A Cowboy Under the Mistletoe

by Jessica Clare

  She would not cry.

  She would NOT cry.

  Greg didn’t deserve her tears. He’d had ten years of her life, keeping her on hold and promising her that they’d get married soon, soon, soon, and then soon finally had a date . . . a date he’d never gone along with. She’d given him enough of her time and energy. She wanted to move on.

  Why wouldn’t anyone let her freaking move on?

  She swiped at the corners of her eyes carefully, proud that there were only a few stray tears instead of the normal deluge. Good. That meant she wouldn’t have to go to extremes to fix her makeup, just a little touch-up here and there. She could end the day on a high note, in case she had any walk-ins. Of course, if she did have one, they’d probably just ask her about Greg again . . .

  Her lip wobbled. Damn it.

  Becca sniffed hard, and even as she did, the door opened in the main area of the salon, the bell chiming. Crap. Sage had probably come back to apologize again, and that would make Becca cry even harder, and it was going to ruin her evening. She’d just have to somehow tell the well-meaning pregnant woman that really, truly, she was fine and really, HONESTLY, she did not want to talk about it. Gritting her teeth, she forced a bright smile to her face, pinched her cheeks so the rosiness there would hopefully distract from her red eyes, and opened the door to face Sage.

  Except . . . it wasn’t Sage.

  The hulking man who stood in the doorway wasn’t anything like the mayor. In fact, Becca had never seen this man in her life. That was something interesting in itself, considering that Painted Barrel was a small town nestled in the less populated north of Wyoming, and most of the people that lived here tended to be lifers. Becca had grown up here, her family was still here, and she knew everyone in the small town. It was both comfort and annoyance—and lately it had been far more of the latter.

  This man was a stranger, though. She stared at him, doing her best not to gape. He wore a faded black and red checked shirt, and it seemed almost too tight for the massive breadth of his shoulders. He was tall, maybe six and a half feet, but more intimidating than that were his arms, which seemed like tree trunks, and his black beard, which seemed like something out of a Paul Bunyan storybook. He wore jeans and big muddy work boots, and a dark cowboy hat covered longish, unkempt hair.

  He really did seem like Paul Bunyan come to life if Paul Bunyan had been a cowboy, but wasn’t Paul Bunyan friendly? This man had a massive scowl on his face as if he hated the world around him.

  Becca blinked and tried to size up the man, thinking fast. There weren’t many outsiders in this part of town right now. Either he’d gotten lost and needed directions or he was one of the new ranch hands. Not at Sage’s ranch, because she’d met those nice gentlemen—former soldiers looking to start a new life. The only other “outsiders” in the area were the three new ranch hands at Swinging C up in the mountains, and those were Doc Parson’s nephews. She hadn’t met any of them, but rumor had it that they were from the wilds of Alaska, here to help out for a season.

  This man definitely fit the Alaska stereotype. He didn’t look like a typical customer. Heck, he didn’t even look like he’d ever been to a salon. That beard was untamed and so was the hair under the hat. She’d bet his nailbeds were rough and his hands were covered in calluses.

  It was a mystery why he’d shown up in her salon. Becca was just about to open her mouth and ask if he was lost when something behind his massive jeans-clad thighs moved.

  Then, she saw the little girl.

  The big cowboy was holding the hand of the tiniest, daintiest little creature. Becca’s heart melted as the small face peeped around his leg and her thumb went into her mouth. The girl watched Becca with big eyes, not moving out from behind her protector’s leg.

  Well. This must be the daddy. It was clear he wasn’t here for himself, but for his little girl. That did something to her heart. For all that he was slightly terrifying, Paul Bunyan was a dad and this little one wasn’t scared of him. That meant he was the best kind of dad.

  “Hi, there,” Becca said brightly to the two of them. “What can I help you with?”

  The man just gazed at her with dark eyes. He said nothing, and after a long moment, he tugged on the hand of the little girl, leading her forward a step.

  All right, he wasn’t much of a talker. Ranching took all kinds, and she wasn’t surprised that this one was a silent type. It would be kind of ironic if he was related to Doc Parsons, though, because that veterinarian was the nicest man but definitely a talker. She studied the little girl, who stood in front of her enormous father, sucking her thumb. Her cheeks were fat and rosy, and she wore the most adorable little pink dress and striped pink and white leggings. In contrast, the soft golden curls atop her head looked haphazard, pulled into a high, tight knot.

  “What can I help you with?” Becca asked, crouching to get eye level with the little one.

  The girl just stared at Becca, intimidated.

  “Gum.”

  Becca looked up in surprise. The big, silent behemoth had spoken. “Gum?” She echoed.

  He nodded and nudged the little girl forward again.

  The thumb popped out of her mouth and the girl spoke. “I ate all of Grampa’s gum and went to sleep and when I woke up my gum was all gone.”

  Oh. And she was here at a hairdresser. That wasn’t a good sign. But Becca kept the smile on her face and put her hand out. “I bet I know where it is. Shall we take a look?”

  The small, adorable creature put her hand in Becca’s and gave her a triumphant look. “It’s in my HAIR! And Daddy said you’d be able to get it out.”

  Eek, did he say that? Becca cast the man an awkward look. “Well, let’s see what we can do, then.” She led the little girl over to the salon chair and lifted her into it. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

  “Libby.” She looked on eagerly as Becca pulled out a bright pink cape and tied it under her chin.

  “How old are you, Libby?”

  “Four.”

  “Three,” corrected the man gruffly.

  “Three,” agreed Libby, kicking her feet under the cape.

  “I see,” Becca said as the man sat down in the other salon chair next to Libby’s, his big legs sprawling out in front of him. “Three is a great age. That means you’re a big girl.” She reached for the ponytail holder to pull it out of the girl’s topknot, only to realize the gum was twisted into it as well. Oh dear. Normally, she’d pick through the loose hair to check for lice—because you never knew with kids—but this was going to be . . . interesting. She touched a few strands, trying to determine how it had happened. Gum really was everywhere. Long strings of it seemed to be melted into the delicate curls, and all of it was mixed in with the hair tie. The entire thing seemed to be glued together with a light brown substance she couldn’t figure out. After a moment, she sniffed. “Is this . . . peanut butter?”

  She looked over at the big man, but his jaw clenched and he remained silent. After a long moment, he shrugged.

  “Daddy tried to help,” Libby said brightly. “But I didn’t tell him about the gum for two days and he said that was bad.”

  Two days? Well, that explained the rancid knot atop Libby’s little head. “I see.”

  “Late night,” the man said in a gruff voice. “Sick cattle.”

  “I wasn’t judging,” Becca replied gently. She moved to the counter and grabbed a large bottle of hair oil. “Sometimes it’s hard to get away from work. Trust me, I know.” She crooked a smile at him, trying to put him at ease. “Emergencies come up, even at a hair salon.” And she gestured to his little daughter.

  He just stared at her.

  Right. Okay, so that was awkward. She turned back to Libby. “Daddy was off to a good start with the peanut butter,” she told the little girl. “We’re going to put more oil in your hair and see if we can’t work some mor
e of this gum out, all right?”

  “Okay,” Libby said brightly.

  “Why don’t you tell me about you,” Becca continued, dousing the girl’s head with oil and trying not to worry about how the heck she was going to salvage this little one’s hair without shaving it down to the scalp. “You’re a big girl of three. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

  “I have two uncles! They’re big and hairy like Daddy.”

  “Two uncles,” Becca repeated, grinning. This was definitely one of Doc Parson’s nephews. From the rumors around town, all three had come down from Alaska. “What about your Mommy?”

  “I don’t have a mommy.” Libby said, kicking her legs some more. “It’s just Daddy and Uncle Caleb and Uncle Jack and Grampa Curtis.”

  “I see.” She discreetly glanced over at the girl’s father, but the man didn’t make eye contact with her. Kept his gaze on his daughter as Becca tried to work the hair tie free. Her heart squeezed with sympathy, just a little. A single dad with a young daughter? No wonder he hadn’t noticed the gum in her hair until it was a disaster. She imagined that raising a child alone was hard, and with no other women to lean on? He was doing a great job.

  Libby rattled on and on as Becca picked and fussed at the knot on her head. Long minutes passed, but Libby wasn’t much of a squirmer compared to some of the other kids Becca got in her chair, which was a good thing. She was content to talk and talk, asking about all the hair products on Becca’s counter and if she liked cartoons and flowers and everything under the sun.

  “Is this your daddy’s shop?” Libby asked as Becca’s oily fingers worked out another strand of hair.

  “No, it’s my shop. I started it myself.”

  “So you can play with people’s hair all day?”

  She chuckled. “Yes, that’s right. I like playing with hair. Especially little girls’ hair.”

  “Do you have a little girl?”

  Her heart squeezed. “No.”

  “A little boy?”

  “I don’t have any family,” she said brightly. “No kids, no husband.”

  “Daddy doesn’t have a wife either.”

  “Libby,” the man growled.

  Becca chuckled. “It’s fine.” Her cheeks were heating, though. She peeked at the man again. He was big and brawny, and under that crazy beard, he just might be handsome. Not that it really mattered all that much—she hadn’t paid attention to any man but Greg for the last while, so her radar was off. This particular guy wasn’t much of a talker, but maybe he was just shy. He did have a cute daughter, though.

  Maybe . . . maybe this was a step in the right direction. Maybe she should take the bull by the horns and rustle herself up a date. Then everyone would realize she was over Greg, they weren’t getting back together, and they’d stop treating her like the bastion of lonely spinsterhood. She could show everyone she’d moved on.

  All it would take was one date. They wouldn’t even have to have chemistry. It just had to be dinner, enough to show that she’d continued on with her life and everyone should forget about The Wedding That Wasn’t.

  She didn’t jump on the idea right away, though. She needed time to mull over it, and working on Libby’s hair was the perfect distraction. The gum was so entangled that she’d spent a good half hour on the child’s hair and was just now starting to work the hair tie out of the knot. She was pretty confident she could get this done, but it would take a while.

  Unless he’d rather shave her head and be done with the mess.

  Pursing her lips, Becca wiped her hands on a towel. “Can I talk to you for a minute, Mr. . . .”

  He didn’t offer his name, just got to his feet and followed her as she headed to the far end of the salon, by the front door. It was getting dark outside, and it was long past time for her to close up shop. She kept wiping her hands on the towel, her thoughts all over the place.

  The man just kept watching her, waiting.

  Okay, she was clearly going to have to carry the conversation. “I think I can get most of the gum out of Libby’s hair, but it’s going to take a while.”

  He grunted.

  “Like, hours. I have to go slow because her hair’s very fine and I don’t want to pull on it. The other option is to shave her head, but I’m not sure how you feel about that.”

  The big cowboy looked over at his little girl again, then back at Becca. He rubbed his bearded jaw. “She won’t like it shaved.”

  “Well . . . I have time if you have time.” She gave him a bright smile.

  He paused. “Is . . . this an inconvenience?” The words seemed like they were being dragged out of him.

  “No, like I told Libby, I don’t have anyone waiting at home for me. It wasn’t how I planned on spending my evening, but that’s all right.”

  The big man grunted again. “Appreciated.”

  They both paused, and Becca took in a steeling breath. This was her moment. This was the chance she should take. She could ask him out on a date, and shake off the specter of Greg and The Wedding That Wasn’t once and for all. So she toyed with a lock of her highlighted hair and hoped he found her reasonably attractive. “Is it true what Libby said? That you’re not married?”

  The dark eyes narrowed on her. Intense. Scrutinizing. He glanced at her, up and down, as if sizing her up.

  Becca flushed. She charged ahead. It wasn’t about this guy in particular. It was any guy, just to change how the town viewed her. She needed to change the conversation, period. “I know I’m being forward. I hope you don’t mind. But . . . I figure now’s as good a time as any to ask. Want to go on a date?”

  He stared at her, up and down again. There was a long, awkward pause. Then he spoke one single word.

  “No.”

  About the Author

  New York Times bestselling author Jessica Clare writes under three pen names. As Jessica Clare, she writes erotic contemporary romance. As Jessica Sims, she writes fun, sexy shifter paranormals. Finally, as Jill Myles, she writes a little bit of everything, from sexy, comedic urban fantasy to zombie fairy tales.

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