Flabbergasted would be more like it.

Suddenly, a flood of responsibility washed over Blake. He couldn’t just let Cindy out on the streets looking like that. Not without some way of protecting her from a pack of males on the prowl. It would be like throwing a calf to the coyotes. “You’re not going out in public like that.”

“What do you mean?”

“At least, not without me. Not yet. You’re not ready for Robby, or any other guy, for that matter.”

She slapped her hands on her hips, and the familiar sass erupted in her eyes. “I’ve taken a lot of guff over the years from some of the kids I’ve gone to school with, but I’m not about to let you tease me, too.”

“Tease you?” God knows he’d done his share of ribbing her in the past about one thing or another, but he wasn’t teasing about her looks. Or the appeal she was bound to have on the unsuspecting single males in Blossom. And some of the married ones, too, he suspected.

She slid him a pout that actually made her look all the more sexy. “I don’t need you to rub in the fact that I haven’t had any real dates.”

“You’ve never had a date?” Wanda Mae laughed. “Well, that’s about to change. Maybe I’d better go into the back room and find a stick that you can use to chase off the men whenever you come into town.”

The flashy orange-haired woman was right.

Blake took Cindy by the hand. “Listen, honey. I told you I’d coach you. And that’s what I intend to do. You look great. And there isn’t a man alive who wouldn’t agree with me. But men are a strange breed, and I just want to make sure you can hold your own.”

“Listen here, Blake Gray Feather. I have no problem holding my own with men. Never had, never will.”

“I’m not talking about riding and roping, Cindy.”

“Knock it off. I quit competing with boys in high school.”

He rolled his eyes and blew out a ragged sigh. “Some guys aren’t honest. And they have ulterior motives.”

“I might be inexperienced, but I read books and magazines. And I watch TV. So you don’t have to worry about me.”

She talked a good story, but he had his doubts. Some men would take advantage of her innocence. And that was something Blake couldn’t allow to happen.

“I’m only going to be in town for another couple weeks, then you’ll be on your own. And I want to leave knowing you won’t let some fast-talking, womanizing cowboy sweep you off your feet.” His gaze dropped down to her toes, which had been newly polished.

Oh, for Pete’s sake. She even had beautiful feet.

Blake blew out a ragged sigh.

What in the world had he created?

And worse, what had he gotten himself into?