A Cowboy's Plan

She’d done it before and she could do it again.

Janey Wilson didn’t do helpless.

CHAPTER TWO

JANEY’S FIRST STEP in her job search took her to the hair salon. She could do the simple stuff. Wash hair. Sweep the floor. The owner, Bernice Whitlow, had visited Amy’s mother, Gladys, at the ranch, and had treated Janey well. Yeah, she wouldn’t mind working for her.

When Janey stepped inside the shop, Bernice looked up from her customer, an older woman with white hair. The woman looked Janey up and down and stared at her feet.

“Aren’t those boots hot?” Her voice came out high-pitched.

They were the only boots Janey owned and she liked them.

“Hiya, sweetie,” Bernice said, her voice warm enough to melt honey. Janey tried not to show how much she liked that Bernice called her sweetie. It was a lot better than the things she’d grown up with on the streets of Billings.

“You here for a cut?” Bernice asked.

“I’m looking for a job.”

The old woman snorted. “You’re not going to get one dressed like that.”

Bernice touched her shoulder and said, “Norma, hush.”

Janey ignored Norma and forced her chin up a notch.

“Oh, sweetie,” Bernice said, “I don’t have a position available.”

Janey swallowed her pride. “I can wash hair. I can sweep the floor.”

“Economy’s slow.” Bernice’s regret sounded sincere. “I can’t afford to hire anyone right now. Honest, honey.”

Damn.

“Try over at the diner.” Bernice sprayed Norma’s white hair with about half a can of spray.

Janey coughed.

“They’re always busy,” Bernice said.

The diner. As in being a waitress?

“Okay, thanks.”

Janey left the store, heard Bernice say, “Good luck.” Norma said something, too, but it didn’t sound flattering. Janey was glad she hadn’t caught it.

She trudged across the street to the diner, the sun on her back branding her through the black cotton of her dress.

She pulled the fabric of her bodice away from her skin for a minute, then stepped into the diner, a noisy, buzzing hive of activity and conversation.

A cook at the grill behind the long counter yelled, “Order up.”

People filled every stool at the counter and every red fake-leather booth.

Wow. Bernice was right. The place was hopping.

A waitress rushed by without looking at her. “Sit wherever you can find a seat, hon.”

That brought the attention of the people in the nearest booths to her. They stopped talking and studied her clothes.

She curled her fingers into her palms.

More people stopped talking. A hush fell over the crowd.

They watched her, some with interest, some with plain old curiosity. She couldn’t tell if there was disapproval.

No. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t work under the microscope like this, in front of so many people. Not every day. The attention stifled her. She couldn’t breathe.

Crap.

She stepped back outside.

An ache danced inside her skull.

She walked down the street, studying the businesses as she went. Barbershop. Nope.

Across the street was a hardware store, Scotty’s Hardware. How hard could it be to sell nails?

She crossed the street and stepped inside.

A middle-aged man stopped what he was doing and turned to her. Must be Scotty.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for work.”

The old guy’s eyes bugged out. “Here?” he said, his voice coming out in a thin squeak.

“Yeah.” Nuts, she didn’t know a thing about job-hunting. What was she supposed to say?

The owner stepped a little closer. He smelled like cough drops. “You ever worked in a hardware store before? You know anything about power tools and home renovations and paint and lumber?”

She shook her head.

The guy straightened a pile of brochures beside the register, all the while checking her out from the corner of his eye.

“’Fraid I can’t help you.”

Her pride caught in her throat again. “I can sweep floors.” Man, she had trouble saying that, but she’d lived through worse in her life. She could do this.