hovered nearby chewing on his lower lip.
“A solid one, or something with a small print.”
“God save us,” Carson burst out.
“And with a solid colored shirt—say, pink—you’d wear a striped tie.”
“I’m not wearing pink shirts,” he retorted. “I’m a man!”
“A caveman,” she agreed. “If you don’t want my advice, I’ll go buy a tube of lipstick.”
“Hold it,” he called as she started to walk away. He stared down at the packaged shirt. “All right, I’ll get it.”
She didn’t smile, but it took an effort. Her eyes went over him. He was wearing a beige corduroy jacket and a worn white turtleneck shirt and tan polyester slacks. He’d had a haircut and a shave, though, and already he looked different. In the right clothes, he’d be an absolute knockout, she realized.
After a few minutes, she convinced him that striped shirts weren’t at all effeminate, and he bought several more in different colors and ties to match. Then she coaxed him toward the suits.
The salesman took him to the changing rooms, and when he came back minutes later in a vested blue pinstriped suit wearing a blue shirt and burgundy tie, she almost fell off her chair. He didn’t look like Carson anymore, except for the rigid features and glittering blue eyes.
“Oh, my,” she said softly, staring at him.
His expression softened just a little. “Will I do?” he asked.
“Yes, you’ll do,” she agreed, smiling. “Women, look out!”
He smiled reluctantly. “Okay, what else do I need?”
“How about something tan?” she asked. “One of those Western-cut suits.”
He tried one on, with similar results. He had just the physique to look good in a suit, and the Western cut showed it off to perfection. She let the salesman point him toward some sports coats and slacks, and then after he had paid for his purchases, she talked him into two pairs of new boots and a gray Stetson and a brown one to top it all off.
Just before they left the store she remembered some items they hadn’t shopped for. She turned, but she lost her tongue immediately when she tried to say what was on her mind.
His eyebrows arched. “Something wrong?”
“Something we forgot,” she said hesitantly.
A corner of his mouth pulled up. “I don’t wear pajamas.”
“How about things to go under them?” she said finally, averting her eyes.
“My God, you’re shy,” he laughed, astonished.
“So what?” she returned, her whole stance belligerent. “I’ve never gone shopping with a man before. And do you have socks?”
“I guess I’d better go back, hadn’t I?” He put the parcels in the car. Then he opened the passenger door and helped Mandelyn inside.
“Will you be all right here until I get back?” he asked.
“Sure,” she said.
“Won’t be a minute.”
She watched him walk away, and smiled. Transforming him was getting to be fun, even if it did have its difficult moments.
Her eyes went over the interior of the car. It was spotless, and she guessed that he’d had the boys give it a cleaning for him, because it had never looked so clean. Her hand reached out to touch the silver arrowhead he had suspended from the rear-view mirror and she frowned slightly as she realized what it was attached to. It was a blue velvet ribbon, one she remembered having lost. She’d worn it around her hair in a ponytail one day years ago when Carson had come to see Uncle Dan. She remembered Carson tugging the ponytail, but she hadn’t looked back, and later she’d missed the ribbon. It was odd, that a man as unsentimental as Carson would keep such a thing. Perhaps he liked the color, she thought, and turned her eyes back toward the store. It was hot, and there was no shade nearby. She fanned herself with her hand.
Minutes later, he came back, tossed his parcels into the trunk and climbed in beside her.
“I’m sorry, honey,” he said suddenly, studying her flushed, perspiring skin. “I didn’t expect to be so long. There was a crowd.”
She smiled. “I’m okay.”
He studied her eyes for a long moment, and his face seemed to go rigid. “Oh, God, you’re something,” he said under his breath.
The passion in his soft words stirred something deep inside her. She stared back at him and couldn’t drag her eyes away. It was a moment out of time. Her eyes dropped involuntarily to his hard mouth.
“Don’t,” he laughed roughly, turning back to twist the ignition key savagely. “Keep those curious glances to yourself, unless you want me to kiss you again.”
He’d shocked her, and her face showed it. She wondered if he wanted her. Then she remembered Patty and went cold. Her eyes gazed out the window. If he had any emotion in him at all, it would naturally be for Patty. Wasn’t the object of this whole crusade to make him into a man Patty would want? She crossed her long legs with a sigh and stared out over the city.
“Hungry?” he asked after a minute.
“I could eat a salad,” she agreed.
“Rabbit food,” he shot back. “You can get that any day.”
Her eyebrows arched. “That sounds like you’re taking me someplace special,” she said, glancing at him with a grin. “Are you?”
“Do you like crepes?” he asked.
Her eyes lit up. “Oh, yes!”
He smiled faintly. “A cattleman I know told me about a place. We’ll give it a try.”
It turned out to be a hotel restaurant, a very classy one. Mandelyn had definite misgivings about how this was going to turn out, but she’d never be able to teach Carson any manners without going into places like this. So she crossed her fingers and followed him in.
“Do you have a reservation, monsieur?” the maître d’ asked with casual politeness, his shrewd eyes going over Carson’s worn jacket and polyester trousers. “We are very crowded today.”
There were empty tables, Mandelyn could see them, and she knew what was going on. She touched Carson’s arm and whispered, “Give him a tip.”
“A tip?” Carson growled, glaring down at the shorter man with eyes that threatened to fry him to a crisp. “A tip, hell! I want a table. And I’d better get one fast, sonny, or you and your phony French accent are going right out that front door together.” He grinned as he said it, and Mandelyn hid her face in her hands.
“A table for two, monsieur?” the maître d’ said with a shaky smile and a quick wave of his hand.
