in the middle of a story, take an order at a different table, and then return without missing a syllable.
“Yep. That’s Mama.” The bell above the door rang and through the mirror, Lily looked up from Sadie’s hair. “Oh no.” A huge bouquet of red roses entered the business, hiding the person carrying them. “Not again.” The delivery boy set the flowers on the counter and had one of the girls at the desk sign for them.
“Are those for you?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Someone had dropped several hundred dollars on those roses. “That’s sweet.”
“No, it’s not. He’s too young for me,” she said as a blush crept up her neck.
It was rude. She’d been raised better, but Sadie had to pry. “How old is he?”
She sectioned off a slice of hair. “He’s thirty.”
“That’s only eight years. Right?”
“Yeah, but I don’t want to be a cougar.”
“You don’t look like a cougar.”
“Thanks.” She shoved a foil beneath the hair she’d sectioned and added, “He looks about twenty-five.”
“I think he has to be young enough to be your son before it’s considered a cougar and cub relationship.”
“Well, I don’t want to date a man eight years younger.” She swiped color out of one of the bowls. “But Lordy he’s hot.”
Sadie smiled. “Just use him for his body.”
“I tried that. He wants more.” Lily sighed. “I have a ten-year-old son, and I’m trying to run my own business. I just want a peaceful, calm life and Tucker is complicated.”
“How?”
“He was in the Army and he saw a lot. He says he used to be closed off but isn’t anymore.” She painted strands of Sadie’s hair. “But for a man who says he isn’t closed off anymore, he doesn’t share much about himself.”
She thought of Vince. “And that scares you?”
Lily shrugged. “That and his age and the drama with my ex. I don’t think I can take on more.”
“Is your ex a real jerk?”
Lily glanced at Sadie through the mirror. “My ex is a rat bastard.”
Which was considerably worse than a jerk.
After another hour of weaving color, Lily put a clear cap on Sadie’s hair and sat her under the hair dryer. Sadie checked her cell phone for texts and e-mails, but there was nothing but junk. She used to get fifty or so business- related messages mixed with a few from friends throughout the day. It was like she’d fallen off the grid. Off the planet.
When she was done, her hair looked good. As good as in any of the salons she’d gone to in Denver or Phoenix or L.A. But Sadie was in Texas, and while Lily had managed just a slight trim to Sadie’s straight, shoulder-length hair, she hadn’t been able to control herself during the blow-out and Sadie had left with a slight pouf.
The thought of going home with her fabulous-looking hair was depressing so she stopped by Deeann’s Duds to look at some sundresses she’d seen in the window. A bell above the door rang as she stepped inside, and she had the immediate impression of pink and gold and cowhides.
“Look at you!” Deeann came around the counter and gave Sadie a hug. “Just as cute as a bug’s ear.”
Sadie had never understood that expression. Since neither bugs nor ears were cute. “Thank you. I just had my roots touched up at Lily Belle Salon and Spa.”
“Crazy Lily Darlington did it?”
She pulled back and looked into Deeann’s brown eyes. “Lily’s crazy?” She hadn’t struck Sadie as off.
“Oh.” Deeann waved a hand. “No. That’s just what everyone used to call her. Especially when she was divorcing that skirt-chasing Ronnie Darlington. She’s a few years older than me, but I always thought she was real sweet.”
“And you were always the nicest girl at charm school. And pretty, too.”
“Aren’t you sweet.”
Her daddy didn’t think so. “Show me something cute. Most of my clothes are in my closet in Phoenix, and I’m getting tired of the same sundresses and jogging suits.”
Deeann clapped her hands together. “Are you a size four?”
Who was she to argue? “Sure.” The store was more narrow than wide, with racks and shelves stuffed with everything from skirts and shorts and T-shirts to sundresses and prom dresses. There were a few cute things, but mostly Deeann’s Duds weren’t really Sadie’s style. Too much “embellishment.” Which meant beads and silver conchas and lace.
“I love your jewelry.” Which she did.
“It helps pay the bills.” Deeann looked at her watch she’d made from a spoon. “I have a few of the local girls coming in to look at prom dresses. I hope they find something and don’t go to Amarillo.” She shook her head, and her long red hair brushed her back. “My ex hasn’t paid child support in a year, and I need the money.”
Sadie set three T-shirts, two pairs of shorts, and five pairs of earrings on the counter. “My senior dress was a Jessica McClintock. Blue with rhinestones on the bodice.” She sighed. “I looked fabulous. Too bad my date, Rowdy Dell, got hit in the head with a flying tequila bottle and bled all over me.”
“Goodness. Did he have to have stitches?” Deeann rang up the clothes.
“Yeah. A few.” She chuckled. “I guess it was horrible of me to be more worried about my dress than his head.”
Deeann bit her lip to keep from smiling. “Not at all, honey. A dented head will heal. You can’t repair a bloody rhinestone-studded Jessica McClintock. Did Rowdy apologize for ruining your dress?”
“He obviously wasn’t raised right.” Sadie chuckled. “It was the prom night from hell.”
“Bet it wasn’t as bad as mine.” Deeann handed her the bag of clothes. “I got knocked up on prom night and made matters worse by getting married three months later. Now I run this shop, sell jewelry and real estate on the side just to support my boys and me. All because I crawled into the back of Ricky Gunderson’s truck.”
Deeann was certainly a hard worker. Sadie liked that about her. “Can I help?” She wasn’t licensed to sell real estate in Texas, but she could certainly show a home with Deeann. Give her some tips to close the deal. She was often the top-selling agent at her brokerage in Phoenix.
“You can sell prom dresses with me.”
“What?” She’d been thinking real estate. Showing houses and talking up amenities.
“It’s easy. Those girls are gonna want to try on every dress in the store. I sure could use another pair of hands.”
It had been a long time since she’d bought a prom dress or been around teenagers. The twenty-year-olds at her cousin’s wedding had been annoying enough. “I don’t know . . .”
“It shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours.”
“Hours?”
Vince raised the sledgehammer over his head and brought it down on the counter. The sounds of splintering wood and whine of wrenching nails filled the air, and it felt good to go at something with all his force. His motto had always been, “Sometimes it is entirely appropriate to kill a fly with a sledgehammer.” The man credited with the saying was a Marine, Major Holdridge. Vince loved the jarheads. Loved the wild grit and spit of the corps.
Of course, SEALs were trained a bit differently. Trained that it was easy to kill an enemy, but much more difficult to get intel from a corpse. Vince understood and walked the line between knowing that it was often vital to the mission to take enemy combatants alive, and loving a big explosion. And sometimes there was nothing quite like a sledgehammer to deliver a message and bring the point home.
A bead of sweat slid down his temple and he wiped it away with the shoulder of his T-shirt. He hit an overhead cabinet and knocked it off the wall. He’d dreamed of Wilson again last night. This time the dream began before the firefight that took his buddy’s life. He’d dreamed he was back in the rugged mountains and limestone caves. Of him and Wilson standing next to stockpiles of RPG launchers, AK–47 magazines, Russian-made grenades, Stinger missiles, and what someone claimed to be Osama bin Laden’s very own personal copy of the Koran. Vince had always had a doubt or two about that, but it made for a good story.
