A Husband of Her Own (Dundee, Idaho #2)(11)
Author: Brenda Novak

Doyle turned just enough to exclude Rebecca from the conversation. “I hear you and your brother have yourselves another million-dollar stallion out at the ranch. That’s five now, isn’t it? Good for you. You’re making quite a name for yourself in the Quarterhorse business.”

“Things are going well, thanks,” Josh said.

“How’s the resort coming along?”

A chung indicated Rebecca had just shoved the blow-dryer back into its holder. In his peripheral vision, Josh saw her fold her arms, c**k one leg and glower at her father. “I’m only an investor,” he said, “so I’m not involved in the day-to-day management. But it seems to be doing well under Conner’s hand.”

“Who would’ve thought that Armstrong fella could turn his life around and manage to pull off a project of this size? It’s sure gonna do the community some good. Yes, sir.” He shook his head. “Gives a father hope, doesn’t it?”

At this Rebecca rolled her eyes and although Josh caught the insult in what Doyle said, he pretended not to notice. Whatever was going on between father and daughter had nothing to do with him. He’d agreed to the truce. He’d done his part. After he paid for his haircut, he was off the hook until the anniversary party.

“By the way, Rebecca’s gettin’ married and moving to Nebraska in a few weeks,” Doyle went on. “Did she tell you?”

A coughing fit seized Rebecca. She quickly excused herself by mumbling something about needing a drink.

“I’ve heard a rumor to that effect,” Josh said as they both watched her march to the back of the salon and duck into a small room.

“I thought I’d never see the day,” Doyle confided.

“She’s an attractive woman,” Josh said, oddly defensive, although he couldn’t say why. He used to feel a little smug when people made derogatory comments about Rebecca. And considering the fact that she’d be out of his life soon, out of town completely, he really didn’t have a stake in whether or not her father appreciated her physical attributes or anything else.

“Oh, the problem isn’t her looks,” Doyle said. “Least not anymore.”

Though she’d been far too thin and lanky in high school, Rebecca had filled out since then. Josh didn’t think she’d ever be curvy, exactly—her br**sts were high and small, her hips a little too narrow to be ideal. But he happened to like the way she was built.

He imagined her as he’d seen her last summer, lying on his bed with most of her clothes on the floor. Sure her br**sts were small, but they were well-shaped and firm. And all the angles that had made her features appear exaggerated when she was young had evolved into…an arresting face, he decided, the perfect setting for her expressive eyes. Perhaps her top lip was a little too thin, but Josh couldn’t see how any man could hold that against her. Not when she kissed with such abandon. When her defenses were down, and she was looking up at him as she had that night, without the usual distrust and resentment, she was actually quite beautiful.

“It’s that temper of hers,” Doyle was saying. “Why would anyone want to put up with her?”

Josh could have added an “amen” to that. Poor sap probably didn’t know what he was getting into. But he wasn’t going to involve himself by stating an opinion. “What’s her fiancé like?” he asked, hoping to spin the conversation in a new direction so he wouldn’t have to comment on Rebecca’s suitability as a wife.

Doyle shoved his hands into the pockets of his khaki slacks—his nod to casual dress for the weekend—and jingled his change. “He’s not from around here. She met him on the damn Internet, not that I’m complaining. At least she’s got herself a man. Lord knows no one around here was willing to take her on. But I worry.” He jingled his change some more as he seemed to mull over his concerns. “He’s too mild-mannered for her, if you ask me.”

“But you like him?”

“I’ve only met him once. I don’t really know him. And I’m afraid she doesn’t, either. He certainly isn’t the type I would’ve expected her to choose.” Doyle leaned a little closer and spoke out of the side of his mouth. “He’s not much of a man, if you get my drift. He’s soft. A bookworm. Doesn’t look like he’s done a hard day’s work in his life. Once a few months go by, I have no doubt she’ll be leading him around by the nose.” He straightened. “And on top of everything else, he’s younger than she is.”

“He is? By how much?”

“Too much.”

Too much? What was that supposed to mean? Curiosity prompted Josh to ask, but he overrode the impulse. Now that he’d done the right thing in coming here, he just needed to bide his time until she got married and moved. Resolution at last.

“But we’re happy she’s finally found someone and is settling down,” Doyle went on. “Maybe she’ll get turned around yet, like that Armstrong fella.”

“You told me on the phone last night that she’d mellowed,” Josh pointed out.

The other man grinned. “Had to tell you something to get you down here. We’ve got that anniversary party coming up. Her poor mother couldn’t survive another embarrassing ordeal like the last one.”

Josh cleared his throat. What had happened at Delia’s wedding was more his fault than Rebecca’s. Rebecca hadn’t even touched him. “I think she has mellowed…a little,” he said, because honesty demanded it.

“She’s mellow only when it suits her. Yesterday she stormed out of the house again. I should be used to it by now.”

“What does her fiancé do for a living?”

“Something with computers. Likes his job and doesn’t want to leave. Least that’s why they told me they’ll be living in Nebraska.”

Rebecca was on her way back. Doyle bowed his head closer and lowered his voice, “Could be worse, I guess. Booker Robinson’s in town. She could’ve hooked up with him.”

Booker had visited Dundee for the summer once while he was in his teens. He’d come to stay with his Grandmother Hatfield, or Hatty as everyone called her, because his parents couldn’t handle him. And he’d left quite an impression—on everyone. As a typical red-blooded American boy, Josh had figured he knew how to cause trouble. But his version of raising hell was good clean fun compared to Booker’s.