Hart, Catherine

by Impulsive

  Ty scowled at her. "My mom's a beautician. I spent half my life hanging around her shop, watching her work her magic on little old ladies who wanted to look like Farrah Fawcett." He gave a sheepish shrug. "Guess my brain absorbed more than the perm fumes, huh?"

  "Your mom is a hair dresser?" Jess was intrigued. "What does your dad do?"

  Ty hesitated. "I'll only tell you if you promise not to freak out on me."

  She gave him a curious look, but agreed. "Scout's honor."

  "Dad is a mortician."

  "A what?" Jess's mouth flapped open.

  "So much for promises," Ty groused.

  "Your father is an undertaker? Like in, working with corpses?"

  "What's wrong with that?" Ty inquired defensively. "Somebody has to do it, or the bodies would be stacking up like cord wood."

  "I suppose you're right, but of all the occupations you might have mentioned, that's the last one I would have guessed." She paused a moment, then asked almost tentatively, "So, are you planning on following in your father's footsteps after you quit playing football?"

  "Well, I hate to disappoint you, Jess," he said with a grin, "but, no. Actually, I got my degree in accounting."

  He'd done it to her again. Thrown her two curves in a row. "Accounting?" she repeated dumbly. "No announcing games? No coaching? No selling sporting goods? No sports bar?"

  "Nope. Accounting and business administration. See there, Jess? I'm not just your run-of-the-mill super jock or ditso blond, after all, am I? You're talking to an actual Certified Public Accountant and investment management graduate. If I have to, I can even use words with more than two syllables."

  "Don't get snide, Ty. I never said you weren't intelligent. I just thought you'd probably go into something related to football, since you like it so well."

  He speared her with a knowing look. "C'mon, Jess. Admit it. You're harboring a few biased opinions of your own about me, the way I did about reporters."

  "Perhaps," she conceded. "Primarily before I got to know you. You've already destroyed a lot of my preconceived notions, however, and I have a sneaking hunch you've still got a couple of surprises up your sleeve."

  "If you really want to make me feel better, and yourself in the bargain, you could let me do your hair," he told her.

  "Is that where all this was leading?" she asked suspiciously.

  He gave her a look that might have passed for innocent if not for the twinkle lurking in his blue eyes. "Well?" he prodded.

  "What did you have in that warped mind of yours?"

  "I thought we might highlight it a little."

  "How little?" she inquired dubiously.

  "Not much. When it's done, it'll look sun-streaked. Basically, you'll still have your own color, only brighter, with strands of blond mixed in."

  Her brows knitted, wrinkling her forehead beneath her stick-straight bangs. "Do you know how to do that, or would I just be some stupid guinea pig at the mercy of a novice dabbler?"

  "Trust me, Jess. You'll love it."

  Trust him. That was what it all boiled down to. Jess sighed. "Okay, but if you make me look ridiculous, I'm going to retaliate in equal proportion, buster. I'll dye your face green while you're sleeping. I'll paint your fingernails with a red permanent marker. I'll..."

  "I get your drift, you vengeful witch. Now, go wash your hair, and I'll run down to the store and get the stuff I need and be back in a jiffy."

  "Don't forget the ice cream and chocolate syrup while you're at it," she reminded him. "I've got a feeling I'm going to need the consolation. And a can of black spray paint for the mirrors might not be amiss, either."

  He grinned at her. "Oh, ye of little faith!"

  "Wait!" Jess threw up her hand to catch his—the one in which he was holding the scissors—and stared in horror at the lock of hair that had just fallen into her lap. "You didn't say anything about cutting it, too."

  "I'm just going to reshape it, and get rid of the split ends," he assured her. "Nothing that drastic."

  Jess let loose of him and groaned. "How did I ever let you talk me into this?"

  He snipped another section. "Too late now, darlin'. So hold still so I can get it even. And shut your mouth, unless you want a glob of hair in it."

  "Give me a mirror first."

  "Not on your life."

  Jess closed her eyes and commenced to pray. Twenty minutes later, he ceased whacking at her hair. Jess chanced a peek. The floor was littered, as was she, and her head felt noticeably lighter. "Are you done with the scissors? Am I completely bald?"

  Behind her, Ty chuckled. "Yes, and no, in that order. Now comes the fun part." For her perusal, he held out a shower cap dotted with tiny holes. "You get to wear this while I pull strands of your hair through the holes with this." He showed her something resembling a crochet needle.

  "Oh, yippee!" she quipped, eyeing the items with growing dread. "What then? You make a sweater for Josh?"

  "Not quite. Then we mix up the solution, glop it on, and wait the prescribed amount of time. About half an hour or so."

  As he plied the pick, it felt as if he were yanking the remainder of her hair from its roots. "Ouch!" she complained for the umpteenth time. "Take it easy, will you?"

  Then, when he applied the bleach mixture, her eyes began to water. "Are you sure you don't have it too strong?"

  "Stop whining. I swear, Josh wouldn't complain as much as you are."

  "Then work on Josh next time you get a whim to play beautician."

  "You'll be singing a different tune when you see the final result," he predicted immodestly.

  The last forty minutes seemed like a century. Finally, Ty deemed her hair the correct shade. "Now, we rinse, condition, and style."

  "Can I look yet?"

  "Absolutely not."

  He brushed, he fluffed, he dried it with her hair blower. He spritzed, sprayed, turning her this way and that. At long last, he handed her a mirror, claiming as he did so, "Not bad, if I do say so myself."

  Jess was almost afraid to look. On a deep breath, she held up the mirror. That same breath rushed out again as she stared at her image in total disbelief. "Oh, my gosh! Ty! What did you do? That can't be me!"

  Only now did Ty display the slightest apprehension. "Do you like it?"

  "Like it? I love it!" she squealed, angling for a better view. "You're an absolute miracle worker!"

  She swished her head back and forth, watching her hair bounce and shimmer. It had body, and shine, and... pouf! Ty had feathered it away from her face, leaving it long enough to fluff out and over her ears. He'd cut the crown shorter, giving it lift where it had hung limply before. He'd also layered the back to give it more volume. And the color—streaks of pale gold, artfully intertwined with her original brown, which no longer seemed so drab now.

  Her image wavered as tears gathered in her eyes. "Oh, Ty! It's so pretty! And it makes my face look fuller. Not so long and thin. I actually look..."

  "Go ahead, sweetheart," he urged softly. "Say it. You're beautiful. Downright, indisputably gorgeous. Which is precisely what I've been telling you all along. Until now, you simply haven't been accentuating your best features, that's all."

  "I really am pretty, aren't I?" she said incredulously.

  "No. Pretty doesn't begin to cover it, Jess. What's it going to take to convince you? You truly are beautiful, inside and out. Now say it. Out loud. Say, T, Jess Myers, am a beautiful woman.' "

  "Ty, that's silly, not to mention outrageously conceited."

  "It's the bare-faced truth. Now say it, dammit, or you don't get any ice cream. I'll eat it all myself, right in front of you."

  She felt foolish, and shaky, and unsure of herself as she stared at the unfamiliar image in the mirror. But something inside her, a skinny little girl with freckles and braces, was pleading for her to do as Ty asked. "I... am beautiful," she whispered.

  "Louder. Stronger. With conviction this time, like you really believe it," he prodded.

  A
smile tugged at her lips and traveled to her eyes. "I am beautiful," she stated more firmly. Swiftly, she turned, caught him around the neck, and pulled his face toward hers. "And it's all because of you, Ty. No one else but you."

  Ty's smile was tender, his eyes glowing with something akin to love as he brought his lips to hers. "In that case, I wouldn't refuse a reward—a very special, intimate reward—if a certain lovely lady were to offer it."

  Because of Wednesday's funeral service for Ervin, which most of the team attended, the Knights were cut short one practice session that week. Nevertheless, by the time Sunday rolled around, they were more than ready for their bout against the Portland Rangers. Like the Knights, the Rangers were a newly formed expansion team, still fledglings in the league. The Knights, with their fans rooting for them on their own turf, beat the Oregonians handily.

  The following week, everything went downhill. Each practice session seemed to bring with it a new disaster. On Tuesday, Dino Sherwood broke his collarbone during the scrimmage. He'd be out of action for most of the remaining season. Wednesday morning, the coach announced that Brice Tackett, their best tight end, had been arrested for DWI and would be on temporary suspension until the matter was resolved.

  This initiated an unexpected on-the-spot drug testing, or as the players had labeled it, a "whiz quiz." Doc Johnson, the team physician, handed each of them a name-labeled bottle at the rest room door and collected it again as each man left. Even the coaches had to submit a urine sample, though Jess was allowed to donate hers in the privacy of the ladies' rest room while Johnson waited in the outer hallway. While all this was done as efficiently as possible, it was still a lengthy procedure, causing practice that day to run over by an hour.

  Havoc reigned Thursday when Doc Johnson proclaimed that two of the players had failed the drug test. The first was Rick Tanner, a veteran offensive guard. This came as a terrific shock to everyone, including Rick—particularly since it was well-known that he and his wife Michelle were devout Christians.

  "Now hold the phone, Doc," he protested. "There's no way I could have flunked that drug test. I haven't even taken an aspirin in the past two weeks!"

  "No, but it looks like you've been smoking some pot," Doc rebutted. "You're on the bench until I decide you're clean."

  The second man on the list was Sir Loin Simms, who also protested his innocence, with the same results—though his test had shown traces of crack cocaine.

  "This is preposterous!" Ty, as the team leader, was not buying it, and voiced his complaint loudly. "Doc, Coach, I know these men. Neither of them would jeopardize their careers this way."

  Danvers held out his hands in a defeated gesture. "I'm sorry. My hands are tied. I have to abide by Doc Johnson's ruling. The only thing I can do is request that they be retested as soon as possible."

  "But they're vital to us." Rambo pointed out the obvious. "Without them on the field, the Oilers are gonna walk all over us. On our first Monday night game on TV, too!"

  "Well, I'm not taking this lying down," Rick declared. "I'm going to call my lawyer and have him meet me at the hospital, where I'm going to have them run another test. I want witnesses to the fact that I'm no druggie."

  "What are you implying, Tanner?" Doc Johnson puffed up like a rooster, his face flaming in anger. "That I'm incompetent?"

  "Not necessarily," Rick said, "but something went wrong with your test. Maybe the lab screwed up, or the container was contaminated. I don't know. All I'm sure of is that I have never smoked a joint in my life, and no one is going to say otherwise and get away with it."

  "Hey, man! Can I come with you?" Sir Loin asked. "I ain't got a lawyer in Columbus yet, but I'd be glad to pay yours if he'd help me out, too."

  "Now, let's all calm down here, fellows," Doc suggested. "I can take another set of samples to a different lab, and it won't cost either of you a dime. Maybe Tanner is right, and the first tests got messed up somehow. No sense blowing this thing all out of proportion."

  Rick didn't look too sure. Sir Loin was wavering. Finally, under Danvers' persuasion, they agreed, but only after Doc guaranteed the results would be back by the next afternoon.

  By the end of practice on Friday, everyone was on pins and needles, waiting to hear the new lab findings. They got half their wish. Rick Tanner's test was clear. Sir Loin's wasn't. Still maintaining his innocence, Sir Loin marched off the field in a huff, defiantly stating that he was off to engage an attorney.

  CHAPTER 16

  With half of Friday and all weekend off, and no practice until Monday morning in Memphis, it was a perfect time for Ty to take Josh for a quick trip to Kentucky. Ty's parents lived in the small city of Bowling Green, about a hundred and twenty miles south of Louisville. To her surprise, Ty invited Jess to go along.

  "How fast can you pack?" he asked her. "I'd like to take you down and introduce you to my folks."

  "Really? Won't bringing me along make your family start asking a lot of questions?"

  "Like your mom wanting to know what my intentions were?"

  Jess nodded. "Precisely."

  Ty shrugged. "I can handle it if you can," he told her. "Don't worry. There's plenty of room, and Mom always cooks for an army. One person, more or less, won't put her in a dither."

  "Well," Jess hedged, though her curiosity was almost more than she could stand, "if you're sure your parents won't mind."

  "Just pack casual clothes for there," he said. "We won't be doing anything fancy. Mostly just hanging around the house so Mom and Dad can get a good visit in with Josh."

  "What about afterward? Are we going to drive all the way back to Indianapolis with Josh, then back here to catch the flight to Memphis Sunday night? That's going to cut your visit awfully short, not to mention all the driving you'll have to do."

  "It's all arranged. Mom and Dad are going to take Josh home on Sunday evening," he explained. "You and I can drive back up to Louisville and catch a flight to Memphis from there, which will leave us a three and a half hour drive home on Tuesday."

  "But last-minute flights are so expensive, Ty."

  A sheepish look crossed his face. "I bought our tickets two weeks ago, Jess, when they were running that fare-war special. I got them dirt cheap."

  Jess stared at him in wonder. "You bought mine then, too?"

  "Yes, and it's nonrefundable, so I was hoping you'd agree."

  Despite Jess's trepidation, the weekend was great, and so was Ty's family. Their home was large and welcoming, filled with a hodgepodge of furniture chosen for comfort rather than fashion. Overstuffed sofas and chairs, a trestle table and benches in the kitchen, cozy comforters and quilts on the beds, and country curtains at the windows. It was a home where children could feel free to play, without constantly being on guard against dirtying something or breaking some expensive knick-knack. Outdoors, there was a big fenced-in yard, complete with sandbox and swing set. The only drawback, in Jess's estimation, was that the house was located next door to the funeral home, albeit several yards away.

  "You get used to it," Ty assured her, "and I can categorically confirm that neither I nor any of my family have ever seen a ghost flitting around."

  "How would you like a tour of the mortuary while you're here?" Wesley James offered with a grin reminiscent of Ty's. "I think we can drum up at least one body that needs embalming, if you'd care to watch."

  Jess fought not to turn green at the very thought. "No thank you, Mr. James. I'll take a rain check on that, if you don't mind. Say the second Tuesday of the fifth week in February?"

  Wes winked at his son. "She's a quick one, isn't she, Ty?"

  "You haven't seen the half of it, Dad," Ty told him.

  "Josh really has taken a shine to you, Miss Myers," Ty's mother, Maggie, commented.

  "Just call me Jess, please," Jess requested with a smile. "And I've taken quite a liking to Josh, too. Does he resemble Ty when he was young?"

  "Like two peas in a pod," Maggie confirmed. "I'll show you some of Ty's earlier
pictures later, if you like."

  Jess shot Ty a wide grin. "I'd love to see them. Do you have any that might be useful as blackmail material? Say, Ty naked on a bearskin rug, for instance?"

  Maggie chuckled. "No bearskin, but I think there's one of him on his training potty, with his drawers around his ankles."

  "That'll do just fine," Jess said over Ty's loud groan.

  "Geez, Mom! Give a poor guy a break, will you?"

  "Sure, Ty. Just to be fair, I'll show Jess some of your sisters' pictures, too."

  On Saturday, Ty's three sisters and their families came to visit. Unlike their brother, all three girls had settled within a few miles of their parents. Karlie, the oldest, lived a block down the street. She was married to an ex-coffin salesman, and the two of them now helped Wes run the funeral parlor. Karlie and Ken had two children, a boy Josh's age, and a little girl who had just turned three. Cheryl, a nurse/midwife, had married a local pharmacist. They had three youngsters, a boy and two girls, ranging in age from six years to six months. Lynn, the youngest of Ty's sisters, taught elementary school, and was engaged to a fellow teacher.

  Josh was ecstatic that his cousins had come to visit. Within minutes, the house fairly reverberated with the sound of children laughing and shrieking. Used to such commotion, Maggie calmly ushered the older ones outdoors to play.

  "What happens when it's raining?" Jess asked.

  "We shove them into the cellar and lock the door," Karlie informed her, her blue eyes twinkling.

  "Lord love a duck!" Lynn exclaimed. "Karlie, you'll have the poor girl thinking we're the most horrible people on earth!" To Jess, she quickly explained, "Mom and Dad have turned part of the basement into a play area for the kids. It's all paneled and carpeted, and they've even installed a bathroom down there, so it's not like we're tossing them into a dungeon or anything."

  "Aw, darn!" Jess rebutted with a grin. "I was hoping to see some actual, old-fashioned torture equipment."

  "Will Mom's old paddle do?" Cheryl offered. "It a real jim-dandy, with holes drilled through for less air resistance."