With a Virginia Slims cigarette clamped between two fingers, the light catching on her bloodred nails, Dixie settled back in one of the two black vinyl salon chairs and waited for her two o’clock cut and color.

A thin stream of smoke curled from her lips as she thought of her favorite subject. It wasn’t just that Dylan was about the only eligible man over the age of twenty-five and under fifty within seventy miles. No, he had a way of looking at a woman. A way of tilting his head back a fraction and gazing through those deep green eyes of his that made her tingle in all the right places. And when his lips slid into a slow, easy smile, all those tingling places just pooled and melted.

Dylan had never set foot inside the Curl Up and Dye, choosing instead to drive all the way to Sun Valley to get his hair cut. Dixie didn’t take it personally. Some men were just peculiar about walking into a classy studio like hers for a custom design. But she’d love to run her fingers through his thick hair. Love to run her hands and mouth over all of him. Once she got the sheriff into bed, she was sure he wouldn’t want to leave. She’d been told she was the best lay this side of the Continental Divide. She believed it, and it was time she made a believer out of him. It was time Dylan used his big, hard body for something other than breaking up fights at the Buckhorn Bar.

There was only one potential little storm cloud in Dixie’s plans for the future, and that was Dylan’s seven-year-old son. The kid didn’t like Dixie. Kids usually didn’t. Maybe because she generally thought they were a pain in the ass. But she’d really tried with Adam Taber. She’d bought him a pack of gum once. He’d thanked her, shoved about ten sticks in his mouth, then ignored her. Which would have been just dandy if he hadn’t plopped his skinny butt on the couch between her and his daddy.