Do Me Right. Cindi Myers
of the Navy Pier in pop-art colors that was Zach’s latest work. Big bro was having a blast in the Windy City while she was trying to keep it together here at home.
“But didn’t you already hire someone else?”
“Another part-timer. She starts next week. But I could still use you full-time.”
He glanced toward the front window again. The picketers had resumed their march up and down the sidewalk. “I don’t know….”
“It’ll be all right. At least give it a try.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
The news that the Hot Tamale, one of the street’s most popular bars, was cutting staff stunned her. She’d known Carter’s campaign was getting a lot of attention in the press, but she’d assumed most people wouldn’t take him seriously. After all, Austin was known for its music scene and the nightlife on Sixth Street. Why would anyone want to take away the very thing that made the city so unique?
Obviously she’d underestimated the ability of a few soreheads to spoil the fun for everyone.
“Guess Zach picked a good time to skip town, huh?” Scott said. “Think he’ll ever come back?”
She shrugged. “He still has another year and a half of school.” And who knew where he’d end up after that. Before her brother followed Jen Truitt to Chicago a little over six months ago, he’d handed her the keys to Austin Body Art and told her the business was all hers. He wouldn’t have done that if he’d planned to return anytime soon.
“I can see that cheered you right up.” Scott slid off the stool. “I’ll go make coffee.”
As Scott disappeared into the back room, the bells on the front door jangled. Theresa turned to greet the two men who entered.
It would probably be more appropriate to say the men made an entrance. The first one was a tall drink of water in scuffed boots, sharply creased Wranglers, a denim shirt and a straw hat tilted low on his forehead. He strode into the room like a marshal stepping into a saloon in an old western. Broad-shouldered, narrow-waisted with a strong chin and a slightly crooked nose, he was movie-star handsome. She blinked a few times to make sure he was even real, wishing he’d take off the hat so she could get a look at his eyes. Not that she was interested in the average cowboy, but she could appreciate a gorgeous man as much as the next girl. “What can I do for you, gentlemen?” she asked.
His companion, a short, bow-legged man in a Bull Riders Stay On Longer T-shirt, removed his hat and stared openmouthed at the neckline of her halter top.
The taller man slapped his companion on the back of the head. “Put your eyes back in your skull and answer the lady.”
His words broke the spell his initial appearance had cast over her, and for the first time she noticed the cast on his left forearm. The bright blue gauze wrapping made a sharp contrast to his deeply tanned skin.
He nodded to her and nudged his hat up enough for her to see his whiskey-colored eyes glinting with good humor.
To her astonishment and utter mortification, she felt her heart flutter. She had to force back the smile she knew would have looked ridiculously goofy. Adonis here was no doubt used to women swooning at his feet, and she didn’t intend to be one of them.
“I apologize for my friend. He’s not used to associating with females other than cows and horses,” Handsome Hank continued.
“Shut your gob, Kyle.” The shorter cowboy rubbed the back of his neck and focused his gaze somewhere over Theresa’s left shoulder. “I’m interested in a tattoo.”
“Then you came to the right place.” With businesslike briskness, she plucked a clipboard from the rack by the counter and handed it to him. “Fill this out and we’ll get started.”
“Oh. Okay.”
While he sat and began filling out the information and release form, she turned to his friend, Kyle. He was watching her, a speculative look in his eyes. The intensity of his gaze unnerved her. “Do you want a tattoo, too?”
The slow smile that formed on his lips would have knocked a lesser woman off her feet. As it was, Theresa took a step back and put one hand on the counter to steady herself.
“That’s okay. Us naturally good-looking folks don’t need any extra decoration.” His gaze swept over the tiger etched on her shoulder, then shifted to the Celtic knot between her breasts. His smile broadened. “Though I have to say, you give me a whole new appreciation for your, um, art.”
She laughed. “I’m sure you’re a real art lover.” She nodded to his cast. “What happened?”
He frowned at the injury. “Had a little trouble with an uncooperative bovine.”
“Kyle has lousy luck with cattle and women.” The shorter man, whose name turned out to be George, stood and handed Theresa the clipboard.
“Don’t mind him,” Kyle said. “He’s been tossed on his head by bulls one too many times.”
“You’re a bull rider?” Theresa scanned the release form. Everything looked okay.
“Yes, ma’am.” George threw back his shoulders and puffed out his chest. “I’m in the top fifteen on the circuit right now.”
She glanced at Kyle. “Are you a bull rider, too?”
He shook his head. “No, I have more sense.”
“He’s too tall to ride bulls,” George said. “He’s a calf roper.” He glanced at the arm. “Or was.”
“I can still whip you with one arm tied behind my back.”
She somehow refrained from rolling her eyes at this typical male posturing. Honestly, was she supposed to be impressed? Better keep her mind on business. “Do you know what you want for your tat?” she asked George.
“I want a big lizard.” He pointed to his forearm. “Right here.”
“A lizard?”
He nodded. “’Cause that’s my handle on the circuit. George ‘the Lizard’ Lizardi.”
“Okay.” She led him to a thick binder on a stand by the counter and flipped through it until she came to the reptile section. “You ought to find something here.”
Scott emerged from the back room with two mugs of coffee. “Y’all want coffee?” he asked.
“That’d be nice,” Kyle said.
“None for me,” George said. “I’m jumpy enough.”
“George is a little nervous about needles,” Kyle said.
Theresa nodded. “He’ll be fine once we get started. For most people the anticipation of getting a tattoo is a lot more uncomfortable than the tat itself.”
“What’s your name?”
The question was a reasonable one, but it still caught her off guard. She started to ask him why he was interested, then thought better of it. He was a customer, or at least a buddy of a customer, so she ought to be polite. “Theresa Jacobs,” she said. “And you’re Kyle.”
“Kyle Cameron.” He offered his good hand. “Pleased to meet you, Theresa.”
His hand was warm, his grasp firm but not painful, calluses scraping against her palm. A masculine hand, telegraphing strength and confidence. Her heart fluttered again, and she jerked away and fussed with the supplies on the cart, though her skin still tingled from his touch.
Scott returned with another mug of coffee, followed by Mick and Delilah. True to her name, Delilah zeroed in on the handsome cowboy and began rubbing against his boots, purring loudly.
Kyle regarded the cat with a half smile. “Cute cat.”
“She’s all right.”