“Which would be?” Crockett called after her as she walked toward the salon.
“No talking to the women without an appointment,” Nina said, and went inside, wondering what the man behind the hat had been hiding.
Elusive devil.
Poor Valentine. “You should have stayed up north,” she told her sister grumpily as she walked past the reception area. “Clearly cowboys are just out for one thing.”
“That’s what we like about them,” another hair-stylist called. “Didn’t you read the motto?”
Nina glanced at the glittery sign for the hundredth time, high on the wall, with big letters. “‘Save a horse, ride a cowboy,”’ she muttered. “I can read, thanks.”
She could also heed a warning.
“DUDE! THIS IS TOO EASY!” Crockett said, poking Navarro in the arm. “Drag those boards upstairs!”
“Slow down,” Navarro said, the voice of caution. “We need to think this through.”
“Think! Whatever happened to the man of action?”
Navarro pulled his hat off his face to look at his twin. “The man of action was the one not wearing a condom, drinking suspicious firewater and having a real good time. Which is why we’re sitting here, instead of back in Union Junction at the ranch, where we belong. So, let’s take a deep breath and consider the angles.”
Crockett thumped his head back against the headrest. “Angle on.”
“She scares me, for starters.”
Crockett glanced over at him. “Scares you?”
“Yeah.” Navarro shifted uncomfortably. “She’s cute. She’s got a sexy voice. It’s kind of prim-and-proper don’t-mess-with-me. I think my call of the wild found that to be an invitation.”
Crockett laughed. “She had the hots for me, in case you didn’t notice.”
“I did not notice that.” Navarro stared down the old road that was the center of Lonely Hearts Station. It separated one side of town from the other—and effectively separated the two battling beauty salons: Lonely Hearts Salon and the Never Lonely Cut-n-Gurls.
The Jefferson brothers owed a lot to Delilah, the owner of the Lonely Hearts Salon. She and her employees had chipped in to save Union Junction during the last big freeze. Delilah’s sister, Marvella, was her arch nemesis, and was trying to put her out of business by selling, if rumor was to believed, something more than garden-variety mow-n-go haircuts at the Never Lonely Cut-n-Gurls salon. “Why did you tell her our real names?”
Crockett shrugged. “I didn’t tell her our last names. Besides, she won’t know who we are. You carry the boards up—”
“Why me?”
“Because you’re the one sitting over there twitching for some action. You’re the man with the call of the wild going on. Besides, you’re more cautious than me. We both know I’d do something wrong.”
“Impulsive.”
“And rightfully so,” Crockett said. “Come on, we haven’t busted up a joint in months. We’ve had to mind our p’s and q’s with Mason taking off. Fannin running the joint. Mimi in the family way. The housekeeper taking over our house.” Crockett blew out a breath. “Last going insane. I mean, I’m about tired of my p’s and q’s being so minded. I want our old life back. Before it got so reputation-conscious.”
Navarro shook his head. “Valentine’s sitting at the desk. She’s going to recognize that we look an awful lot like the rest of the family.”
Crockett shrugged. “Keep your hat low. Dump the lumber and go. But see if Valentine’s really got a belly on her, or if that’s just a bunch of bull to rope Last. I bet she’s not even pregnant. And how do we know Last is the father? I mean, this blows.” Crockett pulled his hat down over his face. “When this is all over, I’m going to go find Mason and tell him he’s never gonna learn what happened to our father, and that he needs to deal with the fact that his true-love Mimi got married on him because he dragged his own dang boots, and that he needs to get his butt home.”
“Good luck,” Navarro said. “But first things first.”
WHEN THE COWBOY WALKED into her room, Nina’s blood started moving around in her body the way it never had before. A crazy tickle and then a full-blown rush filled her veins.
No, she told herself. Not this one. Completely inappropriate choice! And there have been enough of those lately. “Thanks for coming up,” she said.
“There was no one at the desk,” Navarro said. “I just made my way upstairs and—” His dark eyes swept her as she sat on the floor, a pencil and metal measuring tape in her hands. “What are you doing?”
“Measuring off,” Nina said. “Highly advisable if I want to cut these slats properly.”
He eyed the collapsed bed, which made Nina’s face blush a bit. Of course, it was hot in her room. A small fan blew nearby, but it was spring and Marvella hadn’t turned the air-conditioning on yet because the nights were still cool. All the measuring and sawing was making her hot, Nina decided.
“Now that I’ve found your room, I’m going to go get the rest of the wood.” Navarro backed away from her and Nina realized she probably looked sweaty and dirty.
“Thank you, Crockett.”
He hesitated, then left. Nina took a deep breath, then jumped to her feet to cross to the mirror. Yes, sweaty and messy. “How did they make it in the good ol’ days without air-conditioning? I’m going to fry my Delaware skin.” Taking a damp rag, she swept it over her, then reached for some peach gloss to touch to her lips.
She was taking a few swipes at her hair in an effort to tame it when the cowboy strode in, carrying the lumber. Her gaze met his and she dropped the brush, embarrassed to be caught primping.
He grinned at her. “Nice.”
That evil blooming of her skin she’d felt moments before now blushed over her body in a heat wave no air conditioner would cool. She raised her chin. “You can set the wood down there.”
His grin widened to wolfish. “You are a snappy little peach, I’ll grant you that.”
She couldn’t take her eyes off him as he smoothly bent to rest the wood on the floor. His jeans fit so tightly, his butt looked so—
Glancing up, he caught her staring—and laughed.
“I’ve never seen a cowboy up this close,” she said.
“Really? I’ve never seen a…what are you, anyway?”
“Librarian,” Nina said, her chin rising, knowing already what he was going to say. “And I should warn you, I’ve heard every bad line about librarians you could possibly dream—”
“Now, I’ve heard that there are two kinds of librarians,” the cowboy said, leaning up against the wall, his boots crossed, his arms tucked over his chest. His grin was too wide and too playful, and she longed to smack it off his face.
“Well, there is really only one kind of librarian,” she said. “Serious.”
“I heard there was also the skank variety.”
She dropped the measuring tape she’d picked up. “‘Skank variety’?”
“Yeah.” He grinned. “She hovers in her book stacks, waiting for the right victim to come along so she can read him the Kama Sutra—well, ‘read’ would be the incorrect verb, I guess. And then—” he lowered