Tina Leonard - Laredo's Sassy Sweetheart

“You certainly should be. It’s not gentlemanly to laugh at people’s livelihoods.”

He hadn’t thought of it that way, and Katy was right. In silence they began to walk again, more companionably now since he’d proffered an apology. “Okay, say the price tag on the mouse was a coincidence. Maybe it had run through a bag and picked it up accidentally.”

“Maybe, but I don’t think so. It was from a store in Dallas.”

“But it could have been something someone brought to the rodeo,” he insisted. “What’s the purpose of leaving a price tag on a mouse? It basically alerts you to the fact that there’s been cheating and sabotage.”

“But that’s the intimidation factor. They have never cared that we know what they’re doing. Who’s to stop them? All the younger men in this town go to that salon, including the sheriff. We get the wives, who want no part of what goes on over there.”

“And that’s another thing. Have you ever been inside the salon? Tried their services?”

“No.”

“So how do you know that this is all deliberate?”

“They lured our cowboy into their salon, they got him drunk—and possibly more—on the day he was supposed to ride. What assumption would you draw from that?”

“That he was a lazy cowboy, and maybe not even a real bull rider, Katy. Did you ever think of that?”

“He had a buckle and all kinds of pictures of him with other trophies.”

Laredo sighed, knowing any of that could have been bought or finagled. Katy, as earnest as she was, seemed the type people might take advantage of. She was so sweet and trusting and open. A marked-down mouse, indeed. Why would a rival salon go to the trouble of bringing in a mouse with a red tag when they could have spooked the bull any number of ways? “So, if the rodeo is already over, why do you need another rider?”

“Because Miss Delilah raised a huge stink and called Marvella and told her that she knew she’d cheated and that if there wasn’t a rematch, she was going to burn the Never Lonely Cut-N-Gurls Salon to the ground.”

“She did that?” This didn’t sound like the woman who had come out to Malfunction Junction with twenty women and one baby, who had taken care of eleven cowboys and a truck driver during one of winter’s worst storms. That woman had seemed very sane and practical. “I’m having trouble with Miss Delilah being a lawbreaker and an arsonist.”

“We’ll never know, because her sister agreed to a rematch. The thing is, though, I think it’s a setup,” Katy whispered, stopping to gaze up into his eyes. Laredo felt his heart go thud and then boom as he tried to inhale. Then exhale. Katy’s eyes widened, drawing him in. “I think a red-lined mouse was child’s play to Marvella. Call me gullible if you will, and trusting, but I was recently duped by a girl who was just like a sister to me.”

“You don’t say,” Laredo breathed, trying real hard to sound surprised.

She nodded. “So I know what women are capable of.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“And I know Miss Delilah’s getting set up on this.”

“What could Marvella do?”

Katy’s gaze swept over his shoulders and then across his chest. “I don’t know. But she will send her girls to steal my hero.”

His mouth dried out at the thought of a bunch of women coming after him with their feminine lures. It wasn’t an altogether unhappy vision.

But the words from Katy’s mouth had perked up his heart. He could be her hero. He could do it. He was not the kind of guy to make a promise and then cut and run.

“You can count on me,” he said.

“You’ll ride Bloodthirsty Black?” she asked on a gasp.

“I’ll probably get stomped by his brightly painted hooves, but then at least everybody will know about the hard-wired bull Miss Delilah’s got for sale. Then the charities will be happy, and a restaurant will be happy, and some FFA kids will be happy—”

“I’ll be happy.” She threw her arms around his neck by launching her small body up against his chest, leaving about twelve inches dangling between her feet and the sidewalk. “Thank you, Laredo. I knew I could count on you!”

He would call Mason tomorrow, he thought, and get some tips on how to stay on a beast from hell. Right now he was just going to stand here and smell Katy Goodnight’s perfume, and try not to think about how sweet a girl like her would be in his bed.

And then again, maybe thinking about how sweet she’d be in his bed was exactly why he’d said he’d ride her darn bull. He hadn’t been kidding when he said he’d probably get stomped.

“So,” he said into her hair as he held her against him, “what happened to the mouse?”

“I rescued her,” Katy murmured. “When Bloodthirsty kicked in the stall, she ran out, and I scooped her up before she could run into another stall to get crushed by a different bull.”

“Her?”

“There are only girls in our salon. We named her Rose, and she sleeps in a little box beside my bed.”

Oh, boy. “Lucky mouse,” he muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly. “I just can’t wait to ride that bull,” he fibbed.

“Think you can stay on eight seconds?”

He squeezed her to him, breathing in deeply. “I’m positive I have much longer than eight seconds in me.”

“Really?”

“Well,” he said hastily, switching gears from sexual to realistic, “I don’t expect I’ll be that good.”

She smiled at him luminously. “Since it’s your first time and all.”

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple jerking in his neck like a double knot on a child’s tennis shoe. “Yeah.”

“Do you have a place to stay for the night, Laredo?”

His throat tightened. Was he about to receive an invitation of the best sort? “No.”

“Then you can sleep in my room.”

Heaven! Hallelujah! Doing something big in his life was turning out to be so easy. Why hadn’t he been adventuresome sooner?

“And I’ll sleep with Miss Delilah,” she continued.

His enthusiasm withered like day-old soda pop. He set her down on the concrete. “I’d hate to put you out.”

“It’s the least I can do for the man who’s going to single-handedly save our salon.”

He nodded jerkily, trying to look appreciative.

“And we’re fixing wilted lettuce and greens for dinner.”

He pasted a smile on his face, thinking that if the menu was always so green and healthy, he wouldn’t have to ride Bloodthirsty Black. He’d just gnaw the steak-on-the-hoof to death and chalk up an easy win that way. “Thank you,” he repeated.

“Let’s go back and tell everyone what you’ve decided,” Katy said, delighted.

“Oh, yes. By all means,” he agreed reluctantly. Longingly he glanced across the street, where a stunning blonde was deliberately trying to catch his gaze through the window. She was wearing a red shirt tied at the waist, and, even at this distance, he could tell she was a very healthy girl. To his surprise, she held a sign to the window that read Free Meal to Travelers in bold red, glittery letters.

Beside him Katy floated along, oblivious to the exchange. To be polite—because he’d only heard one side of the story, after all—he tipped his straw western hat to the blonde and then shook his head in the negative.

Fair was fair, and no matter how bright the invitation across the way—even if they served steak and mashed potatoes—he was going to be a man Katy could trust.

“So what exactly was the big problem?” Hannah Hotchkiss asked as she walked into Katy’s bedroom.

“Problem?” Katy asked, eyeing her best friend and companion stylist warily.

“The one Laredo mentioned. By the time the two of you returned from your walk, you had a yes out of him, and he was wearing a distinctly cattywhumpussed expression.”

“A minor detail,” Katy murmured. “Nothing that was truly a problem.” She wasn’t about to share the worrisome detail that their knight in shining armor lacked experience in the saddle.

“I think you’ve caught that man’s eye.”

Katy glanced up, horrified. “Do not say that. He is not my type at all.”

“What is your type?”

Stanley came to mind, but Katy tossed that thought violently out of her brain. “I haven’t figured it out yet. But I’m certain I’ll know it when I see it.” She blew her bangs away from her forehead. “These bangs will not grow fast enough to suit me.”

“Why are you letting them grow out? They suit your face and showcase your eyes.”

“I look like a little girl. I don’t want to look like that anymore.” She handed a picture to her friend of a model dressed like a ballerina, her hair pulled away from her face in a severe topknot. “That’s the way I want to look.”

“Like you haven’t had a good meal in a month?”

Katy snatched the paper back. “Elegant. Sophisticated.”

“Like you don’t give a damn.”

“Exactly.” Katy nodded. “I don’t.”

“Now you just have to convince yourself.”

“Right.”

“What a bozo that Stanley must have been.” Hannah sighed and got to her feet. “Listen, pulling your hair back until you look like a scarecrow isn’t going to give you the mature edge you’re looking for.”

“You have a suggestion for maturing a permanent baby face?”

“No. The baby face is not the problem—and, by the way, it’s called a cute face. There’s nothing baby about you. Your challenge is to become more daring. Daring. Remember that word.”

Katy raised a brow.

“You’re masking your real worry by making it a hair issue, something all women do, and sometimes men, as well. The key is to face the issue dead-on, and pin it on the body part where it actually belongs. It’s never a hair issue. Could be the brain, could be the breasts, could be your—”

“I don’t need a body catalogue,” Katy interrupted.

“So, where’s your real issue?”

“My heart.”

“Not possible. Choosing the heart is a stall tactic. It means you’re still transposing and referring your denial. The heart is not part of the equation, as it is only a label for people’s emotions. A visual, if you will.”

“I don’t know if I will or not.” Katy groaned, unwilling to go down the path. “My womanhood,” she finally said. “If I’d been more of a woman, even Becky couldn’t have gotten Stanley away from me.”

“That’s a myth, you know. Women successfully steal men all the time. It doesn’t take much effort.”

“I will never believe that. There are a few men out there who have antitheft devices on their hearts.”

“Yes, but we’re not talking about their hearts, and I have it on good authority that antitheft devices do not fit on a man’s p—”

“All right!” Katy interrupted. “So any man is ripe for the picking. Then what’s the point of me trying to overcome my issue if their issue is unsolvable?”

“Because once you develop more confidence, your chance of a man ever straying from you is dramatically diminished. You put a certain amount of color on a lady’s hair to diminish her gray, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Katy said uncertainly.

“Well, you have to wear confidence to attract and keep someone you love. Become a bright, new color. Remember our new word—daring.”

“Lack of confidence was not why Stanley married Becky.”

“He did that because he was already at the church, the guests had flown in, his mother was wearing Bob Mackie, and you, my sweet gullible angel, had footed the bill as the bride. Plus, he still had a smile on his face from what had occurred in the bridal changing room. Strategically, if he couldn’t wait another five minutes or so to enjoy your virginity, I’m thinking he didn’t have much staying power for the long haul. Not that I’m judging him, exactly, since I have never met him. However, sometimes actions speak louder than words, and I sincerely believe your wedding day was one of those loud action moments.” Hannah examined her nails casually. “By the way, you are going to send his parents a bill for the wedding.”