With two hands on the lasso, she reached up to ring it over his head, but even on tiptoe she couldn’t quite reach high enough to flip the coil over, and his stupid hat was getting in the way.
Their eyes met and she gasped softly. Eyes the color of dark-wash blue jeans completely captured her awareness. She was so taken by his gaze that for several blinks of an eye she forgot what she was doing, forgot the clamoring crowd watching them, forgot even to breathe.
“Get along, little doggy,” someone called from the anxiously waiting audience.
Laughter jolted Vivian back to life and she huffed in exasperation. Was Nick ever going to help her here?
Stubborn man. He just stood there hulking over her, unmoving, his massive chest and broad shoulders like a brick wall in front of her and no less giving.
“Give me a break,” she muttered loud enough for his ears only. “Can you not just—” She gestured for him to bow his head. A little effort on his part would be nice.
He lifted a brow and one corner of his mouth, and after a long pause, removed his black cowboy hat and crouched low enough for her to reach over the top of him.
“Moo,” he said, and grinned wholeheartedly.
The crowd erupted into laughter.
He waved his hat and acknowledged the townspeople as if he hadn’t just spent the last who-knows-how-long thwarting her efforts to rope him.
“Don’t push it, buster.” She sniffed, indignant, and arranged the lasso around his shoulders, tightening it so she could finally lead him off the platform. The delighted assembly whistled and applauded.
Two could play at that game. She turned to the crowd and curtsied, letting the enormous sway of her emotions go with the cool Texas breeze. It wasn’t in her nature to take herself too seriously or hold a grudge for more than a moment.
Nick, on the other hand, grunted and practically jerked the rope from her hand so he could pull the lasso off himself as they exited the stage. Whatever smile he’d put on had apparently only been for the benefit of the assembly.
“Come on, Cinderella. The ball’s over and the clock is about to strike midnight.”
“Oh, loosen up a little bit, why don’t you?” she retorted. She’d been about to end her statement by calling him Prince Charming, but the guy was as far from charming at that moment as anyone could get. He was more like the clock tower, ticking away the minutes in anticipation of ruining the fun. Or maybe one of those carriage attendants who turned back into a mouse at the end of the night.
A big, plump gray mouse with a cowboy hat, enormous pink ears too large for his head and a big black wiggly nose. She chuckled at the thought.
“What’s so funny?” he demanded, tossing the rope back to Alexis as he took the steps off the platform two at a time. He threaded his fingers through his thick black hair before replacing his Stetson.
She followed him down the stairs. She imagined he wouldn’t appreciate being compared to a mouse, even one in a cowboy hat, so she made a different observation out loud.
“You could use a haircut. Did you know I’m a certified cosmetologist?”
“A cosmo-what?” His gaze widened on her, looking as appalled as if she’d just threatened to shave his head. He yanked the rim of his hat down lower over his eyes. “No, ma’am. Not gonna happen. I don’t care how much money you paid out for me back there. I’m drawing the line.”
Something in the way he said it stirred a challenge in Viv’s chest. He had no idea how nice he’d look if he’d give her the opportunity, and she was certain he would.
If he wanted a challenge, she would give him a challenge. She had her ways.
But she pushed the thought away. Cleaning him up wasn’t her goal, now that she’d won him. He could look like a bear all he wanted as long as he helped her build her salon. But she doubted that would be any comfort to him. Based on his reaction to even the suggestion of a haircut, she had a feeling he wasn’t much of a fan of beauty salons. And that meant he wasn’t going to like the project she was about to lay out for him one bit.
* * *
If Vivian Grainger thought for one second she was getting anywhere near him with a pair of shears, she was sadly mistaken. Nick liked his hair just the way it was, thank you very much. And even if he did decide to get a trim, he’d see a male barber, not a ditzy, beautiful blonde with a sharp pair of scissors.
Of course the old barbershop in town had closed two years ago when Old Man Baranski kicked the bucket. No one had stepped in to take his place, and the building had eventually been used by Emerson’s Hardware for their overstock. Now he had to drive for an hour just to get his hair cut—which is why he didn’t bother.
One of the reasons, anyway. If he had a special lady in his life, he might care more about how he looked. But that wasn’t the case right now—and it looked like it wouldn’t be for a good long while.
He supposed he ought to be grateful to Vivian for bidding on him. After his last—and very public—painful breakup, most of the town’s single ladies were avoiding him like the plague, as evidenced by the auction today. He supposed he wasn’t really all that surprised no one else bid on him.
Vivian hadn’t been back in Serendipity long enough to hear the latest rumors. She’d spent the last few years in Houston and wore Big City like a neon sign around her neck. He wasn’t sure getting picked up by a woman like her was going to do his reputation any good, but it couldn’t get any worse.
He’d really hoped to be bid on by some little old lady who needed help with a few odd jobs. He’d also been more than a little concerned that an ex-girlfriend with a grudge might see this as an opportunity to repay him for real or imagined wrongs.
He was the first to admit that his record with long-term relationships was less than stellar, and he knew it was his fault. He was just really, really not good at making things work in the dating department.
But circumstances being what they were, he might as well see what Vivian wanted and be done with it—as long as it didn’t involve cutting his hair. Who knew? Maybe he could mend some of those torn fences with his reputation if folks in town saw that he treated Vivian right.
Nick turned his attention to her, but he stood for a good five minutes while Vivian talked to her sister.
And talked. And talked.
His stomach growled, but he couldn’t do anything about it. This was a Bachelors and Baskets auction, with the winning bidders providing a picnic lunch for the men they’d won. Lunch wasn’t going to happen until Vivian led him to wherever she’d stashed her basket. He had to wait until she decided to grace him with her attention, which he guessed wasn’t going to happen soon, since her mind seemed to be on Alexis, the auction and anyone in speaking distance of her.
Except for him.
Vivian gave a new meaning to the words social butterfly, and she definitely had the gift of gab. With the possible exception of Jo Spencer, who owned Cup O’ Jo’s Café and was therefore the Queen of the Gossip Hive, Nick had never seen anybody flitter around as much as Vivian. Her high, tinkling giggle reminded Nick of a fairy in a cartoon.
It was downright grating on his nerves and was practically curling the hair on his chest. Nick crossed his arms and grumbled under his breath, berating the entire chain of events that had led him to this particularly annoying set of circumstances.
She was supposed to be feeding him. That was the deal. She had the picnic basket.
Somewhere.