Chapter Two
“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