looked at the bottle. “Hey, a cowboy came in here tonight. His name was Archer Jefferson. Do you know him?”
“Know him?” The woman laughed. “We know all the Malfunction Junction boys. Why?”
“Just wondering.”
“If you’re thinking he’s cute, so does every woman in this place. But don’t spend too much time thinking about him. That one is impossible. All he cares about is his horse, ugly dog that she is.”
Clove frowned. Tonk was beautiful in her own way.
“But if you just can’t live without him, you’ll probably find him at Delilah’s. I’d head up the back stairs if I were you, because Delilah won’t welcome you if she knows you’re staying here. Tap on the door, say ‘room service,’ and see if he’s hungry.”
“You make it sound so easy,” Clove murmured.
“Trust me, it’s not. Good luck, though.” She laughed again and left the room.
Clove stared at the closed door, then at the bottle on the nightstand. The stylist’s words ran through her brain, a mockery of her intentions.
One thing was for certain, she wasn’t going to use alcohol to lure a man into her bed. And right now, she was going to shower all this hair spray and makeup off her body. She felt like a doll.
And then, if a shower hadn’t washed all the thoughts of Archer out of her mind, surely it wouldn’t hurt to go across the street and take a look at the back door the stylist had mentioned.
Not that she would go in, of course. But curiosity had her, and she wouldn’t be a stuntwoman if she wasn’t up for a dare.
Chapter Three
Archer couldn’t sleep, though Bandera was sawing logs like a frontiersman. “I just need to walk it off,” he muttered to himself. “I’ve got nerves before the big show, and I’m worrying about Clover so I don’t worry about Tonk.”
Neither of the females on his mind obeyed worth a flip, not that he would admit that to Bandera. One thing he did know about Clover—if she was the sort of girl who understood that a man knew best, she’d be under Delilah’s roof right now.
Where he could keep an eye on her.
So he took a few laps up and down the main street of Lonely Hearts Station, his gaze darting, ever-watchful, for the traveler who knew about blue hooves. Tonk sure had seemed to like Clover, which was strange, because Tonk didn’t like anyone, a fact his brothers were quick to point out, and which Archer was quicker to deny.
He was certain Tonk held affection for him somewhere in her equine heart. She just didn’t know how to show it. He’d been told by plenty of women that he didn’t know how to show affection to a woman, either, so that made he and Tonk a perfect pair.
Archer was so busy ruminating on the canny females in his life that he nearly got too close to the one peering in the back window of the Lonely Hearts Salon. It was Clover!
She was spying, the little peeping Tomasina.
Or maybe she didn’t know how to get in. Perhaps she’d decided to take his advice.
He watched her carefully turn the doorknob and open the door. She appeared to think about something for a second, then closed the door. She opened the door, and closed it again.
Spying. Which meant, he knew with certain chauvinism, that she wanted to spy on him.
He grinned, knowing exactly what to do with her now. Sneaking up on her, he reached out and grabbed her around the waist. “Gotcha!” he roared.
She screamed, kicking back with her feet—just like Tonk, dammit—giving him a crotch-kick that left him clutching for air. She pounced, knocking him back onto the ground. Like a helpless puppy he lay there, focusing on the stars in the black-velour sky above, wondering if he was ever going to be able to draw breath again.
“Archer!” she cried. “I didn’t know it was you!”
Groaning, he rolled onto his side.
“Are you all right?” she asked. “Here, lie on your back so you can get your breath.”
“Uh-huh,” he said on a strangled moan. “Don’t move an injured man.”
“I didn’t hurt your back,” she said reasonably. “Or your neck. You’ll be all right in a minute. You just need to relax. Relax, Archer.”
“Lucky for me I didn’t want kids,” Archer said, “because you just kicked in any chance I ever had of dispatching ’em.”
“What?”
He rolled his eyes at her tone. Maybe he shouldn’t speak so in front of a lady, but she needed to quit trying to roll him over. He wanted to curl up and think about tomorrow—surely the pain would be gone by then. “You just made me the first Jefferson male who won’t need birth control.”
“Oh, no. Archer, don’t even joke about that! You sit right up, catch your breath and…maybe we should take your jeans off. Would that help? I read somewhere that jeans cut down on a man’s, uh, sperm motility, due to the warmth and constricting nature of the fabric.”
She was crazy, he’d admit that. “Thank you, I’m fine. Though I didn’t want to end my child-giving days quite that way, I’ll admit one swift kick was probably as good as paying some doctor quack to do it.”
“You want to have as many children as you possibly can!”
“Don’t think I will now that my factory’s gone crooked. Help me to my feet.”
“I will not. You lie there while I go for help.”
“No!” That was the last thing he wanted—everyone in Lonely Hearts and Union Junction knowing that a woman had disarmed him. “Hey, where’d you go tonight?”
“Shh,” she told him. “Don’t talk. Just think happy thoughts. Happy, healing, healthy thoughts. Big, Jefferson-male-testosterone thoughts.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my testosterone,” he grumbled, “just the delivery system. Move, okay? You’re treating me like an invalid.”
“I do think you should see a doctor. I kicked you with all my might. I thought you were some kind of crazed freak when you grabbed me.”
“You were spying,” he said, “I had a right to throw a little excitement into the mix.”
“Well, you certainly did that.”
Archer painfully gained his feet. “You have a very unusual accent that I can’t place. And sometime, when there aren’t birds singing in my head, you’ll have to tell me how you learned to toss a big man like that. But right now, I’m moving toward my warm bed.”
“I would say I’m sorry, but you really shouldn’t have startled me.”
“To think I worried
