“If I say I am, can we go hit on Miss February over at Marvella’s?”
“No!” Archer was good and put out with his brother. “How can you think of women at a time like this! There is a poor girl somewhere in this town who has no place to go, and all you can think about is your…you know.” He wished it didn’t bother him so much that Clover might have left town. Certainly he had not been very friendly. “Just so long as she didn’t go to Marvella’s, I really don’t care where she went. That’s all I’m doing, trying to keep an innocent traveler from getting fleeced.”
“That’s right.” Bandera nodded. “That’s all that’s on your mind. And I’m not thinking about that beauty on the bar stool at all!”
CLOVE COULDN’T BELIEVE that Archer had left without recognizing her. It was so exciting! She felt like a different girl.
She was completely new.
The thought made her bite her lip. Clove felt her puffed-up big hair and her mascaraed lashes. The look really wasn’t her, though it was fun. But in a while, her eyes would start to itch from the makeup, and anyway, her scalp felt tight from all the hair spray lacquered onto her head.
She was glad he didn’t know she’d run counter to his suggestion and come to Marvella’s.
One hour had passed, the allotted time Marvella had asked her to sit out front. Longing for a shower, Clove went upstairs to her new room, closing the door. The feminine side of her wished Archer had noticed the big change in her—and the practical side remembered that he’d noticed her less as Cinderella than he had when she’d been Plain Jane.
It was time to let the inner stuntwoman in her throw caution to the wind.
Surely it couldn’t be that hard to attract a man.
“Yoo-hoo!” a voice called.
“Come in!”
One of the stylists walked into her room, leaving a small bottle on the table. “Marvella wants you to have some of her delicious home brew as a welcome gift.”
“That’s so kind. She’s already done too much.”
The stylist smiled. “She must like you.”
Clove looked at the bottle. “Hey, a cowboy came in here tonight. His name was Archer Jefferson. Do you know him?”
“Know him?” The woman laughed. “We know all the Malfunction Junction boys. Why?”
“Just wondering.”
“If you’re thinking he’s cute, so does every woman in this place. But don’t spend too much time thinking about him. That one is impossible. All he cares about is his horse, ugly dog that she is.”
Clove frowned. Tonk was beautiful in her own way.
“But if you just can’t live without him, you’ll probably find him at Delilah’s. I’d head up the back stairs if I were you, because Delilah won’t welcome you if she knows you’re staying here. Tap on the door, say ‘room service,’ and see if he’s hungry.”
“You make it sound so easy,” Clove murmured.
“Trust me, it’s not. Good luck, though.” She laughed again and left the room.
Clove stared at the closed door, then at the bottle on the nightstand. The stylist’s words ran through her brain, a mockery of her intentions.
One thing was for certain, she wasn’t going to use alcohol to lure a man into her bed. And right now, she was going to shower all this hair spray and makeup off her body. She felt like a doll.
And then, if a shower hadn’t washed all the thoughts of Archer out of her mind, surely it wouldn’t hurt to go across the street and take a look at the back door the stylist had mentioned.
Not that she would go in, of course. But curiosity had her, and she wouldn’t be a stuntwoman if she wasn’t up for a dare.
Chapter Three
Archer couldn’t sleep, though Bandera was sawing logs like a frontiersman. “I just need to walk it off,” he muttered to himself. “I’ve got nerves before the big show, and I’m worrying about Clover so I don’t worry about Tonk.”
Neither of the females on his mind obeyed worth a flip, not that he would admit that to Bandera. One thing he did know about Clover—if she was the sort of girl who understood that a man knew best, she’d be under Delilah’s roof right now.
Where he could keep an eye on her.
So he took a few laps up and down the main street of Lonely Hearts Station, his gaze darting, ever-watchful, for the traveler who knew about blue hooves. Tonk sure had seemed to like Clover, which was strange, because Tonk didn’t like anyone, a fact his brothers were quick to point out, and which Archer was quicker to deny.
He was certain Tonk held affection for him somewhere in her equine heart. She just didn’t know how to show it. He’d been told by plenty of women that he didn’t know how to show affection to a woman, either, so that made he and Tonk a perfect pair.
Archer was so busy ruminating on the canny females in his life that he nearly got too close to the one peering in the back window of the Lonely Hearts Salon. It was Clover!
She was spying, the little peeping Tomasina.
Or maybe she didn’t know how to get in. Perhaps she’d decided to take his advice.
He watched her carefully turn the doorknob and open the door. She appeared to think about something for a second, then closed the door. She opened the door, and closed it again.
Spying. Which meant, he knew with certain chauvinism, that she wanted to spy on him.
He grinned, knowing exactly what to do with her now. Sneaking up on her, he reached out and grabbed her around the waist. “Gotcha!” he roared.
She screamed, kicking back with her feet—just like Tonk, dammit—giving him a crotch-kick that left him clutching for air. She pounced, knocking him back onto the ground. Like a helpless puppy he lay there, focusing on the stars in the black-velour sky above, wondering if he was ever going to be able to draw breath again.
“Archer!” she cried. “I didn’t know it was you!”
Groaning, he rolled onto his side.
“Are you all right?” she asked. “Here, lie on your back so you can get your breath.”
“Uh-huh,” he said on a strangled moan. “Don’t move an injured man.”
“I didn’t hurt your back,” she said reasonably. “Or your neck. You’ll be all right in a minute. You just need to relax. Relax, Archer.”
“Lucky for me I didn’t want kids,” Archer said, “because you just kicked in any chance I ever had of dispatching ’em.”
“What?”
He rolled his eyes at her tone. Maybe he shouldn’t speak so in front of a lady, but she needed to quit trying to roll him over. He wanted to curl up and think about tomorrow—surely the pain would be gone by then. “You just made me the first Jefferson male who won’t need birth control.”
“Oh, no. Archer, don’t even joke about that! You sit right up, catch your breath and…maybe we should take your jeans off. Would that help? I read somewhere that jeans cut down on a man’s, uh, sperm motility, due to the warmth and constricting nature of the fabric.”
She was crazy, he’d admit that. “Thank you, I’m fine. Though I didn’t want to end my child-giving days quite that way, I’ll admit one swift kick was probably as good as paying some doctor quack to do it.”
“You want to have as many children as you possibly can!”
“Don’t