if love didn’t hit any more of them. So far, in their family, love was a disastrous affair with biblically epic consequences.
“We’re doomed,” he murmured to himself, seeing the stone-carved expression on Mason’s face.
“Doomed.”
Chapter Two
Hannah Hotchkiss stared at the back of Ranger’s head. She could practically see plumes of fire shooting right out of his Western hat. A man that temperamental ought to be a crime! He should be happy for the chance to sit next to Cissy—seemed like all men dreamed of being near her. But no—just like every other Jefferson male she’d met, Ranger had to be different and alarming and hypnotizingly macho. A sin in boots. She sighed to herself.
“I suppose you’re pretty much bred from the Jefferson stock,” she said to the man sitting next to her, a man who looked just like Ranger, which was startling and unnerving. The basic difference between them was that Ranger wore a brown Western hat, and this man wore a black felt with silver rope braid. The confident Jefferson smile was dashingly displayed, and the dark eyes were roaming her cut-open tennis shoes and funky-punky red-tipped hair with interest—she groaned silently with frustration.
And here she thought she’d been going to Mississippi to get away from memories of Ranger. Oh, no, life was not that simple. She had to discover he had an unnerving double.
The grin on her seatmate’s face widened as he shoved his hat down over his eyes. “I’m going back to sleep,” he said. “Ranger, you old dog.”
In the front seat, Ranger stiffened at his twin’s words. “I don’t know what that means,” he said, his tone annoyed.
Hannah rolled her eyes, but the twin kept his mouth shut. Cissy flipped her silvery hair and peered over the seat at the twin.
“Is he always such a wagon-load of joy?” she asked Ranger.
“It’s a family trait,” Hannah said, matching Ranger’s sourness. “Tall, dark and intimidating.”
“Hey!” Archer shoved the hat back and stared at her. “Don’t lump me in with him. We’re not twins in personality.”
“Don’t insult the driver,” Ranger stated, “or you’ll all find yourselves on the road with your thumbs out. Not much traffic at this hour, I might call to your attention.”
Cissy patted his arm. “We’re not insulting you, are we, Hannah?” she said with a warning glance. “Hannah’s just playing around.”
Hannah shrugged. The difference between her and Cissy was that Cissy came from the get-more-bees-with-honey school and Hannah came from the call-it-as-you-see-it school. The two schools operated so completely differently that it was a wonder she and Cissy had hooked up to get out of Lonely Hearts Station. But necessity made strange bedfellows—or truckmates, anyway—and both of them wanted out, neither of them had a vehicle and each agreed a female traveling alone was a recipe for disaster, never mind which school of thought one had graduated from. So they joined forces, decided to walk or hitch to the bus station—after leaving goodbye notes for Marvella and Delilah, their respective employers—and put themselves on the street with their luggage.
“Just playing around,” Hannah agreed, looking at the back of Ranger’s stubborn head, as Cissy gave her a thorough warning stare. “Don’t take me too seriously, Ranger.”
He snorted. Hannah pulled a baseball cap from her duffel and shoved it on her head, deciding to emulate Archer by closing her eyes. It was going to be a long ride to Mississippi, especially sitting next to the twin of a man she’d kissed and lost a piece of her heart to.
And it wasn’t any easier knowing that Cissy had kissed Ranger, too.
“IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT,” Marvella said to her sister, Delilah, as she held out Cissy’s farewell note. “I hope you’re happy with running off my prize girl.”
“I didn’t run off anyone,” Delilah said with a shrug. “I lost a girl, too.”
“Not like Cissy. Cissy brought in more customers than any other hairstylist I had.”
“And it wasn’t for her ability with hair,” Delilah said. “Not that I’m partial to one of my girls more than another—they’re all daughters to me—but Hannah’s spunk is going to be missed around here. Far as I can see, Cissy wasn’t any more special than Hannah, so quit acting like you lost something more valuable than I did. Anyway, I knew nothing about their plans, as you can see.” She held out the goodbye note from Hannah, but Marvella ignored it.
“I should sue you for lost business.”
Delilah sniffed. “Try it. Then you’ll have to reveal exactly what your business includes, Marvella. Nobody’s quite sure exactly what all’s going on at your salon or why you need a monster-size heated spa.”
“Massages and aromatherapy, just like the big city,” Marvella told her. “Nothing fancy. Just pretty girls and relaxation at the end of a hard day for the menfolk. Don’t make it sound so sinister.”
Delilah had her doubts that it was so innocent, but that wasn’t the point at the moment.
“One of my girls said she saw a truck stop to pick up Cissy and Hannah,” Marvella revealed. “It was too dark to be certain, but Valentine said it looked like Ranger Jefferson’s truck. Now, you can say that’s a coincidence, that there’s a lot of trucks around these parts, but we all had a good look at what the Jefferson boys drove last month. They all flaunt those extended-cab, super-size, my-wheels-are-bigger-than-yours stud machines. And I want you to know two things,” Marvella said flatly. “One: I aim to find my best girl and bring her back. Two: If I find out it was a Jefferson boy behind the wheel of that truck, I’m holding you personally responsible since you brought those boys here in the first place. This town’s not been the same since you went on your little sightseeing junket and came back towing those grateful cowboys. You’ve barely convinced me you weren’t behind this little midnight rendezvous, but I’ll still blame you if Ranger Jefferson snuck off with Cissy.”
“Sister,” Delilah said softly, “I haven’t had much to do with you since you accused me of stealing your husband. Now you’re claiming I had something to do with your best shop girl heading out. Frankly, I’m done talking to you. I can go another twenty or so years before we speak again.”
Delilah closed the door, pulling down the blind. Sighing, she walked into the kitchen where Jerry, her truck driver friend-in-need sat, his face set in sympathetic lines.
“Did you hear that?” Delilah asked.
“Every word.” He patted the chair next to him. “Sit down and let me warm your coffee.”
She did, appreciating his willingness to care for her. “You’re always here for me, Jerry. How lucky I am that you came to my shop instead of Marvella’s.”
“Naw. How lucky I am,” he said, placing the warmed-up coffee cup in front of her. “Aromatherapy gets up my nose.”
Delilah laughed. “You wouldn’t have noticed it with all the girls in skimpy outfits just waiting to fix you up.”
“Nope,” he said, leaning over to kiss her on the cheek. “I got little
