Deb Kastner - The Heart of a Man

“Oh,” he said, frowning as he strung out the syllable. “Old ladies, then.”

She couldn’t help it. She kicked him under the table, and thought she made good contact with his shin.

He didn’t even acknowledge that he’d been kicked at all, except perhaps in the tiniest widening of his all-male grin.

“I have the rest of the afternoon off,” he said with his usual casual bluntness. “If you want to take advantage of me, that is.”

Isobel choked on her tea. She knew her face was flaming, and it didn’t help that Dustin only chuckled mildly when he realized what he’d said, or rather, how it had sounded.

He shook his head and cuffed the side of his head to indicate he hadn’t been thinking. “What I was really trying to say was—”

“I know what you were trying to say,” she said, surprised she could speak. “And I’m going to surprise you by taking you up on that invitation, however awkwardly it may have been worded,” she teased, enjoying the way his attractive smile widened when their eyes met.

She fought a grin as she considered her plan. Oh, she would take advantage of Dustin, all right—or rather, of his easygoing nature.

Isobel was certain she could make him a changed man in a single afternoon. She thought even Addison would be impressed, not to mention pleased, with such a feat.

Maybe Dustin would get his inheritance after all, if she had anything to do with it.

And she did.

“Do you want to take a ride in my sports car?” Dustin offered, jingling the keys in his pocket as he held the deli door open for her and gestured her through ahead of him.

She glanced up at the dim sunlight. At least it didn’t look as if it was going to rain, or worse, snow. Colorado winters were unpredictable. “Tempting as the offer sounds, a ride won’t be necessary. We can walk where we’re going.”

As soon as they stepped out onto the sidewalk, he automatically repositioned himself so he was walking closer to the curb. The sign of a true gentleman, Isobel thought. Maybe this wouldn’t be so hard after all.

Dustin kept his hands in his pockets and whistled as he walked, glancing at her from time to time and genuinely smiling, although a bit as if he had a secret he wasn’t yet ready to share with her. He seemed in no hurry, but rather content just to walk slowly and casually, as if they were old friends.

And he was certainly taking this well, having to make sudden changes in his life dictated by another person he had only just met and had no reason yet to trust.

If she were in his position, she knew she would be balking and pulling at the reins at such outrageous and uncomfortable demands.

Then again, maybe he didn’t really know what he was getting himself into.

Yet.

She stopped and gestured at a shop door. “We’re here.”

Dustin glanced up at the sign and froze.

“No way,” he said, his voice low and guttural. “No possible way.”

“Now, Dustin, be reasonable,” she pleaded, reaching up to place a hand on his shoulder, hoping he would take the hint and look at her.

He did.

And when their eyes met, Isobel felt exactly what he was feeling—the shock, the panic, the desire to run.

Truth told, she felt like running, herself, and pulling him along. But that wasn’t what she was here to do, and Dustin had to start somewhere. Here was as good a spot as any.

She would not back down, no matter how his bright green puppy-dog eyes implored her to do so.

“It’s not as bad as all that,” she assured him, not certain how committed she sounded.

He shook his head. “Says you.”

“Trust me?” she urged.

His gaze asked, Why should I? His jaw was clenched, but he stepped forward and opened the door for her. “After you.”

She grinned in triumph, her heart pumping at the battle of wills she had just fought and won. This was a big victory for her—her first—and would no doubt be one of her best. It would pave the way for other small successes and triumphs.

The end result, of course, would be a final product of which she could be proud—and more importantly, of which Dustin could be proud.

“Ricardo, please meet my friend, Dustin,” Isobel said as her regular hairdresser rushed forward and kissed both her hands.

Ricardo was unique and not a little odd with his spiked purple hair and dozens of gold necklaces that encompassed his broad, hairy chest, not to mention his bombastic personality and shrill voice.

His personality and flashy looks took some getting used to, but when it came to hair, Ricardo was the best in the industry.

Dustin, his eyebrows raised and his expression one of pure panic, was halfway out the door before Isobel caught him by the elbow.

“No way,” he whispered in her ear. “Look at that guy’s hair. I’m not letting him anywhere near me with a pair of scissors. He obviously has no clue what he’s doing.”

She laughed. “Hairdressers don’t do their own hair,” she said, nudging him back into the room. “Haven’t you ever heard the elementary-school logic problem about the small town with only two barbers?”

He looked at her as if she’d gone mad. She smothered a smile.

“Obviously not.” She burst into laughter at the horrified, stubborn look on his face. He was adorable when he was being mulish.

With a flourish of her arms, she continued with her story. “So, then. There were only two barbers in this small town. One of the barbers had a neat trim, and the other’s hair was chopped at odd edges. Now think about it, Dustin. Which of these two barbers would you rather go to?”

Delighted, she was aware of how his eyes immediately began to sparkle with understanding and his amused gaze turned on her.

He chuckled and shook his head. “I’ve never heard that one before, and I’ll admit you have a valid point. But then again, I have no reason to trust Ricardo, despite your clever stories.” He winked at her. “I haven’t seen the other barber, so to speak,” he reminded her, his voice grave but his eyes alight with humor.

“Oh, yes, you have,” she countered, grinning back at him. She ran her fingers through the thick lengths of her long, chocolate-brown hair, circling the ends with her fingers. “You’re looking at her.”

“That man does your hair?” he said in an incredulous whisper. “Surely not.”

“Oh, but he does. Ricardo is a genius. He not only cuts my hair, but he has a clientele list that would blow your mind. The best haircuts in Denver are provided by this man, I assure you.”

Dustin yanked off his newsboy cap and scratched the top of his head, still looking as if he might bolt. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he muttered.

Isobel wordlessly took his arm and led him farther into the hair studio. Ricardo, who had no doubt heard most of their conversation, elegantly gestured to a barber chair and indicated Dustin should sit. Isobel was surprised the hairstylist’s expression didn’t betray a thing.

He drew a smock around Dustin and directed his gaze to Isobel. “What would you like done with the young man, my dear?”

“His hair,” Isobel joked.

“Really?” Ricardo made a gesture of surprise, his hands over his mouth. “And here I was all ready to give him a pedicure.”

Dustin’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped at what he no doubt considered a threat. Pinching his mouth closed with a frustrated twist to his lips, he quickly tucked his feet under the smock, making Ricardo howl with unabashed laughter.

“Cut it short,” said Isobel decisively, and Dustin cringed, shirking his shoulders and glaring first at her and then at Ricardo.

She paused a minute to let him stew before continuing her direction to Ricardo, not allowing herself the satisfied smile she was feeling inside.