A Husband of Her Own

“THERE YOU ARE, my boy,” Mayor Wells boomed, cutting across the salon.

Rebecca turned off the blow-dryer. Josh brushed the hair off his drape and stood to shake hands. “Good to see you, sir. You’re looking fit, as always.”

Dundee’s mayor tapped his rounding middle. “Ah, the weight catches up with you eventually. Be forewarned. But you don’t have to worry about that until you find someone to cook for you. When are you and that cute little Mary planning to tie the knot?”

He and Mary Thornton had been dating since Mary’s divorce was final six months ago. Glen, her ex, had taken off for the big city almost a year before that, and Mary and their nine-year-old son, Ricky, had moved back in with her parents. Word had it that Glen was too busy chasing skirts to be a very conscientious father. Whether Glen was chasing skirts or not, Josh knew Ricky never heard from him. So Mary was understandably a little anxious to provide her son with a new and improved role model.

Josh had no doubt he was the role model she had in mind, but he wasn’t entirely convinced he was going to let her lead him to the altar. He loved Ricky. Most of the time he liked him better than Mary. But he doubted the enjoyment he received from knowing her son was enough of a basis for marriage.

He opened his mouth to say that he and Mary had no plans, but Doyle’s attention had already shifted to Rebecca. “So you came through, huh?”

A certain strain around the mouth and eyes told Josh Rebecca wasn’t happy to see her father. “I told you I would,” she replied.

Doyle considered Josh’s hair. “Well, it’s not blue. That’s a good sign.”

Josh couldn’t help glancing in the mirror, even though he’d been watching the entire process. Rebecca had actually given him a good cut. Though she hadn’t quite finished, his hair was dry enough now that he could see what it was going to look like, and he was impressed. He’d been settling for the cut Ed down at the barbershop gave almost everyone who walked in, but she’d added a touch of style that was a welcome change.

“It’s definitely not blue,” he said, refusing to allow her too much credit.

“Did you stop by for a reason?” Rebecca asked her father.

The mayor smiled. “Just wanted to see how things were going down here.”

“Well, we haven’t killed each other yet, if that’s what you were worried about.”

Doyle turned just enough to exclude Rebecca from the conversation. “I hear you and your brother have yourselves another million-dollar stallion out at the ranch. That’s five now, isn’t it? Good for you. You’re making quite a name for yourself in the Quarterhorse business.”

“Things are going well, thanks,” Josh said.

“How’s the resort coming along?”

A chung indicated Rebecca had just shoved the blow-dryer back into its holder. In his peripheral vision, Josh saw her fold her arms, cock one leg and glower at her father. “I’m only an investor,” he said, “so I’m not involved in the day-to-day management. But it seems to be doing well under Conner’s hand.”

“Who would’ve thought that Armstrong fella could turn his life around and manage to pull off a project of this size? It’s sure gonna do the community some good. Yes, sir.” He shook his head. “Gives a father hope, doesn’t it?”

At this Rebecca rolled her eyes and although Josh caught the insult in what Doyle said, he pretended not to notice. Whatever was going on between father and daughter had nothing to do with him. He’d agreed to the truce. He’d done his part. After he paid for his haircut, he was off the hook until the anniversary party.

“By the way, Rebecca’s gettin’ married and moving to Nebraska in a few weeks,” Doyle went on. “Did she tell you?”

A coughing fit seized Rebecca. She quickly excused herself by mumbling something about needing a drink.

“I’ve heard a rumor to that effect,” Josh said as they both watched her march to the back of the salon and duck into a small room.

“I thought I’d never see the day,” Doyle confided.

“She’s an attractive woman,” Josh said, oddly defensive, although he couldn’t say why. He used to feel a little smug when people made derogatory comments about Rebecca. And considering the fact that she’d be out of his life soon, out of town completely, he really didn’t have a stake in whether or not her father appreciated her physical attributes or anything else.

“Oh, the problem isn’t her looks,” Doyle said. “Least not anymore.”

Though she’d been far too thin and lanky in high school, Rebecca had filled out since then. Josh didn’t think she’d ever be curvy, exactly—her breasts were high and small, her hips a little too narrow to be ideal. But he happened to like the way she was built.

He imagined her as he’d seen her last summer, lying on his bed with most of her clothes on the floor. Sure her breasts were small, but they were well-shaped and firm. And all the angles that had made her features appear exaggerated when she was young had evolved into…an arresting face, he decided, the perfect setting for her expressive eyes. Perhaps her top lip was a little too thin, but Josh couldn’t see how any man could hold that against her. Not when she kissed with such abandon. When her defenses were down, and she was looking up at him as she had that night, without the usual distrust and resentment, she was actually quite beautiful.

“It’s that temper of hers,” Doyle was saying. “Why would anyone want to put up with her?”

Josh could have added an “amen” to that. Poor sap probably didn’t know what he was getting into. But he wasn’t going to involve himself by stating an opinion. “What’s her fiancé like?” he asked, hoping to spin the conversation in a new direction so he wouldn’t have to comment on Rebecca’s suitability as a wife.

Doyle shoved his hands into the pockets of his khaki slacks—his nod to casual dress for the weekend—and jingled his change. “He’s not from around here. She met him on the damn Internet, not that I’m complaining. At least she’s got herself a man. Lord knows no one around here was willing to take her on. But I worry.” He jingled his change some more as he seemed to mull over his concerns. “He’s too mild-mannered for her, if you ask me.”

“But you like him?”

“I’ve only met him once. I don’t really know him. And I’m afraid she doesn’t, either. He certainly isn’t the type I would’ve expected her to choose.” Doyle leaned a little closer and spoke out of the side of his mouth. “He’s not much of a man, if you get my drift. He’s soft. A bookworm. Doesn’t look like he’s done a hard day’s work in his life. Once a few months go by, I have no doubt she’ll be leading him around by the nose.” He straightened. “And on top of everything else, he’s younger than she is.”

“He is? By how much?”

“Too much.”

Too much? What was that supposed to mean? Curiosity prompted Josh to ask, but he overrode the impulse. Now that he’d done the right thing in coming here, he just needed to bide his time until she got married and moved. Resolution at last.

“But we’re happy she’s finally found someone and is settling down,” Doyle went on. “Maybe she’ll get turned around yet, like that Armstrong fella.”

“You told me on the phone last night that she’d mellowed,” Josh pointed out.

The other man grinned. “Had to tell you something to get you down here. We’ve got that anniversary party coming up. Her poor mother couldn’t survive another embarrassing ordeal like the last one.”

Josh cleared his throat. What had happened at Delia’s wedding was more his fault than Rebecca’s. Rebecca hadn’t even touched him. “I think she has mellowed…a little,” he said, because honesty demanded it.

“She’s mellow only when it suits her. Yesterday she stormed out of the house again. I should be used to it by now.”

“What does her fiancé do for a living?”

“Something with computers. Likes his job and doesn’t want to leave. Least that’s why they told me they’ll be living in Nebraska.”

Rebecca was on her way back. Doyle bowed his head closer and lowered his voice, “Could be worse, I guess. Booker Robinson’s in town. She could’ve hooked up with him.”

Booker had visited Dundee for the summer once while he was in his teens. He’d come to stay with his Grandmother Hatfield, or Hatty as everyone called her, because his parents couldn’t handle him. And he’d left quite an impression—on everyone. As a typical red-blooded American boy, Josh had figured he knew how to cause trouble. But his version of raising hell was good clean fun compared to Booker’s.

“Did you say Booker’s back?” Rebecca asked.

Doyle grimaced. “Now I’ve done it.”

“When’d he get back?”

“I don’t know the exact day he rolled into town. Louise over at Finley’s Grocery saw him when he came in last Tuesday.”

“And he’s staying? For longer than a couple of weeks?”

“He told Louise he’s here to take care of Hatty now that her health is failing.” Doyle nudged Josh. “More likely he’s hoping for an inheritance.”