“It says you got to be sure to wash it often and brush it at least three times a day.”
Her shoulders slumped. “Three times?”
“Yep, that’s what it says. It keeps the coat—” Jeremiah said, chuckling, “I mean, it keeps the hair shiny.”
“Anything else?” she asked, thinking about how she would ever find the time to brush her long locks three times each day. Why, she barely found time to comb through her hair at night, before bed. Most times, she braided her hair, to keep it out of her face while she slept.
“One more thing. There’s an instruction to cut off one inch of hair to remove any damage.”
“Damage?”
“Yep,” Jeremiah said, snapping the book shut. “One inch to remove damage.” He reached over to lift a handful of her hair. “See here?”
Dorie looked down at the clump of hair he held in his hand. “The ends are split. That’s what the book said would happen. If you don’t brush and groom and cut, your hair splits.”
“I guess one inch isn’t so bad,” Dorie offered, never realizing she had damaged hair before. “Well, let’s get to it.”
Jeremiah jumped up from his seat. “Get to what?”
“You’re gonna cut my hair.”
“No. Nope. Not me. I ain’t gonna cut your hair.”
Dorie rose from her seat and looked her younger brother straight in the eyes. “Yes, you’re gonna cut my hair. The book says it needs cutting, right?”
“Well, uh, yeah. But I ain’t good with scissors. And you’d hang my hide if I chopped off too much. You’re fussy about your hair, Dorie.” Jeremiah dashed to the front door and reached for the handle. “Besides, I got some logs to split. And I got to check on the chickens. Collect the eggs, you know. And then I got to fix the gate. You’ve been hollering that the latch is broken for days now.”
“Jeremiah, get back here.”
But it was too late. Her brother had run for the hills. Now Dorie was left with the task of trying to cut her own hair. She didn’t much like the idea. But there wasn’t anyone else.
Shane finished up his chores early. On any given day, he’d work until sundown on the Bar G, but since he’d become a temporary “husband” he had to make time for Dorie. Thankfully, he would have a few hours of peace before she’d ride over this afternoon. He prayed more than hoped she wouldn’t insist on serving him dinner. He’d nearly choked down the dry chicken and biscuits she’d cooked up last night.
Shane shook his head thinking about what he’d gotten himself into, shaking off dust from the range, as well. He was dirty, smelled of horse dung and had baked half the day in the sun. “We’re heading home early, Sassy,” he said, patting the trusty mare on the neck.
Shane didn’t mind working hard on his land, building up the ranch and trying to keep his stock healthy, the thought of a prosperous ranch his sole ambition. Yet, his usual good humor had faded lately.
Being a part of Dorie’s ruse rubbed him the wrong way. He didn’t like lying, not even for a good cause. And he certainly didn’t like having Dorie underfoot all the time.
Shane pulled Sassy up in front of the barn and dismounted, taking a comb and brush to her, until she was free and clear of range dust. When the mare was tucked safely into the corral she shared with Smarty, it was Shane’s turn to clean up.
He walked over to the water barrel at the east end of the barn, stripped off his shirt and splashed cool liquid onto his chest. He could almost hear the sizzle, where cold water met heated skin. He soaked his shirt and used it to wash his face, arms and chest until the stubborn Nevada dust disappeared. He set his shirt out to dry on the corral fence and feeling somewhat refreshed he entered his home.
That’s when he knew something was amiss.
The scent of flowers wafted in the air, a fresh delicate fragrance that conflicted with the usual earth and leather scents that followed him into his house. He heard a noise and strode to the kitchen.
“What the hell?”
“Hello, Shane.”
Dorie sat on a kitchen chair, wrapped in a big rough towel, her arms and legs bared to him, her long hair wet and dripping lemon drops of water onto the floor. She had a comb in her hand.
“Dorie, what are you doing?” Shane couldn’t keep both the disbelief and the anger from his voice.
“Please don’t go getting mad, Shane.” Dorie’s blue eyes rounded, filling with tears and she seemed truly distressed. “I’ve had a time of it, today. I…I need your help.”
Shane stepped closer to her. A foolish mistake, because he couldn’t help noticing the shape of her pretty legs, crossed delicately at the ankles, and the softness of her shoulders as her hair caressed the skin there. The flowery scent became increasingly stronger with each of his steps. “What’s wrong?”
“Just…everything.” A tear fell, then another and soon Shane stood helplessly by as Dorie sobbed silently in front of him.
“Ah, Dorie. Don’t cry.” Shane stood above her, looking down at the spirited young girl who seemed truly distraught. He’d never seen this side of her before. In the past, Dorie had always been tough in nature, willing to do battle with anyone who stood in the way of what she needed. Shane had always admired that about Dorie. And he’d worried over her less because of it. He’d never seen Dorie cry before. Not like this. “C’mon. It can’t be that bad. What’s wrong?”
Dorie peered up at him, stifling her sobs long enough to nod her head. “It can be, Shane. It is. I’m not good at being a woman.” Dorie let go another sob.
Shane bent on his knee to look up into her eyes. He’d never seen a more appealing woman. She looked like a temptress, though unwitting, dressed in nothing but a big beat-up old towel that made her appear even more feminine, more graceful to him.
“You’re a fine woman,” Shane said.
“I can’t do a thing right, Shane. And the book says…oh, there’s so much to learn. I can’t remember it all.”
“You don’t have to, Dorie. Not all of it. We’ll pick and choose.”
“Really?”
For the first time, a light of hope appeared in her eyes. “Yes, you don’t have to know it all. Remember, I said I’d help.”
She nodded and took a long admiring look at him. Shane had forgotten he was nearly unclothed. His shirt lay outside on the corral fence, his hat long gone. And Dorie seemed to notice all of him, all at once. Her blue gaze never wavered, the light in her eyes turning a darker shade. She reached out to touch his shoulder. His skin burned from her delicate touch. “Thank you.”
“Dorie,” he said in stern warning. He rose abruptly. She followed him up and the towel slipped some, exposing the top portion of her chest, where the hollow formed between her breasts.
Shane reached for the towel, before it slipped even farther. Dorie caught his hands, looking up at him with those big blue expressive eyes.
He cleared his throat. “Want to tell me why you’re here, dressed like that?”
Dorie fastened the towel tighter around her and to his relief, took a step back. “I need you to cut my hair.”
Shane felt his eyes grow wide. Of all the things he might have imagined coming from Dorie’s pretty saucy mouth, he’d never expected a request for a haircut. He chuckled. “You can’t be serious.”
Her eyes rounded and she nodded; Shane thought she might sob again. “Dead serious. Jeremiah refused. He ran out on me. And then…then I tried doing it myself. And look, Shane. Look at the mess I made of my hair.”
Dorie lifted up the mass, letting it flow through her fingers onto her bare back. Shane sucked in oxygen. Her moves provocative enough to tempt a saint; he was certain she had no knowledge of the picture she posed. When he stifled his unwelcome lust, he finally saw what she’d wanted him to see. The ends of her hair were mangled, cut bluntly, so that the strands lay in an uneven mass down past her shoulders.
Holding back a smile, he asked, “Why did you cut your hair?”
“The book said that—”
“Ah, the book,” he interrupted. “Say no more.”
“I can’t go meeting the Parkers with my hair looking like this!” She picked up a chunk of hair again. “I haven’t had my hair cut since Mama died. I sorta liked it long and curly.”
Shane nodded. Dorie’s long coppery hair was one of her many appealing points. “It’s not so bad. It’s still way past your, uh, your shoulders.”
“Shane, please,” she said, coming close again. “You have to fix it.”
“Dorie, I wish you would have asked me first, before coming into my house, taking a bath and waiting for me half-naked in my kitchen.”
“The book said the hair had to be clean and wet before cutting. I figured that’s what I did wrong the first time. I just started cutting all that dry curly hair.”
Shane winced, put his head down and scratched his head. Sometimes there was just no arguing with Dorie. Still and all, he liked her better this way than teary-eyed and unhappy. “Okay, sit down. And don’t move. Hand me those scissors.”
“Really, Shane? You’ll do it?’ Dorie put her hand to Shane’s chest and when she stepped closer, he noticed gratitude in her eyes. A thankful expression and a near-naked Dorie was one dangerous combination. Didn’t do Shane any good that his skin fairly sizzled from that innocent touch. It was all he could do to keep from flinching and backing away. Dorie didn’t need to know how Shane reacted to her. He stood his ground, grinding his teeth and thinking that he’d been in worse situations in his life, but at this exact moment, he couldn’t think of one.
Shane couldn’t do much about Dorie’s state of undress right now. She’d have to remain that way until he cut her hair, but he sure could do something about his. “I said sit down. I’ll be right back.”
Dorie’s smile vanished. “But where are—”
Shane scoffed at himself for showing Dorie his irritation. For all intents, he should be the one setting the example. Losing his temper wasn’t going to do Dorie one bit of good, even though secretly it made him feel a mite better. He softened his tone and spoke with regard. “Please excuse me for one minute.”
Dorie’s eyes sparkled again. She nodded, sat down and straightened in her seat. “You’re excused,” she said, as stately as the queen of England.
Shane shook his head and walked out of the kitchen. He told himself to hang on to his patience. Two weeks wasn’t an eternity. He’d muddle through and then he’d be out of this predicament. One of them had to be cautious and rational, maintaining sound judgment.
Shane returned to the kitchen a moment later wearing a fresh shirt, buttoned up to his collarbone, and bearing a better attitude. He’d cut her hair and she would dress back into her baggy clothes. Then they’d spend an hour or two together, going over the book.
“What, uh, do you want me to do, exactly?” he asked, holding the comb and scissors now.
“Just…fix it, Shane.”
Dorie had this idea about him, that he could wave a magic wand and fix anything, including her situation. That’s what got him into this pickle in the first place. She had complete trust in him. Most men would puff out their chests and drink it all in, but Shane was beyond that now. One day, Dorie would find out that he wasn’t a magician. He couldn’t fix everything for her. He was a simple man, with simple needs, and as ordinary as they come.
“I’ll do my level best.”
Shane finger-combed Dorie’s locks, the moist silky strands flowing through his fingers. Her hair, like the rest of her, was all female, soft and wild at the same time. Shane began cutting, tugging gently and making sure to keep the ends even.
He’d been reduced to a barber of sorts. He shook his head at the thought, but kept working through her thick locks, cutting and evening out the strands. After several minutes and intense scrutiny, Shane looked upon his work with satisfaction.
“All done.” He backed away from Dorie. “It’s as good as its gonna get, Dorie. But I think you’ll like it.”
Dorie rose from her seat and sifted through her hair. She nodded and smiled and those pretty blue eyes of hers gleamed. She spoke quietly, almost with reverence. “You fixed it, Shane. I knew you could.”
Shane turned his back on her, not wanting to linger on the incredibly soft look in her eyes. “Better get dressed now, Dorie. You can use my room, but be quick about it.”
“Why?”
“Why?” He turned to her. “Why what?”
“Why be quick about it?”
“It ain’t proper having you in my room, dressed like that.” Shane shook his head again. Nothing about her being here today was proper, but it was going to take more than one day to make her understand that. “Never mind. We have work to do.”
“Right. I’ll get dressed real quick.”
Shane watched her sashay away then walked out the front door. Standing on his porch, he took a deep breath. That seemed to settle him some.
Until he saw Mrs. Whitaker’s buggy heading straight toward his place. She waved and smiled then reined in her horse right in front of his porch. “Afternoon, Shane.”
“Afternoon, Mrs. Whitaker.”
Shane’s neighbor to the south had a big spread, but she and her husband, Ignatius, had pretty much dwindled down their herd, making their ranch manageable for a couple in their late fifties. They’d been real good neighbors for the most part, and though Alberta Whitaker looked crotchety with those small brown eyes and wrinkled face, she was one of the kindest, most elegant women Shane had ever met.
“I hope I’m not disturbing you. I brought you a batch of pies. Iggy just doesn’t eat like he used to and, well…” she said, as Shane helped her down from her buggy, “as you can see, I have made a few too many.”
Shane’s mouth watered looking at three pies sitting on the floorboard of her buggy, nestled inside a crate to keep from spilling out. “Looks like I’m in luck,” he said cordially. “Be sure to thank Iggy for his lack of appetite.”
Alberta laughed. “I should be glad that man doesn’t eat like a wolf anymore, but I do miss fussing over him. Makes me feel useful around the house. I hope you like apple. There’s rhubarb and peach, too.”
Shane lifted his brows. “That’s a lot of pie for just one man.”
“Well, I figured you might share with those boys you hired on temporarily.”
Shane nodded. He’d been able to afford the help of two local boys who’d come by after their schooling on some afternoons. They’d been happy with the little pay Shane could offer and the chance for a square meal or two. And they’d helped Shane with chores that one man couldn’t muster on his own.
The arrangement suited everyone, but Shane hadn’t had his ranch hands come around ever since he’d made his deal with Dorie. Wouldn’t do to have their tongues wagging in town about Dorie’s midafternoon visits or worse yet, her late-night ones.
“I sure will. The Boyd brothers will get their fair share.”
Shane knew he should offer Mrs. Whitaker a cool drink for her trouble, but that meant inviting her inside. No telling what Dorie would be up to inside his house. So he stood there smiling at her, thanking her again.
“Shane! Shane Graham! Look at my hair. It’s almost all dry now! Don’t you just love—” Still clad in the towel, Dorie opened wide the front door and halted her words once she saw that Shane had company. “Oh!”
Mrs. Whitaker took a good look at her, then her eyes rounded on Shane.
Shane wanted to disappear. But the ground beneath his feet wasn’t swallowing him up.
Shane rolled his eyes. “I can explain.”
Mrs. Whitaker pursed her lips, but not in anger as he might have guessed. Instead, she seemed more than a little bit amused. “There’s no need, Shane.”
“Sure there is,” he rushed out. “Dorie,” he called out, then turned around to find her face flushed. At least she had the good sense to know when to be embarrassed. He put as much patience in his tone that he could manage. “Get dressed like I asked you, before.”
�
��I was just fidgeting with my hair, Shane,” she said, her chin up defiantly. “Hello, Mrs. Whitaker.”
“Afternoon, Dorie.”
Dorie wiggled her fingers in greeting then shut the front door, finally.
“It’s not what you’re thinking, Alberta.”
“Why, Shane. I’m not thinking at all. Just seeing is believing.”
“Ah, hell.” Shane was dog tired of explaining his intentions with Dorie, but it seemed he had to own up one more time. He couldn’t have Mrs. Whitaker believing the worst about Dorie, even though he knew the older woman would hold her tongue.
He lifted the crate of pies from her buggy and looked into her eyes. “Please come inside. It’s about time I shared this with someone, and you’re about the only person I can trust with the truth. I’m going to tell you something I bet you’ve never heard before, over a piece of your delicious pie and a cup of my awful coffee.”
Chapter Five
“Did I hear you correctly, Shane? You’re going to Virginia City to pretend to be Dorie’s husband?”
Shane sunk the fork deep into a piece of apple pie and nodded. “That’s right. I’m kind of hooked into this situation. Believe me, if there were any other way, I’d be the first one to agree. But Dorie’s mind is set. She thinks it’s the only way to keep Jeremiah.”
“By fooling his grandparents?” Alberta Whitaker was too wise a woman to place blame or judgment. She kept her tone even and devoid of accusation. “I don’t know, Shane. It could backfire on you.”
“It’s a risk Dorie is willing to take. She’s hell-bent on doing it her way. You know what happened the day of my wedding. You were there. She…shanghaied me so I could help her. And now she’s spending time here, so that we can get acquainted.”
Alberta’s graying eyebrows rose.
“Not that way, for God’s sake. I’m not taking advantage of her. She came over here because of some fool notion that cutting her hair will make her look more ladylike or some such thing. She didn’t give me much choice. Dorie sort of sneaks up on you when you least expect it and then…you’re in trouble.”
Abducted at the Altar Page 5