Courted by a Cowboy Read online

  “I’m glad to know you have your priorities straight,” Donetta said, sitting in an unoccupied chair while her customer’s hair processed. “Park yourself and bring us up-to-date on California gossip.”

  The salon boasted four domed hair dryers, four workstations and two shampoo bowls. A tiny reception desk stood at the front of the room and several red vinyl chairs lined the walls for customers or visitors to sit awhile and chat. Tracy Lynn was in one of the salon chairs, messing with her hair. Becca and Sunny dragged two guest chairs across the room and sat near her.

  “California’s pretty much the same.”

  “What Donetta meant,” Tracy Lynn said, “is tell us about Michael.”

  “Nothing exciting there, either. Michael dumped me.”

  “You didn’t say that when you called!” Donetta’s green eyes narrowed. Of the four of them, she and Sunny were the closest. Their birthdays were a day apart. In fact, they’d both be turning thirty in a couple of months.

  “I figured I’d wait and only have to spill my guts once. Having to admit you’ve been dumped is demoralizing enough.”

  Like true friends who didn’t need to know details to automatically jump to her defense, each woman dutifully expressed contempt and good riddance.

  “You hocked the ring, I hope,” Becca said.

  “He took it back.”

  “You’re kidding!” Donetta exclaimed.

  Everyone gasped, including the two ladies only halfway under the hair dryers and the one still in Donetta’s chair. “What a jerk.”

  Sunny shrugged. “Michael was ever the frugal one. Besides, what do I need with a reminder?”

  “The cash,” Tracy Lynn said.

  “I thought you said Michael was loaded.” Donetta leaned forward in the chair, the glitter on her fingernails sparkling in the overhead light.

  “Sure, he had money. That didn’t mean he was willing to toss it around.”

  Tracy Lynn reached over and laid a hand on Sunny’s arm. “Are you all right?” Her friend’s compassion—not the loss of Michael—brought tears to Sunny’s eyes.

  “Yeah. I’m good. I think I’ve known for a while that Michael and I weren’t right for each other. It’s just you get in a pattern, you know? It’s easier to stay in a nowhere relationship than to venture out and start over. It sounds stupid, but waking up each morning knowing I was part of a couple and had a date for Saturday night was easier than facing friends’ questions and starting over again single.”

  She glanced at Donetta, knowing that she, of all the Texas Sweethearts, would understand. Donetta had stayed in a destructive marriage for two years before she’d found the strength to get out.

  “I just wish I’d been the one who’d done the dumping,” Sunny confessed.

  “So, lie,” Becca suggested with a grin.

  “Wouldn’t work. Turns out my elite friends were actually Michael’s pals. His political standing in the community made him more attractive when it came down to choosing sides. In one day, I went from having a busy social schedule to having a calendar filled with cancellations.”

  Donetta reached over and took her hand. Tracy Lynn and Becca laid theirs on top—another Texas Sweetheart ritual. Sunny’s throat ached with suppressed sobs at the show of camaraderie.

  “We would have never let you down that way,” Donetta said quietly.

  “I know,” Sunny whispered. True friends.

  Because of Jackson Slade’s actions ten years ago, she’d left this town, these girlfriends; thought she’d wanted something so different. In moments like this she wondered what in the world she’d been thinking.

  Not one to be left out if compassion needed doling out, Simba rested his head on their joined hands.

  Sunny laughed, breaking the emotional silence. “Let’s get a grip here. I’m not pining for Michael. My pride’s just smarting.”

  “Yes, well, he should be hanged by his toenails for even doing that much to you,” Tracy Lynn said.

  “I’d have suggested another part of his anatomy,” Becca muttered.

  The door to the salon whooshed open and Simba whirled around, his tail slapping Becca, Tracy Lynn and Donetta with one wide sweep. Sunny grabbed his collar before he could lunge forward.

  “Uh-oh,” Donetta whispered. “My favorite customer has arrived. She comes in every Friday for her shampoo, set and silver-blue rinse.”

  Sunny recognized the woman immediately: Miz Millicent Lloyd. She hadn’t changed a bit. The woman wore white gloves—which she wouldn’t dare don a second before Easter Sunday—a belted silk dress that hung to her shins and open-toed shoes that matched the white pocketbook hanging from her arm.

  Using a typical gesture Sunny well remembered, Miz Lloyd sniffed as though smelling something foul. In a cattle town, that wasn’t such a stretch.

  “I might have known you’d be in here, Rebecca Sue,” Millicent said with an arch of one blue-tinted eyebrow. “I was of a mind to shop for a dear friend’s anniversary gift, kill two birds, as I was in town to have my hair fixed. But no one was around to wait on me.”

  “Abbe’s there,” Becca said.

  Mrs. Lloyd sniffed again. “She doesn’t know my tastes. Besides, she has that…child with her. How’s a person supposed to concentrate with a child running underfoot, I ask you?”

  Tracy Lynn stopped primping and came out of the chair. Sunny hadn’t been part of this town for a while, but she’d kept up in weekly letters. Tracy was a champion for any underdog, and had a soft spot for single mothers. Hadn’t she nearly taken Sunny’s head off over an innocent comment earlier?

  Becca seemed to realize that Tracy Lynn was about to intervene. She had that shoulders-squared, country-club air about her, making her a fine match for the likes of Miz Millicent Lloyd.

  “I was just headed back to the store, anyway,” Becca said.

  “A lot of good it’ll do me now. It’s time for my hairdo appoin—” She stopped midword, her eyes widening behind her glasses. “Well, I never, Donetta. When did you start allowing animals in your beauty shop? Aren’t there health codes against that?”

  Donetta opened her mouth, but Sunny cut her off. “Hey, Miz Lloyd,” she said. “It’s nice to see you again.”

  The woman squinted behind her glasses. “Is that you, Sunny Leigh?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Well then, I’m sure your mama taught you better manners than to bring your…animal to the beauty shop.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll just put Simba in the back. He was eager to see the girls.”

  Millicent Lloyd stared at Sunny as though she’d lost her mind. But there was no sense getting in a debate with the dowager. Folks rarely won against her.

  Simba gave quick licks all around, then trotted across the salon with Sunny. Before she could close the break-room door, he realized he was being banished. His ears perked up and his velvety brown eyes beseeched.

  “Don’t look at me that way. I need you to be a good boy. Besides, I’m saving you a lot of grief. Miz Lloyd can ruin a mood faster than a flea can hop.” Simba’s ears lowered at that. “She’s not as bad as she seems, though. She lost her husband some years back, and her attitude just hides her loneliness. You wouldn’t know it from looking at her, but she has a big heart. When Daddy got sick, Miz Lloyd stepped right in and took over for Mama.” Simba appeared happy with that explanation. “Lie down on the cool tiles there. And stay out of the refrigerator.”

  After closing the door, Sunny returned to the front of the salon. Millicent was already at the shampoo bowl, draped in a cape, and Donetta was rinsing her hair.

  “Becca Sue went back to her store,” Tracy Lynn said, sweeping crimson gloss over her lips as she cut her gaze toward Millicent. “I told her we’d all get together after work.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Sunny said, although she was starting to fade. She’d driven the last leg of the trip from California early this morning and was operating on precious little sleep.

  She stood by Tracy
Lynn as Donetta rolled curlers around Millicent’s short gray hair—well, blue, actually—and dutifully listened to the older woman lamenting about the corns on her feet and how she was annoyed with a particular shoe company for discontinuing her favorite, open-toed style.

  Sunny was nearly falling asleep when the glass door whooshed open again.

  A hush fell over the salon, and Sunny’s pulse jumped right up into her throat.

  Jackson Slade stood in the doorway, the short sleeves of his white T-shirt rolled up in a bad-boy style that showed off his strong shoulders and biceps. As before, his tobacco-brown hat rode low on his forehead, shading his expression.

  Tori, solemn and fragile, hugged his side, her hand wrapped in his. Sunny was struck again by how petite the nine-year-old was—especially next to a man as tall and commanding as Jack.

  From the look on the faces of the two ladies sitting in the dryer chairs, they were scandalized at Jack’s presence in their midst. Never mind that he was now a father and a successful rancher who was indirectly responsible for a good many jobs in Hope Valley. Memories ran long and deep in small towns. Some of the old-timers still thought of him as that drunkard Russell Slade’s boy, a lad who belonged in reform school instead of in a booth in Wanda’s Diner, slouching indolently and sipping on a cherry Coke among genteel society as though he belonged or something.

  Ignoring the twittering old ladies, Sunny went to Jack and his daughter, her fatigue banished by an odd jolt of adrenaline.

  “Tori’s got gum in her hair,” he said. “She didn’t want me to cut it, so I figured I’d better bring her in.”

  The child looked frightened, as though she’d done something very wrong and anticipated dire consequences. But Jack didn’t appear the least annoyed with his daughter. When he gazed at the little girl, a softness came over his face, as if she were the center of his world.

  After checking for the snake—and feeling relieved to note that it was no longer around Tori’s neck—Sunny bent to the child’s level and ran her fingers over the wad of gum tangled in the long blond strands.

  “Don’t you just hate it when this happens?” she asked. “I did the same thing once, but my Grandma Birdie fixed me right up with a dab of peanut butter.”

  “Peanut butter?” Tori whispered.

  “Yep. She smeared it on and the gum slid right out.”

  “And lucky for you,” Donetta said, coming up beside Sunny, “I happen to keep a jar in the shampoo cupboard just for this sort of thing. We girls are forever getting stuff in our hair. Hey, Jack. How’s it going?”

  “Busy. I keep running out of hours in the day.”

  “You need to learn how to relax more.”

  Sunny stood and frowned. “How does relaxing give you more hours?” The logic didn’t add up.

  “Less stress,” Donetta said. “You accomplish more in the time allotted. You want me to trim that hair of yours some while you’re here, Jack?”

  He glanced at the ladies in the salon, who were still watching him as if he were a skunk who’d wandered in and they were hoping he’d wander back out.

  “I’ll pass, thanks. I have to run over to the feed shop and pick up some supplies.”

  Sunny was glad he’d declined the haircut. She liked the longer style on him. As the light shifted against his hair, she caught a glint on his ear. A diamond earring. Sunny had given him a small gold hoop on their one-year-of-dating anniversary. Had his wife replaced the simple hoop with the more expensive diamond stud?

  Ridiculously, it bothered Sunny, even though she knew good and well she shouldn’t be dwelling on things that had to do with Jackson Slade’s personal life.

  The past needed to stay right where it was. In the past.

  Sunny held out her hand to Tori. “Come on, sugar. Donetta’s the best hairdresser there is. Let’s us have a primping party while your daddy buys his feed.”

  Jack ran his free hand over Tori’s smooth cheek. “It’s okay, darlin’. I’ll only be across the street.”

  Reluctantly, Tori let go of Jack’s hand and took Sunny’s.

  For a moment, he stared at their joined fingers, then looked up at Sunny. She wondered what he was thinking. That if he hadn’t screwed up, they could have had their own child together?

  Her heart stung as though attacked by a swarm of angry wasps. Yes, this nine-year-old, blond-haired little girl could have been theirs. Should have been theirs.

  But Jack hadn’t loved Sunny enough.

  He had chosen someone else.

  Chapter Five

  While Donetta styled the hair of the ladies who’d been under the dryers, and got them out the door, Sunny and Tracy Lynn decided to help out and wash Tori’s hair.

  The little girl, her head tipped back over a shampoo bowl, kept glancing toward the front door, then back at the relative strangers arguing over the peanut-butter jar and the temperature of the water.

  “You’re making a mess,” Tracy said.

  “Well, if you wouldn’t hover, I’d have a little elbow room. I know how to wash hair.”

  “On animals, I suppose.”

  “I diagnose animals, I don’t groom them.”

  “Well, there’s a news flash. Look, you’re getting water in this child’s ear. Give me that squirter.” Tracy Lynn won the battle, using her hip to bump Sunny out of the way.

  The jolt sent the water hose slipping from Sunny’s hand. It snaked wildly in the sink, drenching all three of them before anyone could get ahold of it. Tracy Lynn shrieked.

  At the last second, Sunny had enough sense to shut off the tap. “Holy crud! What’s the matter with you?”

  Tori, momentarily stunned by all the water, suddenly blinked and let out a soft giggle.

  Tracy Lynn and Sunny stopped glaring at each other, looked at the little girl and joined in the laughter.

  “She always was the bossy one,” Sunny said of Tracy. She was thrilled by Tori’s show of emotion. The drenching had been worth it!

  “And she was always hopeless with hair,” Tracy Lynn countered. “All those glorious curls, and she just lets them go to frizz.” She turned the faucet back on and expertly cascaded water over Tori’s long hair, keeping the spray right at the hair line, as though there were an invisible barrier to prevent splashing in her eyes.

  “This godawful humidity is making it frizz,” Sunny said in defense of her hair.

  “I could fix that,” Donetta commented, eavesdropping on the chatter at the shampoo bowl. She emptied half a can of hair spray on Millicent Lloyd’s hairdo, then patted the woman’s shoulder and removed the protective cape. “All done, Miz Lloyd.”

  “And not a second too soon,” the older woman said with a sniff. “A person comes in for a nice hairdo and nearly gets a shower bath.” She moved over to the shampoo bowl where Tracy Lynn was massaging conditioner through Tori’s hair. “That gum come out?”

  “Good as new,” Tracy Lynn said, letting Tori’s wet hair sift through her fingers.

  “Peanut butter.” Millicent inspected the gum-free hair. “What will you kids think of next.” Despite her gruff tone, she gave Tori’s leg a pat, then extracted money from her pocketbook, handed it to Donetta and let herself out the door.

  “Can Simba come and play now?” Sunny asked.

  “You intend to practice with the water hose again?”

  Sunny snorted in Tracy’s direction and didn’t bother to answer. Simba was happy to be set free, and ran into the front of the salon, glancing around to see what he’d missed.

  Tracy Lynn had Tori sitting up, and was using a towel to blot her hair dry. After the first fifteen minutes, Tori had stopped looking toward the front door for her father to come back—proving that the Texas Sweethearts could win anyone over.

  Simba went straight to them, inspected the goings-on and bathed Tori’s leg with a quick lick.

  The child giggled again.

  “Simba,” Sunny warned.

  “It’s okay,” Tori said softly, a dimple flashing in her cheek
. She scratched the dog’s ears.

  “Oh, now you’ve done it,” Sunny said. “He’ll be your friend for life.”

  That seemed to please Tori. “He looks like Scooby-Doo.”

  “Yes, he’s been told that. Scooby-Doo, or the comic-strip dog Marmaduke. Both are famous, so Simba’s a little conceited, if you want to know the truth.”

  “The real Simba’s a lion,” Tori pointed out.

  Tracy and Donetta glanced at Sunny. They were all aware that the child was obviously coming out of her shyness a bit, talking more.

  “And a lion’s in the cat family,” Sunny said promptly. Used to explaining why she’d chosen her dog’s name, she covered Simba’s ears, which elicited another giggle from the charming little girl. “The truth is, he can’t seem to get it through his head that he’s a dog and not a cat.”

  Sunny let go of Simba’s ears. “Hop down and we’ll get you settled in Donetta’s chair. While she works her magic and fixes you up with a cool hairstyle, I’ll tell you about how I found Simba.”

  Tori scrambled down, then let Donetta help her into the salon chair. Simba followed dutifully and lay at her feet.

  Donetta turned the blow dryer on low so Sunny didn’t have to shout over the noise.

  “I named him Simba because he was an abandoned puppy who was raised by cats. In California, they don’t allow dogs to run around without a leash, and even as a puppy he was too big for someone not to notice him. So he got hauled to the pound and put in with the other dogs. And he was scared half to death. You see, he’d never looked in a mirror before, and since his family was feline, he must have thought he was just like them—at least, that’s what the people at the pound thought.”

  “Why in the world?” Tracy Lynn asked, even though she knew the story. The question was for Tori’s benefit, but Sunny didn’t let on.

  “Because somehow he’d managed to sneak out of his cage, and when one of the employees opened a door to a pen holding a litter of kittens, Simba jumped in and refused to come out.”

  “Did they let him stay?” Tori asked, her brown eyes wide, her mouth curved into a smile.