The Big Girl's Guide to Buying Lingerie: A Cowboy Love Story (Bluebonnet, Texas Book 4)

by Amie Stuart

  “No,” I whispered, unable to stop the tears that filled my eyes. I missed him. His sarcasm, his wit, his flirtiness, his kisses, his body beside mine in bed. “There was no picking involved. We just sort of...happened. And now he hates me.”

  “What exactly did you say about Bettina?” Toni cocked an eyebrow, her lips set in a grim line, and I winced.

  “I…said she was blatant.”

  Susie’s peal of laughter startled me. Even Toni chuckled. “She may be blatant, honey, but what you see as blatant, I see as the perfect match for my nephew. With Ty, still waters run deep, and a quiet woman wouldn’t have drawn him out like Betti has. He adores her because she’s his exact opposite.”

  “Susie’s right.” Toni pursed her lips again, propping her elbows on the shiny laminate bar top. “So, what are you going to do about Rowdy?”

  “I miss him,” I whispered, eyes on the polished bar top.

  “If you want him back, you’re going to have to fight for him, Sweetie,” Susie said.

  Bring me my horse and a suit of armor.

  In all my thirty years, I’d never had to fight for a man. I’d never slapped another girl in a jealous rage. I'd never even been in a catfight! I wasn’t a game player and didn’t understand people who were. “I don’t know how.”

  “Fight was a bit of a strong word. What about woo?” Susie arched an eyebrow.

  I shook my head. “I’ve never had to woo anyone, either. I’ve never chased a man and, until I met Robbie on the Internet, I’ve never even been very good at flirting.”

  Via e-mail I’d been able to be the me I wanted. Not the tongue-tied woman who could barely string two words together around men like Rowdy and Tim. Men who obviously knew their way around women and could write a How To book about it. I wasn’t a total Man-Loser, but I tended to avoid men like them.

  I sipped my lemonade and looked from one woman to the other. “Will you help me?”

  “What are you doing Monday night?” Toni asked.

  I shrugged. I’d sworn off anymore chick movies before I ended up in therapy.

  “We have Toenail Night.”

  “Pedicures?”

  “We all get together at each other’s house and do our toenails,” Susie explained. “This week it’s at Betti’s.”

  “I do my toenails.” I frowned at both women, waiting for enlightenment.

  “I think what Toni’s saying is you could come and get some flirting tips and advice on Rowdy. It’s not just about toenails; it’s the modern day equivalent of a quilting bee.”

  “Okay, so what do I do in the meantime?”

  “In the meantime, you’re going to The Blue Moon,” Susie ordered. “Toni, hand me the phone.”

  What the hell was a blue moon? While Susie stepped toward the stage with the phone glued to her ear, Toni explained. “The Blue Moon is a hair salon in San Antonio, and Betti owns it.”

  I’m sure my shock at her suggestion to send me to the woman I’d insulted showed plainly on my face. “Relax—” she waved a dismissive hand, “—Betti’s too damned happy to hold a grudge.”

  Susie returned a few minutes later, a huge smile on her face. “She says come on in.”

  “B-but...but...I don’t know.” I frowned, still unsure about letting the flamboyant Betti do my hair. My hair only reached the middle of my neck, so I didn’t have much to lose.

  “If there’s one thing Betti knows—besides how to swing her hips and make my nephew smile—it’s female beautification. She has it down to an art form.”

  SUSIE’S DIRECTIONS IN hand, I took off for The Blue Moon. I’d expected a little hole-in-the-wall shop, not the very tasteful-looking salon on the corner of an upscale San Antonio shopping center I parked in front of. To my surprise, the parking lot didn’t hold a car worth less than thirty grand. Most far above that.

  With a grimace, I killed the engine. Rowdy was right. I was a snob.

  I popped a couple of Tums and climbed out, mentally preparing myself as I crossed the parking lot. Letting Betti mess with my hair after the not-so-nice things I’d said still didn’t seem like the brightest thing I’d ever done. It ranked right up there with not trying on a bra before I bought it.

  To my further amazement, the salon wasn’t near as flamboyant as Betti, but the receptionist, a petite slender woman sporting the most astonishing blond and pale pink hair, passed her by a mile. Don’t stare at the hair.

  “May I help you?”

  I returned her smile while trying to take in my very posh surroundings. The mosaic floor. The midnight blue velvet couches and chairs and coordinating two-tone blue walls. Soothing new age music and the hum of blow dryers teased my ears.

  Somewhere nearby, a door closed and I heard footsteps. “I’m here to see—”

  I motioned to Betti, who appeared behind Pinky, dressed in navy leggings and a turquoise paisley blouse. “Hey, Jade!”

  “This is amazing.” I felt very guilty and humble all the sudden. She might be flamboyant, but she was obviously also successful. Not exactly what I’d expected from a young rancher’s wife.

  “I know.” Smiling, she came around the desk and hugged me. I reciprocated, worried about just how much Susie had said to her, and afraid I’d lose my balance after bumping into her oversized belly.

  She led the way down the wide hall to a private room, pushed me down in a chair and chatted a million miles an hour, but never mentioned Saturday.

  I have no clue what I ended up agreeing to, but I ended up with a glass of wine in my hand while Betti highlighted—low-lighted?—my hair. Then Cassi, Betti’s best friend and resident nail technician, gave me a manicure and half a pedicure before our early dinner arrived. Just Chinese food and female bonding.

  “ARE YOU GOING to eat your eggroll?” Betti asked from the high back leather chair where she sat. We’d congregated in her office to eat.

  “Might as well give it up. She’ll bug you till you do, or hell freezes over,” Cassi said from her spot beside me on the old velvet couch.

  I handed my eggroll over with a grin and watched as Betti dipped it in duck sauce, then devoured it in three bites.

  “So, Jade needs to learn how to catch a man.”

  I paused, a forkful of Pork Lo Mein halfway to my mouth, and nodded, embarrassed to have my personal failings so casually thrown out there. “Uh-huh.”

  “Get up and walk for me,” Betti said, suddenly all business.

  I set down my Styrofoam dish and slowly stood up. “Walk?”

  “Yeah, just walk.” She leaned back in her chair and made circular motions with her fork.

  I walked around the little coffee table and strolled the length of the office a time or two. And waited. I felt as if I were auditioning for a play.

  “Don’t slouch. Slouching says you have no confidence. That you don’t believe in yourself. If you don’t believe in you, no one else will, Sugar.”

  I paused to look at her, took a deep breath and straightened my shoulders. Walking couldn’t be that hard. After all, I’d done it almost my entire life. I tried again. “Much better.” Betti smiled as I pulled even with her desk. “Now swing your hips. Tell everyone who wonders that you are a woman, and damned proud of it!”

  I stared at the carpet, trying to recall the afternoon Rowdy had spent in my house, trying to remember how I’d felt that evening on the Riverwalk. “I need high heels.”

  “No you don’t. Look at me.” Betti held her bare feet out in front of her before she stood up and wrapped her arm around my waist. We walked together, back and forth while Cassi watched. I felt like I was in an episode of The Monkeys and ended up with a fit of the giggles. When I told them why, Cassi and Betti got tickled, too.

  “Alright, alright. Out in the hallway for a few more practice runs, then we do something with those eyebrows.” Betti led me out of the office, Cassi on our heels.

  Wearing my flimsy pedicure flip flops, I paraded up and down the blue watercolor floor while Betti watched and nodded, a grin on
her face. Cassi and Tara, aka Pinky, watched from the front desk and the occasional stylist stuck his or her head out their door to see what was going on.

  Betti finally gave me a thumbs up and led me to the shampoo bowl, where she sat me down and ripped off half my eyebrows. Some things I just hadn’t missed in the last three years.

  After she was done and my tears had dried, she led me back into her office and plopped down in her desk chair. “That was for calling me noticeable.”

  “I’m sorry,” I muttered, settling on the couch with one last sniff.

  She nodded and smiled. “We’re even. Don’t sweat it. Life’s tough; you gotta be tough too, okay?”

  “Thanks.”

  “I have an assignment for you, but first I’m gonna introduce you to Betti’s Cardinal Rules of Womanhood. If you find yourself breaking the majority of these for some man, marry him. You won't regret it.” She winked, and I got the distinct feeling she spoke from experience.

  “First off, don’t ever sleep with a boy from Bluebonnet. Have you already broken that rule, Jade?” She smirked.

  I just grinned and nodded.

  “Good, so did I. Second, third and fourth: Be Discreet, Keep It Light and Have Fun. Did you break any of these three rules?”

  I thought about it for a minute. “No, not really. Maybe a little.”

  She nodded. “Alright. Rule Five: Women in Love Do Stupid Things. It’s a fact of life. Have you broken this one?”

  This time I gave in to my laughter. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  She clamped her lips shut and looked at me. “Don’t change yourself for him. Don’t just change yourself for him. Okay?”

  I nodded.

  “This isn’t just to help you change for him, this is to help you realize your full potential as one of the most powerful creatures on the planet. A woman. Got it?”

  I nodded again, humbled at her words. She was right. All day the only thing that had run through my mind was Robbie.

  “Because in the long run, it makes you a better person. A stronger person. Even if things don’t work out between you two.” She nodded. “Be true to yourself. That’s not one of my rules, but it should be.”

  “I have to do this for me.” Not Rowdy. And not while thinking of what my mother would say at Betti’s outrageous rules. I doubted HH had ever done anything stupid; except, of course, for the name thing. But then, who was I to talk. I’d spent my whole life trying to please everyone but myself, and look what it had gotten me.

  With Robbie, I’d always been myself, my real self—at least by e-mail. I’d sassed, and flirted, and told raunchy jokes and bitched and moaned and cussed about a bad day at work. If I could just push more of the real me out there, maybe I’d stand a chance.

  “Next up, Be Prepared. For anything. Did you two use protection?”

  “I get the shots. Birth control shots.”

  “That’s not what I asked,” she replied in a sing-song voice.

  “No,” I said, my cheeks burning.

  “That’s not like Rowdy at all. He has been bit. Alright, next: If You Can't Go To His Place, For God’s Sake Don’t Let Him Sleep In Your Bed. You don’t want some drunken fool passing out and not be able to get rid of him.”

  “Rowdy’s not a drunken fool.” I frowned, wrinkling my nose.

  “Quit thinking in terms of just Rowdy! These are rules for life!”

  I blew out a heavy breath in frustration, but nodded. Even if being the real me didn’t get Rowdy back, maybe the real me wasn’t so bad. He seemed to have liked her.

  “Eight: Never Beg, Whine, Or In Any Way Cling. Never let ‘em see ya sweat. Got it?”

  “Duly noted. Should I write these down?” I added, worried I’d never remember them all.

  “No, Sugar, you need to memorize them,” she instructed with eyebrows raised. “Did you break rule seven or eight?”

  “Just seven.”

  “Good girl! Okay nine: Don’t Nag. It’s a woman’s divine, God given right to be a bitch anytime you feel it’s necessary, but don’t nag. State your case and move on.”

  “What’s next?”

  “Ten: Don’t Ever Ask A Question You Don’t Know The Answer To.”

  “I thought that was just for lawyers.” I frowned again. I knew more about lawyers than I wanted to.

  “No, it applies to women, too. Next up is one of my most important rules.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Your Best Girlfriend’s Worth Her Weight In Ice Cream.” She winked at me and I smiled back. “And if Rowdy Yates is what you want, I’ll help you, but if you hurt him, you’ll bring every woman in the family down on you. Especially Susie.” She tucked a leg up under her and massaged her belly.

  “Why especially Susie?” I waited on an answer, my eyes on a little lump poking out from her protruding stomach.

  “Do you know the answer to that?” she snapped, raising her chin a notch.

  Oops. “No.”

  “Then why did you ask?”

  “How can I learn anything if I don’t ask?”

  “You got me there,” she said with an sheepish grin. “But it always matters. Rowdy and Susie used to be lovers.” That bombshell was accompanied by more raised eyebrows. Suddenly, the Lo Mein I’d eaten sat like a lead ball in my stomach, and I couldn’t catch my breath. “Rowdy thinks no one knows.” She came over to the couch and sat beside me.

  “She’s...old,” I whispered, my mind reeling. Now I knew the value of rule number ten. “She’s almost old enough to be his mother!”

  “What do you know about Rowdy?”

  “He. Uh, he.” I swallowed and tried to reboot my brain. “He’s a sweet talker. He tries to not act serious, and he likes to flirt.”

  “What else? Why?”

  I hate oral exams. I sat quietly, wracking my brains for the key. “Women. He told my mother that he was protective of his girls.” My frown turned into a smile of triumph. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

  She nodded and gently rubbed her belly. “They have always been close, according to Ty. Rowdy’s discreet, but he was a bit hurt when Susie broke it off, and it showed.”

  “How did you find out?”

  “Ty wormed it out of him after Susie’s boyfriend was here for Hope’s christening.”

  “So, Rowdy likes older women.”

  “Rowdy likes women, period. Old, young, big, small, cute, ugly.” Betti smirked and shook her head. “You don’t even know what you’ve gotten hold of.”

  I shook my own head, still stuck on Rowdy sleeping with Susie Boudreaux. Though she was attractive. And easy going. Generous. Warm-hearted. Affectionate. I blew out a deep breath. So why was I surprised?

  “Rowdy just loves women. For what’s on the inside. He don’t care about any of that other stuff, not really, even if he has a bit of a past.”

  “Besides Susie?” I asked with dread.

  “He’s been around the block a few times. He’s a typical man and likes women. He’s no saint, but none of us are.”

  And not once had Rowdy made any comments about my size, weight or appearance. The fact he hadn’t noticed or at least commented on it had mystified me but, if what Betti said was true, then it made sense. “Next.”

  She sighed. “Doesn’t really apply in this case but Never Mix Business With Pleasure.”

  I snorted. “You mean like being Rowdy’s ex-lover’s liquor sales rep?”

  “Oh my Gawd!” She pushed her hair off her forehead and leaned against the couch cushions, giggling. “I think I need to hear the whole story from the source, not second-hand,” she said after she recovered.

  So I explained how Robbie and Rowdy were the same man. And how we’d spent months flirting and getting to know one another. And how we didn’t know we knew one another. “You know, my brother, Nicky said I was lucky. That not many people get the chance to know someone without having preconceived notions to color their perspective. Guess I should have paid more attention when we had that little talk.”

&
nbsp; “Preconceived notions how?”

  “Well, you know, like me, ‘cause I’m fat or—”

  “What does being overweight have to do with anything?”

  I shrugged. “People think things, you know.”

  “You mean like because you’re overweight, you must be lazy; otherwise, you’d be thin?”

  “In a nutshell, yeah,” I replied with a sigh.

  “Fuck what everyone else thinks! When all’s said and done, what they think won’t keep you warm at night. And being thin isn’t gonna make you happy if you don’t change what’s on the inside.”

  “I know that.”

  “Do you?” She shifted to face me, tucking a leg under her.

  “I wasn’t always this size,” I muttered, swallowing the lump in my throat. I slumped lower into the couch, trying to figure out just where the hell I’d taken that wrong turn on the highway of life.

  Seven. With a snort of laughter, I leaned back and propped my feet on the coffee table. I was at a friend’s seventh birthday party and HH refused me ice cream. My cheeks were too round, she’d said.

  “Did your mother ever make you take ballet?” I hated ballet and never rose above mediocre. Unlike swimming and skiing, which I excelled at. Those, however, weren’t refined.

  “My mother was a drunk.”

  Ouch! I felt like the lowest, pettiest life-form as I sat there staring at her, shocked at her frankness. “I must seem like a complete brat, sitting here whining about my mean old mommy who forced me to take piano and—” sniff, “—ballroom dancing.”

  With a loud, long snort, she said, “Everybody’s got baggage; it’s all in how you pack it, Jade.”

  I still felt petty. I’d dieted constantly with and without HH’s supervision, despite the fact that physically there had been nothing wrong with my size ten build. But against my petite, size four mother and sister, I looked like the Jolly Pale Giant. “Was it hard?”

  She shrugged and crossed her legs. “In a way. I think I made it hard on myself. In Bluebonnet everyone knows everyone’s business and everyone has their place.”

  “What happened?”

  “I got tired of dirty old men leering at me and going, ‘You’re Polly Blanchard’s girl, aint’cha?’” She rolled her eyes and let loose another snort, and I joined in, completely tickled.