“I hope you do.”
“How’s Tuck doing?” Buster asked Cindy. “We heard he was down at the clinic last week.”
Cindy’s heart nearly jumped out of her chest. She didn’t know anything about her grandfather’s visit to the doctor. “He doesn’t appear to be sick.”
“Well, it ain’t nothin’ a little romancin’ won’t cure,” Dutch said with a chuckle. “We heard there’s a pretty nurse who works there. We been meanin’ to go have us a look-see ourselves.”
Grandpa was interested in a woman? She supposed that was better than him having medical problems and needing to see the doctor. But Cindy couldn’t imagine the old cowboy having a romantic streak. He was still pining over the loss of his wife. Dutch and Buster must be mistaken.
“I hate to run,” Blake told the men, “but it’s burning daylight and we still have a few errands to run. I hope to see you both at the rodeo.”
“We’ll be there,” Buster said.
Blake nudged Cindy. “We’ve got work to do, unless you’ve changed your mind.”
“I haven’t.” She picked up her pace to match his, as they cut across the lawn toward the shops that lined the north side of the town square. “You know, Dutch and Buster were right. Everyone in town is happy you’re back.”
“Only because I’ve made a name for myself. You know as well as I do that wasn’t always the case.”
Blake was right. When he first came to Blossom, people had looked down on him. He’d always said it was because he was half Indian. But Cindy and Grandpa had suspected his initial don’t-mess-with-me attitude had played a part.
“I don’t have any ties to Blossom,” he said, “other than you and Tuck. And I’m only riding in the rodeo because Jason and Trace asked me to.”
Mayor Jason Strong and Sheriff Trace McCabe had become friends of Blake’s back in high school, after they’d stepped in during a teenage brawl and saved Blake from getting the tar beaten out of him.
Blake’s loyalty to the two men was admirable, and she respected him for it. His loyalty to her and Grandpa was admirable, too. But she really had to get her mind back on the business at hand.
“Where are we going first?” she asked.
“To the Mercantile.” He placed a hand on her shoulder, guiding her toward the upscale dress shop.
Cindy purchased her clothing at Family Fashions, a discount store that made shopping a handy, one-stop experience for her and Grandpa. And the last winter, when she’d acquired what seemed like a sudden interest in women’s fashion, she’d made a point of walking by the Mercantile whenever she was in town.
She liked to peer through the big picture window at the mannequins on display. But even though she was often tempted to step inside, she never had. She would feel a bit awkward entering a fancy place like that by herself.
So having Blake as her guide was going to be an adventure, for more reasons than one.
When they reached the entrance, he dropped his hand, leaving her feeling almost abandoned, as he opened the door to let her in.
A burst of nervousness buzzed through her as they walked into the shop filled with racks of stylish outfits. And although she wanted to slip her hand in his, she resisted the urge.
After all, she’d been the one who’d agreed to a makeover. And the one who’d decided to set her sights on Robby and ask for Blake’s help. So she’d have to be woman enough to face her nerves head-on.
“May I help you?” a well-dressed saleslady asked.
“I’d like to buy a couple of outfits for my friend,” Blake told her.
Cindy nudged him with her elbow. “I only asked for your advice. You’re not paying for anything.” She patted the small purse she carried. “Besides, I have plenty of cash saved up for this.”
“Well, you can put your money away. I’m paying for everything.” Blake looked at the saleslady. “We’d like something young and stylish. Can you give us some suggestions?”
“Of course.” The salesclerk indicated a chair where Blake could wait. Then she eyed Cindy carefully. “Let’s get you in the fitting room, and I’ll see what I can do.”
Twenty minutes later, Blake continued to sit on a red-velvet-covered settee that was so delicate he hoped it would hold him. His black Stetson rested on the cushion beside him as he thumbed through a fashion magazine.
He knew the Mercantile was a women’s dress shop, but you’d think they’d set out reading material that might interest a man who had to tag along. Of course, he hadn’t been inside a place like this for years, not since his mother had dragged him to the mall back home and made him wait while she tried on every darn thing in several stores. He didn’t like shopping with a woman back then, and he sure as heck didn’t like it now.
But this was a favor for Cindy.
“Are you ready for a fashion show?” the brunette saleslady asked with what he suspected was an I-work-on-commission smile.
“Sure.” He set down the magazine and stretched out his legs. They may as well get the show on the road. Then they could get out of here.
“The first number is a sundress designed by Catarini, a new designer out of New York.”
Oh, for Pete’s sake. The woman could can the commentary. All he cared about was whether it looked good on Cindy and whether she liked it.
But as Cindy walked timidly from the fitting room, wearing a slinky green sundress that showed off a heck of a lot more of her than the jeans and shirt she’d worn in there, he nearly dropped his teeth.
The petite redhead tugged at the material that slid tauntingly over her hips. “What do you think? Is it too small?”
No. Yes. Heck, he didn’t know.
She turned around and glanced over her shoulder to get a different view of her reflection. “I’m not comfortable with my legs showing.”
He didn’t know why. She had great legs. Not very long, of course, since she only stood a whisper over five feet. But they were shaped perfectly.
“The dress looks good,” he said, his voice coming out in a choked whisper. Real good.
“Do you think Robby will pay more attention to me if I wear something like this?” she asked.
Heck, yeah. Unless the bookworm was blind. All Blake knew was that it would sure make him sit up and take notice.
She tugged at the hem, which rested just above the knee, apparently still stressing about the length.
“Why aren’t you comfortable with your legs showing?” he asked.
“Someone once told me that my knees were knobby, so I’ve kept them covered up ever since.” She glanced in
