The Bachelor Cowboy (The Wyoming Cowboy #6) - Jessica Clare Page 0,2

do it.

“You owe me,” he told Becca.

Her eyes widened and she clapped her hands together. “If you do this, I will totally owe you. We just really need twelve and having you as our hottest bachelor will be a total coup, I promise.”

Jack wasn’t so sure about it being a coup, but he’d take the compliment. He pocketed the flyer. “So what, you just need me to show up in some chaps and swagger around? Romance the ladies?” He grabbed her hand and mock-kissed the back of it.

Becca giggled and let him kiss her hand. “I’m going to tell Hank you did that.”

“And let my brother kick my ass into next week? Why, Becca, I’m hurt. I thought you liked me.” He clutched his chest.

“Oh, I do. I just like Hank more.” She beamed at him. “And thank you so much for doing this. I promise I really do owe you.”

“I already know how you can pay me back.”

“You do?”

Jack nodded. “You still cut the hair of that real estate lady? Gimme her card. I’ve got some questions.”

He might as well see what was for sale around Painted Barrel.

CHAPTER TWO

Annnnnd we’re going to ease into pigeon pose,” the yoga instructor cooed to the class in a smooth, easy voice. “Let’s stretch those hips, ladies. Get them opened.”

Layla was such a dork, she always snickered quietly to herself at the double entendre of “opening her hips” every time she came to the pigeon pose. Not that she was great at the pigeon pose. Her hips did a lot of things—banged into walls, squeezed into too-tight jeans—but they did not open like the instructor’s did. Instead, Layla’s pigeon pose was more of a dying pigeon. Possibly a turkey. She chortled at the mental image.

“Shhhh,” Amy hissed at her from the mat at her side. Amy, darn it all, was able to do a remarkable pigeon pose. “Everyone can hear you laughing,” she whispered.

“Sorry,” Layla said, though she wasn’t all that sorry. She tried to lean forward to force her muscles to open up a bit more, but all it did was remind her that she had a bit of a tummy roll and her workout pants exacerbated the issue. “I think my hips aren’t very open. They’re more ‘Fort Knox.’”

One mat ahead of her, Becca giggled.

Amy put her finger to her lips, but she was twitching, trying to hold back a smile. It was like this with every class. Layla was absolutely terrible at yoga and all things physical, so she tended to cut up and make jokes through the class so she wouldn’t feel so very awkward. Plus, she liked making her friends laugh. She’d have quit the class weeks and weeks ago if it weren’t for Amy and now Becca. It was nice to have friends. Layla had been in Painted Barrel for three years now and it had taken her this long to make friends, and how sad was that? But she just wasn’t good with people.

Like the yoga instructor, who was glaring quietly at her and not looking very Zen.

Layla closed her eyes and tried to sink into the pigeon pose—she really did. When they switched legs, she gamely did so, even though she accidentally kicked Amy in the side. She knew she was hard to take in sometimes. She was an accountant, which wasn’t exactly a thrill-a-minute career. She lived in a small town, alone. And most of her hobbies were, well, they were dorky compared to what most women her age liked. Single women in their late twenties liked dancing and going out to clubs, didn’t they? Or shopping and getting their hair and nails done. Layla liked crafts—the more ridiculous the better—and video games. And board games.

Basically, she was a nerd, and it was awful hard to meet other nerds sometimes. Nerds didn’t run in packs. Nerds were lone wolves. Thus, Layla had been lone-wolfing it around Painted Barrel for far too long.

But she’d met Amy, and Amy was the sweetest—and somehow most clueless—woman the accountant had ever met. She’d come out of a bad, controlling marriage without a clue of how bank accounts or finances worked. Layla had felt sorry for the schoolteacher and gave her her personal cell phone number so she could ask questions without coming in to Layla’s office, and though most of the questions had started out with things like “How do I pay my water bill?” it had turned into a genuine friendship. Through Amy, she’d spent more time