“Oh.” Well, that was disappointing, just a little. She supposed she could text him . . . or would that be too pushy? “How are the puppies?”

“Set those doughnuts down and I’ll show you.” He winked at her.

*   *   *

Hank didn’t text her all morning. Or afternoon.

It was fine, of course. She told herself that over and over again, imagining the cow version of the television show ER. If a cow’s life was on the line—or a calf’s—he might not have time to text or call. She told herself that was totally normal, even if she was hugely disappointed to not hear from him. She might have had visions of showing up with doughnuts that morning, only to be swept into his arms and kissed hard.

Didn’t happen.

And she couldn’t dwell on it. She had clients. Her day was full and Libby was with her, so she didn’t have a moment to herself. Libby was great, quietly coloring and keeping herself occupied while Becca worked and checked in on her. The new schoolteacher in town, Amy Mckinney, had showed up as a walk-in, and Becca had seated her immediately. She was nice and friendly, shy and sweet and excited about the summer session of preschool, and she’d mentioned that she wanted Libby enrolled. Becca promised to talk to Libby’s father about that.

Provided she ever spoke with the man again.

No sooner had she started drying Amy’s hair than Hannah came in the door. It wasn’t time for her weekly appointment yet, which meant this was a gossip session disguised as a grooming emergency. Becca smothered the groan in her throat and forced a smile to her face. “Hey, Hannah. What’s up?”

“Oh, my nails are looking ragged,” the older woman said, wiggling her fingers as she plopped herself down in the empty salon chair next to Amy. “Thought I’d come in and see what you could do.”

“Sure, give me five minutes.” She smiled at Amy in the mirror and dried another section of her hair. “So, do you like Painted Barrel, Amy?”

Amy smiled. “I do. It’s a great place. I—”

Hannah cleared her throat loudly and gave Becca a pointed look. “Lots of good-looking men, right?”

“I . . . I guess so?” Amy looked embarrassed. “I’m not really seeing anyone.”

So she wasn’t seeing Greg? Not that Becca cared, but she still felt a little stab of vindication. It wasn’t that she wanted Greg to be unhappy forever . . . maybe just for about ten years to make up for all the time Becca had wasted on him. “Plenty of time for that,” Becca told her. “Spend your time with your girlfriends.”

“No girlfriends here,” Amy began again, only to be interrupted by Hannah once more.

The older woman leaned over confidentially. “I heard you were kissing that mountain of a cowboy, Becca. It’s all over town this morning.”