Archer's Angels. Tina Leonard

      “Yeah?” Bandera laughed. “If she was that girl in glasses I just saw, then she’s just like your horse.”

      Archer straightened. “Meaning?”

      “Meaning she doesn’t mind very well. She went straight to Marvella’s.”

      “What? I specifically told her—”

      Bandera grinned. “Archer, if you had a Dear Abby column, you’d go broke. No one listens to you.”

      Archer ignored him. “That crazy girl has no idea what she’s getting herself into!”

      “Well, don’t get too worried about it.”

      Archer settled his hat on his head. “Someone has to look out for the misfits in life. And if there ever was a misfit, Clover is her.”

      “Whoa. Color me impressed.”

      Archer slapped his brother upside the head. “Come on. We’ve got to catch her before she gets too far into the dragon’s den!”

      CLOVE COULD NOT IMAGINE why Archer had steered her away from surely the nicest girls on the planet. Taking pity on her plight—poor, tired traveler!—they’d treated her to a wonderful array of services.

      They’d coaxed her glasses from her, leaving her nearly blind. They’d teased and washed her hair. Perfumed her. Stuck some heels on her feet. Given her a knockout dress to wear, the type of thing one saw on elegant ladies.

      She’d been a bit embarrassed, but they’d waved aside her worries. It was all part of the service, Marvella said. Besides, Clove was renting a room, and that more than covered the expense. And gave her girls some practice with a lady’s hair, since they mostly had male clients.

      “Can I have my glasses for just one sec?”

      Marvella handed them to her. Clove put them on so she could peer in the mirror. “Oh, my,” she said. “I had no idea I could look like this.”

      “It was all there,” Marvella said. “Hidden charms. The best kind, I always say. I had another girl, once upon a time. You remind me of her. By the time I got done with her, she was a golden charm. She left me,” Marvella said bitterly. “Ah well, that’s in the past.”

      “What was her name?” Clove asked, out of politeness more than curiosity. It was clear Marvella wanted to draw out the girl chat a bit more.

      “Cissy. Cissy…Kisserton. Now Jefferson.”

      “Jefferson?”

      Marvella nodded. “Those damn Jeffersons get all my girls. They’ve got Valentine right now, and not one of them has any intention of marrying her.”

      Clove sucked in her breath. “What do you mean, they’ve got her?”

      “One of the brothers impregnated her, another took her to their ranch, and they’ve kept her there. After she gave birth they put her to work in a bakery.”

      Clove’s eyes were huge. “That sounds terrible.”

      “It is. If you ever meet a Jefferson man, my best advice to you is run.”

      Clove blinked. That was the same thing Archer had said about the Never Lonely Cut-n-Gurls! “I’m still confused about the plural,” she said.

      “Oh, you’d find quick enough that the Jeffersons do everything as a gang, a fixture upon our good and tidy landscape that can’t be overlooked, an eyesore, if you will. They approach you in a group. If one of them is alone, soon enough they’ll have backup. Before you know it, you’re theirs.”

      Clove could hardly take this in. She thought about Archer’s hot, lean physique and felt her breath catch in her chest. “It sounds…”

      “Scary, I know.”

      Clove had been working the adjective “romantic” over in her mind. Hot. Sexy. Fantastic…

      Marvella clucked with sympathy. “Don’t you worry about a thing. I have my dealings with the Jeffersons as necessary, but one thing is certain—they will never, ever take one of my girls from me again. And right now, you’re one of my girls.”

      “Thank you.” Now was the wrong time to mention that she’d actually come to town to shanghai some Jefferson genes.

      “How can I ever thank you for all you’ve done for me?” she quietly asked Marvella.

      “You sit here,” Marvella said, “right up front, my precious, and just smile for the customers who come in the door. Just an hour,” she said, “will be repayment enough.”

      “YOU COULD NOT HAVE possibly seen Clover go into Marvella’s,” Archer told Bandera. “I have seven-eight brother syndrome, which means I’m so far down on the family tree that I have to be observant or I get run over by my own beloved brothers. And I distinctly saw Clover turn left as she left the pens.”

      “She may have,” Bandera said agreeably. “You may have seven-eight brother syndrome, but I have eleventh-brother syndrome, which means I was so close to becoming Last that I make certain everything is proven fact before I talk about it. And I saw a lady who looked a little hesitant, with big ugly glasses, go into Marvella’s.”

      Archer’s boots moved faster as he headed to the door of the salon. “You’re crazy. She said she would listen to me. Good evening, miss,” he said, tipping his hat to the gorgeous woman seated on a bar stool just inside the doorway.

      She stared at him, not inclined to say much, he guessed. Glancing around for Clover, he turned back to the bar-stool babe. “Did you happen to see a woman come in here, one who was lost, wearing glasses as thick as the tires on a truck?”

      She looked perplexed, then she shook her head. He glanced over her big hair and her superbly applied makeup. The wooden bar stool only served to enhance her hourglass shape, keeping the focus on her curves as she sat straight for balance.

      “You see,” he told Bandera, “Clover would stick out in here like a barn owl amongst peacocks. Let’s go check with Delilah.” He tipped his hat to the babelicious door greeter and headed out.

      “Man alive, she was hot as a smokin’ pistol!” Bandera exclaimed. “Have you noticed that Marvella’s girls just keep getting hotter and hotter? Whooee! I feel like someone just lit a firecracker in my jeans!”

      “She was all right,” Archer said. “Actually, she reminded me of Cissy. And you know, I love our sister-in-law, but remember, I was stuck in a truck once upon a time with her and Hannah, and I’m telling you, girls who look like that are misfired pistols in the wrong hands.”

      “My hands would be just right,” Bandera said. “Oh, how quickly I would volunteer to be her bar stool the next time she needed a place to park that fanny!”

      “Dunce,” Archer told him. “Get a grip. We’ve got a tourist to rescue.” They went across the street to Delilah’s, quietly tapping on the door because of the hour. The Jeffersons had their own keys for the back door, where they could go up the stairs and commandeer a special set of rooms Delilah kept just for them. But right now, Archer was hoping for intel on his lost farm girl.

      “Why are you so worried about her, anyway?” Bandera demanded. “Let’s go back over to Marvella’s and spark a fire with the damsels.”

      “No hunting for trouble tonight,” Archer stated. “If we bring home any more bad news related to Marvella, Mason’ll probably run us out of town for good. He still can’t believe Last got one of her girls pregnant while Mason was gone.”

      They peered through the curtained window of the front door. Only a quaint lamp burned on the table. “Guess she and Jerry called it an early night,” Archer said. “Darn.”

      “That means your little friend isn’t here. Delilah would be bustling around in the kitchen, making her welcome.”