“Before you chastise me,” she began before he could speak, “the pink in her hair is just a temporary color and will wash out with shampoo. I was going to send a note home with her. It’s not revenge for this morning.” Her cheeks flushed and she nervously tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I keep a lot of bright colors on hand in the salon because little girls love them and sometimes a bit of bribery helps a squirmer stay still the entire time.”

“That isn’t why I’m here.”

Becca blinked up at him. “Oh? What’s going on?”

He completely forgot what he was going to use as his tactic. Apology? Weather? Something else? Hell. Eventually, he just cleared his throat. “Yes.”

She paused, frowning up at him. “Yes . . . what?”

Was he sweating? The room seemed really damned hot. He wanted to wipe at his brow, but he was still wearing his cowboy hat and he was just going to get sweat everywhere if he did—or show her his own messy hair. Hat had to stay on, he decided. He licked his lips.

“You asked me if I would go out on a date with you. Changed my mind. Answer’s yes.”

Her mouth snapped shut. She stared at him in surprise. “I . . . oh.”

That wasn’t the excitement he’d expected. Wasn’t she supposed to fall to his feet in blushing gratitude right about now? The look she gave him wasn’t gratitude, though. Or pleasure. It was shock.

“You asked,” he told her accusingly. This definitely wasn’t going how he’d planned it.

“I did,” Becca admitted after a long moment. “I just . . . okay. Yeah. Sure, we can go on a date.” She ducked her head, her long hair falling in front of her face. “I didn’t realize you were interested in me. And this morning—”

He cleared his throat. Yeah, this morning hadn’t gone well. At all. “I’m . . . not good at this,” he admitted.

“Dating?” She peeked up at him through her lashes, so damn pretty it made his chest ache all over again. She had a tiny smile on her lips. “You must have been pretty good at it to have been married before.”

Except he hadn’t been married to Libby’s mother. Hank went silent. He wondered if she’d think less of him if she knew he’d been hoodwinked by a local woman who preyed upon trappers. Better to not say anything at all.

“I’m sorry. I’m prying. I know it’s a sensitive topic.” Her expression changed to one of regret. “I keep telling myself not to ask and I do anyhow. I apologize. When would you like to go out?”

Go out? He had to pick a date? Hank really hadn’t thought that far ahead on things, but he should have. It made sense that he’d need to have some sort of plan for this. Damn it. He wasn’t good at thinking on his feet. “Tomorrow,” he blurted, and then figured that sounded like as good a plan as any. Calving season was slowing down to a reasonable speed anyhow.