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Just looking out for her, he supposed. That’s all.
As they headed for the door, he studied the young woman who walked in front of him.
The stretchy blue fabric caressed the curves she’d been hiding beneath baggy denim, and he doubted there was a man alive who wouldn’t take a second look. At least from the neck down.
If she learned to fix her hair and put on some makeup, she’d actually be able to set her sights on someone a lot better than Robby Bradshaw—an assessment Blake easily made without even meeting the guy.
As they stepped out into the late-afternoon sun, Cindy balked. “I feel half-dressed, no matter what that saleslady told me. Maybe I ought to run back inside and put on my jeans.”
“Don’t bother. You may as well get used to the attention. Those new clothes look nice on you. That saleslady wasn’t just stringing you along.”
Cindy beamed, then threw her arms around him and gave him a quick hug. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” As he returned her embrace, his hands slid along the sleek fabric of a blouse that rode a little too high up her back, and a jolt of heat shimmied through his blood. He dropped his arms and stepped back.
Cindy may have been twenty-two, but to him she was just a kid. A babe in the woods.
A woman-child poised on the verge of consenting adulthood. And he meant to look after her until she could handle being at that stage in her life.
“Come on. Next stop is the Cut N Curl.”
A bell over the door announced their arrival, as Blake and Cindy entered the only beauty shop in town, a busy place with a bright orange-and-yellow decor. The scent of hairspray and nail polish lingered in the warm and stuffy room.
It looked different than it had the last time Cindy had been in here.
A petite woman with big hair the color of an orange neon light sat behind the appointment desk. She looked up and flashed them a cheerful smile. “Hello, there. Welcome to the Cut N Curl. My name is Wanda Mae. How can I help you?”
Cindy looked at Blake. He seemed to know what he was doing, or at least what he had in mind, so she let him do the talking.
“Does someone have time for a cut and style?” he asked.
“I’m sure we can fit it in.” Wanda Mae scanned her appointment book.
Cindy took that time to survey the busy room. Each of the customers had a personal beauty expert working over her, except for the lady with her gray hair rolled in pink curlers, who waited alone under the hood of a big yellow dryer, and the gal with her hair covered in little foil squares, who thumbed through a gossip magazine.
A matronly woman appeared to be dozing while her bare feet soaked in a bubbling tub of water. Getting a pedicure, Cindy supposed.
One young girl, who looked as though her hair had been dyed with jet-black ink, sat before a mirror, watching closely as a tall blond beautician took a scissors to locks that were already short and scraggly.
The place was amazing, and not at all what Cindy had remembered. She couldn’t believe the lengths women went to improve their looks.
Had that been her problem in the past? Too little fuss and effort?
Wanda Mae clicked her tongue and furrowed her brow, as she twisted a lock of neon-orange hair and studied the book. “We’re a little full, but I suppose I could do it myself.”
Oh, no. Cindy could imagine herself walking out of here with her hair the same color as a highway worker’s safety vest.
She tugged at Blake’s chambray shirtsleeve and cupped her mouth to indicate a secret. As he bent toward her, she whispered, “If she so much as starts toward me with a bottle of hair dye, I’m going to poke her in the nose and knock her on her fanny.”
Blake peered over the reception desk and looked at the appointment book.
“Maybe someone has time to give her a manicure or pedicure,” he suggested. “Then you can fit her in when one of the hairstylists has time.”
“Now, that I can do,” Wanda Mae said with a smile. “We’ll give her the works.”
“Sounds good to me.” Blake reached for the doorknob. “What time should I come back?”
“Give us until five o’clock. We’ll have her as pretty as a picture.”
As Cindy watched Blake saunter out of the beauty salon on his own, she had half a notion to follow him. What had she gotten herself into?
“It’ll be just a few minutes,” Wanda Mae said with a flashy smile. “The manicurist will be ready for you as soon as she finishes polishing that lady’s toes. And while you’re waiting, you can enter our baby pool.”
Cindy was almost afraid to ask. She’d heard of baby showers. “What’s a baby pool?”
“Tammy Wright, one of the gals who lives in Blossom, is due to have a baby at the end of August. Rumor has it that the doctor says the little one is a boy, but don’t tell anyone I told you.”
Cindy knew Tammy; they’d gone to school together. And even though they’d never socialized much other than at school, Tammy had been one of the few girls she’d considered a friend.
Wanda Mae whipped out a poster board that listed names, dates and hours. “It only costs two dollars to get in the pool. All you have to do is pick a day and a block of time that hasn’t been chosen. Then write down whether you think it’s a boy or girl. The winner gets two hundred dollars.”
Oh, why not? Cindy dug through her purse and handed Wanda Mae two one-dollar bills. Then she chose August twenty-eight. She’d heard most babies came in the middle of the night, so she took the hours between midnight and six in the morning. And since Wanda Mae had mentioned that the doctor said it was a boy, she figured it would be silly to guess Tammy’s baby would be a girl.
After returning the chart to Wanda Mae, she took a seat near the front window. She didn’t have to wait long until she was called.
From that moment on, Cindy was pampered and fussed over until she thought she could really get used to the special attention.
She couldn’t help marveling at how soft her hands were. She could have sworn they were going to stay permanently chapped. Her skin smelled good, too. Like orange blossoms and cream.
And her toes sported a pretty pink polish that matched her fingernails.
She’d even agreed to have her eyebrows waxed. Ouch.
As she sat in a swivel chair before a big gold mirror, she could hardly recognize the image of the woman who looked back at her.
The beautician studied the awkward strands, tugging, poking. “It’s a beautiful color. You really ought to wear it down and show it off.”
“I’ve always had a hard time running a comb through it,” Cindy explained. “And if I don’t bind it up somehow, by nighttime it looks like I barely survived a Texas twister.”
“We’ll see what a little styling and conditioning does about that.”
Moments later, the woman got to work, and Cindy sat back and watched.
After a conditioning process and a practically tangle-free comb out, Cindy decided she would have to stock up on some conditioner to use at home. Then she watched the beautician go to work, combing, lifting, snipping. And before long, the woman took a rounded brush and a blow dryer, carefully styling as the hair dried.
“Well,” the stylist said, after shutting off the hot air and handing Cindy a handheld mirror. “What do you think?”
She didn’t know what to think, other than that the results were magical. She had no idea how long it would last, but it looked pretty darn good, even if she did say so herself. “I’d always considered my hair one of my biggest flaws. And I can’t believe what you’ve done to it.”
“Thanks. I take pride in my job, especially when I have something to work with. You’re a pretty woman. Now all you need is a dab of lipstick. Why don’t you get it out of your purse.”
“I…don’t wear makeup,” Cindy said.
“Well, I suppose you don’t really need it. But we’ve got some new products on display that a lot of our clients have been raving about.” She hollered to the front of the shop. “Wanda Mae, will you bring me a tube of Pretty in Pink?”
By the time the women had finished with her, Cindy held a sack full of beauty supplies and a detailed list of instructions for their use. And even though she still felt like a guppy in a mason jar, her self-esteem had sure gotten a shot in the arm.
But that was nothing compared to the jolt she received when Blake strode into the Cut N Curl at five o’clock.
As Blake’s eyes lit on Cindy, he froze in his tracks.
Talk about beauty makeovers. She’d gone from Calamity Jane to a redheaded Cinderella in a few short hours.
“What do you think?” she asked, nibbling on her bottom lip.
Heck, he didn’t know what to think.
Her hair hung loose to her shoulders in a sexy array of curls that seemed to dance whenever she moved her head. He wasn’t sure what they’d done to her eyebrows, but they sure made a guy focus on those expressive green eyes.
And the pink lipstick she wore made her lips look…well, they looked just plain kissable.
“Is it too much?” she asked.
No. It was just right. But he couldn’t seem to open his mouth to tell her.
“For Pete’s sake, Blake, you’re making me so darn nervous I could bust.”
“You look fine. Nice.” He had to force the words out, as well as make himself breathe.
He’d expected a makeover to help her look somewhat attractive. But he hadn’t expected her to bubble over with…whatever it was that was bursting from the seams of that little blue skirt and white silky blouse.
“Don’t let him kid you,” Wanda Mae said. “I saw the way he nearly tripped over his jaw when he took one look at you. My gosh, girl, you’re as pretty as a fashion model.”
“Do you think Robby will be surprised?” Cindy asked him.
Flabbergasted would be more like it.
Suddenly, a flood of responsibility washed over Blake. He couldn’t just let Cindy out on the streets looking like that. Not without some way of protecting her from a pack of males on the prowl. It would be like throwing a calf to the coyotes. “You’re not going out in public like that.”
“What do you mean?”
“At least, not without me. Not yet. You’re not ready for Robby, or any other guy, for that matter.”
She slapped her hands on her hips, and the familiar sass erupted in her eyes. “I’ve taken a lot of guff over the years from some of the kids I’ve gone to school with, but I’m not about to let you tease me, too.”
“Tease you?” God knows he’d done his share of ribbing her in the past about one thing or another, but he wasn’t teasing about her looks. Or the appeal she was bound to have on the unsuspecting single males in Blossom. And some of the married ones, too, he suspected.
She slid him a pout that actually made her look all the more sexy. “I don’t need you to rub in the fact that I haven’t had any real dates.”
“You’ve never had a date?” Wanda Mae laughed. “Well, that’s about to change. Maybe I’d better go into the back room and find a stick that you can use to chase off the men whenever you come into town.”
The flashy orange-haired woman was right.
Blake took Cindy by the hand. “Listen, honey. I told you I’d coach you. And that’s what I intend to do. You look great. And there isn’t a man alive who wouldn’t agree with me. But men are a strange breed, and I just want to make sure you can hold your own.”
“Listen here, Blake Gray Feather. I have no problem holding my own with men. Never had, never will.”
“I’m not talking about riding and roping, Cindy.”
“Knock it off. I quit competing with boys in high school.”
He rolled his eyes and blew out a ragged sigh. “Some guys aren’t honest. And they have ulterior motives.”
“I might be inexperienced, but I read books and magazines. And I watch TV. So you don’t have to worry about me.”
She talked a good story, but he had his doubts. Some men would take advantage of her innocence. And that was something Blake couldn’t allow to happen.
“I’m only going to be in town for another couple weeks, then you’ll be on your own. And I want to leave knowing you won’t let some fast-talking, womanizing cowboy sweep you off your feet.” His gaze dropped down to her toes, which had been newly polished.
Oh, for Pete’s sake. She even had beautiful feet.
Blake blew out a ragged sigh.
What in the world had he created?
And worse, what had he gotten himself into?
Chapter Three
As they carried their packages to the pickup, Blake didn’t say much to Cindy. He figured she was still trying to get used to the change in her appearance.
And so was he.
He’d known she would benefit from a makeover. But he hadn’t been prepared for the actual difference a new outfit and hairstyle would make.
How had he ever missed seeing her potential?
“Thank you for the new clothes and all the beauty treatments,” she said. “I really should have paid for it myself.”
“I wanted to do it. Besides, it was a way for me to repay you and your grandfather for putting up with me when I was a mouthy teen.”
“You weren’t so bad,” she said.
“Not even that first day when I teased you about the color of your hair?”
The day Blake had arrived on the ranch, he’d tugged on one of her braids and called her Carrot Top. She’d merely glared at him until he looked away. Then she’d lowered her head and rushed him like a billy goat with its tail on fire.
“When I picked myself up off the floor, you slapped your hands on your hips, glared down and said, ‘Carrot tops are green, city boy.’”
