Tina Leonard - Archer's Angels

If he had a rule—and usually he didn’t—it was that most women were to be avoided. He’d learned from watching his brothers fall that women came in exciting, colorful packages; some fun to open, some not. But a shy woman didn’t hold much threat to his well-being. And that one, with her oversize specs and timid little voice couldn’t put fear into a flea.

Scratching his head, he thought about her dinner invitation. Much as he might have enjoyed showing a newcomer the town, he had to get his horse ready for the show. Honky-Tonk was a tricky Appaloosa. She thought she knew things she didn’t, and they’d had more than one disagreement between them about who was boss.

“You’re just a bit sassy,” he said to Tonk. “You think you’re entitled to your own opinions. But we both know better, don’t we?”

She pinned an ear back and gave him a sidelong stare.

“Females and opinions go together like butter and bread,” he continued.

And it often seemed as if his Appaloosa had her fair share of womanly arts, conniving and one-upping being some of them. He knew quite well that females had a spectrum of tricks up their dainty sleeves. He’d watched seven brothers before him fall prey to the wedding-ring chase.

The last brother who’d fallen was Calhoun. He’d settled at the ranch, the first married brother to do so. Calhoun had brought his wife’s family—two children, Minnie and Kenny, and a grandfather, Barley—with him.

And Calhoun’s success had generated some brotherly angst around the ranch. Calhoun had the kids, the father-in-law, the occasional roadshow participation as a rodeo clown—for which his wife, Olivia, adored him—but Calhoun had also became a hit with his paintings. Though he’d started out painting nudes, he had switched to family portraits and had a waiting list of people who wanted him to commit their children to canvas.

He was that good.

Unfortunately, Crockett, the family’s first and best artist, had taken umbrage at this. Crockett felt Calhoun had one-upped him in the creative department. Archer frowned as he worked his way through the mud in Tonk’s hoof. Usually, the brothers were happy for each other. But ever since the youngest brother, Last, had brought a new baby to the ranch, along with the baby’s unmarried mother, Valentine, no one had been happy.

Or maybe the trouble had started when Mason left. Oldest brother, and patriarch of the Jefferson clan, he’d taken his wandering feet onto the road. He’d said he wanted to find out what had happened to their father, Maverick. But the brothers knew that was a lie; Mason had been nearly knocked to his knees when Mimi Cannady, their next-door neighbor, married another man and had a baby.

But that had been more than a year ago. Mimi and Brian were divorced now, a friendly divorce. And Mason had returned and was now very fond of one-year-old, Nanette.

Archer sighed. Maybe all the craziness around Malfunction Junction was just the result of twelve brothers growing up together with no female touch to soften them.

Last was never going to settle down with Valentine, though he seemed to be receiving better marks for his daddy skills.

Mason was never going to get his head straight about Mimi. All the brothers except Mason knew Mimi was putting her ranch up for sale in order to move into town.

Bandera never shut up about poetry. He wrote it, he sang it, he reviewed it and recited it, and if he didn’t shut his face, Archer was going to smother him in his sleep.

Crockett needed to just shut his yap and paint. There was room for two artists in the family tree.

“I’m the only brother who keeps my pipe shut,” Archer told Tonk. “My insanity is on the down-low. I write a woman who is far away and who will never bother me. As far as I can see, I add no turbulence to this family ship. Why can’t the rest of my brothers be more suave? Debonair?”

It sounded as if Tonk groaned. He gave her a tap on the fanny. “Hey,” he said, “no comments from you. Or maybe I won’t defend you the next time my brothers call you dog-faced.” He frowned, looking at the pretty colors of his spotted equine. She was beautiful! What was it about her that they didn’t get? So Tonk was a little unusual. Archer liked unusual things.

She reached out with her back hoof, not really kicking at him but giving him a little goose. He stepped back, eyeing her warily. “Tonk,” he said, his tone warning.

She flipped her mane at him.

“Excuse me,” he heard.

Archer glanced up to see the little plain newcomer looking at him. “Yes?”

“I was just offered employment at the Never Lonely Cut-n-Gurls Salon.”

“You were?” Straightening, he stared at her.

Marvella, the owner of the Never Lonely Cut-n-Gurls, was always on the lookout for fresh stylists, and Marvella’s stylists were known far and wide to be babes—and if they weren’t babes, then they were possessed of supernatural talents. If you were a man, the Cut-n-Gurls could always help you out.

“Yes.” She nodded. “But I knew you said they weren’t your friends.”

“They’re not, that’s true. What is it that you do?” he asked, staring at her speculatively. Maybe there was more to her than he’d first thought. Marvella had a pretty good eye for these things.

“I—I’m not doing anything right now,” she said. “I’m on vacation.”

“So, what did you tell her?” Archer felt worry assail him. Employment with Marvella included hassles, so many she’d soon dream of giving back her wages.

“I told her, no, thank you. You said to avoid her.”

“I think it would be best. Not that I’m always right.”

She nodded. “Even your horse knows that.”

Archer frowned. “What do you mean?”

She shrugged. “She doesn’t like you.”

He was outraged. “She likes me fine!”

She shook her head. “No, see how she distances herself from you? She thinks you’re bossy. Trying to enforce yourself upon her.”

His jaw dropped. “She’s a horse. I’m supposed to enforce myself upon her.”

“She doesn’t like it. She’s trying to tell you that you’re annoying.”

Well, that was it. He didn’t have to listen to some half-baked claptrap like that. Tonk and he had a special relationship.

“How long have you had her?”

“Tonk and I have been together six months,” Archer said defensively. “And Tonk thinks I’m—”

“Bossy.” She reached a hand over the stall, and Tonk slid her nose under the woman’s fingers. “I understand, girl. Men can be very trying.”

“Are you trying to do that horse-talking thing?” Archer asked. “I don’t use horse psychology. I mean, I talk to Tonk, but I’m really just amusing myself. I don’t believe we’re actually communicating—”

Her eyebrows raised. She stared at him, her gaze challenging. Disbelieving?

Something about that attitude caught Archer’s attention. He looked at her more closely, finally seeing behind the specs.

“Those are beautiful eyes you’re hiding.”

“Thank you,” Clove said, “I think.”

He looked at her. “No, really. You have lovely eyes. Very unique color.”

She was torn between feeling flattered, giving in to worry, or pulling out her tricks. He was, after all, the key player in her plan.

“What’s your name, stranger?” he asked.

“Clover,” she said, thinking quickly, not yet ready to reveal her identity.

“Clover? Is that a real name or are you making one up just to keep your distance?”

“It’s a real name.” Just not hers.

He frowned. “You don’t look like a Clover.”

“I’d ask you what I do look like, but I don’t want to know.” She leaned over into the stall. “Oh, Tonk has blue hooves,” she said. “I think blue hooves on a horse are so pretty.”