Frisco Joe's Fiancee Page 11

  “I know. I thought about it later and knew I’d screwed up. But you were gone this morning before I could tell you, and then I heard you were thinking of leaving….”

  Neither of them were certain of the proper steps in the dance. He hadn’t meant to make her feel deserted—it was just too soon after Tom’s abandonment, and she’d felt that painful feeling again. Her father’s death had left her feeling alone and shipwrecked, too.

  A kiss, nothing more. As Frisco pointed out, he was in no position to chase her down if kissing made her more nervous than she could handle.

  A kiss. Swapping saliva. Sucking face. No need to make more of it than it was.

  And Frisco was basically promising her that he wouldn’t leave her out there by herself. If she was ever going to move forward with her life, she had to get over being afraid of every lonesome shadow.

  Slowly, Annabelle moved her face toward his, startled when Frisco removed his fingers from hers to cradle her face in his hands as gently as if she were Emmie. She nearly sighed with the pleasure of it.

  He touched his lips to hers, and she sank onto the bed beside him, every fiber of her body relaxing toward him. Ever so unnoticeably, he increased the pressure until he was no longer just touching her lips, but a part of her.

  It felt so good.

  He pulled back, and her mind cried out, Don’t stop!

  “All right?”

  All she could do was nod. Beside them, Emmie’s soft breathing hung in the room.

  This time, Annabelle moved toward him, placing her lips on his, trusting, wanting, seeking. His hands tightened on her face, pulling her toward him. Her knees went limp, so she drew her legs up onto the bed. Facing him, she leaned into him more, and when his arms went around her, it was as if her whole body sighed with recognition.

  Heat and passion and warmth. All the things Tom had never given her spun through her mind. Closing her eyes, she reveled in the magic of the moment.

  And when Frisco pulled away from her and moved her head down onto his chest, she leaned against him, relaxing as her hammering heart slowed, content to take the shelter he was offering.

  Nothing had ever felt so good in her whole life.

  And yet, it was the worst thing she could have discovered. Real passion. True heat. Something that came along maybe once, twice in a lifetime, with a special person.

  She might never know it again in her life.

  WHEN SHE AWAKENED the next morning, she found herself still tucked up against Frisco’s chest. Fully dressed. He couldn’t be comfortable like that, especially with his broken leg.

  She hadn’t seen him take any pain pills since the first night. Couldn’t blame what happened on happy tablets.

  “Time to go?”

  She turned at his deep voice. “After I feed Emmie.”

  He was silent for a long moment. “You’re special, Annabelle. Don’t forget it.”

  She had forgotten it, and more, after Tom had deserted her. “Thank you, Frisco. You are, too.”

  He made her feel good about herself. He made her feel special.

  She couldn’t wait to get out of his room, and out of his house.

  “Promise me you’ll call if you need anything. Anything at all.”

  She nodded. “I will.”

  She wouldn’t.

  Last night’s kiss hung between them. She couldn’t look at him. Without a glance, she picked Emmie up and hurried to the door.

  “Goodbye, Annabelle.”

  “Goodbye, Frisco.”

  She left with a stolen glance at him. With two days stubble on his face he looked rakish, especially with his shirt off and his long body obvious under the white sheet. She’d lain quite happily on that broad chest.

  Oh, my Lord. If I don’t go now, I’ll beg him pitifully to keep me and Emmie forever, she thought.

  Hadn’t Frisco said he wasn’t interested in children or settling down? That he had all the family he needed?

  Whatever was between them had to be attraction. She could live with that. Attraction could be recovered from, like a case of head lice.

  Becoming dependent on him, when he’d clearly outlined his life, was not what she was going to do. She’d already been dumped once, and she had no intention of putting herself in that position again.

  But there had been one really good thing about Frisco that made her see her life in a new light. She could live through anything: colic, grouchy cowboys, single parenthood. Cooking. Ice storms.

  Now she had known kindness from a man besides her father. And real passion.

  She felt herself changing, like sun moving shadows away from rocks.

  Instead of continuing her old habit of moving on, she was going back to the Lonely Hearts Salon. Not to work, but to cross that damn street and walk right in the door of the Never Lonely Cut-n-Gurls. With Emmie.

  She was going to ask to speak to Tom.

  He was going to meet Emmie face-to-face. Emmie was not a monster. She was not at fault. If an ornery cowboy could take a shine to her little baby, then Emmie was bound to catch the heart of the most hard-hearted male.

  Maybe not Tom’s heart, but that was to be determined. Annabelle accepted this might be the case. But Tom was by golly going to see Emmie. Emmie was going to have her chance with her blood father.

  And if Tom refused to see her—and Emmie—that was fine, too. She would slap him with a paternity suit so fast it would make his sunshine-blond head swim. She didn’t need the money. It was something she hadn’t thought of before, because she’d been running from rejection.

  Frisco had taught her that she had no reason to run from Tom’s rejection. Frisco was better-looking, more successful—and unless she badly miscalculated what had been under that sheet before she’d tossed the blanket on him, had about four inches on Tom in a very manly place.

  And Tom couldn’t kiss worth a damn.

  Frisco had found her desirable. He gave her confidence. She’d fight for Emmie’s chance to know her father. Paternity suit, visiting rights, whatever.

  Like Marvella, Annabelle could be a pain. She’d simply be a boil under Tom’s behind he couldn’t get away from. Until he saw his daughter, Annabelle wouldn’t rest.

  And if he didn’t want her after that, so be it. But she’d do her duty as a mother. It wasn’t revenge she was seeking and she didn’t want Tom back. So far from it. Child support was the minimum Emmie should get from him. Acknowledgment at the maximum. A father’s love only a prayer.

  It took two to tango, and she was ready to dance.

  Thanks to Frisco.

  An hour later, when she’d packed herself and Emmie into Jerry’s truck, she hugged and kissed her friends. “I’ll see you in a few days,” she told them. “I’ve changed my mind about leaving town for good. I’ve changed my mind about a lot of things.”

  “That’s my girl,” Delilah said. “I always knew you had grit.”

  Annabelle glanced up toward the upper story of the house. If she hadn’t known it was impossible, since Frisco couldn’t stand up by himself, she would have thought she saw his shadow in the window, behind the curtain.

  Just in case, she waved.

  The shadow didn’t move.

  Wishful thinking. “Tell Frisco thanks for everything. Funny that none of us ever laid eyes on Mason, since he was the reason we came out here in the first place.”

  “Ah, well,” Delilah said. “We never know what the future holds.”

  Jerry closed the cab door. Annabelle buckled herself in, with Emmie in a car seat between her and Jerry. Glancing back up at the window, she saw that the shadow was gone. But the sun had moved, as well, and if she’d learned anything on her time at the Union Junction Ranch, it was that she’d never chase shadows again.

  Chapter Eleven

  Four hours after Annabelle had left, Frisco’s room filled with the rest of the Lonely Hearts ladies.

  For his part, Frisco, unused to having women in his room, decided to pull the sheet as high over his wais
t as he could. There was some appreciative eyeing going on, and while he once upon a time would have eyed appreciatively back, he was feeling a bit more unfriendly than usual.

  He missed Emmie in the bed beside him. That little short-term carpet-grabber had been quite a comfort, once she’d stopped griping about her stomach pains. He sure hoped those cramps didn’t return.

  He wasn’t happy about Annabelle leaving, but women were known to be notoriously headstrong about whatever they decided to do. A mental shrug and a curse was all he was going to spare on that.

  Besides, he had all these women in his room, and he wasn’t sure what they wanted. It felt rather as though a jury had assembled at the foot of his bed, catching him out when he’d been scrolling the TV channels hoping for a glimpse of a better football game or Pamela Anderson to take his mind off his leg, the missing baby and the woman he’d kissed last night.

  No big deal.

  “What’s up, ladies?”

  “We’re leaving,” Delilah said.

  “Any particular reason?” He didn’t think he could handle pounding his brothers if they’d gotten out of line. On a good day, he would enjoy the exercise; today, he just wanted to lie still and debate the world’s existence as it centered in his leg.

  “All good things must come to an end,” Delilah said with a grin. “We’ve got to get on to the next leg of our journey.”

  Talk of legs at this point only brought a wince. He tried to concentrate on being a good host. “I thought you were on vacation.”

  “A vacation should be a journey, if possible, while being a fun trip.”

  He squinted at her. “Am I getting a lecture? I should know, so I can pay attention.”

  She smiled at him. “You’ve had your mind on other things.”

  Oh. Possibly she was pointing out his interest in Annabelle. Could be she meant he was mainly focused on himself. He wasn’t sure where she was heading with this, but he looked at her with alert, careful eyes. “Good luck on your journey. I take it you’re looking for something. Maybe you’ll find it.”

  Her gaze, and seventeen others, focused on him as he lay helpless in the bed. The sensation made his scalp crawl. They were smiling at him.

  These women wanted something. And he didn’t think they wanted the biggest ménage-a`-plenty Texas might have ever seen. “Ah, Delilah, why are you smiling at me like you’ve got a secret only recently unclassified by a rogue feminist group?”

  “We’d like to give you a parting gift,” Delilah said. “Something to make you feel better.”

  “I feel fine—”

  “When we get through with you, you’re going to feel better.”

  One of the ladies closed the door.

  He resisted the unmanly, unexplainable urge to shout for Tex and Laredo. These women looked way too happy about whatever they were going to do.

  Four approached the bed. He clutched the sheet.

  “Hold still, Frisco,” Delilah practically cooed. And she pulled out the biggest pair of pointy scissors he’d ever seen. On the opposite side of the bed, the buzz of an electric razor punctuated his apprehension.

  He was trapped with women whose goal was to whip him into shape.

  And there was nothing he could do about it.

  TWO HOURS LATER, Frisco closed his eyes in relief. They were done, finally satisfied. Every pore of his body was warm with relaxation. He’d been cut, clipped, trimmed, massaged; in short, totally tamed. Hair styled, stubble gone, nails buffed. His cast was signed in colorful pens by all eighteen women. The sheets had been changed. He’d been lifted from them by Tex and Laredo, whom Delilah called to the scene.

  Tex and Laredo had left—the traitors!—laughing at him as if he were a prize poodle getting a blue-ribbon grooming.

  Even his room was clean, not a speck of dust anywhere. Katy and Delilah had taken down the blue-checked drapes in his room and washed them. Lemon-oil permeated the air, mingling with the smell of clean sheets and body lotion.

  “Ah-h-h” was all he could say. At this point, if they’d wanted to put beads in his hair or a tattoo on his back, he probably wouldn’t argue. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” Delilah said. “Thank you for having us out.”

  “Oh, it was no trouble at all,” Frisco said, feeling less like a prisoner and more like a prince. “You just come on back anytime. Anytime at all.”

  His eyelids closed. He couldn’t help himself. Reaching up, he felt where the hair used to brush his collar. Neck shaved nicely. And his hair no longer fell into his eyes.

  Those ladies certainly knew what they were doing.

  A sudden itch hit his leg, and he reached down to scratch it without opening his eyes. His fingers contacted something not part of the cast. Opening his eyes, he pulled it out.

  It was a business card. Pink, with purple lettering.

  Lonely Hearts Beauty Salon.

  Let us take care of you.

  Well, he wouldn’t be driving that far for a haircut every three weeks.

  His eyes snapped open.

  But he might for another reason.

  MIMI HEARD THE SOUND of her father opening the front door. She listened, wondering who would be visiting. Probably the deputy, or some of the other officers, as they knew her father was at home today. The flooding had required his attention around the clock, and he was tired. He seemed to get tired more quickly lately, and it worried her.

  He was not the young man he’d once been, and he worked darn hard.

  After a few minutes, when she didn’t hear the sound of men’s deep voices, she went downstairs. To her surprise, all the Lonely Hearts women were talking to her father.

  “Hi,” she said to the room at large. “Is there something wrong?”

  “We just came to say goodbye,” Delilah told her. “We didn’t want to leave without letting the sheriff know we were going.”

  “Oh.” Mimi supposed that was fair enough. She couldn’t say she was sad. Mason was due back soon, and if all this crew was cleared out—particularly the too-cute Annabelle and her precious bundle of joy—Mimi wouldn’t mind. It would make matters less complicated, because Helga was supposed to be here tomorrow. Helga, not Olga.

  Mason would be so pleased. Julia said she’d sent the perfect woman to fit Mimi’s description of what Mason needed.

  Delilah, her dad and the other women looked at Mimi, obviously waiting for something. She quickly reviewed her manners. Uh-oh, lacking, once again, in her pursuit of Mason’s happiness.

  “All of you did so much for Union Junction,” she said sincerely. “I know my father has probably said it, but the shopkeepers said many times that if you ever decided to move your beauty salon here, they’d welcome you with open arms and help you make a success of it. And in this town, that’s saying a lot. They don’t often offer welcome with open arms.”

  Particularly to a bunch of pretty women, Mimi thought.

  “We were proud to assist. We’ve enjoyed being here. It felt like our own town,” Delilah said.

  “I’m sorry it didn’t work out. The housekeeper’s position, I mean.” She tried to look sorry and might have made it, since her father’s gaze was approving.

  “Oh, that’s all right. That’s part of the interviewing process. There’s no guarantee of being hired. But we had a great time with the men over there. Sorry we missed Mason, though.”

  “Yes, well, he won’t be back for a few more days,” Mimi said hurriedly. “I’ll tell him all about what nice ladies his e-mail advertisement brought to town.” Although when she told the story, none of them would be man-magnets.

  Storytelling license, the discretion of the teller.

  “We owe the first wonderful days of our vacation to you, Mimi. In a way, if it hadn’t been for you, we might still be adding up vacation days,” Katy Goodnight said.

  “We’d like to do something for you,” Delilah added. “To thank you.”

  “No need. We should be thanking you,” Mimi
said, her manners now silver-shiny for her father’s sake. “Truly.”

  He nodded at Delilah. Delilah turned to look at Mimi. Uh-oh, secret signals.

  “Our only way of thanking anyone is to give them a makeover,” Delilah continued. “And since your father mentioned you have a date tonight—with a lawyer fellow, right?—we’d like to give you the works. If you’d let us.”

  Mimi’s jaw sagged a bit. Her father beamed.

  “Uh—” she stammered.

  “A few highlights, some pretty makeup, a little sparkle on the fingers and toes…what do you say, Mimi? You’re beautiful already, but we’d love to make tonight really special for you.”

  Glancing down at her blue jeans and boots, Mimi didn’t have to reach up to feel that her hair had long since grown out of any type of style. It was cowgirl-casual. Her makeup was Maybelline-over-my-dead-body. Her perfume was eau-de-pasture, and her skin was best described as cat-tongue rough.

  She didn’t give a flying cow patty about the lawyer coming to see her father tonight. But Mason would be home soon—and if these ladies thought they were miracle-workers, who was she to stand in the way of the great white light?

  “You know, Delilah, that sounds wonderful,” she said. “I’d really, really love to take you up on your oh-so-kind offer.”

  Wouldn’t Mason be surprised?

  THE MIRACLE THAT THEY wrought on her was nothing short of well, glamorous, Mimi decided. “Your shop must stay full of customers,” she told them, looking at herself in awe. “You must have a waiting list a mile long. Thank you so much! I never dreamed I could look like this.”

  Delilah gave her a pleased once-over as she packed away a large cosmetics case, rollers and nail polishes. “We don’t have as many customers as we like.”

  “Well, I second the invitation from our community, then. Come here and open up a shop!” She twirled her skirt in front of the cheval mirror. A skirt! Twinkly red sequins adorned the seriously-short skirt, black sequins adorned the heart-shaped bodice, and a long black lace length of fabric with more sequins lay across her shoulders and hung delicately to her hands, keeping the ensemble from looking scandalous. Sexy, but not scandalous. Just right for an evening with someone her father wanted her to entertain.