Once In A Blue Moon

by Celia Stewart

  A very fancy hair salon.

  Ty had been getting his hair cut by the same ancient barber in downtown Bluebonnet since he was old enough for haircuts. So entering The Blue Moon was like stepping into another world. He felt like Richard Dean Anderson in that sci-fi series “Stargate,” and his mouth hung open a bit as he took it all in.

  Framed posters of women with impossible hairdos hung on walls painted pale turquoise and trimmed in a blue so dark it looked black. The smell of chemicals was unmistakable but not overwhelming. The blue and green floor looked like the bottom of a fish tank. Two dark blue velvet couches and half a dozen chairs were scattered in the waiting room and music played. It sounded like ... whales.

  “Can I help you, sir?” the girl behind the tall curved desk asked. Cheerful herself.

  “I called... I wanna see Bettina.” Breathe. Ty fought the urge to stare.

  “I’m sorry, sir. She’s with a customer.” Cheerful shook her blonde, pink and lavender head. How she managed to blend in with the watery looking color scheme, he had no clue.

  “I don’t care! I wanna talk to her now!”

  The petite rainbow before him looked him over, making him glad she couldn’t see how he’d curled his trembling hands into fists.

  “Please calm down, sir. I’ll be right back.” Her tone was cool but amber eyes looked worried.

  He watched her head down the hall; then followed, his boots clicking lightly on the marble floor.

  “...can you make him an appointment, Tara?”

  “I don’t think he wants a haircut,” she hissed.

  Ty caught up in time to hear the last of their conversation. “She’s right. I don’t.” Poor Tara practically jumped out of her skin.

  Up and down the hall, doors opened and closed as other stylists peeked out to see what was going on. He ignored them.

  “Ty?” came a voice from inside the room. Tara still blocked her from view but he’d recognize that silky drawl anywhere. He knew how she purred too.

  “I wanna talk to you, Bettina!” He tried to keep his voice firm and silently cursed the slight tremor that slipped through. But he got her attention. She stepped out of the room, a comb and a pair of scissors in her hands. Her nails were a light purple color.

  “Tara, go on.” Dressed in a pale blue top and tight black legging things, Bettina didn’t look pregnant. She looked tired. She looked good.

  “Police?” Tara whispered from a few steps away.

  He crossed his arms and kept his jaw locked, then swallowed, suddenly unsuccessful at pushing the night they’d spent together to the back of his mind. Since that was the reason for his visit.

  “No, Tara. Just leave us be.” Bettina shooed her off. “Dr. Hamerstein, I’ll be right back.”

  He heard a man’s murmured reply before she closed the door behind her with a snap and looked him up and down. Her cool attitude had him worried. What if she lied or told him to get lost? Their last meeting had been a disaster.

  “This way.” She led him around the corner and opened a door.

  Hell! What if he got her fired? He should have gone to her house, instead.

  “Is it okay if I’m in here?” He stepped around her and into the office. What if his need for answers cost her her job? Not that his yelling might not have done the trick.

  She smiled, and with it, the fist gripping his heart eased up just a bit.

  “It’s fine, Ty. Gimme five or ten minutes to finish up and I’ll be back. There’s drinks in the ‘fridge.”

  After she closed the door, he got a Dr. Pepper and popped the can open, looking around at the blue walls, the tidy oversized desk and thick blue carpet. As cushy as Dr. Ritter’s office.

  The salon’s office was just as plush as the rest of the place. Colorful and tasteful were the two words that came to mind. Whoever had decorated the place had better taste than his ex-wife. He shuddered, thinking of the money he’d been tucking away to replace or dye the white carpet in his own house.

  Which brought him full circle to thoughts of Rhea. His heart picked up speed again. He sank into a couch comfortable enough to nap on, leaned back and slowly counted to ten, refusing to give in to the panic attack that nudged him. His heart slowed, but his palms were still sweaty. He lightly grasped the soda can with both hands; then yanked a tissue from a box on the table to dry them with.

  Bottle of water in hand, Bettina returned, closing the door behind her, and plopped down next to him.

  “What’s up?” She looked exhausted, and it wasn’t even noon. Ty eyed the curve of her belly, trying to decide if the slight rounding was natural or from a baby. She kicked off her clunky heels and looked up at him.

  Ty’s nerves returned full force and he struggled not to crush the can between his hands. He turned to study her, and hard on the heels of his worry came more memories of their night together.

  Her lively green eyes searched his face in return. He wanted to lean over and brush his lips against her full pink ones. Find out if they were as soft as he remembered. The words “Are you pregnant?” seemed stuck somewhere near his Adam’s apple. Instead he blurted out, “Did you hit Rhea?”

  “Is that why you came here making a scene and scaring poor Tara to death?” she demanded with a frown. Even her curls seemed to quiver with anger. “Because I hit your ex-wife? If so, I’m not apologizing and I’m not gonna play these bullshit games, Ty! Did you cut my grass?!”

  He’d regretted his harsh tone the minute the words left his mouth. And now she was angry at him. “No.”

  “No?” That quieted her down but didn’t remove the frown from her face.

  “No ... Yes! I mean, yes to the grass. No, Rhea isn’t the reason I’m here.” He cleared his throat and tried again. “Jessa saw you yesterday.” That was the best he could do.

  The anger and confusion disappeared, taking the frown lines between her eyebrows with it. Her face had become smooth and calm. “I was wondering if she’d recognize...”

  “So it’s true? You’re...”

  “Pregnant.” Her eyes softened but never strayed from his, and her chin rose just the tiniest bit. “Yes, Ty. I am.”

  Ty turned away, unable to meet her almost defiant gaze while he asked the toughest question of all. Instead he kept his eyes focused on the surface of the coffee table. “I-is, um. Is it ... mine?”

  After what seemed like the longest, quietest year of his life she sighed.

  “I don’t need your help, Ty. Or your money. I have health insurance...”

  “I wasn’t gonna offer you any. I mean, ah hell. Shit!” The bottom fell out of his stomach as he turned to face her. Now I really sound like a lowlife.

  “You’re not taking my baby! I don’t give a damn if you are a Boudreaux and I’m just Bad Betti!”

  Jesus he was battin’ a thousand here.

  “Where the hell ... I would never ... were you even planning to tell me?” He couldn’t seem to keep up. Her train of thought hopped around more than a bumble bee in springtime.

  “Of course! I was gonna try to call you this weekend, or something, but we didn’t exactly part on good terms. I hated just calling you up and saying ‘Guess what? I’m pregnant! Oh happy day!’ And then you come in here...” Bettina’s face crumpled as she sank against the couch cushions.

  He had brushed her off back in July. He felt like a heel all over again. Ty leaned back and pulled her against him. She sniffled and relaxed with a heavy sigh. “I would ne-never take our baby...”

  She struggled out of his arms and scowled at him. “Then why are you here?” Bettina wasn’t Rhea, but she was definitely all new territory. Prickly territory.

  He reached for her again, then pulled away at the stern expression on her face. “Marry me!”

  Chapter Seven

  Women in love do stupid things

  My heart stopped, then decided I was running the Kentucky Derby. My anger evaporated and shock took its place. Unsure of what to say, I clamped my lips shut and chose not to speak.


  “I ... I want you to marry me. That’s my baby too, Bettina.” Ty’s quaking voice was in direct contrast to the firmness of his words. I’d swear he was scared I’d put up a fuss, and I easily could.

  I must be insane to even consider ... there’s flights to Vegas every hour, the little devil on my shoulder whispered. Oh, God. That sounded like the voice of reason. Nice of it to check in. “Ty, marriage is a big step...”

  “Believe me, I know that!” The way he said it, I felt like shouting “Amen!” Tim had mentioned their divorce had been ugly. I wondered just how ugly and briefly wished I did pay attention to gossip. Ty stood and began to pace. “Look, I can’t ... turn my back on my child. I won’t! It’s not fair and it’s not right. Do you understand? I wasn’t raised like that, and I refuse to do it to a child of mine!” By the time he was through, Ty stood in front of me, yelling, eyes red from the threat of tears and his obvious frustration.

  I stepped around the coffee table and intercepted him mid-stride. “And besides, your mom would kill you.”

  Whatever place he’d been in his mind, he returned at the mention of his mother. He scrubbed at his face and ran a hand through his shaggy blonde hair. “I just want to be a daddy to our baby.”

  Talk about a sucker punch. That one definitely qualified. I gently rubbed his biceps through his Wrangler work shirt and took a good look at him. Besides the utter exhaustion I saw in his face, he looked awful handsome in a starched green shirt and sharply creased jeans. I even smelled aftershave, something manly I couldn’t place. How much trouble had he gone through to see me in the middle of the day when I’m sure he had his ranch stuff to do? And, since Jessa had recognized me, did his family already know about the baby?

  “Ty, its not that I don’t want to marry you. I just ... well I agree with you. Children do need two parents...”

  “So, you’ll marry me?”

  I looked up at him with a sigh, worried at his pale appearance and the dark circles under his eyes. I wanted to push him down on the couch, curl up in his lap and tease a smile out of him.

  On the other hand, I’d always sworn to be extra careful about who I chose to spend the rest of my life with after my own parents' marriage. Ty had made me plumb crazy. I loved him, I always had, and probably always would. I’m sure it sounded silly and juvenile but he’d always been special to me. That one hidden corner of my heart that had belonged to him since the sixth grade wouldn’t let me refuse.

  And besides he’d sold me. Ty Boudreaux would never abandon his child. “I’ll marry you,” I said softly, smiling up at him.

  “You will?” He blinked a couple of times, then stared at me wide-eyed. Obviously in shock at how easily I’d given in.

  “Yes, Ty. Isn’t that what you wanted?” God what if he’d expected me to say no? Impossible, or he wouldn’t have pleaded his case so hard.

  His nod of agreement was nervous and jerky. “When?”

  “Today’s Wednesday,” I stammered. I struggled to kickstart my brain, distracted at his nearness and the thought of marrying my big, sexy, solid as a rock, prince who came complete with a voice as smooth as silk sheets ... and worry lines.

  “What about the weekend? The sooner the better, right?”

  “Are you sure that’s not too soon?” I pulled him back down on the couch beside me and gave into the urge to sit as close as I dared. As close as he’d held me earlier.

  “Well, yeah.”

  “I’ve missed a lot of work lately with morning sickness and I just can’t be gone on Saturdays. It’d take an act of God to reschedule my appointments. Sundays are fine. And the shop’s closed on Mondays. We could get married Monday, or a week from Monday.”

  “What about when you have the baby? How are you gonna work?”

  “I have plenty of time to book around when the baby comes, and I’d thought of putting a nursery in here after I have her...”

  “Her?”

  “Him, her. I don’t know, just guessing.” I smiled and squeezed his fingers.

  “Oh. Monday would be fine, I guess. Is five days enough time?” His voice grew stronger, as if he were adjusting to the idea of marrying me.

  “I suppose, but where? Can you take care of that? Find us a judge and a place for the wedding?”

  “Sure...”

  “We need a license.” I couldn’t seem to stop rambling, which wasn’t like me at all. I took a deep breath and gave myself a mini-scolding. “We could go tomorrow about this time?”

  “Sure...”

  “Great. I can take care of flowers.” I took another look at Ty and my voice decided to go on vacation. “Are we really doing this or am I gonna wake up there on the couch?” I didn’t expect an answer to my run-on rhetorical question and didn’t get one. “Are you sure about this, Ty?”

  “Sure?”

  “We don’t have to get married to be good parents to this baby...”

  “I’m sure.” He leaned down and kissed me, his lips barely touching mine, then cupped my face and kissed me deeper. His mouth was soft and gentle and very thorough. So much for resistance. I felt as if that kiss had pushed us over some invisible point of no return.

  Just then, Cassi came bustling through the door, a whirlwind of brightly colored silks and black and burgundy hair.

  “I’m back!” she sang. Smiling, she paused in mid-stride, looked Ty over, then set our lunch on the coffee table. My stomach growled at the heavenly aroma of steamed vegetables and Cashew Chicken.

  The baby strikes again.

  She’d missed the earlier altercation, so I introduced her. “Oh! You’re the sixth gr ... baby’s daddy!”

  I wanted to crawl in a hole at her slip-up, but Ty seemed not to notice. He smiled despite his red face. I thought he looked sixteen, not like a grown man of thirty.

  Cassi plopped down in the leather executive chair at my desk and rattled on, oblivious to all that Ty and I had left unsaid between us. There was still the matter of our last altercation to settle.

  * * * *

  At his truck, I apologized for Cassi’s verbal vomit.

  “That’s okay, really, but Dad’s waiting on me. I need to get going. I have to tell Mom and Dad and...”

  So they didn’t know. “Wait till I get off work and we can tell them together.”

  “No, that’s fine. I can handle it.” He opened the truck door, then turned back and lightly brushed his lips against mine, almost as an afterthought.

  A sweet afterthought. “Do you want to have dinner tonight?”

  “Why?” Ty’s fingers danced with the key chain in his hand.

  “So we can talk. We’ve got a lot to discuss, if we’re getting married in five days.”

  “Oh. Like wedding plans. Sorry, this is...” The keys continued to jingle. I wanted to snatch them out of his hand and hide them behind my back.

  “My house. Seven-thirty? I can grab some takeout, if you want?”

  “Or you can come to my house. We’re gonna be living there anyway. Right?” Ty took a deep breath, as if adjusting to the idea of marriage to me in that one moment. His smile was barely visible, but it was there.

  “That’s right. I hadn’t even thought of that,” I said, shaking my head at all the changes. “I don’t even know how big your house is.”

  “Four bedrooms. Think that’ll work?” His smile grew a bit more as if he were warming to the idea. If I didn’t know better, I’d have sworn he was teasing me. But in the bright sunlight the dark circles under his eyes were more obvious than ever.

  “I’m sure that’ll be fine. Ty, are you all right? You don’t look so good.”

  “I didn’t ... sleep.” He shrugged, his voice suddenly hoarse.

  “Don’t worry about my stuff. We’ll figure something out,” I said softly, moving closer to hug him. To my pleasant surprise he returned the gesture and topped it with another light kiss. As I crossed the parking lot to the salon’s front door, I licked the taste of him off my lips.

  I silently strolled
past Tara who was on the phone and couldn’t hound me for details like I knew she soon would. Back in my office, I sat on the couch eating my steamed vegetables and stealing bits of Cassi’s chicken while she tried to stab me with her little plastic fork.

  My mind was a million miles away--okay more like twenty minutes away in Bluebonnet. On Ty’s kisses and everything I’d have to get done in the next couple of days. On the infamous Maggie Boudreaux, Ty’s mother and very proud matriarch of the family. Apparently, someone forgot to tell her that pride was one of the seven deadly sins. Was anger a deadly sin? I couldn’t remember, but Maggie’s temper was as legendary as her name. I could only imagine what she’d think of her baby marrying Polly Blanchard’s girl.

  “Is it me, or did he not look good?” Cassi asked, yanking me back to my office, my lunch, and my wedding plans.

  “He didn’t look good. He said something about a bad night.” I snatched another piece of chicken.

  “Poor guy,” she mumbled, stabbing at my fork. “Stop that, Bettina! You always steal my chicken. Next time I’m getting you your own.”

  “And every time you say that ... we’re getting married on Monday.” Popping it in my mouth, I savored the slightly sweet sauce while narrowly avoiding another jab of Cassi’s plastic fork. “Will you be my maid of honor?”

  “Oh Betti!” she squealed, nearly dumping her lunch in her lap. My chicken thieving was momentarily forgotten. “I’d love to. I’m so happy for you! When? Where? What are you going to wear? Did you ask him about your grass?” Cassi’s train of thought was much like mine--high speed.

  “Yes, and I don’t know,” I sighed. I stood and hit the page button on the phone, hollering for Tara to join us.

  “I’m surprised she hadn’t been in here sooner.”

  “Tara? She was on the phone when I came back inside.” I sat back down and nibbled on a piece of broccoli while eyeing Cassi’s eggroll. She wouldn’t give it up without a fight. “He fessed up to cutting my grass both times. But I forgot to ask him why.”