"Actions speak louder than words.  So think your actions over many times." ~ Maverick Jefferson when his boys got caught stealing Shoeshine Johnson's bus for a road trip because it was the only vehicle they could all fit into at once

 CHAPTER ONE

"What has to be done," Navarro Jefferson told his twin as they sat in his truck, "is that one of us goes to live in Lonely Hearts Station.  As a sort-of mole.  To keep an eye on Last's pregnancy matter before it gets further out of hand."  The youngest brother, and the family philosophe, had managed to get himself into trouble with a gal of questionable reputation from the wrong side of the beautician tracks.  Life was not going well for Last, nor the rest of the Jefferson brothers.

Lacking condom sense was not supposed to be in the cards.

"How would we do that?" Crockett asked.  "I think the Never Lonely Cut-n-Gurls would know we were watching their every move."

"All we need to watch is Valentine's," Navarro told his twin.  "You and I could swap out, and they'd never know the difference.  Tag-team girl-watching."

Crockett blinked.  "Why do I find that appealing in a warped kind of way?"  He considered the notion, peering out the truck window toward the Never Lonely Cut-n-Gurls salon.  "Or possibly, I find it depressing.  It's been a long time since I've had a woman."

"Whoa," Navarro said.  "Too much info."

"Last says he doesn't remember anything about that night except that he was drinking some exceptional firewater."

"Man, I remember every good night I've had with a lady," Navarro bragged.  "Even in my dreams."

"More there than not."

Navarro pulled his hat low over his eyes without comment.

"So how do we purge the landscape without raising suspicions?  We need to get on the inside," Crockett said.

"Yeah.  But bed maneuvers are out.  Think we're in enough trouble in the family tree with this group of ladies."

"Mm."  Crockett studied the goings of an attractive band of giggling Never Lonely girls as they left the salon.  They were all dressed provocatively, which he appreciated.  He wouldn't date any of the girls--not his type--but he certainly appreciated the goodness they were lending to the view.  "You could dress in drag and become a hairdresser alongside them."

"I think not."

"You could become a client."

"I think they'd suspect."

Crockett was silent for a moment.  "You could hit on Valentine."

"I'd rather gnaw off my leg.  Anyway, that would totally raise suspicions."

"Well, then you'd have to prove that your intentions were honest, in order to get the most info out of them.  You'd have to get engaged."

Navarro laughed.  "Right."

"We could get engaged.  If we tag-team spy, we might as well tag-team engage.  No one would notice that we were switching out.  And then we’d be on the inside."

"What a novel idea.  Why don't we just do something so stupid?"

"I'm serious."  Crockett sat straight.  "It's not very heroic, and it's deceitful, but it would get us in a primo position, and therefore the info we need to save our bro from Valentine's catch-a-cowboy plot."

"We've done a lot worse, but I don't think Fannin would approve, even in the name of family.  And when Mason comes home, he'd roast us for sure."

"I say it's easier to ask forgiveness than get permission."

"I say . . . you've got a point."  Navarro drummed the steering wheel.  "How are we going to figure out which of those lovelies we want to sucker?"

"I don't know.  How about the little plus-size gal over there with the pretty smile?"

"I think you may be looking at her chest when you talk plus-size.  Or the fact that we could toss her between us like a doll.  She's a little bitty thing, isn't she, all curves and swerves."

"I dunno.  I like blondes," Crockett mused, "and she's not dressed fakey, and she seems kind of cute.  Personality-wise, of course.  Is there any chance we could reconsider sleeping with our girlfriend?"

"Absolutely not!" Navarro exclaimed.

"Rats.  I do tend to fall easily to temptation.  I really like a nice ripe bottom on a woman.  She looks like she's all peach and no pit."

"She's definitely ripe.  Hey, she's coming over!  Turn your head and act like you're lost!"

"Hey, guys," the blonde said.  "Lost?"

"Yes," Crockett said, because Navarro had put his hat over his face.  "But we want to figure it out ourselves, if you know what I mean."

"Oh. You're adventuresome types," she said.

"You could say that," Crockett agreed.

Nina Cakes smiled at the cowboy, realizing at once that here was the answer to her prayers.

"I need a man," she said.

"We've heard that call before, sister," the cowboy told her, "and we're always ready to heed the call."

     Nina took a step back from his leer.  "Uh, cool your jets, cowboy.  I said I needed a man, not a mistake."

     The man under the hat snickered.  Nina went around to his side to talk through the window.  "Look, it's actually quite simple.  I just need some help lifting some boards up the stairs."

     She frowned when he didn't answer.

     "Navarro's resting.  My brother tires out easily.  By the way, I'm Crockett."

     He stretched a hand across his brother for her to shake, which Nina did, reluctantly, trying to overlook the coughing fit which seemed to have possessed hat-man.  "He doesn’t look like he's resting," she said.  "Maybe when he gets up from his nap, I could offer him a job."

     Crockett stretched his muscles for her.  "'Course, I'm alive and kicking and ready to do your bidding.  I can move a few pieces of wood—for free.  I'd be happy to do it for such a pretty girl."

     Nina tried not to roll her eyes.  What a come-on!  Did she look like the kind of girl who fell for an easy line or two?  Librarians were far smarter than that, and she prided herself on being the one of the most qualified, sharp librarians in Dannon, Delaware.

     Of course, today she was in a place called Lonely Hearts Station, Texas, with an heirloom bed her sister claimed had been broken accidentally.  Nina pursed her lips, considering Crockett.  He didn’t exactly seem overly wholesome.  What were the odds she could trust him to help her without pawing her?  Far too sure of himself, he was quite different from the bookish, studious types who came into her library.  Some students, some older supporters of the library, an occasional mom or dad—but nothing like this man.

     More wolf than sheep, for certain.

     There was the matter of her sister, Valentine, to consider as well.  Valentine was in the family way by a nefarious, no-good, irresponsible cowboy, who, if she had to bet, was probably a lot like this man!  No wonder Valentine had been lured astray.  Poor Valentine!

     But first things first—the heirloom bed was the matter at hand.  Nina needed a place to sleep.  More importantly, Nina would never be at ease until the heirloom bed that had been in their family for generations was repaired.

     The bed was charmed.  Nina stared at the hatted face next to her, thinking about the importance of the charm.  What would he know about a woman's secret desires?  Every single member of their female family had been conceived and/or born in that bed.  It was simply magical in some way no one could really understand.  Perhaps it was the delicate lattice-work headboard.  Maybe the fine linens which were over a hundred years-old, and the hand-crocheted lace edgings worked by Great-grandmother Eugenia from England.

     Or the charm could simply rest in its beauty and simple elegance.  It invited a couple to share their dreams and joys between its frame.

     More than anything, Nina wanted that charm to work for her.  One day, in the future—but certainly not the path poor Valentine had chosen.  Clearly the charm was still in serious good form because Valentine was due in about six months, give or take a week or two.

     She sighed.  "This is really important.  I can't trust my bed to just anyone."

     It seemed the cowboy under the hat got very still, his muscles bunching under his t-shirt.  That man was no more resting than she was, Nina realized.  He was awake and listening to every word she said.

     The bed word really seemed to get his attention, she noticed.

     Cowboys!  Apparently, they were only interested in boots, babes, and beds. 

     Well, life just wasn't as carefree for her.  "I'm going inside now," Nina said.  "My room is upstairs.  Number five.  The wood is by the front door where the delivery company left it.  I am in a desperate position, I will admit, so

 . . ."  She looked at Crockett uncertainly.  "Can you lift heavy things?"

     "Of course," he said, sitting straight up.  "Wood is my specialty.  Lift, saw, nail, glue, hammer—"

     "All right," Nina said.  "Tell the woman at the desk that it's all right for you to go upstairs.  Her name is Valentine."

     "Valentine?" Crockett repeated, his tone surprised.

     "I admit it's an unusual name, but then, one might say Crockett and Navarro are as well," Nina said.  "My name is Nina Cakes.  Nina is short for Eugenia, my great-grandmother whose heirloom bed I am trying to repair.  Valentine is my sister."

     She noticed Navarro's posture became even more rigid.  The stillest she'd ever seen a human body.  His fingers were clamped around the steering wheel bottom, just over his lap, and right next to a large belt buckle.  All cowboy.  He smelled wonderful, she noticed on the sudden breeze that blew through the open windows of the truck.  She stopped herself from an automatic "mmmm" reaction, and backed away.  "Tell Valentine.  I'll be upstairs," she said.  "And please observe the house rules."

     "Which would be?" Crockett called after her as she walked toward the salon.

     "No talking to the women without an appointment," Nina called, and went inside, wondering what the man behind the hat had been hiding.

     Elusive devil. 

     Poor Valentine.  "You should have stayed up north," she told her sister grumpily as she walked past the reception area.  "Clearly cowboys are just out for one thing."

     "That's what we like about them," a hairstylist called.  "Didn't you read the sign?"

     Nina glanced at the glittery sign for the hundredth time, high on the wall, with big letters.  "Save a horse, ride a cowboy," she muttered.  "I can read, thanks."

     She could also heed a warning.

*     *     *

     "Dude!  This is too easy!" Crockett said, poking Navarro in the arm.  "Drag those boards upstairs!"

     "Slow down," Navarro said, the voice of caution.  "We need to think this through."

     "Think!  Whatever happened to the man of action?"

     Navarro pulled his hat off his face to look at his twin.  "The man of action was the one not wearing a condom, drinking suspicious firewater, and having a real good time.  Which is why we're sitting here, instead of being back at Union Junction, where we belong.  So, let's take a deep breath and consider the angles."

     Crockett thumped his head back against the headrest.  "Angle on."

     "She scares me, for starters."

Crockett glanced over at him.  "Scares you?"

"Yeah."  Navarro shifted uncomfortably.  "She's cute.  She's got a sexy voice.  It's kind of prim-and-proper, don't-mess-with-me.  I think my call of the wild found that to be an invitation."

     Crockett laughed.  "She had the hots for me, in case you didn't notice."

     "I did not notice that."  Navarro stared down the old road that was the center of Lonely Hearts Station, which separated one side of the town line from the other—and effectively, the two battling beauty salons:  Lonely Hearts Salon, and the Never Lonely Cut-n-Gurls.

     They owed a lot to Delilah, the owner of the Lonely Hearts Salon.  Her sister, Marvella, was her arch-nemesis, and was trying to put her out of business by selling, if rumor was to believed, something more than garden-variety mow-n-go haircuts.  "Why did you tell her our real names?"
     Crockett shrugged.  "I didn't tell her our last names.  Besides, she won't know who we are.  You carry the boards up—"

     "Why me?"

     "Because you're the one sitting over there twitching for some action.  You're the man with the call of the wild thing going on.  Besides, you're more cautious than me.  We both know I'd do something wrong."

     "Impulsive."

     "Well, and rightfully so," Crockett said.  "Come on, we haven't busted up a joint in months.  We've had to mind our p's and q's with Mason taking off.  Fannin running the joint.  Mimi in the family way.  Helga taking over raising us."  Crockett blew out a breath.  "Last going insane.  I mean, I'm about tired of my p's and q's being so minded.  I want our old life back.  Before it got so reputation-conscious."

     Navarro shook his head.  "Valentine's sitting at the desk.  She's going to recognize that I look an awful lot like the rest of the family tree."

     Crockett shrugged.  "Keep your hat low.  Dump the lumber and go.  But see if Valentine's really got a belly on her, or if that's just a bunch of bull to rope Last.  I bet she's not even pregnant.  And how do we know Last is the father?  I mean, this blows."  Crockett pulled his hat down over his face.  "When this is all over, I'm going to go find Mason and tell him he's never gonna learn what happened to Maverick, and that he needs to deal with the fact that Mimi got married on him because he dragged his own dang boots, and that he needs to get his butt home."

     "Good luck," Navarro said.  "But first things first."

*     *     *

     When the cowboy walked into her room, Nina's blood started moving around in her body the way it never had before.  A crazy tickle, and then a full-blown rush filled her veins.

     No, she told herself.  Not this one.  Completely inappropriate choice!  And there have been enough of those lately.  "Thanks for coming up," she said.

     "There was no one at the desk," Navarro said.  "I just made my way upstairs, and—"  His dark eyes swept her as she sat on the floor, a pencil and metal measuring tape in her hands.  "What are you doing?"

     "Measuring off," Nina said.  "Highly advisable if I want to cut these slats properly."

     He eyed the collapsed bed, which made Nina's face blush a bit.  Of course, it was hot in her room.  A small fan blew nearby, but it was spring and Marvella hadn't turned the air conditioning on yet because the nights were still cool.  All the measuring and sawing were making her hot, Nina decided.

     "Now that I've found your room, I'm going to go get the rest of the wood."  Navarro backed away from her, and Nina realized she probably looked simply sweaty and probably dirty.

     "Thank you, Crockett."

     He hesitated, then left.  Nina took a deep breath, then jumped to her feet to cross to the mirror.  Yes, sweaty and messy.  "How did they make it in the good ol' Texas days without air conditioning?  I'm going to fry my Delaware skin."  Taking a damp rag, she swept it over her, and then reached for some peach gloss to touch to her lips. 

     She was taking a few swipes at her hair in an effort to tame it when the cowboy strode in, carrying the lumber.  Her gaze met his and she dropped the brush, embarrassed to be caught primping.

     He grinned at her.  "Nice."

     That evil blooming of her skin she'd felt moments before now blushed over her body in a heat wave no air conditioner would cool.  She raised her chin.  "You can set the wood down there."

     His grin widened to wolfish.  "You are a snappy little peach, I'll grant you that."

     She couldn't take her eyes off of him as he smoothly bent to rest the wood on the floor.  His jeans fit so tightly, his butt looked so—

     Glancing up, he caught her staring—and laughed. 

     "I've never seen a cowboy up this close," she said. 

     "Really?  I've never seen a . . . what are you, anyway?"

     "Librarian," Nina said, her chin raising, knowing already what he was going to say.  "And I should warn you, I've heard every bad line about librarians you could possibly dream—"

     "Now, I've heard that there are two kinds of librarians," the cowboy said, leaning up against the wall, his boots crossed, his arms tucked over his chest.  His grin was too wide and too playful, and she longed to smack it off his face.

     "Well, there is really only one kind of librarian," she said.  "Serious."

     "I heard there was also the skank variety."

     She dropped the measuring tape she'd picked up.  "Skank variety?"

"Yeah."  He grinned.  "She hovers in her book stacks, waiting for the right victim to come along so she can read him the Kama Sutra—well, read would be the incorrect verb, I guess—and then," he lowered his voice, "and then she seduces him in the basement, where he is never heard from again.  Skank librarian."  He shrugged.  "That's the haunted librarian story.  Haunted, you see, because the library wasn't haunted, it was the librarian who was sort of like a black widow spider that kills her lover after they--"

     "That is ridiculous!  And so . . . chauvinist!"

     He laughed.  "Bet you thought I was gonna repeat the stereotype about the dowdy librarian who gets set free sexually by the mystery male who somehow knows he's latched on to the one hottie card-cataloguette in town who's wearing a thong and bustier under her gray, frumpy suit.  Personally, I always thought the skank librarian was more likely.  Scary, but likely."

     She ground her teeth.  "Actually, I fall under the only heading of librarian I know: hard-working, sincere, interested, capable—"

     His wink stopped her.  "I'm just playing around with you." 

Skank librarian, indeed.  She thought about her sister and her sister's reputation, which was non-existent now.  It was up to her to set a good example now, and to be the very most upright Cakes she could be.

"Then again, I shouldn't be playing around with you, probably," he said.  "You broke your bed.  You might be dangerous."  He pulled a huge jackknife from his pocket, and began marking off sections on the wood.

"Oh, yeah."  Nina sank onto a chair.  "You're in big danger from me."

"Well, there's danger.  And then there's danger.  That's what I always say."

"Profound."

He glanced up at her.  "Yeah.  Maybe not by a librarian's standards.  But it works for me."

She sighed.  "So, I guess you wouldn't be brandishing a knife that big if you didn't want it commented on."

He gave her a devilish wink.  "I'm not packing small anything, peachy."

She rolled her eyes.  "Of course not."

"So, tell me about your sister."

"No."

He marked some notches.  "Okay."

"Tell me about your brother who wears the hat on his face."

"Why?  You dig him?"

She laughed.  "Dig?  How can I dig a guy whose face I haven't seen?"

He looked at her, his eyes full of mischief.  She wondered about that face, and those eyes.  What would she read in those eyes if she and he were alone together on a moonlit night—

"Maybe a face isn't what's important about a man."

She raised her brows.  "Then what is?"

He stuck his knife in the floor and lifted a handsaw to the wood.  "The size of his . . . knife."  The look on her face made him laugh.  "Fooled ya.  You thought I was going to say something else."

"I did not!"

"Whatever." 

"I won't bother to return fire with anything I've heard about cowboys since I've been here."

"Hardworking, sincere, interested, capable—"

"That's not what my sister would say," Nina said.  "She would probably say loose, loser, dishonest, and wish-I'd-never-met-him."

"Hey, that's my bro—" 

She stared at him.  "Yes?  Your what?"

He shook his head.  "This is all wrong."

"Why?"

"Because."  He stood, looking at her thoughtfully.  "My name is Navarro Jefferson."

Her heart started a slow thud.  "Jefferson?"

"Jefferson.  I'm Last's older brother."

"I see."  She backed away from him, turning her face.  "Thank you for carrying up the lumber," she said pointedly.  "You can go now."

     "I could, but I think you've marked this wrong," he said, kneeling to look at the pencil markings on the slat.  "What happened to this bed, anyway?  You got splinters in the drapes."

     She didn't want to think about what had happened to her charmed bed, especially since she suspected its shattering slats might have been Last Jefferson's doing.  Her stomach churned.  And now she had one of the infamous Jefferson brothers alone in the room with her, and her broken bed.

     He had been deceiving her by not telling her immediately that he was a Jefferson.  For a minute, she had nearly been taken in by that not-so-suave, good-ol-cowboy façade.

     Whew.  Close call.

"Hey," Navarro said.  "I am sorry about your sister.  We'll get to the bottom of matters.  I promise."

Still not facing him, and blinking away tears, Nina shook her head.  It didn't matter now.  Not really.  All her sister's dreams for a new life she hoped to find in Texas were as shattered as the bed.  Now, Nina's utmost goal was to put the bed back together and recapture the charm.

One day she was going to need that charm for herself.