Every Bit a Cowboy


 
 
 
 
 
 
 Copyright © 2023 by Jennie Marts
 Cover and internal design © 2023 by Sourcebooks
 Cover design by Eileen Carey/No Fuss Design
 Cover images ©Rob Lang Photography, Ninestock, Virrage Images/Shutterstock, GCC Photography/Shutterstock
 Internal design by Holli Roach/Sourcebooks
 Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks.
 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks.
 The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
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 Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks
 P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410
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 Contents
 Front Cover
 Title Page
 Copyright
 Chapter 1
 Chapter 2
 Chapter 3
 Chapter 4
 Chapter 5
 Chapter 6
 Chapter 7
 Chapter 8
 Chapter 9
 Chapter 10
 Chapter 11
 Chapter 12
 Chapter 13
 Chapter 14
 Chapter 15
 Chapter 16
 Chapter 17
 Chapter 18
 Chapter 19
 Chapter 20
 Chapter 21
 Chapter 22
 Chapter 23
 Chapter 24
 Chapter 25
 Chapter 26
 Chapter 27
 Chapter 28
 Excerpt from A Cowboy State of Mind
 Acknowledgments
 About the Author
 Back Cover
 
 
 This book featuring a hairstylist has to be dedicated to my own hairstylist heroine:
 Melissa Chapman 
 Hair Therapist Extraordinaire
 For the last fourteen years, you’ve cheered on my writing career while we’ve spent hours talking plots and character motivation in between laughing, crying, and sharing life wisdom.
 You’ve cut and curled and colored my hair,
 but most of all you’ve been my friend.
 Thank you
 
 
 Chapter 1
 It had seemed like just another ordinary day at Carley’s Cut & Curl for salon owner Carley Chapman—until her stylist’s water broke in the middle of doing a highlight. And then a pissed-off customer barged in the front door as the salon’s receptionist was helping the pregnant hairdresser out the back, leaving Carley with a half-finished perm, an incomplete color, and a brawling catfight as one angry customer confronted another.
 Carley forced her voice to remain calm as she slowly took a step away from the two women, their faces contorted in rage as one held her best pair of shears while the other brandished her flat iron like it was a sword. “Just put the scissors down, Amber,” she said to the one closest to her. “I’m sure we can work this out.”
 Amber Wilcox and Brandi Simms were two of her best customers, so she didn’t want it to seem like she was taking sides. They each could be counted on for a regular cut and color appointment every other month, although Brandi was the bigger tipper. But she didn’t want to lose either one of them due to anger or a hair-care-tool–related injury caused by an argument over a man. Especially the man in question. Buster Jenkins was no prize, and certainly not worth losing a finger for.
 It had happened so fast. Carley was still reeling over Erica, her stylist, going into labor—she wasn’t due for another week—when Amber had charged into the salon. The bell over the door was still jingling as Amber grabbed the shears off the tray, her eyes wild and flashing with anger. The pink ends of the cape flapped as Brandi shot out of the chair and grabbed the flat iron from the next station.
 “There’s nothing to work out,” Amber said, waving the shears recklessly through the air. “Except the end of our so-called friendship. I heard about the way you were flirting with Buster down at the Creed last night,” she practically spat as she referred to the Creedence Tavern, one of the town’s most popular restaurant and pubs. “I ran into Monica Morris in the grocery just now, and she couldn’t wait to tell me how you belted back three raspberry margaritas and then tried to turn Taco Tuesday into Topless Tuesday by claiming the strap of your cheap-ass dress just happened to break.”
 A gasp came from the direction of the hair dryers where two more of Carley’s regular customers sat. Lyda Hightower, who was married to the mayor of their small mountain town of Creedence, Colorado, loved to drop in for a blowout before her numerous charity events, and Evelyn Chapman, who was not just a customer but also Carley’s former grandmother-in-law.
 The downtown building where her salon was housed and the adorable eighty-year-old woman were the only things of value Carley had gotten out of her failed three-year marriage to Paul Chapman, and Evelyn had a regular Wednesday afternoon appointment for a weekly wash-and-style and a quarterly perm.
 Evelyn, the one getting the permanent that day, sat waiting in the chair next to Lyda, a magazine in her lap and her head covered in neat rows of purple rods. She reached over to turn off the other woman’s hair dryer, presumably to be able to hear better, just as Lyda was speaking, and her voice carried loudly through the salon. “I wouldn’t believe a thing that comes out of that woman’s mouth. Monica loves gossip more than sugar, and I’ve seen that woman positively inhale the better part of a chocolate cake.”
 Brandi ignored the comment as she held her ground, the layers of foil covering her head flapping as she yelled back. “For your information, I only had one margarita, the strap of my dress really did break, and Buster was the one flirting with me.”
 “How dare you,” Amber shrieked, flames practically shooting from her narrowed eyes. “My Buster would never flirt with the likes of you.”
 “Her Buster would flirt with the likes of