The Heart of a Man

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“No way,” he whispered in her ear. “Look at that guy’s hair. I’m not letting him anywhere near me with a pair of scissors. He obviously has no clue what he’s doing.”

She laughed. “Hairdressers don’t do their own hair,” she said, nudging him back into the room. “Haven’t you ever heard the elementary-school logic problem about the small town with only two barbers?”

He looked at her as if she’d gone mad. She smothered a smile.

“Obviously not.” She burst into laughter at the horrified, stubborn look on his face. He was adorable when he was being mulish.

With a flourish of her arms, she continued with her story. “So, then. There were only two barbers in this small town. One of the barbers had a neat trim, and the other’s hair was chopped at odd edges. Now think about it, Dustin. Which of these two barbers would you rather go to?”

Delighted, she was aware of how his eyes immediately began to sparkle with understanding and his amused gaze turned on her.

He chuckled and shook his head. “I’ve never heard that one before, and I’ll admit you have a valid point. But then again, I have no reason to trust Ricardo, despite your clever stories.” He winked at her. “I haven’t seen the other barber, so to speak,” he reminded her, his voice grave but his eyes alight with humor.

“Oh, yes, you have,” she countered, grinning back at him. She ran her fingers through the thick lengths of her long, chocolate-brown hair, circling the ends with her fingers. “You’re looking at her.”

“That man does your hair?” he said in an incredulous whisper. “Surely not.”

“Oh, but he does. Ricardo is a genius. He not only cuts my hair, but he has a clientele list that would blow your mind. The best haircuts in Denver are provided by this man, I assure you.”

Dustin yanked off his newsboy cap and scratched the top of his head, still looking as if he might bolt. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he muttered.

Isobel wordlessly took his arm and led him farther into the hair studio. Ricardo, who had no doubt heard most of their conversation, elegantly gestured to a barber chair and indicated Dustin should sit. Isobel was surprised the hairstylist’s expression didn’t betray a thing.

He drew a smock around Dustin and directed his gaze to Isobel. “What would you like done with the young man, my dear?”

“His hair,” Isobel joked.

“Really?” Ricardo made a gesture of surprise, his hands over his mouth. “And here I was all ready to give him a pedicure.”

Dustin’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped at what he no doubt considered a threat. Pinching his mouth closed with a frustrated twist to his lips, he quickly tucked his feet under the smock, making Ricardo howl with unabashed laughter.

“Cut it short,” said Isobel decisively, and Dustin cringed, shirking his shoulders and glaring first at her and then at Ricardo.

She paused a minute to let him stew before continuing her direction to Ricardo, not allowing herself the satisfied smile she was feeling inside.

“Not too short, though. A business cut. Something to keep his curls in order. And he’s still young—keep the front long enough to comb back.”

“I’m going to look like a toddler,” Dustin grumbled good-naturedly.

“Not with Ricardo’s help, you won’t,” she assured him, moving forward to place a hand on his shoulder. “He is perfection itself.”

She turned halfway away from him and muttered, “Not like you could look like a toddler.”

“What was that?” Dustin asked immediately, sounding suspicious.

She turned back to him and grinned. “Oh, nothing. I was just thinking aloud.”

Dustin’s gaze met hers in the large mirror in front of them. He still didn’t look convinced.

“Trust me,” she pleaded. “I really do know what I’m doing.”

He gave her a clipped nod.

Knowing no amount of verbal persuasion would help, she stepped back then and let the master hairdresser go to his work.

The first thing Ricardo did, after giving Dustin a thorough shampoo and returning him to his chair, was to turn Dustin away from the mirror, which Isobel immediately understood and thought was an excellent idea. The worst thing that could happen would be for Dustin to run out before his haircut was finished.

Half a haircut would definitely not be an improvement on no haircut at all. She curled her fingers around in front of her mouth to hide her amusement, but Dustin caught her motion and glared at her anyway.

Dustin closed his eyes as Ricardo trimmed the back of his hair flush with his neckline. The more the hairdresser snipped, the curlier Dustin’s hair became, but they were soft, natural curls instead of the long, frizzier style he’d worn before.

Finally, Ricardo dropped a bottle of hair gel into Dustin’s lap without a word.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Dustin growled, picking up the bottle and eyeing it suspiciously. “I’m a wash-and-wear kind of guy.”

“Allow me to demonstrate,” Ricardo said, not taking no for an answer. “You put a nickel-sized amount of the product on your palm and then work it through the tips of your hair with your fingers. Work the hair up and out. There is no need to work it into your scalp.”

The hairdresser took the bottle from Dustin and held out his palm. He squirted a dollop of orange gel in the exact shape and size of a nickel, dropped the bottle back in Dustin’s lap, then rubbed his hands together and began stroking his fingers expertly through Dustin’s hair.

Dustin was still staring at his lap, hardly watching what Ricardo was doing. “I’ve never in my life…” he said, sounding stunned, or at least stubbornly uncomfortable.

“There’s a first time for everything, right, Dustin?” Isobel asked quietly, totally amazed at his transformation. “Take a look at yourself.”

Holding her breath for his response, Isobel turned Dustin’s chair back toward the mirror.

Dustin stared at his reflection, hardly recognizing the man staring back at him. Who was this slick-haired man?

Perhaps he had worn his hair in the same style for a few years longer than he should have. Isobel may have had a point.

Of course, that was her job, wasn’t it? To find the best places to make changes in order to make him a better man?

He still wasn’t completely sold on the idea, but this was one point in her favor.

That said, he wasn’t at all convinced about putting sticky orange gel in his hair every morning. But he had to admit the guy staring back at him in the mirror had his own charm.

Between the haircut and the gel Ricardo had meticulously applied, the hairdresser had done an outstanding job taming the wild curls Dustin had battled all his life. Ricardo had parted his hair just off to the right side of center and combed every strand of hair neatly back into place. Only a few stray curls escaped.

As Isobel had instructed, the hair on his forehead was combed back in the current style. He had to admit it looked good, though he wasn’t at all sure he could duplicate the process when he was alone in his own home.

But in the end, the score was: Isobel one, and Dustin zero.

He stared in the mirror one more second, memorizing every detail.

He looked, well, contemporary.

And though there was no way he would admit it to anyone—especially Isobel, who would no doubt report such findings straight to Addison—Dustin found he rather liked his new look.

Especially with a hat.

“Double or nothing,” he mumbled under his breath with a quick shake of his head.

“What was that?” she queried back, looking wary and more than a little suspicious.

He adjusted his newsboy cap backward on top of his new haircut, winked at Isobel and walked out the door without a word.

Chapter Five

Dustin didn’t wait for Isobel to call him. Part of him—probably the sensible part—wanted to hide from her and tenaciously avoid her for as much of the prescribed six weeks as possible, but something about Isobel intrigued him. Completely apart from the stupid agreement he’d made with Addison, perhaps even in spite of it, he wanted to get to know her better.

Besides, in the long run it was the only way to get to his trust fund. He wouldn’t examine his motives any deeper than that.

Isobel was certainly a beautiful woman, with her deep brown hair filled with red highlights and her warm brown eyes. She was tall and lithe. Maybe she could stand to gain a pound or two, in his opinion, but she still had the hint of womanly curves that would turn any man’s head.

What caught him most, though, were her gorgeous bee-stung lips and knockout smile, especially when it was directed at him.

Perhaps it was this thought that made him hold his breath as he dialed her number.

“Dustin,” she said when he greeted her. She sounded surprised, but did he hear a bit of excitement in her voice, as well, or was it his imagination and a healthy dose of wishful thinking? “I certainly didn’t expect to hear from you so s-soon,” she stammered.

“Well, I figured you owe me one.” He waited for her response, a grin pulling at his lips.

Dead silence.

He listened to the telephone line crackling and the praise music in the background, obviously coming from Isobel’s stereo.

“Look at it this way. I put up with your torture yesterday, so today you’re on my terms. And that’s why I’m calling.” He chuckled.

“That’s not how this scheme is supposed to work,” she protested immediately in a high, strained voice that only made Dustin’s smile widen. “We’re not supposed to be having a social relationship. I’m working on you, remember?”

“How are you going to help me become an honest, hard-working citizen if you don’t know anything about me?” he countered. “Granted, you chopped off my hair without even knowing my middle name, but I don’t think you can turn me into the best I can become without knowing a little bit more about the real me.”

“What is your middle name?” she asked, sounding distinctly uncomfortable.

“So, you want to know now, do you? After you whack my hair off?” he teased. “How fair is that?”

“Dustin,” she pleaded.

“James.”

“Dustin James Fairfax. That’s very nice. Now I will know that crucial bit of information for future whacking and/or cutting.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Oh, no,” she said with a laugh. “Consider it a promise.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” he said. “Even more reason for us to get together today, though, if you ask me. Which you didn’t,” he pointed out wryly.

She sighed extravagantly. Pointedly.

“What did you have in mind?” She sounded as if he were about to ask her to walk the plank.

The horrible pirate captain. That was him, all right. Fit him like an old pair of sneakers. He held in the callous chuckle that would befit his pirate status, but he was tempted.

Instead, he told her why he’d really called. “I thought you could join me at my flower shop. To see what I do all day, you know? The regular nine-to-five thing my brother doesn’t really think I have going on.”

She breathed an audible sigh of relief, and this time it sounded genuine. “That actually sounds reasonable.”

“And you sound surprised.”

She laughed. “Perhaps I shouldn’t be. I have an active imagination. You’ll learn that about me as we work together. I’m more tempted to believe the moon is made of green cheese than that astronauts have landed.”

“I thought so—something like me holding you at sword point as you walk the plank?”

“Mmm. Something like that,” she murmured thoughtfully.

“Aaargh,” he said playfully in his best gravelly pirate’s voice.