“Do you think they could fit me in today?” Harper asked. “I have a sort of, um, thing tonight.”
“Let me see,” Jane said, slipping her phone from her back pocket.
Hildie lifted her mug. “Jane will steer you right.”
At that moment Brenda bustled up with a pot of coffee and proceeded to top off Harper’s mug. As she poured, Jane looked up from her phone. “Hair appointment all set, Harper. Let the makeover begin!”
“Makeover?” Brenda said, turning to Hildie to give her more coffee.
“Yep.” Jane stood back on one foot and studied Harper’s face. “I think they should take off at least three inches. And get some movement at the ends with layering.”
Brenda glanced over. “You’re cutting your hair, Harper?”
“I never meant it to get to this length.”
“Oh.” Brenda’s free hand went to the long braid hanging over her shoulder. “I’m not sure I ever meant mine to get this long either. It’s just…how I’ve always worn it.”
Jane turned to the older woman, speculation in her gaze. “Brenda…” She drew out the name and the way she did it made it sound like she was dangling a carrot—or maybe a hot fudge sundae. “Would you like to be in on the makeover too?”
“I…um…”
Jane bounced on her heels. “That sounds like a yes!”
So it happened.
Shopping for clothes. Shopping for make-up. Hair appointments, followed by Jane doing both Harper and Brenda’s make-up for them before leaving the salon. Then they all returned for a celebratory round of hot tea at the diner.
Mandy served steaming cups to all three of them and Jane took in the results of her efforts with a more-than-pleased smile on her face.
“Brenda,” she said. “You’re a beauty.”
“Oh. Well.” The older woman flushed and her hand flew to her new hairstyle. “I admit I do like it.”
The braid was gone. In its place were long layers around her face, and the rest reached no farther than her chin. The stylist had shown Brenda how to use a roller brush to get the volume necessary and the result was chic, but natural-looking. Jane’s make-up suggestions were a tinted moisturizer, a delicate line of eyeliner on the edge of her top lashes, taupe shadow on her eyelids and a hint of blush. For her lips, she’d suggested a soft stick that was a bare shade brighter than Brenda’s own lips.
Still, she looked younger and fresher and ready to catch any man’s attention, especially in a new pair of dark jeans and a pale blue sweater that was slouchy until it hit her hips, where it gathered tightly, accentuating her nice figure. Delicate earrings of gold chain and blue stones hung from her lobes and could be glimpsed through those shining layers of her hair.
“You look wonderful,” Harper said.
“As do you.”
She couldn’t disagree. Though there wasn’t a mirror at hand, she absolutely loved what the magician at the salon had done to her hair. The length of it now just brushed her shoulders, and was side-parted. Layers were added around her face and she’d been sold on a product that somehow brought out the wave in her hair. Not as noticeable were the few highlights that made her honey color just a tad more sunny here and there.
Like Brenda, she’d turned herself over to Jane for a make-up lesson and the results boosted her confidence. Her eyes now stood out, their gray framed with dark mascara. Though she wasn’t made up for night at the moment, her new friend had shown her how to achieve a more dramatic look that she’d attempt achieving before her date with Zane. Bags from the boutique were gathered around her legs, and inside one of them was the short, pink, white, and black floral skirt that they’d found. It had tiny knife pleats and a black satin ribbon at the waist. She planned on wearing it with a simple black V-neck top that Jane had pulled from the racks and her own black, sling-back pumps.
That outfit was for later. Now, she wore a new pair of dark jeans and paired them with a thin, pretty sweater in pale yellow, that had a triangle-shaped inset of the same color chiffon at the back and tiny covered buttons marching up the middle of it.
“Are you sure you have everything you need for tonight?” Jane asked.
Harper had shared with them both about her plans for the evening and that Zane was taking her to a restaurant some thirty miles away.
“It’s a nice place,” Brenda said. “The nicest in the area until Bailey opens Blue Moon.”
“I think I’m ready,” Harper said, pulling in a long breath and letting it out. New hair, new face, new clothes, all of them sure to bring out the Stella in her.
Mischief in her eyes, Jane leaned across the table and lowered her voice. “I wish I could be there to see Zane’s face when he picks you up.”
Right then, the door to the kitchen swung open. Sam Tucker strolled out, and Harper was struck by his resemblance to his sons. It was there in the strong build, the confident manner, the handsome features. He wore faded jeans in a way that men half his age would envy, and a pullover sweater, sleeves pushed up to expose his muscle-roped forearms. His mind seemed somewhere else, because he stared straight ahead with a puckered brow, his focus on the diner’s entrance as he made for it.
Some new palpable sensation in the air caused Harper to glance in Brenda’s direction. Her focus was completely on the man, her eyes drinking him in, her body frozen, the teacup halfway to her mouth.
Oh, Harper thought, on a sudden, sympathetic pain. It looked as if Brenda had it bad for her boss and old friend. For confirmation, she shifted her gaze to Jane and they looked at each other, exchanging silent messages.
Gone for him?
Yes. Totally.
He’d nearly passed their table, still without acknowledging the three women or even seeming to be aware of their presence, when Jane spoke up. “Hey, Sam. How’s it going?”
His feet stuttered to a stop. He blinked, seeming to come out of his reverie as he peered at the young woman.
“Oh, hello Jane.” He ran a hand through his thick hair, obviously still preoccupied. His glance didn’t wander to Harper or on to Brenda either.
“Bad day?” Jane chirped. “You’re frowning.”
“Brenda’s going to be late for her shift. I expect she’s lost track of time with another of her dates.” He mostly spit out the last word and his expression turned thunderous.
“Are you sure about that?” Jane asked, her tone filled with sugary sweetness and an amusement that Harper detected but Sam apparently didn’t.
“She’s not answering her phone,” he growled.
“Oops,” the woman in question said now, reaching into the purse hanging off her chair. “I turned it off at the salon.”
At Brenda’s words, Sam’s head jerked in her direction and his gaze hopscotched over Harper to stare at the diner’s manager. His body twitched, his eyes widened.
“This is interesting,” Jane whispered, low enough for Harper’s ears only.
Several moments of silence passed.
Then Brenda jumped in, her voice a half-octave higher than usual. “But see, I’m here, and not late. So no worries.”
Sam’s expression morphed from surprise to anger as he continued to take in her face and figure. “What the hell did you do to yourself?” he demanded.
“W-What?” Brenda said.
Sam made a rough gesture in her direction. “Who the hell did you do that for?”
Uh-oh. Harper exchanged alarmed looks with Jane.
Brenda’s spine snapped straight. “For myself, of course.”
“Right,” Sam said, the word edged with sarcasm.
The diner manager’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you think I did it?”
“To get attention,” he said instantly.
Brenda jumped to her feet. Her boots snapped against the floor as she moved to stand toe-to-toe with Sam. “Whose attention would that be?”
“The only attention you should care about is mine,” he said, staring her down.
Harper and Jane gave each other big eyes
as tension crackled in the room.
Brenda’s chin jutted up. “And why is that?”
“Because I was the one,” Sam continued, “who gave you that kiss that I know, I know knocked you straight out of your shoes.”
Brenda’s hands slammed to her hips. “But then you never gave me another one. And you act as if nothing has changed between us. So—”
“So I’m done fighting it,” Sam said, his voice rough. “I don’t know why the hell I’ve been fighting it except I’m middle-aged and set in my ways and I don’t much like putting my heart out there to be stomped all over by another woman.”
On an instant, Brenda’s expression turned soft. “Sam.” She put her hand on his chest. “I would never do anything to hurt you.”
“Good.” He placed his hand over hers. “You’re coming over once the diner’s closed. I’m making dinner. Then you’re spending the night.”
It was Brenda’s turn to twitch. Her free hand went to her new hair. Next she tugged on the hem of her sweater. “Um, think about Max. Your dad is living with you.”
Sam’s head dropped back, then it righted and he said, “Christ. I’m a middle-aged man, with a father living in the apartment over my garage, and a woman I want to have in my bed.” He paused, then his expression set.
“So that’s going to happen,” the man said, tone decisive. “Dad’ll deal.”
“You can come to my place,” Brenda offered.
“My kitchen, my bed,” Sam said, clearly firm on that. “Okay?”
Brenda swallowed, looking like there were some of Gambler’s dreaded frogs jumping around in her stomach. “Okay, Sam,” she whispered.
“Then see you after close,” he said, and started for the door again. When he reached it, Brenda called his name.
“Yeah?” he answered, looking over his shoulder.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I knocked you straight out of your shoes too.”
His sudden grin made him look as young as his sons. “Damn right,” he answered, then strode out the exit.
Hours later, Harper was still smiling over what she’d witnessed. But those Gambler frogs had taken up residence in her middle as well, and she put her palm over it as she studied herself in the full-length mirror.
Black pumps.
Knife-pleated, floral print skirt. She tugged on the hem because it was shorter than she remembered.
Short sleeved, V-neck top, also black, also different than she remembered. Clingier.
Jet drops hung from her ears and there was a matching choker around her neck and a delicate bracelet in the same design circling her left wrist.
Too matchy-matchy?
But before she could have time to change anything, her doorbell rang. She gave one last look in the mirror, this time checking her face. The more dramatic eye look she’d learned from Jane had taken a long while to replicate, but she’d done a fair job of it, she thought. Turning from her reflection, she pressed her lips together to make sure her color was evenly distributed as she walked to the front of her condo.
On a deep breath, she pulled open the door.
The frogs in her stomach instantly quieted. Everything inside of her went silent and still as she took in Zane Tucker, wearing dark slacks, dark shoes, a dark gray dress shirt with pinstripes the exact shade of his eyes. Stunning.
She’d never seen a man so beautiful, let alone gone out on a date with one.
Suddenly, her nerves reignited and she regretted not having made a call, or even texted to tell him she was unable to make it tonight.
And then she didn’t regret that at all, because as her gaze moved up to his face, she saw that same thunderstruck expression that had been on his father’s that afternoon when he’d seen Brenda.
A little of her Stella confidence came back. She placed a hand on her hip. “Well?” she asked.
His brows lowered, his expression turned intense, and she could see the heat that entered his eyes as he continued to take her in. “I’m screwed,” he said bluntly.
“Um. Why?”
“I promised myself I’d be a gentleman tonight. But you…in that…” With his hand, he gestured at her body. “Serious jeopardy, sweetheart.”
A hot little shiver worked its way down her spine. “You need only be yourself, Zane,” she said, and heard the prim note to her voice.
It made him smile. “Then you won’t mind when I rip the head off of any other man who looks at you.”
Oh, my. Harper bit back her answering smile. Though she didn’t want him to rip off anybody’s head, of course, it was hard not to feel just the slightest bit flattered by the unsubtle declaration.
She thought it was going to be a very great date.
Zane worried it was going to be a disaster of a date. He’d pep-talked to his reflection in the rearview mirror all the way to her condo—admonishing himself to be on his best behavior, promising himself he was going to show the nice woman a nice time, and then she’d gone and answered her door.
Wearing an outfit that molded her pert breasts and revealed a long length of bare legs.
She had on those damn black high heels that were permanently etched into his memory.
And there was something different about her hair—shorter, maybe? He couldn’t pinpoint what, exactly, but it just seemed to draw attention to the beauty of her big gray eyes and the puffy temptation of her delectable mouth.
How the hell was he going to make it to their table without the whole of the restaurant noticing the hard-on in his pants?
Pulling into a spot at the rear of the parking lot, he turned off his truck, then placed his hands back on the steering wheel, at ten and two, and breathed deeply, seeking control.
Of course doing so brought her perfume into his lungs and he recalled the scent of her on his hands after taking her to bed the other night. Swallowing a low groan, he squeezed the steering wheel.
“Um, Zane?” she asked, her voice tentative.
“Yeah?” He addressed the windshield, not daring to look at her face again, those eyes, those lips.
“Are we getting out anytime soon?”
“As soon as my dick forgets how damn beautiful you look.”
After a startled silence, she laughed, and he had to swallow another groan. Great. She’d think him a real gentleman now.
That thought threw cold water on him, and after another minute he popped open his door and then came around to meet her. She had trouble getting off the high seat in her short dress and he focused on a spot four inches to the right of her shoulder as he put his hands to her waist and helped her down.
He kept his attention away from any dangerous parts of her as they made their way into the restaurant and then were led to their seats. Settled at the corner table he’d reserved, he managed to relax a little. They ordered drinks and appetizers and they both agreed on steaks and a bottle of red with their meal.
With a gin and tonic in front of her and a beer in front of him, he leaned back and felt like, yeah, he could do this.
Harper glanced around at the tables. Each was draped in white linen, with glassware and dinnerware illuminated by the low glow of votive candles. In one corner of the room, logs burned in a massive rock fireplace. The fancy place settings and elegant atmosphere should make him feel as out of place as that bull in a china shop, but with Harper sitting across from him he didn’t feel nearly as jumpy as he’d thought he might.
“Is this a favorite place of yours?” she asked.
“I’ve never brought anyone here before,” he said. “We came once as a family to celebrate Dad’s birthday.”
“Oh.” She looked down at her lap. “It’s very nice.”
Exactly why he’d thought of it, that and he figured the classy atmosphere might rub off on him—polishing away a few of his roughest edges.
“I was out with Jane today…shopping and such,” Harper volunteered, then sipped at her G & T.
“You had fun?”
She nodded. “I did. And I hea
rd about her recent adventures…including her close call.”
Zane grimaced. It had been close, and his twin had nearly lost his mind when Jane’s kayak had capsized in the river and she’d nearly drowned. A fear matching Adam’s had pooled in the pit of Zane’s gut, and he’d been as spitless as his brother until she’d coughed up the water she’d swallowed and started breathing again.
“Jane was lucky a Coast Guard-trained rescue swimmer was on hand,” he said. “That’s what Adam used to do before he came back to Eagle’s Ridge.”
“It seems lucky that you were on hand that day too. You detained the person who tried to kill her?”
He waved that away. “Right place, right time.”
“Right training?” she asked. “I think you said you were in the Army?”
“I was. But that had nothing to do with—”
“Brenda told me you were an Army Cavalry Scout.”
He smiled, trying to make light of it. “Blame all those Zane Grey novels.” Which was more than half the truth.
Harper sipped at her drink again. “She said that the Cavalry Scouts are the eyes and ears of the Army.”
“That’s the broad description.” He didn’t want to discuss his time in the military further than that. More details would only put a blemish on their evening. Though he wasn’t ashamed of his service—far, far from it—those ten years had been filled with mud, sand, blood, and bile. Nothing that he wanted her to connect with him. Not tonight.
“I read up on what all that means,” she said.
“Of course you did,” Zane muttered. So much for feigning some kind of veneer of sophistication. If she did any research, she’d know it was a job that often required brute strength as much as dogged focus.
Her gray eyes seemed to delve inside his skin and bones, finding soft, hidden places he would swear he didn’t have. “You’re quite the man, Zane Tucker,” she finally said.
Before he could process how that quiet proclamation affected him, food started arriving and the topic was left behind. Whew.
Zane had planned some innocuous date patter during his shower and now he drummed it up, trying to be smooth despite his inexperience with this kind of date. His usual evenings out with women involved playing some pool and drinking beer before drinking more beer and playing some, well, pool. But he and Harper managed well enough, helped along by the excellent steaks served with fluffy baked potatoes and an asparagus gratin.
Zane (7 Brides for 7 Soldiers Book 3) Page 13
