His Hometown Girl. Jillian Hart
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upset, what’s she doing in your shop?”
“This is the only place in town to buy a latte.” Karen sighed.
“You’re doing the right thing, giving it time.” He meant to be comforting. “Everyone knows you and Jay will get back together.”
“Everybody doesn’t know me, not if they believe that. I’m never going to marry Jay.” Karen concentrated extra hard on her sandwich making. “I suppose that’s what you think, too, isn’t it? That good, dependable Karen will do what’s sensible. And why not? It’s what I’ve always done.”
“That’s the problem with a small town. People make up their minds about what kind of person you are, and it doesn’t matter how honest you try to be when it comes to their repair bills, they still see what they’re used to seeing.”
“I know what you mean.” Karen’s pulse skipped again. Had Zach’s eyes always been so blue? “Have a good afternoon.”
“Good luck surviving Cecilia’s death-ray stare.” He tossed a five-dollar bill on the counter and took the paper sack from her.
His hand brushed hers and burned her like a hot flame.
Why was she feeling like this? Confused, she watched Zach push open the door, causing the bell to jangle overhead. For a brief moment he glanced at her, his eyes dark with unmistakable sympathy.
Then he turned and was gone. The bell chimed again as the door snapped shut, and Karen felt as if all the warmth had gone from the room. What was wrong with her? What was going on?
She didn’t mean to be watching him, but there he was. Striding down the walk with the wind tousling his dark hair. He looked as rakish as a pirate, and yet as dependable as the earth. He hesitated at the top of the stairs and then he disappeared from her sight.
Caffeine, that’s what she needed. Karen reached for the pitcher of iced tea and poured a tall glass. The sweet cool liquid slid down the back of her throat, but it didn’t ease the confusion within her.
The bell chimed again. Zach—had he come back? Karen held her breath as the door swung open to reveal not her handsome mechanic but someone just as welcome. Her grandmother swept into the room wearing a red T-shirt, a pair of denim shorts and tennis shoes.
Karen nearly dropped her glass. “What happened to you?”
“I raided Michelle and Kirby’s closets. I’ve been wearing dresses all my life. It’s time for a change.” Gramma set her purse on the counter. It was a neat slim red pocketbook instead of the sensible black handbag she always carried.
What was going on?
Gramma faced the dining room and clapped her hands. “Ladies, Karen sure appreciates your business, but she’s going to have to close up shop for a few hours. I know you understand. Here, Cecilia, let me get a paper cup so you can take your latte with you.”
Cecilia’s disapproving glare gained new intensity. “Helen, whatever have you done to yourself?”
“What? A woman can’t wear shorts in the heat of summer?” Her grandmother looked nonplussed as she transferred Cecilia’s latte from the mug to the paper cup. “Now, head on out so I can lock the door.”
“Gramma!” Karen stepped forward before her grandmother took over completely. “You can’t do this. It’s nearly time for the lunch crowd.”
“But you have to leave right now.” Gramma flipped the sign in the window so it read Closed. “It’s the only time Dawn over at the Snip & Style could fit us into her schedule.”
“What do you mean by ‘us’? You’re the one getting your hair colored. I’m going for moral support. That’s what we agreed to.”
“That’s not how I remember it. Come on, get your keys. I’m not about to be late, not when Dawn has promised me a whole new look.”
“Gramma, I’m glad you’re doing this. I’m thrilled, really. But lunch brings in the biggest sales of the day. I can’t miss it. Maybe Michelle can—”
“Your sister has a client scheduled—you. I mean it, ladies, out of those chairs. Hustle.” Gramma gave a good-humored clap, looking as if she were herding reluctant deer from her rose garden. “Thanks, ladies. Karen sure appreciates it.”
“Anything for our Karen,” Marj Whitly said warmly. “That’s just the thing she needs, Helen. Time for herself at the beauty parlor, a complete shampoo and facial. Restores the spirit, it does. Then she’ll be over her wedding jitters and can get down to the business of marrying your son, Cecilia.”
Karen opened her mouth to protest, but Gramma winked at her, so she offered Marj a lid for her cup instead.
Gramma locked the door after the women departed. “Leave your purse. This is my treat.”
“What treat? I’m going to say this one more time so you understand. I’m going along for moral support only.”
“Of course you are,” Gramma said indulgently. “Now get a move on, because I don’t want to be late for my new life.”
See? This is what always got her into trouble. In the end, she hadn’t been able to disappoint her grandmother. Look what that had gotten her.
“It wasn’t supposed to do this,” Michelle, her youngest sister, apologized. “Working with hair is always tricky. You have a lot of naturally gold highlights in your hair, which was a surprise considering it’s such a dull brown—”
“I never should have agreed to this.” Karen wished she had Cecilia Thornton’s knack for a death-ray glare. “I should’ve never trusted you.”
“I guess I left the color in too long.”
“You guess?” She could only stare in the mirror at her wet, scraggly hair. It hung in limp, ragged strands and shone perfectly gold. Except in about ten or twelve places. “Look what you did to me. My own baby sister.”
“Sorry. This is the first time I’ve ever turned someone’s hair green. Honest.”
“Fix it. Whatever you have to do, do it now.”
Michelle grabbed a fresh towel. “I know what to do. I think.”
“You think? What did they teach you at that school anyway?”
“They warned us never to work on our own relatives. Now I know why.” Michelle dashed away and disappeared from sight.
“It’s certainly different, I’ll grant you that,” Gramma said from the neighboring chair. “With those green streaks, you could be in the latest fashion. Anywhere but in Montana.”
“Thanks, I feel so much better.” Karen peered at her reflection, her heart sinking. What if Michelle couldn’t fix it? “I didn’t mind being mouse brown. At least my real color wouldn’t glow in the dark.”
“That’s the spirit. Don’t worry. We’ll turn you into a dazzling blonde yet. Michelle might be new at this, but Dawn here has decades of experience. She can work wonders. Why, look at me.”
“I’m looking.” Karen couldn’t believe her eyes as the other beautician switched on a blow dryer and began styling Gramma’s hair.
No more gray curls. Rich auburn locks fell in a short, feathery cut. She looked beautiful. Infinitely beautiful.
“I’ve always wanted to be a redhead,” Gramma confessed above the hum of the dryer. “It’s a whole new me.”
“You don’t need any improvement.” By contrast, Karen’s hair looked like a cosmetology school disaster. “Look at me. I could sure use something. Michelle, I want you to put this back the way it was.”
“Don’t be silly,” Gramma admonished. “You promised moral support, so don’t think I’m going through this alone. You’re