by Dixie Cash
“My baby, Roberta Jean. She took the home test this morning and called me right after.” Edwina began sniffling. “My baby’s having a baby. She’s so young.”
“Come on, now. She’s older than you were when she was born. She’s got a great husband and a beautiful home. She and Brandon will be wonderful parents and you’ll be a wonderful grandma.”
“Oh my God.” Panic crossed Edwina’s face. “I can’t be a grandma. I can’t cook, I don’t knit, and I don’t own any old-lady shoes. What kind of example would I be to my precious granddaughter?”
“You’ll be a cool grandma. She’ll—wait a minute. What makes you so sure you’ll have a granddaughter? Roberta might have a boy. I hear the odds are still fifty-fifty on that.”
“A boy! What the hell would I do with a boy? I raised three girls. I don’t have anything in common with boys.”
“You’ll just love him, Ed. You’ll just love him.” Debbie Sue swallowed a lump in her throat. Then she forced herself to brighten, remembering she had to tell Edwina about Maudeen’s party. “And you buy them toys!”
“That, I can do.” Ed wiped a tear from her eye.
“Good, because I’ve told Maudeen we’ll come to a toy party she’s having Friday night right here in the salon. I told her you’d come, too. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Mind?”
“Be sure to invite all your customers. Maudeen gets points for people buying things. She’s trying to win a trip to Branson.”
“Wow, my first chance to buy something for her, uh, him? You know, I can see myself getting into this grandma thing. But there’s one thing I refuse to do.”
“What’s that?”
“I refuse to wear one of those sweatshirts that has ‘World’s Greatest Grandma’ blaring across the front.”
“How about ‘World’s Hottest Grandma’?”
“Now you’re talking.”
ALLISON HAD TUCKED the piece of notepaper bearing Quint’s phone number in her pocket while she contemplated if she should call. Half an hour later, she settled the debate and picked up the phone. It was past noon.
She felt certain he would invite her out for the evening and she didn’t know what her answer would be. She had turned him down once. Could she do it a second time and expect to hear from him again? Did she even want to hear from him again?
A war between logic and emotion raged within her. The logical side that she so often turned to kept saying, Are you nuts? This guy is loaded, handsome, and brimming with sex appeal. Go for it!
But the side called emotion, the one with which she was scarcely familiar, demanded attention, too. It kept reminding her of how she felt in Tag’s presence. She couldn’t forget the way he had interacted with the children at the mall, the warmth that spread through her when he caught her eye and smiled and winked at her, and how her feet went numb when he kissed her.
A voice shot back, And he’s most likely getting back with his ex-wife.
Yet another voice stepped up. Why would you think that? The woman was awful. Have a little faith in Tag.
She shook her head, obliterating the confusion and the voices as she heard Quint’s cell phone ringing.
After four rings, she was about to hang up when a male voice said, “Tag Freeman.”
Was she dreaming? Had she heard right?
“Tag?…Uh, hi. This is Allison.”
“Allison! Man, this is a surprise. How are you?”
“I’m fine, thanks. Uh, I was returning Quint’s call.”
“Quint? I left Quint at the house this morning. Did he leave my number? Wonder why he did that.”
“This is your number? That’s odd. He gave it to my mom.”
“Just a minute,” he said.
Allison looked skyward, thanking what ever angel was hovering overhead.
After a few seconds, Tag came back on the line. “Oh, man, I think I know what happened. Looks like I’ve got Quint’s phone. Mine has a deep scratch on the case, but this one doesn’t. I must have grabbed his by mistake. He must have mine. Sorry, let me give you my number and you can call him.”
She jotted down the new number, but instead of ending the call, to her delight, they fell into conversation. When they hung up, an hour and a half had passed, but it seemed like minutes. Most important, she knew Tag’s ex-wife was out of the picture.
Edwina’s words echoed in her memory. Why, girl, that’s karma.
QUINT WAS SO excited he could hardly stand still. The woman who had disappeared into thin air was once again in his hands. Okay, so it was a photo that was in his hands, and not a very good one, but she was closer than she had been in months.
He had worried that the identity thief would turn out to be a middle-aged woman with black roots showing through bleached hair, a cigarette hanging from her lips, and a baby propped on her hip. If that had been the case he would have packed and gone back to Seguin. He would have told the Domestic Equalizers to forget it, paid them for their trouble, and headed out. But it was Monica and he wanted to see her again. Had to see her again.
He grabbed the faxed picture and his cell phone. His finger slid down a long deep scratch on the phone’s cover that hadn’t been there yesterday. Fearing an accident might have rendered the phone inoperable, he flipped it open to view the faceplate. Thank God, the scratched phone wasn’t his. Tag must have taken his by mistake.
He keyed in his own number and it rang only twice before Tag answered.
“Hey, looks like you figured out we’ve got each other’s phones,” Tag said cheerily.
“No big deal. Except that I’ve got to make some calls and the numbers I need are stored in my set. I’ll come into town and pick it up on my way to Salt Lick. You at the restaurant?”
“I’m here. Always here. You’re headed to Salt Lick, huh? Got a date with Allison?”
“Naw, it’s business. I’ve got to get back early. To night I’ve got a date with that EMT I met Halloween night.”
“Olivia? Oh, really?” Tag said on a chuckle. “So, you’re not planning on seeing Allison anymore?”
“Allison’s the real deal, but I don’t think she can get away easily during the week, what with her kid and all. Gotta find something or someone to keep me occupied,” he said on a lascivious laugh. “I’ll see you in about twenty minutes.”
Quint was determined to waste no time getting this faxed picture to Debbie Sue, and he didn’t want her wasting any time either. He knew Buddy Overstreet wouldn’t welcome his presence and he had figured out Edwina wasn’t a big Quint Matthews fan either. On top of that, Allison was playing hard to get. None of it mattered. He was on a mission. The lovely Monica, who had tossed him aside like a wad of chewed gum, was going to see him face-to-face again.
sixteen
Allison’s body was in Almost the Rage; her hands and fingers were sale-tagging fall dresses, but her mind was miles away. Sixty miles to be exact. All day she had found herself daydreaming and smiling like an idiot, thinking of something Tag had said. He was such an easygoing conversationalist. She could talk to him for hours.
Indeed Tag appealed to her far more than Quint, but how could she tell Quint? A simple explanation was needed, one in which she told Quint that while she was flattered by his attention, they weren’t right for each other.
He had already said he planned on being in town only a short time. Was there any harm in ending things before they started? A to-the-point conversation could be cruel, but would it be any crueler than leading a man on while she secretly pined for his friend?
She had never been good at games of the heart. She’d had too little experience with men to be practiced at it. All she had done most of her life was live in an unsophisticated small-town environment, work long hours to make a living, and raise a child.
A second thought came to her. What if Tag had no interest in her at all? What if all this time he had just been what it was clear that he was—a nice guy? What if she dismissed a suitable suitor like Quint too soon? She had bee
n out with Quint only twice, really. Not often enough to make a determination. She did enjoy his company and she had to admit she did feel a little zing when he had talked seductively to her at the Styling Station. Perhaps one more evening with him would help her decide.
Damn, why did having a man enter your life have to be so complicated?
The inner debate raged on until she finally made a decision. She reached into her sweater pocket and retrieved the two pieces of paper that had phone numbers written on them, holding one in each hand. Oh, dear. She could no longer tell which was which and she hadn’t taken the time to write a name for either number.
“Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained,” she mumbled, deciding to go left to right. On a deep breath she picked up the receiver and keyed in the number she held in her left hand. One, two, three rings, followed by an automated answer in a monotone voice. “The party you’re calling is unavailable. Please leave a message at the tone.” Beep.
Deep breath. “Hi, this is Allison. I’d like to talk to you about something. To night, if possible. In person. I’ve got some feelings I think I should just put out on the table. Could you please come to my house for dinner? Say seven-thirty or eight o’clock? My mom and Jill both will be out for the evening and I’d like to take the chance to—” An ear-piercing electronic signal overrode the end of her sentence.
“Well, that’s that,” she said, hanging up.
The only thing left to do now was go home, fix some dinner, and hope her plan was the right thing to do.
She closed the store promptly at its designated time and rushed through City Market, picking up meat and vegetables. By seven-thirty, she had received no return call, even though she had knocked herself out and prepared a king’s feast.
At eight-thirty, she found her gaze volleying between the clock and the pans of food warming in the oven, turning dry as cardboard. Doubt began to creep in. Why had she been so foolish as to forge ahead making a big dinner? Breaded pork chops, mashed potatoes, cream gravy, corn sliced from the cob, swimming in butter and cream, and frozen but freshly baked rolls. She sighed. It was beginning to appear as if she would have to dine alone to night and put the leftovers in the fridge. At least she would have some good lunches at work the rest of the week.
Just as she reached into the cabinet for a plate the doorbell’s chime echoed through the house. Her heart caught in her throat. God, how she hoped she had made the right decision.
She paused at the mirror beside the door just long enough to check her reflection, then reached for the doorknob and pulled…
“Tag!”
She stepped backward, her brain thrown into chaos as she tried to remember the phone number she had dialed. She thought she had called Tag’s number, which meant Quint should be the one standing on her doorstep. She had prepared herself to tell Quint she wanted to pursue a relationship with Tag. Now here stood the winner of the debate she’d had all day with herself.
“Hi, Allison,” he said softly, smiling and clutching the brim of his cowboy hat. “Sorry I didn’t call you back, but I didn’t have your home number and your dress shop was already closed by the time I got your message.”
“Oh, the message. About dinner. Yes, I left a message about dinner, didn’t I?” Her words sounded so dumb and dull they hurt her own ears.
“May I come in?”
“Oh, heavens, yes. Of course, what’s wrong with me? Please do come in, Tag. Could I take your hat?”
“That’d be just fine.” He handed over the hat and she placed it on the small table in the entry. He picked it up and turned it crown down.
Oops. From somewhere she remembered that cowboys always laid their hats upside down. “Oh, sorry. I forgot about that.”
“That’s okay. A lot of people who don’t wear a hat don’t know.” He came into the living room slowly, looking around. “I like your place. It looks like a real home.”
“Why, thank you, but it’s my mom’s house. I’m hoping to have a home one day for Jill and me, but for right now—”
Before she could finish her sentence, Tag interrupted her, his words tumbling from his mouth like an avalanche. “I’m sorry, Allison, but I’ve been driving around the block for fifteen minutes trying to decide if I should come in. I’ve never been one to take a friendship lightly and you and Quint seeing each other makes me feel wrong about being here. I was floored when I heard your message. It was like you had read my mind. Truth is…well, the truth is, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since the first night I laid eyes on you.”
He paused and looked at the floor. “I should have never kissed you while you’re seeing Quint. I’m shamed about that. And I’m even more shamed because all I’ve been able to think about since then is kissing you again.”
Allison stood glued to the spot. Her heart was racing. She was trying to think of a reply when he looked up at her and their eyes locked.
Suddenly she found herself in his arms and they were kissing passionately. He held her so tightly she was lifted from the floor, with only his body to support her weight, his desire pressing against her stomach. The feeling that they were one body overwhelmed her, and for lack of knowing what to do next, she clutched his muscular torso.
At last he broke away, putting space between them. They stared at the other, breathless. He laughed softly. “Lord, woman, what just happened here?”
“I don’t know,” she blurted, “but don’t stop. Please don’t stop kissing me.”
A dam of pent-up emotions seemed to burst in him and he resumed kissing her lips while his hand slipped under her sweater and caressed her breast. Allison felt she might melt on the spot.
“I’m so glad I dialed the wrong number,” she mumbled against his lips. “When did you and Quint exchange phones?”
Tag stopped, his lips suspended above hers. “What?” He pulled back and released her. “What do you mean?”
“I called your cell number thinking Quint still had your phone. I wanted to see him—”
His eyes narrowed and drilled her. “You called me by mistake? You thought you were inviting Quint to dinner?”
If Allison’s head had been transparent, she was sure alarms and danger signals would be flashing in brilliant color. She was in trouble and had no clue how to get out. “No, no. I only wanted to tell him I had made up my mind. That I had chosen you and—”
“Chosen me?”
She had never heard his voice like this—cold, with a knife edge to it.
“Chosen was the wrong word. I only wanted to tell him how I feel. You don’t understand.”
“Oh, I think I do. I’ve seen a hundred of your type. Making one guy think he’s gonna get lucky while checking out his friend behind his back. You’re a little more subtle than most, but—”
Allison couldn’t prevent the anger that spilled over. No one had ever accused her of such dishonesty, especially a man. “Don’t you dare accuse me of that! You don’t even have all the facts—”
His eyes burned with anger. “Standing in the middle of the cold hard truth is all the fact I need.” He opened his mouth like he might say more, but shut it again. “What’s the use of talking a thing to death? I should’ve known from the git-go that this was a mistake.”
He marched toward the front door, picking up his hat and clapping it on his head on the way. Allison hurried behind him, but stopped in the doorway, watching as he stamped to his Navigator and climbed in. The door slammed, the engine fired, and he was gone, leaving a spray of gravel behind him.
“Fine! Just fine!” Allison slammed the door, tears already streaming down the cheeks that had been covered by his kisses just moments before. She broke into sobs and stumbled to the bathroom.
At last she calmed herself, splashed her face with cold water, and stared into the vanity mirror. “So, there,” she mumbled to the tearstained image in the mirror. “That settles that. Having a crush on a dumb cowboy was a fool’s errand in the first place.”
It was her destiny t
o remain alone. She had proved she could do it. Not only that, she was damn good at it.
“WHO’S THAT?” BUDDY asked, coming out of the bathroom, drying his hands.
Debbie Sue had been home for half an hour. She was in the same position in which she had been since arriving from work—plopped across the bed on her back, holding the picture of Quint’s mystery woman. He had rushed into the salon late in the afternoon and presented it to her with both eagerness and reluctance, like he didn’t want to let it go.
“It’s a picture the ATM folks faxed to Quint. He dropped it off at the shop. His gut instincts were right. It’s his girlfriend.”
“Humph. Who isn’t?”
The girl in the photograph wasn’t as young as Debbie Sue had imagined she would be. Quint had always had an eye for the younger ones, so Debbie Sue had figured someone twenty, maybe twenty-two. Quint hadn’t mentioned her age, but clearly she was no kid. Closer to thirty. Not old, for sure, but at least he hadn’t been cradle robbing.
She was pretty, smiling, and, judging from the full-frontal shot of her face, unaware she was being photographed. On second thought, maybe she had been completely aware of the camera and was grinning anyway. Such a bold gesture could reveal volumes about the personality behind that smile.
Buddy lay down beside her on the bed and took the photo.
“Do you think she’s pretty?” Debbie Sue asked him.
After a few seconds of inspection, he handed it back. “She’s a real knockout. I’d like to shake her hand. That asshole Quint’s been screwing people over for years. It’s about time he got some payback.” Buddy planted a kiss on her cheek, pushed himself up, and walked back into the bathroom.
Minutes later Debbie Sue heard the shower. She scowled at the picture. “She’s cute,” she muttered to the empty room, “but she’s no fuckin’ knockout.”
