with an elderly woman named Mrs. Bayor—that must be his mother, over there.” Misty pointed out a plump, gray-haired woman about seventy or so in a dark dress, standing behind a counter. “Tammy told me they’re both from California. It’s just the two of them, so he’s obviously used to working with a woman and—Oh, hide! Quick! He’s looking this way!”
The girls ducked. Misty made the move with smooth grace, but Ally’s longer legs got in the way and she whacked her knee on the dashboard. “Ouch!”
“Shush!” Misty commanded.
They stayed slouched a few seconds in frozen silence. Then Ally said dryly, “Did we really need to hide?”
Misty gave a small chuckle. “I panicked,” she admitted. “But we don’t want him to see us sit back up—that might look suspicious.”
She glanced at Ally. “Anyway, like I was saying, if he’s used to working with his mother, he shouldn’t have any problem working with you. Here—” She groped around the floor and came up with the binoculars the boys kept in the truck. “Uck! They’re sticky,” she complained. She wiped the lenses gingerly with her crumpled tissue, then held them up to her eyes to take another look. “He’s not bad-looking. At least he doesn’t resemble his mother. Why, the poor woman’s three plucked hairs short of a unibrow. Take a look.”
She passed the glasses over, and Ally peered at Theodore’s mother. Misty was right; the woman’s thick, dark brows almost met over the bridge of her long nose.
“And,” Misty added, as Ally slunk back beneath the window’s edge, “he can’t be intimidated by your brothers, ‘cause he doesn’t know them.”
“He’s met Linc and Luke,” Ally pointed out. “Luke’s the one who mentioned him awhile back. He said the new guy is pretty good at pool, so I guess he plays Friday nights at Big Bob’s. They’ve never mentioned getting in a fight with him, though.”
“There you go!” Misty exclaimed, as if that clinched the matter. “What else do you need?”
Lifting the glasses, Ally chanced another peek. He was looking the other way, so she studied his face. He had thick dark hair and nice-enough eyes, she decided. Like Misty said, not bad looking at all, unlike his mother. Ally pointed the glasses Mrs. Bayor’s way—and found her glaring back.
“Damn!” Ally quickly ducked, guiltily dropping the binoculars. “I think his mother saw me.”
Misty checked. “No. She’s still cleaning.” She glanced at Ally. “So? What do you think?”
“He’s okay,” Ally admitted. “And, anyway, beggars can’t be choosers. Do you think I should just go in there and ask him now? Forget about getting dressed up?”
“No,” Misty said decisively. “Dressing up is always good. Besides, you don’t want to corner him, especially on his own territory—and with his mother watching, too. Better to approach him on neutral ground—like Big Bob’s bar on Friday!” she declared, beaming with sudden inspiration. Then she frowned. “No, wait, you said the twins hang out there.”
“They used to. They’re banned for fighting.”
“What about Kyle? Or … Cole?”
Hearing the diffident note in Misty’s tone, Ally assured her, “Cole never goes out.” Happy to see Misty’s tense expression ease, Ally added, “And Kyle’s been going to Abilene every weekend. He must be seeing someone there.”
Misty smiled, saying again, “There you go, then. We’ll get you dressed up in something so sexy, you won’t have to approach Theodore, he’ll come to you. And even if he doesn’t, we’ll shake someone out of the woodwork,” she added on a practical note.
Ally smiled wryly. That might be true for Misty, who even with mascara smudged beneath her eyes, tearstains smeared on her cheeks, and her designer blouse wrinkled, still looked feminine and sweet. Unlike Ally, who felt sweaty and worn-out from her sleepless night. And all her T-shirt was likely to attract was a tractor fanatic. “I don’t have anything sexy. And since Tammy won’t take the dress back—”
“Oh, pooh on Tammy” Misty said darkly. “She’s never getting my business again.” Apparently forgetting they were hiding, she straightened indignantly in her seat.
Ally slowly sat up, too. She glanced toward the antique store. Mrs. Bayor was staring directly at them. Misty saw her and waggled her fingers cheerfully. Ally waved tentatively, too. Mrs. Bayor scowled harder.
Ally hastily turned toward Misty, who’d opened her door to jump out of the truck. “Let’s get some coffee, collect your dress from Tammy, and then you can follow me to my house,” Misty suggested. “I’ll lend you an outfit that’ll be so smokin', the men at Big Bob’s will gather round you like Scouts at a campfire, eager for a weenie roast.”
Ally tried to protest. “Honestly, Misty, men never think I’m hot.”
“They will when I get through with you,” Misty promised. She wrinkled her nose ruefully, adding, “You’re taller than me, but we’re about the same size other than that, I think. I have a cute skirt you can borrow, and a darling blouse. And I have a wig you can borrow, too.”
“A wig?” Ally repeated doubtfully. “Won’t that make me look like I’m in a costume?”
“Not this wig,” Misty said confidently. “It cost almost as much as a small car. I wear it all the time when my hair won’t behave and no one knows it’s a wig at all.”
“Yeah, but you’re a blonde,” Ally said, feeling compelled to point out the obvious. “I’m a brunette.”
Misty airily waved that aside. “So you’ll be blonde for a night. Believe me, nothing alters a woman’s appearance more dramatically—or gathers more male attention—than changing your hair color.” She pondered for a moment, then amended, “Except, maybe, showing off your cleavage. Or your legs. Or your bottom in a tight skirt.” She nodded decisively. “And we’ll do all that, too. Or at least—” her engaging grin dawned ”—you will.”
Panic fluttered in Ally’s stomach. “Wait a minute. I’m not sure—”
“Don’t worry,” Misty said. “When it comes to getting fixed up, I am sure. So be prepared to sizzle.”
Chapter Three
“When evaluating a bull for stud, after testicle size, the next item to consider is the behavioral health of the animal. Is he unwontedly distracted by males in the vicinity?
“A bull whose territorial instincts are overly developed will need to be kept separate from other males. Otherwise, his energy will be expended in fighting, rather than in mating….”
—Successful Breeding: A Guide for the Cattleman
Troy Michael O’Malley had a definite fondness for Big Bob’s Bar and Grill.
Not because the place was at all attractive. Like its owner Big Bob Gallarza—who couldn’t beat a bull dog in a beauty contest—the outside of the barnlike building was worn and weathered.
