Cowboy Enchantment - By Pamela Browning Page 0,17

Encantado. Anything can happen here.”

“Even a talking cat?”

“I beg your pardon?”

His astonishment warned her not to pursue the subject. “Oh, nothing. Tell me, what changes would you recommend for me?” she replied cautiously.

“A lighter hair color, of course. As for the eyebrows, we will dye them today!”

“How about my eyelashes?” Hers were virtually colorless.

“Dye! Dye!” He was startling in his intensity, and Erica hoped no one would mistake his meaning. Several clients peered around the door in alarm, withdrawing their heads when they realized that her situation was not dire.

“Back to my hair—how light do you intend it to be?”

“Only a little lightening here and there, we will give it a bit of a trim, and voilà! Rancho Encantado has worked its magic.”

“I’ve never wanted to bleach my hair because it would be too hard to keep up.”

Tico produced a sampler of pale hair colors and fanned them out before her. “Lowlights do not require so much maintenance, and I would do a lot of them. Look, we have so many shades to choose from—Butter Cream, Moonlight Madness, Winter Frost—”

“Never mind,” Erica said hastily, dizzied by the possibilities. “Choose one. Whatever you think would look best.”

“Perhaps I should tell you a blonde joke? It is the last time you will hear one as a brownette.”

“I don’t think so. I’d rather get started.”

“Oh, you will look fantastico!” Tico said, clapping his hands together, which brought two assistants running.

As they attacked with hair color and foil, shears and razor, comb and curling iron, Erica hid her face in a magazine. She had no intention of looking in the mirror until Tico and company were through.

BACK IN HER ROOM after her hair appointment, when she finally stopped admiring her reflection in the mirror, Erica booted up her laptop and found a message from Charmaine.

YOU’VE GOT MAIL!

Dear Sis

You already know how to ride. What’s up?

Love, Char

Erica, still sneaking peeks at the mirror, immediately replied.

Char

My hair is streaked Palomino Blond. The manicurist gave me acrylic fingernails!!! My cowboy has a baby. And I’m letting him teach me to ride because I want to be with him as much as possible.

Love, E.

THAT AFTERNOON in preparation for Erica’s riding lesson, Hank saddled up Melba, the mare who was best suited to beginners. He had decided on this particular horse on the basis of the form that Justine had filled out at Erica’s behest. Some of their guests had been riding most of their lives, and others had a smidgen of experience. Erica had been identified as the latter.

When he’d finished saddling Melba, he led her into the ring and leaned against the fence, waiting. Mrs. Gray appeared with her three latest offspring, and she supervised them from a relatively safe position outside the ring as they chased and pounced. The kittens would be okay as long as they stayed out from underfoot, he figured.

Idly he watched a petite woman walking briskly along the lane, which was flanked by rows of eucalyptus trees. The sun picked out golden streaks in her hair, and she looked slightly familiar. He stood straighter, his attention drawn to her face, which was hidden behind big sunglasses.

Melba whinnied and bumped his shoulder, and by the time he’d patted her on the neck and assured her that an apple was forthcoming soon, the woman had disappeared into the stable.

“She must be going to see Paloma,” he said out loud, since the baby-sitter often asked friends to drop by; they were helping her to plan her wedding.

Shows what you know, said Mrs. Gray, which caused Hank to wheel around in amazement. The cat’s unwavering gaze scalded him, and he reminded himself that cats don’t talk. Still, he narrowed his eyes at her, but all she did was cuff one of her kittens as it came too close to the gate.

“Hank,” said Erica’s voice behind him, and he whirled around, expecting to see her approaching.

But it wasn’t Erica who strode toward him, this woman with shiny hair rippling in the breeze, lips full and red. It was someone who looked very like his dream woman, the one he rescued from rattlesnakes, the one who warmed his lonely bed at night.

The woman pulled off the sunglasses, and he was astonished to realize that it was indeed Erica. Her wide eyes, framed by long lashes, were a complex mix of brown and green, the arched brows brushed upward.

“All ready for our lesson?” she asked.

“I…well, I thought you were going to be late.”

“I wouldn’t miss my lesson for the