Archer's Angels

by Tina Leonard

  The last brother who’d fallen was Calhoun. He’d settled at the ranch, the first married brother to do so. Calhoun had brought his wife’s family—two children, Minnie and Kenny, and a grandfather, Barley—with him.

  And Calhoun’s success had generated some brotherly angst around the ranch. Calhoun had the kids, the father-in-law, the occasional roadshow participation as a rodeo clown—for which his wife, Olivia, adored him—but Calhoun had also became a hit with his paintings. Though he’d started out painting nudes, he had switched to family portraits and had a waiting list of people who wanted him to commit their children to canvas.

  He was that good.

  Unfortunately, Crockett, the family’s first and best artist, had taken umbrage at this. Crockett felt Calhoun had one-upped him in the creative department. Archer frowned as he worked his way through the mud in Tonk’s hoof. Usually, the brothers were happy for each other. But ever since the youngest brother, Last, had brought a new baby to the ranch, along with the baby’s unmarried mother, Valentine, no one had been happy.

  Or maybe the trouble had started when Mason left. Oldest brother, and patriarch of the Jefferson clan, he’d taken his wandering feet onto the road. He’d said he wanted to find out what had happened to their father, Maverick. But the brothers knew that was a lie; Mason had been nearly knocked to his knees when Mimi Cannady, their next-door neighbor, married another man and had a baby.

  But that had been more than a year ago. Mimi and Brian were divorced now, a friendly divorce. And Mason had returned and was now very fond of one-year-old, Nanette.

  Archer sighed. Maybe all the craziness around Malfunction Junction was just the result of twelve brothers growing up together with no female touch to soften them.

  Last was never going to settle down with Valentine, though he seemed to be receiving better marks for his daddy skills.

  Mason was never going to get his head straight about Mimi. All the brothers except Mason knew Mimi was putting her ranch up for sale in order to move into town.

  Bandera never shut up about poetry. He wrote it, he sang it, he reviewed it and recited it, and if he didn’t shut his face, Archer was going to smother him in his sleep.

  Crockett needed to just shut his yap and paint. There was room for two artists in the family tree.

  “I’m the only brother who keeps my pipe shut,” Archer told Tonk. “My insanity is on the down-low. I write a woman who is far away and who will never bother me. As far as I can see, I add no turbulence to this family ship. Why can’t the rest of my brothers be more suave? Debonair?”

  It sounded as if Tonk groaned. He gave her a tap on the fanny. “Hey,” he said, “no comments from you. Or maybe I won’t defend you the next time my brothers call you dog-faced.” He frowned, looking at the pretty colors of his spotted equine. She was beautiful! What was it about her that they didn’t get? So Tonk was a little unusual. Archer liked unusual things.

  She reached out with her back hoof, not really kicking at him but giving him a little goose. He stepped back, eyeing her warily. “Tonk,” he said, his tone warning.

  She flipped her mane at him.

  “Excuse me,” he heard.

  Archer glanced up to see the little plain newcomer looking at him. “Yes?”

  “I was just offered employment at the Never Lonely Cut-n-Gurls Salon.”

  “You were?” Straightening, he stared at her.

  Marvella, the owner of the Never Lonely Cut-n-Gurls, was always on the lookout for fresh stylists, and Marvella’s stylists were known far and wide to be babes—and if they weren’t babes, then they were possessed of supernatural talents. If you were a man, the Cut-n-Gurls could always help you out.

  “Yes.” She nodded. “But I knew you said they weren’t your friends.”

  “They’re not, that’s true. What is it that you do?” he asked, staring at her speculatively. Maybe there was more to her than he’d first thought. Marvella had a pretty good eye for these things.

  “I—I’m not doing anything right now,” she said. “I’m on vacation.”

  “So, what did you tell her?” Archer felt worry assail him. Employment with Marvella included hassles, so many she’d soon dream of giving back her wages.

  “I told her, no, thank you. You said to avoid her.”

  “I think it would be best. Not that I’m always right.”

  She nodded. “Even your horse knows that.”

  Archer frowned. “What do you mean?”

  She shrugged. “She doesn’t like you.”

  He was outraged. “She likes me fine!”

  She shook her head. “No, see how she distances herself from you? She thinks you’re bossy. Trying to enforce yourself upon her.”

  His jaw dropped. “She’s a horse. I’m supposed to enforce myself upon her.”

  “She doesn’t like it. She’s trying to tell you that you’re annoying.”

  Well, that was it. He didn’t have to listen to some half-baked claptrap like that. Tonk and he had a special relationship.

  “How long have you had her?”

  “Tonk and I have been together six months,” Archer said defensively. “And Tonk thinks I’m—”

  “Bossy.” She reached a hand over the stall, and Tonk slid her nose under the woman’s fingers. “I understand, girl. Men can be very trying.”

  “Are you trying to do that horse-talking thing?” Archer asked. “I don’t use horse psychology. I mean, I talk to Tonk, but I’m really just amusing myself. I don’t believe we’re actually communicating—”

  Her eyebrows raised. She stared at him, her gaze challenging. Disbelieving?

  Something about that attitude caught Archer’s attention. He looked at her more closely, finally seeing behind the specs.

  “Those are beautiful eyes you’re hiding.”

  Chapter Two

  “Thank you,” Clove said, “I think.”

  He looked at her. “No, really. You have lovely eyes. Very unique color.”

  She was torn between feeling flattered, giving in to worry, or pulling out her tricks. He was, after all, the key player in her plan.

  “What’s your name, stranger?” he asked.

  “Clover,” she said, thinking quickly, not yet ready to reveal her identity.

  “Clover? Is that a real name or are you making one up just to keep your distance?”

  “It’s a real name.” Just not hers.

  He frowned. “You don’t look like a Clover.”

  “I’d ask you what I do look like, but I don’t want to know.” She leaned over into the stall. “Oh, Tonk has blue hooves,” she said. “I think blue hooves on a horse are so pretty.”

  He narrowed his gaze on her. “Know a little something about horses, do you?”

  “A little. My family owns a farm.” Clove glanced up at him. “We raise horses.”

  “Oh? Where’s the farm? The Jeffersons know just about everyone in the business.”

  “Well, you wouldn’t know us,” Clove said. “Our farm is not doing as well as one might hope.”

  “Sorry to hear that.” He turned his attention back to Tonk, who was still nuzzling at Clove’s fingers.

  “Oh, Archer!” Feminine voices floated into the stall.

  Clove turned to see four beautiful girls walk by with flirtatious glances for Archer. She turned back around in time to see Archer’s chest puff out about four inches.

  “Hey, ladies,” he called. “Nice winter weather, huh?”

  They giggled. “We’ve got some hot cocoa when you feel like warming up,” one girl said.

  Another nodded. “And some of our special potion tastes good on a freezing night. Madame Mystery’s—”

  “Yes, yes,” Archer said hurriedly. He waved them on. “You girls behave. Get inside before you all catch colds.”

  Laughing, they waved mittened fingers at him and moved on after casting him one last alluring glance.

  Clove blinked. “They practically undressed you en masse.”

&nb
sp; He laughed. “Yeah. They’re good at that.”

  And he had no shame! Clove quickly reviewed her position. Maybe mano a mano she could get his attention, but groupie corralling put the odds against her. Not to mention that those women were gorgeous.

  “They mean no harm,” he said easily, “as long as they get no closer than about ten feet.”

  “How do you know?”

  He winked at her. “Women are not hard to figure out.”

  She held back a gasp at his cockiness. “You haven’t figured out your horse.”

  “And that’s why I love only her.” He gave Tonk an affectionate pat on the shoulder, and she tried to nail him with a hoof. Swiftly jumping forward, he dodged the hoof, but Tonk’s head snaked around, her teeth barely missing his shoulder.

  “I guess you’d call that a love peck,” Clove said.

  “Aw, Tonk wouldn’t really bite me. She just knows I like a little sauce to my women.”

  “Women?”

  He grinned, pushing his hat back with a finger.

  He was annoying, and much sexier than he’d come across in his e-mails. She needed a shower to freshen up after her travels, and time to regroup. “I think I’ll be going now,” she said, retreating from his confident smile.

  “Thanks for the dinner offer,” he said, “But Tonk and I have work to do.”

  Now that she’d seen him turn down the quartet of country lovelies, her feelings weren’t quite so hurt, so she was able to flip him a shrug. “About that hotel you were going to recommend?”

  “There’s no hotel in Lonely Hearts Station, but both beauty salons welcome travelers. Head over to the Lonely Hearts Salon. The owner, Delilah, has rooms for rent. You’ll be safe over there.” His gaze settled on Clove for a moment, then he put the horse’s hoof down and came over to the rail, leaning on it to stare down at her. “Do not take a room at the Never Lonely Cut-n-Gurls salon. Even though you will see a big sign out front proclaiming that theirs are the cheapest, cleanest, most comfortable rooms in town.”

  She backed away from his intensity. “You are quite forceful, sir.”

  “Yeah, well, someone’s gotta be around here.” He turned back to his horse. “Otherwise we’d all be love candy for women and ending up at the gooey altar of marriage.”

  Whew! He was simply brewing in misery when it came to women, Clove realized. In their e-mails, he’d always made everything sound so wonderful, so carefree, so…fairy tale. But in person, the story was quite different.

  “Good luck,” she said, backing away, “with your rodeo. Or whatever it is that you’re after.”

  He waved a hand absently.

  Clove waved a hand back, mimicking him, but he never noticed. She went out onto the pavement, crossing her arms against the chill.

  It was true what Archer said. There was a large sign out in front of the Never Lonely salon. In fact, the whole building was lit up with white lights, like icing on a gingerbread house. Laughter floated from inside, and a piano gaily played ragtime.

  She glanced across the street at the Lonely Hearts Salon. A lamp glowed in the window, and it was mostly dark and very quiet, as if no one ever stayed there.

  She turned back to the Never Lonely salon. Four really pretty, lively women who knew how to get Archer’s attention lived inside. And hadn’t those flirty girls said something about hot cocoa?

  Clove shivered. She wasn’t used to this kind of cold.

  The cocoa—and the chance to get some advice on how to seduce her man—won out. She headed toward the Never Lonely Cut-n-Gurls Salon.

  ARCHER WAITED until he heard Clover walking away, then he turned to stealthily watch her leave. Nice fanny, for a girl with a plain face and wacky glasses. She was packing her jeans just fine. He liked her voice, too, he had to admit. It was very sweet, with a slight accent.

  “You embarrassed me, Tonk,” he said. “Could you at least go easy on me in front of girls? You make me look like I’m the hoss and you’re the rider.”

  Tonk ignored him.

  “Hey!” Bandera came and leaned his elbows over the rail. “Let’s eat. I’m hungry. Hey, what’s up with Dog-face? Someone feed her a sour apple?”

  “Shut up.” Archer put away the hoof pick and other tack. “There was a girl here a second ago—”

  “Oh, is that your problem?”

  “And she went to find a room, I think.”

  “Ah.” Bandera nodded knowingly. “And you want the key.”

  “No! She’s not…my type.” He glanced at his brother. “I told her to go over to Delilah’s.”

  “Yeah?” Bandera laughed. “If she was that girl in glasses I just saw, then she’s just like your horse.”

  Archer straightened. “Meaning?”

  “Meaning she doesn’t mind very well. She went straight to Marvella’s.”

  “What? I specifically told her—”

  Bandera grinned. “Archer, if you had a Dear Abby column, you’d go broke. No one listens to you.”

  Archer ignored him. “That crazy girl has no idea what she’s getting herself into!”

  “Well, don’t get too worried about it.”

  Archer settled his hat on his head. “Someone has to look out for the misfits in life. And if there ever was a misfit, Clover is her.”

  “Whoa. Color me impressed.”

  Archer slapped his brother upside the head. “Come on. We’ve got to catch her before she gets too far into the dragon’s den!”

  CLOVE COULD NOT IMAGINE why Archer had steered her away from surely the nicest girls on the planet. Taking pity on her plight—poor, tired traveler!—they’d treated her to a wonderful array of services.

  They’d coaxed her glasses from her, leaving her nearly blind. They’d teased and washed her hair. Perfumed her. Stuck some heels on her feet. Given her a knockout dress to wear, the type of thing one saw on elegant ladies.

  She’d been a bit embarrassed, but they’d waved aside her worries. It was all part of the service, Marvella said. Besides, Clove was renting a room, and that more than covered the expense. And gave her girls some practice with a lady’s hair, since they mostly had male clients.

  “Can I have my glasses for just one sec?”

  Marvella handed them to her. Clove put them on so she could peer in the mirror. “Oh, my,” she said. “I had no idea I could look like this.”

  “It was all there,” Marvella said. “Hidden charms. The best kind, I always say. I had another girl, once upon a time. You remind me of her. By the time I got done with her, she was a golden charm. She left me,” Marvella said bitterly. “Ah well, that’s in the past.”

  “What was her name?” Clove asked, out of politeness more than curiosity. It was clear Marvella wanted to draw out the girl chat a bit more.

  “Cissy. Cissy…Kisserton. Now Jefferson.”

  “Jefferson?”

  Marvella nodded. “Those damn Jeffersons get all my girls. They’ve got Valentine right now, and not one of them has any intention of marrying her.”

  Clove sucked in her breath. “What do you mean, they’ve got her?”

  “One of the brothers impregnated her, another took her to their ranch, and they’ve kept her there. After she gave birth they put her to work in a bakery.”

  Clove’s eyes were huge. “That sounds terrible.”

  “It is. If you ever meet a Jefferson man, my best advice to you is run.”

  Clove blinked. That was the same thing Archer had said about the Never Lonely Cut-n-Gurls! “I’m still confused about the plural,” she said.

  “Oh, you’d find quick enough that the Jeffersons do everything as a gang, a fixture upon our good and tidy landscape that can’t be overlooked, an eyesore, if you will. They approach you in a group. If one of them is alone, soon enough they’ll have backup. Before you know it, you’re theirs.”

  Clove could hardly take this in. She thought about Archer’s hot, lean physique and felt her breath catch in her chest. “It sounds…”

  “Scary, I k
now.”

  Clove had been working the adjective “romantic” over in her mind. Hot. Sexy. Fantastic…

  Marvella clucked with sympathy. “Don’t you worry about a thing. I have my dealings with the Jeffersons as necessary, but one thing is certain—they will never, ever take one of my girls from me again. And right now, you’re one of my girls.”

  “Thank you.” Now was the wrong time to mention that she’d actually come to town to shanghai some Jefferson genes.

  “How can I ever thank you for all you’ve done for me?” she quietly asked Marvella.

  “You sit here,” Marvella said, “right up front, my precious, and just smile for the customers who come in the door. Just an hour,” she said, “will be repayment enough.”

  “YOU COULD NOT HAVE possibly seen Clover go into Marvella’s,” Archer told Bandera. “I have seven-eight brother syndrome, which means I’m so far down on the family tree that I have to be observant or I get run over by my own beloved brothers. And I distinctly saw Clover turn left as she left the pens.”

  “She may have,” Bandera said agreeably. “You may have seven-eight brother syndrome, but I have eleventh-brother syndrome, which means I was so close to becoming Last that I make certain everything is proven fact before I talk about it. And I saw a lady who looked a little hesitant, with big ugly glasses, go into Marvella’s.”

  Archer’s boots moved faster as he headed to the door of the salon. “You’re crazy. She said she would listen to me. Good evening, miss,” he said, tipping his hat to the gorgeous woman seated on a bar stool just inside the doorway.

  She stared at him, not inclined to say much, he guessed. Glancing around for Clover, he turned back to the bar-stool babe. “Did you happen to see a woman come in here, one who was lost, wearing glasses as thick as the tires on a truck?”

  She looked perplexed, then she shook her head. He glanced over her big hair and her superbly applied makeup. The wooden bar stool only served to enhance her hourglass shape, keeping the focus on her curves as she sat straight for balance.