The Cowboy Meets His Match

by Jessica Clare

  Well. This must be the daddy. It was clear he was here not 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.

  “Hi there,” Becca said brightly to the two of them.

  The man just gazed at her with dark eyes. He said nothing, and after a long moment, he gently 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 was kind of ironic if he was related to Doc Parson, 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 coat. Underneath it, Becca could see striped pink-and-white leggings. Her hood was down and 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 to 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, had he said that? Becca cast the man an awkward look. “Well, let’s see what we can do, shall we?” She led the little girl over to the salon chair and helped her out of her jacket, then lifted her into the seat. “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?”

  “Three.”

  “Four,” corrected the man gruffly.

  “Four,” 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. “Four 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 at 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 more of this gum out, all right?”

  “Okay,” Libby said brightly.

  “Why don’t you tell me about yourself,” 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 four. 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 Ennis.”

  “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 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 else 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 and 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, the chill seeping in through the windows, 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 daughter, 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 as if 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 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 a single word.

  “No.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Hank said nothing as the pretty woman worked on Libby’s hair. He knew it was a mess. Knew he’d somehow failed his little daughter in a way he’d never even considered. When he was a boy, if he got gum in his hair, he’d had the entire chunk hacked out, and then his head was shaved. But one look at Libby’s tearful little face and he didn’t have the heart to do that to his daughter. It was his job to keep her safe and take care of her, and if that meant he was going to sit in a girly salon all night, then he would.

  He hadn’t counted on the salon lady asking him out on a date, though.

  He didn’t trust it. Women didn’t ask him out. Not that he knew a lot of women. Up in the remote wilds of Alaska, there weren’t a lot of women, and the ones that were there tended to be as rough as the men. Ever since he and his brothers had come down to Wyoming, he’d seen the looks people gave him. He knew he didn’t fit in. He scared people. His silence just made things worse.

  So a pretty little thing like the salon lady asking him out? Had to be a trick.

  She was nice, though. He watched her out of the corner of his eye as she patiently worked through strand after strand of Libby’s hair, her oil-slicked fingers moving deftly and separating bits of gum and peanut butter and lint. She chattered in a bright voice, talking about dolls and horses and keeping Libby laughing and smiling.

  His little bit was normally a happy child, but he’d never seen her light up so much around another person. Made him a bit jealous, really.

  But she was working out a large section of Libby’s hair from the gum, so he’d shut his trap and endure for his baby girl.

  Hank peered over at the woman from under his lashes. Short little thing, maybe five feet in height. Long, pretty brown hair in big curls that fell down her back. Big eyes. Nice figure, too. Kinda rounded but with good hips and tits.

  Not that he should be looking, but she had asked him out on a date. He was only human. No ring on her finger. She liked to talk, and she was pretty. Why wasn’t she married?

  Better yet, why was she asking him out? He was big and ugly and shit at conversation. He wasn’t rich and he had a young daughter and no wife. He wasn’t a prize by anyone’s standards.

  Had to be a trick.

  Hank glanced at the clock as the minutes ticked past. His phone had buzzed with a few texts, but he ignored it. Seemed rude to act all distracted when this stranger was entertaining his child as she worked. His gaze fell on a neat stack of business cards on the counter, tucked between combs and bottles. Becca Loftis, Beautician.

  She looked like a Becca. Not that he’d met a lot of Beccas.

  Not that he cared. But he reached over and took one of the business cards anyhow, just in case Libby had another gum incident.

  The woman—Becca—didn’t notice his movements. She was too busy concentrating on Libby’s hair as his daughter yammered on and on about some sort of baby shark, her comb gently moving through the mess on Libby’s head. He kicked back, their jackets in his lap, and watched Becca work, since this beat mucking stalls or listening to Uncle Ennis tell another one of his stories. It was kinda nice to sit down for a while and listen to Libby’s laughter as she talked.

  And then he nodded off.

  He jerked awake a short time later, when a hair dryer turned on. Running a hand over his face, Hank sat up and glanced at the clock. Damn. It was nearly ten at night. Had he fallen asleep that long? Had this woman—Becca—been working on Libby’s hair the entire time? He looked over at his daughter, and her little face was beaming into the mirror as Becca worked the child’s pale curls into big sausage-like rolls and then carefully pinned them atop her head until they looked like puffs. Then she got out a pink canister and sprayed some pink glittery shit all over the kid’s head. He wanted to tell her to stop, that he wasn’t gonna pay for that, but the look on Libby’s face kept his mouth shut.

  His little tomboy daughter, who knew how to bait a hook and scale a fish, who played in mud and laughed hysterically when his horse pooped, who had always said she wanted to grow up and be a cowboy like her daddy, looked utterly entranced at her ridiculous pink hair. Her mouth gaped and then she looked over at him, full of joy. “Daddy, I’m a princess!”

  And his chest gave this funny little squeeze, because in that moment, Hank knew he was completely and utterly out of his depth. He knew fishing, and he knew ranching. He knew trapping and how to survive in the wild on limited supplies for months on end.

  He knew absolutely nothing about princesses. Or pink hair. And clearly these were important things to Libby, and he had no idea what to do. Uncle Ennis always laughed and said that a girl would be the death of him, but he’d just brushed it off. Now he suspected the old man was right.

  “You’re a very beautiful princess,” he said gruffly, and put his hand out. “But it’s past your bedtime.”

  Libby hopped out of the chair the moment the bright pink cape left her shoulders, and she bounded over to him. “Daddy, can I come back and play princess with Miss Becca again tomorrow?”

  His throat locked up. Play princess? “Little bit, I don’t think—”

  “It might not be tomorrow, but the next time you’re in town, I’ll be happy to do your hair, Miss Libby,” the beautician said, smiling. “As long as you promise to stay away from the gum!”

  Hank clenched his jaw. He couldn’t shell out hundreds of bucks to fix a kid’s hair, no matter how cute his kid was. How much did a hairdo cost, anyhow? He always shaved his own head when it got too annoying in the summer. He didn’t know anything about girl hair. Even so, he had to say no. He held Libby’s coat out to her. “Libby, she’s busy.”

  “It’s all right,” Becca said. Her smile was tired but pleased. “It doesn’t take long and she’s so cute I don’t mind. As long as you don’t tell my other customers, it’s on the house.” And she win
ked at his daughter as if they shared a secret.

  Libby just giggled wildly as she shoved her arms through her coat.

  Right. Well, that answered that. He pulled out his credit card and held it out to the woman.

  Becca held a hand up. “No charge.”

  Did she think he was poor? Gritting his teeth, he held the card out again. “We took up hours. I can pay.”

  She shook her head, ignoring his surly mood, and went around him to get the door of the salon. “I didn’t have plans this evening anyhow, and I got to make a new friend. I’d say we’re even.”

  A friend? Him? That was an odd thing to say to a fella you just asked out. But then Libby giggled and Becca looked down at his daughter, and he felt like an idiot.

  Not him. His kid. Right.

  His face burned. “Sure I can’t pay?”

  “I’m sure.” She beamed at him. “Have a good evening.”

  And that was that. He took Libby’s hand and led her out to the truck, and his daughter was practically asleep before he even put the seat belt on her. She sucked her thumb as she slept, a habit he knew she needed to break but couldn’t seem to get her to stop. And she was so damn sweet that his heart ached.

  Best thing in his life, this little bit. He hoped he wasn’t messing things up. He thought about how she’d lit up when talking to the woman at the salon. How she’d been so delighted to have her hair made all pink and cute. He’d always told himself he’d be a good-enough dad so that it wouldn’t matter that she didn’t have a mom.

  Now he was worried that it did.

  * * *

  * * *

  Hank drove back up the snowy pass and down the narrow, dark road that led up to the Swinging C Ranch. It was scenic here, but not much like home. Back home, he’d lived near a creek that ran down from the mountains. In the summer the meadows were filled with flowers and wandering elk, and in the winter it was nothing but snow. Here . . . well, okay, it was similar with all the snow, but there was a lake instead of a stream, and the only things wandering the valley here were cattle. Lots of ’em. He missed Alaska. Missed it a lot, really. He’d only come down because Uncle Ennis needed help with the ranch, and he’d offered Hank and his brothers a dollar amount that would buy supplies for years and new snowmobiles for each of them. Maybe even a plane, if they could figure out how to fly it. That’d be handy to have, a little two-prop to fly in and out of Anchorage when he needed something.