The More Mavericks, the Merrier!

by Brenda Harlen

  “How was the driving?” he asked his sister.

  “Good,” she said. “The plows must have worked through the night, because the roads are all clear.”

  “Which is my cue to be heading out,” Fallon decided.

  “You might want to change out of my pajamas first,” her friend teased.

  “Oh. Right.” As she headed upstairs to do that, she heard Bella say to her brother, “That better not be a puppy in that laundry basket.”

  “Well, actually,” he began.

  And that was all Fallon heard before she closed the bathroom door.

  * * *

  Fallon wasn’t surprised to find her mother sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee on the table in front of her and a worried expression on her face when she walked in the door.

  “Good morning,” she said, kissing Maureen’s cheek and hoping that her greeting would make it so.

  The furrow between her mother’s brows warned her otherwise. “I don’t approve of you spending the night at Jamie Stockton’s house.”

  “Did you really want me to drive home in the storm after the sheriff had made a public announcement asking all residents to avoid unnecessary travel?”

  “Of course not,” Maureen admitted. “I just wish you’d been home before the storm hit.”

  “That wasn’t an option, because Jamie wasn’t home before the storm hit.”

  “You know there will be talk if anyone saw your vehicle parked in his driveway overnight.”

  “People who want to talk will always find a reason to do so.”

  “Well, I’d prefer that they not talk about my daughter.”

  “You don’t need to worry,” Fallon assured her. “No one could have seen my SUV in Jamie’s driveway because it was buried in snow.”

  “You shouldn’t be so flippant about your reputation.”

  She sighed. “You can’t have it both ways, Mom. Either Jamie is oblivious to the fact that I’m a woman, which all outward signs confirm, in which case there’s no reason for you to fret about the fact that I spent the night under his roof.”

  “I don’t fret,” Maureen said, sounding a little miffed by the label her daughter had put on her concern.

  “Or he’s secretly but wildly attracted to me,” she continued to make her point, “in which case you should worry that we spent all last night tearing up the sheets. But then your concerns that I’m wasting my time with a man who will never notice me are unfounded.”

  “When you have children of your own, you’ll understand,” her mother said.

  Fallon sighed. “I know you’re only looking out for me, Mom, which is why I’m going to tell you that absolutely nothing inappropriate happened and I spent the night looking after the puppies.”

  “What puppies?”

  Having anticipated the question, Fallon already had her cell phone in hand to pull up the pics she’d taken of the puppies.

  “Oh, my goodness.” Maureen’s voice was a whisper now. “Aren’t they just the cutest things?”

  “And there are five others who are just as adorable.” She told her mother the story about how they came to be found on Jamie’s ranch.

  “Puppies are a lot of work—the housebreaking and obedience training,” Maureen said, her tone a little wistful.

  “Well, Brooks and Jazzy are keeping the others at the clinic until they can find good homes for them.”

  “I don’t imagine they’ll have to wait long.”

  “So you’d better make up your mind quickly,” Fallon teased, knowing exactly what her mother was thinking.

  “I’ll talk to your father about it,” Maureen decided. “I think he’s been a little bit lonely since old Duke died.” She looked up at her daughter then, a glint in her eye. “But don’t think that story managed to distract me from our previous topic of conversation.”

  “I didn’t imagine it would,” she said, because her mother was like a dog with a bone when she got her teeth into a subject.

  “And while you’re busy taking care of another man’s babies, the marriageable men of Rust Creek Falls are going out with other girls your age, falling in love and planning to marry them.”

  “Then clearly none of them were ever meant to be my husband.”

  “How can you possibly know that when you haven’t gone out with any of them?” her mother challenged.

  “This has been a really fun conversation,” Fallon noted sardonically. “And as much as I’d love to continue it, I really need to shower and get ready for work.”

  Maureen immediately pushed her chair back from the table. “Do you want me to make you some breakfast?”

  As she grabbed a mug from the cupboard and filled it with coffee from the carafe to take upstairs with her, Fallon was reminded once again why she couldn’t stay mad at her mother. Because whatever Maureen said or did, it was always with the best interests of her children in mind.

  “Thanks,” she said. “But I’m okay.”

  “Will you be home for dinner tonight?”

  “If I ever get out of here, I will be home for dinner,” she promised, and kissed her mother’s cheek as she moved past.

  * * *

  Jamie had anticipated his sister’s reaction to the puppies. He knew she’d be furious—for about two minutes. She’d chastise him for taking on more responsibility than he could handle, then he’d tell her the story of how he found them, and she’d cautiously lift one of them from the basket and fall head over heels in love.

  What he didn’t anticipate, after she’d gotten over being mad and the babies were dressed and fed and she was sitting with both of the puppies in her lap, was her completely out-of-the-blue comment: “There seemed to be a little bit of tension between you and Fallon earlier.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She rolled her eyes. “You aren’t really that oblivious.”

  “Oblivious to what?”

  “Whatever’s going on between the two of you.”

  “There’s nothing going on between us,” he said, deliberately blocking the tantalizing memories of soft lips and lace-covered breasts from his mind. “I’ve known Fallon forever—we’re friends.”

  “That doesn’t mean you can’t be more.”

  “Neither of us is looking for anything more,” he told her.

  “Are you sure about that?” Bella challenged.

  “Of course, I am.”

  She shook her head. “Then you’re completely oblivious.”

  “Oblivious to what?”

  “The way she looks at you,” she said.

  “She looks at me like everyone else in this town looks at me—with sympathy and pity.”

  “If that’s what you see, then you’re not very observant,” his sister remarked.

  “I know that she loves Henry, Jared and Katie,” he said. “And I’m more grateful than I could ever express for everything she’s done for my babies.”

  “Is that really all you feel—gratitude?” she asked, sounding a little disappointed.

  “Of course not,” he denied. “Aside from you, she’s my best friend.”

  “Have you ever considered that you might be something more?”

  “No,” he said, but his gaze slid away as the memory of a long-ago kiss teased the edges of his mind.

  “Well, maybe you should,” Bella told him.

  “I have my hands full enough with Henry, Jared and Katie—and now two puppies,” he acknowledged. “The last thing I need is a woman in the mix.”

  “The fact that your hands are full with the babies is exactly why you should think about finding them a mother.”

  He flinched as if she’d struck him.

  She immediately put a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, Jamie. I didn’t mea
n to sound insensitive.”

  He shrugged.

  “I know that losing Paula devastated you, but you can’t mourn her forever.”

  “It hasn’t even been a year,” he pointed out to her.

  “I know,” she said again, more softly this time.

  But she didn’t know all of it.

  For example, she didn’t know about the conversation that had taken place in the exam room when Paula had her first ultrasound.

  “Is there a history of multiple pregnancies in your family?” the doctor asked, as he moved the wand over the barely-there curve of Paula’s belly.

  “No,” the mom-to-be responded immediately, vehemently.

  The doctor glanced at Jamie. “Your family?”

  He shook his head, his gaze fixed on the monitor where he could clearly see the outline of not just one—and not even two—but three separate blobs.

  “There’s only one, right?” Paula asked, staring at the screen. “Something’s wrong with your machine thing and the picture’s broken, right?”

  The doctor shook his head. “The machine isn’t broken,” he assured both of them, his tone calm and soothing. “You’re pregnant with triplets.”

  Paula opened her mouth as if to reply, but closed it again without saying a word. And when she looked at him, her eyes were filled with fear and anger and tears.

  “I can’t have three babies,” she told him. “I wasn’t even sure that I wanted to have one.”

  “Well, it’s not as if we really have a choice,” he pointed out, determined to remain reasonable and calm despite the fact that he was feeling a little bit of panic over the thought of three babies, too. But in addition to the panic, there was joy. A lot of joy.

  “We do have a choice,” she insisted. “We can reduce the number.”

  He stared at her, not wanting to comprehend what she was saying.

  When he didn’t respond, she turned to the doctor. “Doctors do it all the time, don’t they?” she said to him—pleaded with him.

  “Not all the time,” he replied cautiously. “And not without a valid medical reason.”

  “My body can’t possibly support three babies,” Paula insisted. “Isn’t that a valid medical reason?”

  “There is no evidence to suggest that’s true,” the doctor denied.

  In the end, she’d been right, but only because she hadn’t made any effort to help her body support their babies.

  That was the part of the story that no one knew, and Jamie wanted to keep it that way.

  * * *

  Fallon changed her mind at least half a dozen times on the trip from Rust Creek Falls to Kalispell. While the whole makeover thing had worked pretty well for Cinderella, she was less optimistic about her own prospects.

  Yes, desperate times called for desperate measures and all that—but she didn’t want anyone to know she was desperate. On the other hand, the conversation with her mother had made her face some hard facts, and the reality was that she had a very small window of opportunity to catch Jamie’s eye. Maybe she was already too late, but with her self-imposed New Year’s Eve deadline in mind, she took a deep breath, walked up to the counter of the fancy salon and said, “I need a makeover.”

  The girl seated at the computer—whose name tag identified her as Leila—barely glanced up from her phone as she continued texting. “What were you thinking? Hair? Nails? Makeup?”

  “All of the above.”

  Leila reluctantly set aside her phone and shifted her attention to the computer screen. “We’re currently booking for the middle of January. Is there a particular—”

  “The middle of January?” Fallon interjected, her hopes immediately deflating. “Don’t you have anything available today?”

  The receptionist finally lifted her gaze to give the obviously despondent customer her full attention. “Honey, we’re one of the top-rated salons in Kalispell and it’s barely two weeks before Christmas.”

  Fallon released a weary sigh. “I’m guessing that’s a no.”

  But Leila held up a hand—a silent request for Fallon to wait a moment—as she scrolled through the schedule displayed on her computer screen.

  If Fallon couldn’t get an appointment today, she didn’t want one. And the middle of January was way too late to fit in with her plans.

  “I almost forgot that we had a cancellation,” the receptionist told her. “One of our top clients who regularly books a full array of services was scheduled to come in at twelve-thirty today, but her husband surprised her with an impromptu pre-holiday Mediterranean cruise.”

  Fallon held her breath. “I can have her appointment?”

  Leila scanned the computer screen again. “Twelve-thirty with Cindy for hair,” she confirmed. “Then Gina’s available to do a mani-pedi at two, and Tansley can do your makeup after that.”

  “That all sounds perfect.” She didn’t even ask what it would cost—because she didn’t care. If changing her outward appearance succeeded in finally getting Jamie Stockton to look at her like a woman instead of a pal, every penny would be money well-spent.

  * * *

  Fallon usually had her hair done at Bee’s Beauty Parlor in Rust Creek Falls, where she got a family discount if Brenna washed and cut her hair. At La Vie Salon, the stylists had assistants who escorted clients from the waiting area—where orchestral music played quietly in the background and cold and hot beverages were offered to those lounging in the butter-soft leather chairs—to the prep area. There Fallon was turned over to a designated shampoo girl, who didn’t just wash her hair but gave her scalp such an incredible massage she didn’t ever want it to end. But of course it did, and when her hair was rinsed and conditioned and rinsed again, the assistant returned to escort her from the prep area to Cindy’s work station.

  After a brief introduction and a few minutes of general conversation that immediately put Fallon at ease, Cindy surprised her by asking, “What’s his name?”

  “Who?”

  “The man.” The stylist gently combed out her wet hair. “Whenever a woman comes in here for a makeover, it’s usually because of a man.”

  Fallon wished she could lie. She didn’t want to be the cliché, but Cindy’s question confirmed that she was. And since she would probably never see this woman again, she confided the truth. “He’s a friend who refuses to see me as anything but a friend.”

  “And you think—if you look different—he’ll finally see you,” the hair stylist guessed.

  “I’m hoping,” she admitted.

  Cindy continued to snip the ends of her hair. “Do you realize how beautiful you are?”

  She managed a wry smile. “I’ve been called cute, and occasionally pretty, but never beautiful.”

  “You are,” the stylist insisted. “You’ve got those gorgeous blue eyes, which will be framed nicely with the wispy bangs I’m going to give you, and gloriously thick auburn hair.”

  “It’s red.”

  “It’s more than red. There are so many shades of copper and gold, and the curls—”

  “The curls have to go,” Fallon interjected.

  Cindy looked horrified by the thought. “I think that would be a mistake.”

  “I need to look different,” she said again. “If I don’t get rid of the curls, he’ll just think that I got my hair cut—if he even notices that much.”

  “This guy must be pretty special,” the stylist said.

  “He is.”

  “Then I’m going to do everything I can to help you knock his socks off,” Cindy promised.

  * * *

  By the time Fallon walked out of the salon, she felt like a different woman—if not a less nervous one. When she stopped at the makeup counter to pick up some of the mascara and lip gloss Tansley had recommended, she did a double tak
e when she saw her reflection in the mirror.

  Although she’d given Cindy specific instructions on what she wanted—“to look different”—it still gave her a jolt to see how well the stylist had done her job. Yes, she’d had her eyebrows tweezed and her makeup done, but the biggest and most significant change was her hair. Without the mass of curls around her face, she almost looked like a completely different person.

  And yes, that had been her purpose in requesting the makeover, but she found that she was nearly as apprehensive as she was excited about the changes. On the other hand, once she looked past the sleek curtain of hair and perfectly made-up face, she was still the same old Fallon in the same old plaid flannel shirt tucked into well-worn jeans with her favorite cowboy boots on her feet. If she wanted Jamie to see her as an attractive woman, she was going to have to overhaul her wardrobe, too.

  Chapter Nine

  He never should have agreed to this.

  When Fallon had asked him to attend Presents for Patriots with her, Jamie should have declined the invitation. Instead, he’d said yes, partly because he’d long been a supporter of the event and partly because he had a hard time saying no to Fallon.

  The original plan had been for him to pick her up so they could drive over together, but as he’d been getting ready to leave the house, Fallon had sent him a text message suggesting they meet at the community center because she was already out running errands.

  Now he was here, but he didn’t see her anywhere. He felt obviously and awkwardly alone and uncomfortable. Since the birth of the triplets and the death of his wife, he’d avoided trips into town as much as possible. Bella accused him of being an antisocial recluse, but he didn’t agree with that assessment. If he chose to stay close to home, it was because of the responsibilities that he had there. It was also a convenient excuse to avoid the hushed whispers and pitying glances that seemed to follow his every step whenever he walked down Main Street.

  Bella had been pleased when he’d told her that he would be attending the gift-wrapping event, and she’d immediately offered to stay home with HJK. While he appreciated her willingness to babysit and knew that his children adored Auntie Bella, he couldn’t help thinking that he should be at home with them. Of necessity, much of his day was spent away from his kids so that he looked forward to spending any free time he had with them. And considering that the community center was rapidly filling up with volunteers, he didn’t think he’d be missed if he decided to slip out the door.