A Bride for a Blue-Ribbon Cowboy. Judy DuarteЧитать онлайн книгу.
off by his own grandfather to live on the Tumbling T. But Tuck didn’t know squat about raising little girls. So it wasn’t any wonder Cindy was a bit backward when it came to womanly things, like cooking and sewing, primping and flirting.
“So what do you say?” she asked.
He countered with a question of his own. “What would you have done if I hadn’t come back home?”
She crossed her arms and shifted her weight to one booted foot. “I’d have fumbled and stumbled my way through it, one way or another.”
He didn’t doubt it. Cindy had a lot of gumption.
But Blake wasn’t sure what he could do to help, other than encourage her to buy some dresses. Maybe fix her hair differently. That would be a good start.
Cindy had never been what you’d call pretty. But that was because she didn’t do anything to help her looks. She didn’t use makeup, perfume or body lotions. And as far as he knew, she’d never worn anything other than denim and flannel.
The small-town tomboy was definitely going to have to change her style.
Of course, it wasn’t as though Blake knew how to coach a woman through that sort of thing. But Cindy was a special friend who was like a kid sister to him. And catching Robby’s eye obviously meant a lot to her.
He tossed her a sympathetic grin. “You’re going to need a makeover, Sprout.”
She brightened. “So, you’ll help me?”
“Sure.” He’d give it a try—if he could. And if she’d let him have a free hand.
She smiled at him, with glistening eyes that were the color of new-mowed hay. He hadn’t noticed before, but they were actually pretty. And far more expressive than he’d remembered.
When she blinked, he realized her long, spiky black lashes curled naturally. Hey, that was a plus. She wouldn’t need to use any of that black goop women brushed on them.
He looked at her hair. She always plaited her long curly red mop in a single braid that hung down her back or in that slick granny-type topknot she was wearing now. On some women, the style looked sexy when they let wispy strands hang free and loose.
He began to pull out the pins that held her hair in place. If she was going to wear it up, she needed to fix it differently.
Her eyes widened and her lips parted. “What are you doing?”
“Seeing what this looks like down.”
She touched the side of her hair with a dirty hand. “Now it’s a mess.”
He had to agree, as he used his fingers to comb out the clumps of curls. But as the sun lit upon golden highlights, his hand slowed.
Wow. He hadn’t realized how thick, how rich…how shiny her hair was.
He dropped his hands to his sides. God knows he couldn’t coach her on how to style a new hairdo. “Our first stop will be at the Cut N Curl.”
“Oh, no,” she said, taking a step back. “Not there. Grandpa took me once or twice when I was a kid, and they tugged and pulled on my hair something awful. After that, I refused to go and have been trimming it myself for years.”
No one needed to tell Blake how stubborn Cindy could be when she set her mind to something or dug in her heels.
So he played her game. “If you’re all fired up for a makeover, you’re going to have to do something different with it. And God knows I can’t coach you on how to come up with a new hairstyle.”
She tugged at one of the wavy strands, pulling it taut. “You think someone there can actually get this bush to obey a comb and brush?”
“Sure.” He offered her a smile. “We can talk about it more in the house. Just let me put Cutter into the corral so he can stretch out his legs.”
“Mind if I help?” she asked.
“Not at all. It’ll be nice to have your company. I’ve missed you, Sprout.”
And he had.
She’d been a pest when he’d first come to live here. But a sweet pest who’d actually grown on him. And now, eight years after he’d moved away from the ranch, it was his job to help her attract the attention of Robby Bradshaw, a guy who’d better treat her right, or he’d have a fight on his hands.
Blake wouldn’t stand by and let anyone hurt the young woman he cared about.
As he led Cutter to the corral, he watched as Cindy strode ahead to unlatch the gate. He couldn’t help noticing the natural sway to her gait, the nice curve of her hips.
Years ago, she’d been all knees and elbows.
But she’d sure grown into those jeans.
Dinner at the Tumbling T Ranch was the usual, no-fuss, no-muss fare. Ever since the old cowboy’s wife had passed on and kitchen duty had fallen on Tuck, he fixed easy meals that required very little time at the stove.
Tuck couldn’t cook a lick, but he was a whiz with a can opener, lunch meat and two slabs of bread.
“Can I get you some more beans?” Tuck asked.
“Nope. One helping is plenty for me.” As a teenager, Blake had gotten pretty sick of canned food, especially pork and beans, which had to be Tuck’s all-time favorite filler.
“How about you, Cindy Lou?” The gray-haired man lifted the pan from the stove, as though willing to carry it to the kitchen table and serve her.
“No, thanks, Grandpa. That bologna sandwich filled me up.”
After spooning a hefty third helping into his bowl, Tuck returned to the scarred oak table and took his seat. “It sure is good to have you home, boy.”
Blake grinned, his chest swelling just from sitting at the familiar kitchen table and knowing he was welcome anytime. “It’s nice being back.”
As a teenager, he’d been sent to live on the Tumbling T because his grandfather, who’d been Tuck’s old army buddy, had hoped the tough-as-leather cowboy could give Blake some direction. And after butting heads with Blake more than a time or two, Tuck had done just that.
“So what’s the latest town gossip?” Blake asked, knowing there was always something going on in nearby Blossom.
“Just the ruckus that’s brewing between the fair board and the Committee for Moral Behavior.”
“The Committee for Moral Behavior?” he asked. “What’s that?”
“A group of fussbudgets who don’t think people should have any fun,” Tuck said, digging into his bowl of beans. When he looked up, spoon held high and overflowing, he added, “But no one is going to tell me when and where I can drink. Or what I can spend my money on.”
“What have they got against the fair board?” Blake asked.
Tuck had his mouth full, so Cindy explained. “Two years ago, at the county fair, a gypsy fortune-teller told some of the townspeople they would strike it rich. Then, when a slick-talking shyster came to town, selling stock in a real-estate venture, a lot of folks blindly jumped in and lost more than their shirts in the phony land deal. So blaming the carnies as a bad element, the fair board decided not to allow the carnival people to set up their rides and games along the midway last year. Needless to say, attendance was way down.”
“And the fair was a complete bust,” Tuck added.
Blake imagined it would be. People from all the neighboring dry counties had flocked to the fair in the past, and not just because Blossom County was wet and the beer garden had been a big draw. The kids had a ton of fun at the carnival and along the midway. And they’d dragged their parents to the fair time and again.
“The county coffers are still suffering,” Cindy added.