He made a strange noise. “I’m not thrilled you’re messing with my woman’s hair. But, is this like when you gave Laura and Erica perms? Am I gonna be smelling this shit for the next three days and nights?”
Now I swallowed back laughter. Of all the things he could be concerned about, he didn’t want to smell the chemicals that would make my hair look fabulous.
His mother’s face went stony. “No, Clint. You will not have to smell her hair. It’s been two decades since I last permed Laura’s hair. The solution for highlighting tu reina’s hair doesn’t smell anything like that.”
“Mamá,” he drawled.
“No. You’re not going to ‘Mamá’ your way out of this.”
He sighed. “Well, since I’m on speaker. What do you ladies want for dinner? I’ll be by at a decent hour. I could bring—”
“Don’t bother, Raegan’s making lasagna,” Mom said.
I swung outraged eyes to her. “I am?” I whispered.
“Do you have garlic bread?” Clint asked, and I knew he heard me whispering.
“Pretty sure we don’t,” I said.
“I’ll swing by the Olive Garden.”
“No, mi hijo. Go to the grocery store and get French bread, we’ll make the garlic bread here.”
“So, you’re gonna have Rae out of those foils in time for her to make dinner?”
Juanita scoffed. “They’re highlights. I’m not trying to cover any gray hairs. You focus on your work so Rae doesn’t have to answer the door with a gun in her hand.”
I closed my eyes, wishing she hadn’t said that last part.
“Put mi reina back on, Mamá.”
I looked up at Juanita to see an apologetic expression on her face. I accepted it and the phone with a nod. With my thumb, I took him off speaker. “Yes, Clint?”
Even though I expected more aggrieved irritation, his tone was incredibly gentle. “Do you want or feel like making lasagna?”
I smiled, wishing he was here because him being so damned sweet was when I wanted to kiss his face off. “Not really, but I don’t exactly have a choice.”
He chuckled. “There’s always a choice, babe.”
“For you, perhaps.”
“And you, too. If you feel like being pampered, don’t cook. I’ll surprise them both with something we’ll all love.”
A tempting offer, but I knew better than to thwart Mom’s grand plan since I suspected at least part of it had to do with Juanita being here.
“Nope. Lasagna it is tonight. But, if you can pick up some bread, that’d be great.”
Clint
I HATED THE IDEA OF Rae with foil in her hair. I didn’t care what Mamá said, every woman I’d seen before and after highlights failed to look half as new-and-improved as Mamá claimed. There seemed to be something fake about highlighted hair to me. Like women wearing make-up. It was rare Raegan ever wore it. I loved that about her and always had.
Pulling up to Penny’s house, my SUV smelled like garlic from the fresh breadsticks I had ordered from a local restaurant. Mamá may have ordered me to get fresh bread, but I didn’t want to force any more work on Raegan than necessary.
It wasn’t until I was halfway up the walk that I noticed Laura’s car parked across the street. While I liked the idea of her making amends with Penny and Rae, a big dinner was not what I had in mind for tonight.
Rather than go in through the front door, I skirted the side of the house so I could enter the kitchen. The scent of lasagna baking hit me a second before the noise of Mamá and Laura. They were arguing loudly, partly because of the Latin music blaring from a stereo, and partly because in my family winning an argument required a higher volume more than a solid foundation of facts and logic.
Raegan walked into the kitchen and jumped when she saw me. I fought my head rearing back at the sight of her because I was wrong. Her hair didn’t look fake. She looked like someone who belonged on a red carpet or on the cover of a magazine. My urge to claim her swelled within me and I suppressed it, but no way she would get away from me a second time.
She moved toward the oven, but I grabbed her hand and yanked her outside before anyone noticed us.
“Clint! I don’t have any shoes on, what are you doing?”
With my hands on her shoulders, I leaned back. “Jesus, I didn’t think you could get more beautiful, Rae.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Clint,” she whispered.
Moving a hand to cup her neck, I stepped in and gave her a lengthy hello kiss. She tasted of red wine. I ended the kiss and rested my forehead on hers.
“What was that for?” she asked.
I chuckled and pulled my head back. “That was hello. Are you up for some not so nice news?”
She shrugged. “I doubt there’s a choice.”
“Toxicology reports on your sister’s stomach contents, blood, and urine came back. The examiner said there was benzodiazepine in her system, but since she had Xanax in her medicine cabinet that wasn’t alarming.”
Her brows furrowed. “Wynnie wasn’t on Xanax.”
“They found a bottle with her name on it in the bathroom, honey.”
She looked to the side for a beat. “Yeah, but she stopped taking it about a year ago. Hell, when she stopped it was during the worst part of my separation before the divorce. She told me I needed to get a prescription for it because it would help me keep my head together. She was right, since I got the prescription, but stopped taking it when the worst of the divorce was over.”
My gut said we were on to something with this.
“Are you certain she didn’t start taking it again? Lots of people don’t talk about their anxiety like they should, honey. The two of you had enough going on with your mother, could
