by Cathryn Cade
It would be nice if she had siblings or friends with older children to share survival tips with her. But Dee’s relationships generally lasted a few months or less.
Lacey's adorable, little, redheaded girls were seven and nine. They were still in the sweet and cute phase and called RaeAnn ‘Auntie RaeRae.’ Of course Lacey was a great mom, and her husband doted on all his ladies. Their little girls had no idea how lucky they were.
Chayna had two girls, also adorable. Though Rae didn’t envy her their teen years as the two were little firecrackers already.
Rae had other casual friends with boys Connor's age, parents she'd met at his soccer games and practices. But although they joked together about parenting, she didn't know any of them well enough to share the growing tension between her and Con.
She'd done what she could to heal their growing tension, including setting him up for the new weekly appointments with the school counselor, a very nice young man with a degree in psychology.
She sighed heavily. Maybe she should go see a counselor again herself.
She’d had a round of therapy when Connor was a baby. She’d been terrified of everything—raising a son with only half-time help from his father, doing so with her mother’s involvement without losing her own mind, and of never finding a man to have a loving, committed relationship with.
She still wasn’t sure how she was doing on the first two, and as for the last one… well, she’d had some relationships, both good and mediocre, but none that lasted.
But that was a whole ‘nother story, as her favorite comedienne often said about men.
The woman was not wrong.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
RaeAnn drove south across the Monroe St. Bridge and turned onto the street that took her past Brilliance Salon.
Slowing at the corner of the building, Rae turned into the alley between the salon and the gas station on the corner.
She eased into one of the diagonal parking spots beside the salon owner's Cadillac. Britt might insist on black-and-white only in the salon, but her Caddy was lipstick red.
Rae loved the pearly white of her own Equinox. It was the first new rig she’d ever owned, and she’d chosen it herself.
She grabbed her things, stepped out of the SUV, and beeped the locks. It was convenient parking there because it was off the street, although it could be creepy in the winter when the short daylight meant the salon employees came out to their vehicles in the dark. Rae had a small, powerful flashlight on her key-chain, which she'd used many times, to make sure no one was hiding behind one of the cars.
Before walking up to the salon's side door, she looked down, brushing her free hand down the front of her sweater.
She took a deep breath and blew it out. Time to shake off her mother-of-a-teenager angst and be a professional.
Pasting a smile on her face, she pulled the door open and walked into the salon. The owner, Britt, was already at her station, doing a blowout for a woman in business-wear. She turned her head as Rae walked in, her sharp gaze cutting over Rae critically.
"Morning," Rae said.
Britt nodded brusquely in return and went back to snipping hair. Tall and thin, Britt had inky black hair cut in dramatic angles, and salon-tanned skin. As always, she wore pure black. The salon itself was white, with silver-and-black accents. Britt insisted that the stylists also wear this color scheme.
Rae found it easy to dress for work because clients noticed the monochrome of her ensembles, not that she'd worn the same jeans each time they were in. She was heartily sick of black-and-white. One of these days, she'd told her fellow stylist Chayna, she was gonna show up wearing screaming fuchsia just to watch Britt go ballistic.
Chayna had made an 'eek!' face and laughed, telling Rae she better have a station lined up at another salon first, or she'd be out on the street.
Chayna, who had once worked at Lavish Locks next to E Boutique, had moved to Brilliance a year before RaeAnn. In fact, she had introduced RaeAnn to Britt and recommended Britt hire her.
RaeAnn had been so nervous as she cut a client’s hair under the salon owner’s eagle eyes that she felt all thumbs. Luckily, her training had kicked in, and she gave the girl an excellent cut and then a Brazilian blow-out.
Britt had hired her. Rae had taken Chayna out to dinner the next week.
Britt was not an easy person to work for, and Chayna was right. The woman probably would fire Rae on the spot for daring to wear a color. Since she needed the job and the generous tips her clients gave her, Rae left her colorful little fantasy where it belonged—in her mind.
What with her fantasies of getting even with Mac, it was crowded in there.
She stowed her lunch in the little fridge in the break room/storeroom, checked her reflection in the restroom mirror, and pulled her black apron from the hook on the wall, pulling it on and tying it behind her waist. Then she walked back through the salon, checking her appointments on her phone app.
She noted her first appointment was a man's haircut, set out her tools and a black cape, and turned as the bell over the salon's front door jangled. "Hi, welcome to Brilliance Salon," she said, walking forward with a smile. "I'm Rae. Come on back, and you can tell me how I can help you."
Her client, a stocky, dark-haired man wearing slacks, shirt, and tie under a wind-breaker, gave her an open once-over, and smiled back. "Well, all right, Rae," he said, his voice oozing the forced joviality of a salesman. "You call and I'll come a runnin', gorgeous."
Great. She sighed inwardly, and turned her chair for him to sit. "So, you must work across the street at DeLand Chevrolet, hmm? What are we doing this morning, a trim?"
He winked at her in the salon mirrors. "A shampoo and cut. That way I get to feel your pretty hands on me." He laughed loudly.
'Do not stab him with the scissors,' she reminded herself. 'Orange is not your color, and you don't like jumpsuits.'
"You sure do," she said sweetly, whipping the cape around him and snapping it behind his neck. "Of course, I'll be waving my sharp scissors around, too. Ha ha ha."
Then she twirled him and his chair sharply, and kicked the support to drop his head back toward the wash-basin. She turned on the cold water and splashed the top of his head. He winced, his eyes widening.
"Oops, sorry," she breathed. "You just relax and be quiet, and I'll be more careful. Deal?"
He nodded.
Rae got to work, smiling to herself. She'd gotten a whole lot better over the years at dealing with customers of all kinds. She didn't mind jollying someone who just needed a reminder that life was good, but she did not put up with crap—from anyone.
The rest of her day went well, aside from Britt bitching at her and Chayna for not telling her she needed to reorder paper goods. Chayna and Rae, who had both reminded her the Friday before, exchanged a speaking look behind her back.
One of these days, Rae was going to open her own salon, or at least share space with other stylists who were all her equals. A place where she did not have to put up with being talked down to. And she’d like to take Chayna with her.
But for now, she was having a good day being an independent woman, working at her chosen career, and managing to forget the troubles that waited for her at home.
That all changed when she left work and walked outside to her car.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
At five thirty, Rae gave a sigh of relief as she gathered up her purse and tote with her coffee cup and water bottle, and walked out onto the side alley where she, Chayna, and Britt parked.
As she stepped out the door, she palmed her phone, ready to turn the sound back on—Britt tolerated no cell phone sounds during salon hours—and check to see if Con had texted her. Rae checked religiously for any messages from him, at least three times each day. At 3:30, there’d been nothing.
But now, instead of looking at her phone, she stopped short, frozen in horror.
She could not believe her eyes.
Her car, her pretty little SUV
that she was still making payments on, had been trashed!
Some thick brown substance was smeared over the hood and on the driver side door. And her front window had been shattered. The safety glass had pebbled and still hung together, but it was destroyed.
As she broke out of her shock enough to move in closer, she saw there was more. The windshield wipers were broken, dangling uselessly on the hood. And someone had used some kind of sharp tool to leave gouges in the silver paint.
On autopilot, Rae lifted her phone to her ear. She blinked for a moment and then hit the button to call 911. "What is your emergency, please," a calm voice asked.
"My car's been vandalized," Rae said. She gave her name and the salon address, assured the operator that she was in no immediate danger and that she did not need to stay on the line until the police arrived.
She ended the call and stood there, staring at her Chevy Equinox. Who would do this? She didn't have any enemies, that she knew.
Of course, there'd been that woman who was ticked off because her highlights—which Rae had warned her was not a good idea on damaged hair—hadn't turned out perfectly, but the woman was a snooty, country club type. Hardly the type to come back and vandalize Rae's vehicle. She was more likely to trumpet her dissatisfaction at the next meeting of her bridge club.
Rae's middle was hollow with grief. Didn't matter if this had been aimed specifically at her or not, it still hurt and it made her angry.
A hot ball of rage flared to life, not quite but nearly burning away her grief.
The salon's side door swooshed open behind Rae, bringing warm air laden with the scents of hair products and perfume.
"Hey, girl, thought you'd be gone by now. What are you doing standing out here when you could be on your way home?" queried a warm voice behind Rae.
Her fellow stylist Chayna stopped beside her. Then the other woman sucked in a sharp breath as her gaze followed Rae's. "Oh, my gawd, what happened to your car?" Chayna's free hand touched Rae on the shoulder and settled there to give her a little squeeze.
"That's what I'd like to know," said Rae. "I mean you can see what happened—I want to know who in the hell did it."
"Oh honey, I hear you there," Chayna breathed. "Listen, did you call the cops? Of course you did. But–but, what can I do? Is there anything? You need a ride somewhere?"
"No thanks, honey," Rae said. She stood there, clutching her tote and her purse,staring at her car. “There's nothing. The cops are on their way.
"Well I know, but surely you need a ride or something," Chayna asked, her voice full of worry.
As if on cue, Chayna's phone played the opening notes of 'Look out, It's Mama'.
"Wouldn't you know it? I swear, the woman has a sixth sense for when I just need another minute or two," Chayna grumbled as she lifted her phone to her ear. "Yes, I know you have yoga at 6:00pm, mama. I'm on my way but—no listen. I'm on my way but my friend needs a ride. Mama! Mama! Oh, all right."
She gave Rae a look of mingled desperation and regret. "I'm sorry, girl. I have got to go. She lets my brother and his wife get away with being late five times a week, but me—! Me, she threatens with everything in the book if I'm not on time to pick them up. Like I'm a robot, or something."
Rae waved her toward her minivan. "It's okay. You go and pick up your kids. I'll be fine, its broad daylight, the police are on the way and I can always go back inside if I need to."
“All right," Chayna said. "But I hate just going off and leaving you.”
"I know. Now go."
Chayna hustled to her van and got in. She gave Rae a last wave as she pulled away toward the street. “Tell Britt!” she hollered out her van window.
Rae nodded, but then she went back to gazing at her car.
Sadly, this was one of those crimes that now happened a lot in Spokane, especially downtown. The city had a big homeless population, and while she was the last person to cast blame on any group, she knew that some of them were angry, and some truly mentally ill, given to acts of random violence.
But because she watched the local news, she also knew this was what the police would call a property crime, not a violent crime. Thus, they did not have time and resources to devote to solving it, so their chances of catching whoever had done it were slim.
Her phone vibrated in her hand, making her flinch. She always kept the sound off during working hours and checked her messages frequently in case Connor needed her.
Now she lifted her phone and when she saw the name on the screen, relief swept over her, almost making her stagger. Mac might be the most irritating man put on this earth, but he would help her if needed.
He’d once driven eighty miles each way to pick her and Con up when her car had broken down on the south end of Coeur d’Alene Lake in North Idaho.
She put her phone to her ear. "Mac?" she quavered.
"Babe," he answered instantly. "What's wrong? Talk to me."
"My—my car's been vandalized," she told him.
"You okay?” he demanded. “Where you at, the salon?"
"I'm okay," she told him. "Yeah, I'm at the salon."
"The cops there yet?"
"No, but they're on their way, and I'm right by the door."
"All right, I'm on my way to you. Be there in five."
Before she had a chance to ask how he was going to get here so quickly, he ended the call.
The salon door opened again. “What is going on out here?” Britt asked sharply.
Rae turned and motioned to her SUV. “Vandals.”
Britt moved to stand beside Rae, surveyed the mess, and made a sound of disgust. “And were you planning to tell me about this?”
Rae had always been polite to the woman, no matter what. But this time, she snapped. “So sorry about that,” she retorted. “I’ve been a little preoccupied. But thanks so much for your concern.” Not.
The salon owner glared at Rae as if she’d caused the trouble, and Rae returned the look with extra force. Would it be too much to ask for the woman to be nice for once?
Evidently so. When a police cruiser pulled up in the alley, Britt shook her head and whisked back inside her salon.
When Mac’s Harley rumbled around the corner, Rae was talking to two very young cops. One of them was taking pictures of her car, the other filling out a form with her input.
Mac rolled his Harley to a stop by the outer wall of the salon and parked it.
Rae lifted a hand in greeting and he lifted his chin in return. He wore his leathers and mirrored sunglasses, and to her surprise a helmet, which he dragged off and set on the seat of his bike.
She watched as he stalked over to her vehicle and surveyed it. His face went hard with anger. Then his head went back and she watched him take a step back. Rae knew why—the same reason she and the officers were standing several feet away from the car as they spoke. The brown smears on her beautiful car were dog crap.
Mac stalked around the car, squatted to look at something, took out his phone and took a picture. Then he walked several steps away from them, his phone to his ear.
By the time the cops had left, having informed Rae politely that she would hear from them as soon as they had any news, Mac was off his phone.
She stood, arms wrapped around herself, waiting for him to saunter over and give her a look that said he’d handle this, but at some price.
Instead, to her utter shock, he came straight to her, opened his arms, and pulled her to him, giving her a hard hug, his face in her hair, his deep voice murmuring reassurance to her.
It had been years since she and Mac touched for anything other than to pass Connor over as a baby or toddler. Years since Rae had been this close to Mac.
But strangely, his scent—leather, warm skin, and shaving cologne—was familiar. And it was as comforting as his embrace.
Rae sagged against his hard, muscular body in the utter relief of having someone stronger to lean on. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d been able to do so.
&nbs
p; She was the strong one, the voice of authority, of reassurance—always.
In Mac’s enfolding arms, she felt something inside her quake and quiver, like a dam under duress, about to give way and let the waters burst forth.
No, said the voice of years of experience. No, you can’t let go. Can’t trust anyone else to be there… least of all Mac.
Just for now, she answered. Just for another minute.
"Aww, babe,” he said, his rough voice in her hair. “You're way too much of a sweetheart to have this shit happen to you.”
No, she wasn’t. She was just an ordinary woman. But still... who would do this to her?
"They smeared dog shit on my car," she mumbled against his collar. "And they scratched the paint... and they even broke the windshield wipers. Who does that? I don't know anybody who would do that."
"I know you don't," he said. His hand swept up and down her back in a slow stroke. "But don't you worry, we're gonna get it all taken care of. Already called my bro T-Bear. He or his partner Moke will be here with a tow truck and take your car to their shop."
Wait, what? Rae lifted her head, and frowned up at him. “No, that’s—I can deal with—”
Mac shook his head. "It’s done. Now, you have anything in your rig that you need to take with you?"
She sniffed, hard, because a weak part of her wanted to give way and dissolve into tears. She shook her head. "No, Con and I never leave anything in the car that can be stolen. That's just asking for—for trouble." Her voice broke on the last word as she realized that her beautiful SUV had been the object of trouble, despite her precautions.
"I know, mama," he said. He held out his hand. “Gimme your key, we’ll tuck it under the bumper. T will know where to look.”
Because it was just easier, for once, to let someone take over, she handed him the fob with the key on it. He scanned the area, then squatted to tuck the key out of sight.
Then he moved toward his bike, herding her with him. "Now come on. I'm taking you home. Ain't the way I hoped to get you on my bike again, but whatever. Important thing is, I got you."
