True-Blue Cowboy Read online

  True-Blue Cowboy

  The Buckskin Brotherhood

  Vicki Lewis Thompson

  TRUE-BLUE COWBOY

  Copyright © 2020 by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  ISBN: 978-1-946759-88-7

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Ocean Dance Press, PO Box 69901, Oro Valley AZ 85737

  Cover art by Lee Hyat Designs

  Visit the author’s website: VickiLewisThompson.com

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  But Wait, There’s More!

  Also by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Nick La Grande settled in the upholstered salon chair, propped his boots on the metal footrest and glanced in the mirror. Meeting the gaze of the smiling woman standing behind him filled his chest with warmth.

  He didn’t permit that warmth to travel south, though. Eva Kilpatrick had never shown the slightest interest in him, so he’d keep his reaction under control and his fantasies to himself.

  She’d never know he’d pictured her lying beneath him, her green eyes smoldering with desire. Her hair, which she’d colored a rich peacock blue, would be even more amazing spread out on a snowy white pillow.

  Maintaining eye contact in the mirror, she tunneled her fingers through his somewhat ordinary brown hair. “We need to make you look really hot for the bachelor auction.”

  “I like the sound of that.” And he loved when she fooled with his hair.

  “What do you think of adding some blond highlights?”

  He tensed. “So I’ll look like CJ?” He’d give his life for CJ Andrews. But Eva was not coloring his hair to match the golden locks of her former crush now that CJ was off the market.

  She blinked. “You don’t look anything like CJ.”

  So true, and unfortunately, that cowboy, a member of the Buckskin Brotherhood and one of Nick’s closest friends, was her gold standard. He caught his own reflection in the mirror. Envy didn’t look good on him. He flashed her a smile. “You’re right. I’m prettier.”

  In the chair next to him, Rafe snorted. “And a huge pain in the patoot.” He laid back for his shampoo and his horizontal six-six frame brought his boots within inches of a magazine rack on the far wall. “Can’t believe I let you talk me into this auction thing.”

  “Calme-toi, Rafe.” Josette rubbed shampoo into his hair. “Raptors Rise is a good cause.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He took a breath. “I’m happy to do my part.”

  Nick grinned. Nothing like a mild rebuke from a woman Rafe thought of as a beloved auntie to adjust his attitude.

  “So.” Eva rested her hands on Nick’s shoulders, her gaze amused. “Blond highlights?”

  She was a toucher. During appointments, she’d often stand this way, her hands on the client’s shoulders, creating a temporary bond. She treated her customers as friends, and if that was all he ever became, he’d learn to live with it.

  The lilt in her voice told him she’d enjoy coloring his hair. Because of that, he was tempted to agree. Maybe she wasn’t trying to make him look like CJ. But, damn it, he’d wince every time he glanced in the mirror.

  He maintained his smile. “I appreciate the suggestion, but it wouldn’t work for me.” Too bad if she preferred blond hair to brown. Dying his hair to spark her interest didn’t sit well with him.

  “Okay.” She squeezed his shoulders. “I’ll get you a cape.”

  He kept track of her in the mirror as she walked to a cupboard at the far end of the shop. Moving with graceful efficiency, she pulled out folded towels and a black polyester cape. She’d lived here as many years as he had, but they hadn’t met until he’d walked into Tres Beau six months ago.

  If she’d always had blue hair, he would have noticed her on the street. Hard to miss something like that. But the color change had happened at the beginning of this year, a Christmas present from Josette.

  He’d never run into her at the Choosy Moose, either. He’d asked her once why he hadn’t seen her there. Turned out she’d used any spare cash to chip away at the business loan she’d taken out when she and Josette had opened the shop.

  A few weeks ago, she’d proudly announced she’d paid off that debt. Her good credit had made her a shoo-in when she’d applied for a home loan last month. Hard-working, disciplined and beautiful—she ticked all the boxes.

  She returned, laid the towels on the counter and began tucking his collar under. “I like this shirt.”

  “Thanks.” He preferred T-shirts in the summer, but after he’d experienced Eva’s collar-tucking routine back in March, he’d worn a collared shirt to every appointment.

  “It brings out the blue in your eyes.”

  “That’s what Sheri said.”

  “Sheri over at Jeans Junction?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” They’d gone on a date once to see if friendship could turn into something else. It hadn’t, but they’d remained friends.

  “She has excellent taste.” Eva wrapped a towel around his neck. “Looks new. Did you just buy it?” After snapping the cape in place, she swiveled his chair so he faced away from the mirror.

  “Um, yesterday.” Hadn’t meant to let on about that. But the brush of her fingers against his neck had revved his motor and loosened his tongue.

  “Then I’ll do my best to keep it dry. Going to the Moose tonight?” She adjusted the chair so he was parallel to the floor, like Rafe.

  “Not planning on it.” He should have said he was going. That would justify wearing the shirt. But he’d never been good at fibbing.

  “Just felt like wearing your new shirt?”

  “Right. Gotta break it in, get used to seeing myself in it.”

  “Well, for what it’s worth, I think it suits you.”

  “Should I wear it on Saturday?”

  “Sure, why not?” She’d cushioned the lip of the sink with a towel and, like always, she cupped the back of his head to guide him into position.

  “Then I will.” Her gentle touch would have been enough to bring him in here on a regular basis even if she’d been lousy at cutting hair. She wasn’t, though. He gladly paid more than he would have at the barber shop.

  “How’s the water temperature?”

  “Perfect.”

  He closed his eyes as she ran warm water over his hair. This next thing was his favorite part, when she worked shampoo into his hair and massaged his scalp.

  She had to get close to do it. Her soft breath touched his face, exactly as it
would if she’d leaned down to kiss him. He didn’t let that concept take hold, though, or he’d be in trouble.

  Surrounded by her scent and the warmth of her body, he longed to relax into the pleasure her nimble fingers gave him. He didn’t dare. Every appointment provided the same torturous struggle, one he could avoid by ditching this program and going back to the barber shop. He couldn’t make himself do it.

  “Have you figured out what you’re offering?”

  Offering? To her? Everything. Oh. For the bachelor auction. They’d each had to dream up something special for the winning bidder. Rafe had quickly claimed an all-day trail ride, which had been Nick’s idea, too. Then Leo had taken his other plan, so—

  “Nick?”

  “Sorry. Had to stop and think.”

  “Dinner and dancing at the Moose?”

  “No, Leo’s got that one. We didn’t want to be repetitive. Mine is twelve hours of manual labor. Eight in the morning to eight at night, with a couple of breaks for food. Whatever grunt work somebody needs done, I’ll handle.”

  “Wow. I’ll bet you could get a lot accomplished in that time.” She rinsed the suds out of his hair and stroked conditioner in.

  He laughed. “Got some jobs for me?”

  “Don’t I ever. But with your muscles, you’ll probably bring more than I can afford.”

  “Maybe not.” Gratifying that she’d recognized he was in shape. Would she bid on him? What a tantalizing prospect.

  “Oh, I think folks will be chomping at the bit to snag a day of hard labor from you. Maybe you shouldn’t wear this shirt for the auction, after all.”

  “Why not?”

  Warm water cascaded over his head as she rinsed out the conditioner. “You need to show off your potential. Wear a tight T-shirt instead.”

  “You think?”

  “Definitely. You look great in those.” Wrapping a towel around his wet hair, she levered him to a sitting position and turned him to face the mirror.

  He used the time to compose himself. At some point in time, she’d admired how he filled out a T-shirt. How cool was that?

  Since he wore Western shirts to his appointments, clearly she’d been paying attention when they’d bumped into each other in town this summer. Maybe he wasn’t completely out of the running, after all. And maybe he should wear T-shirts to the salon from now on.

  He’d been lifting weights for years just so he could eat whatever he wanted, but since meeting Eva he’d made a more concentrated effort to develop his abs. Not that he’d ever expected her to notice.

  She’d not only checked him out, she’d love to put his brawn to work. Maybe he’d be lucky and the bidding would stay within her price range. “What is it you need done?”

  “To start with, I want to haul everything out of the attic.” She rubbed his hair with the towel, tossed it in a hamper and picked up a comb.

  “Didn’t you just move in?”

  “I guess I haven’t talked to you since I closed on the house. The bank let me buy the contents, which saved them the trouble of an estate sale. I’d hoped I could do that because I love antiques.”

  “Bet Miss Barton had a ton of them.”

  “Yep. She was born in that house. I did her hair for years and she had me over for tea many times.” Wielding the scissors with precision, she began snipping away at his hair.

  “How old was she?”

  “Ninety-seven. I had no idea she didn’t have heirs. When I found out the bank would eventually put the house up for sale, I was determined to buy it. The contents were a bonus. I discover something new every day.”

  “Sounds almost like an archeological dig.”

  “Exactly. So fun.”

  “You might want to wait on the attic,” Rafe said. “It must be like an oven. Miss Barton didn’t believe in A/C.”

  “It’s toasty, all right, especially this week. But I’m dying to know what treasures are packed away up there.”

  “I would be, too,” Nick said.

  “If I had you for a day, you could bring it all down for me.”

  “I doubt that would take all day.” And if she didn’t win the bidding, he’d offer to do that chore for free.

  “Probably not. But if I got lucky and won the bid, I’d send you out to the backyard to dig up rocks. The yard’s full of them and I want to plant flowers out there.”

  “I’m good with rocks.”

  “I can testify to that,” Rafe said. “Nick hauled in the ones we needed for our fire pit behind the bunkhouse. One night we tossed around the idea of building it, and by the next afternoon he had a pile of big rocks, ready to go.”

  Eva smiled. “Sounds promising.”

  “You could do something with those rocks.” He relished the idea of making something great out of materials on hand.

  “Like a fire pit?”

  “Maybe, if you want one. You also could create a tiered flower bed. Or maybe a waterfall.”

  “I’d love a waterfall.” She met his gaze in the mirror. “See? You’re just the man I need.” She didn’t say it in a flirty way, as if the words had a double meaning. Instead she said it like they were pals. Good buddies.

  Evidently his muscles weren’t enough to change that designation. But she was willing to bid on him at the auction. That was a plus. And he’d wear the tightest T-shirt he owned.

  Chapter Two

  Eva had found a kindred spirit in Beth Owens, who owned Racy Lace, a lingerie shop on the square. They’d begun meeting for dinner once a week at either Eva’s apartment over Tres Beau or Beth’s, also located above her shop.

  Several months ago, they’d included Fiona Hildebrand, who’d opened a stationery store two doors down from Racy Lace and lived as they did, in rooms over her place of business. The three of them had rotated hosting and tonight was Eva’s turn to cook.

  She couldn’t wait to show them the progress she’d made since they’d first seen the house three weeks ago. That night she’d ordered pizza and served it in the kitchen, the only area besides her bedroom that she’d scrubbed clean.

  The house was in decent repair but far from airtight. Dust and cobwebs had collected for more than a year while the Apple Grove Bank had worked through the complexities of an owner who’d died with no will and no heirs. Eva had kept track of the process through a friend at the bank and had been first in line to buy the Victorian.

  After a home inspection confirmed the house was structurally sound, Eva had negotiated a lower down payment by agreeing to tackle the cleaning herself. After three weeks of intense labor, the living and dining room were spotless and ready for company.

  While the walls, ceilings and furniture had required plenty of vacuuming, everything tucked away in cupboards and drawers had been carefully stored and remained pristine. Winifred Barton had been an excellent housekeeper who’d clearly used and cherished her belongings.

  In the living room, two Tiffany-style floor lamps cast jeweled light over worn but elegant furniture from a bygone era. Maybe they were genuine Tiffany and maybe not. Eva didn’t much care. They were beautiful.

  A lace tablecloth covered the antique dining table and candles flickered in gleaming brass candlesticks. Vintage wine glasses sat at each place, along with silverware that had been stored in a protective chest and had only needed a little polishing to shine like new.

  The rumble of a truck sent her to the front window. Instead of walking the four blocks from the square like last time, Beth and Fiona had arrived in Beth’s sleek black truck with the Racy Lace logo on the doors.

  Eva hurried to the porch as they climbed down, chattering about something she couldn’t make out. This week she’d given Beth’s brown hair a shorter, sassier cut and it looked darned good, if she did say so. Fiona’s ash-blond, shoulder-length style was due for a cut, but she hadn’t found the time to come into the salon. Probably explained the ponytail.

  Fiona clutched a bottle of white wine. “This is back in stock.” She came up the steps and held it out. “I r
emember we really liked it and then it disappeared.”

  “It’ll go great with dinner.” Eva took the chilled bottle. “Is that why you drove instead of walking? You didn’t want the wine to get warm?”

  “Or us,” Beth said. “Last time it felt almost like fall and the walk was nice. This week, not so much.”

  “Four blocks isn’t popping-over distance like when I lived on the square. That’s the only downside.”

  “It’s okay,” Beth said. “This house was calling your name.”

  “It sure was.” Fiona laughed. “Even I heard it. Eeee-vaaa. Forget the moneeee. You neeed meee.”

  Eva snorted. “Yep, I’m mortgaged up to my eyebrows, but I don’t care. The house is awesome. We’re eating in style in the dining room tonight, so be impressed. Be very impressed.”

  “And I smell your famous spaghetti sauce.” Fiona started for the door. “Let’s open the wine before the chill wears off.”

  “I’ll handle that,” Eva said. “You two go admire all the work I’ve done.” She followed them into the house and ducked into the kitchen while they continued into the living room and the adjacent dining room.

  Their loud chorus of oooo and aaahhhh made her giggle. “Okay, that’s enough.” She pulled a platter of antipasto out of the fridge and carried it and the open wine bottle into the dining room. “Don’t overdo it.” She set down the platter and poured the wine.

  “I didn’t have to fake it.” Beth turned to survey the living room. “Both rooms look gorgeous. Better than I expected after seeing it three weeks ago. I notice you found a spot for the painting.”