Husband for Hire by Susan Wiggs Page B

open curiosity. Word traveled fast in Lightning Creek.
    “Then let’s discuss nothing in private.” He strode away without looking back to see if she followed.
    Twyla brushed a stray lock of hair out of her face. They might as well settle this. He probably wanted to get back to Denver as soon as possible. She checked on Brian—absorbed in his dinosaur book—and followed Rob to the goal end of the soccer field. The western side of the grassy area opened to a heart-stirring view of the distant Wind River Range. With the sun settling low on the broken-backed mountains, the light had a deep red-gold, almost dreamlike quality, spreading in soft fronds over the swaying grasses and sage fields beyond the bounds of Lost Springs.
    When Rob turned to her, she felt her heart skip a beat, because just for a moment he was limned in pure amber. The fleeting trick of light and shadow made him seem like a creature not of this place, maybe not even this time, trapped in a jewel that held him separate from the world. Then he moved, holding out his hand, and the strange, fanciful moment passed.
    Twyla approached him warily and ignored the proffered hand.
    “Over here,” he said, showing her to a concrete staircase set into the side of the hill leading away from the field. “Have a seat.”
    “I guess I forgot,” she admitted, “you know your way around Lost Springs.”
    “Yep.”
    She had an urge to ask him about his boyhood here. Why had he come? How long had he spent here? Did he remember his family? Had he liked living at the ranch? When he was six, did he wish for a dad?
    No. She had no business asking him getting-to-know-you questions. Her purpose was to get rid of him. But politely. He hadn’t asked for a pair of matchmaking busybodies to draft him into service. Didn’t deserve for his philanthropy to be rewarded by being shanghaied to a class reunion.
    She took a seat on the top step, and he sat a couple of steps lower. The scent of sweet grass and wild thyme rode the evening breeze. High over the mountains, a single star flickered to life. The skin on her arms prickled with a subtle chill, and she hugged her knees up to her chest, letting the sundress drape down over her legs.
    “I want you to know,” she began, “that I don’t expect you to do—what Mrs. Spinelli and Mrs. Duckworth want you to do. I didn’t put them up to it.”
    “Maybe you ought to give me a little background. What gave them the idea in the first place?”
    “I’m assuming you don’t have a fundamental understanding of beauty parlor culture,” she said, remembering that day in the salon.
    “You’re right about that.”
    “Those two ladies were my first customers when I opened the shop. The first dollar bill Sugar Spinelli ever paid me is hanging in a frame on the wall. They’ve taken me under their wing, and I love them dearly.” She couldn’t help the fond smile that curved her mouth. “But sometimes they step over the line. They’re convinced I need a life. And they think that means finding a man, and they won’t rest until they find me one. Even if itcosts them several thousand dollars.” She laughed, but painfully, because unbelievably they had done just that.
    “You could do worse than have friends like Mrs. Spinelli and Mrs. Duckworth.”
    “I know, and I’m grateful to them. But this time, they’ve gone a little too far.”
    “So what do you want to do about it?”
    She tilted her head back and let out a weary breath. One by one the stars were coming out, forming a glimmering canopy of purple twilight. “I’ve been wondering that myself.”
    “I suppose they’d get their feelings hurt if you didn’t go through with their plan.”
    “Oh, yeah.” She shivered, picturing the censorious looks from her two favorite customers. “It’s not the money—Mrs. Spinelli loves charitable causes—but in their minds, this is the perfect plan for me. Their way of pushing me out of the nest. They want me to return in triumph to