by Cathryn Hein
‘Did he pay you?’ asked Iz.
‘Yep. A hundred bucks.’
That brought on a few gasps.
‘Then he just walked out.’
‘And got changed, right in the street,’ said Serenity breathlessly. She threw Elsa a smug look. ‘Elsa squeaked when he pulled his T-shirt off.’
‘I did not!’
‘Did too. As for Angela, for a moment I thought she was going to jilt her husband-to-be and chase after him.’ She broke into laughter. ‘Courtney was madly taking photos until Mia snatched her phone and started googling jobs. When Angela asked what she was doing, Mia replied that if that was any indication of the talent on offer, she was moving to Wirralong.’
‘I hope you told her the truth,’ said Iz, who for a marriage celebrant was incredibly unromantic.
‘And spoil her fantasy? Nah.’
‘Did Jesse come for the funeral too?’ asked Maggie.
All eyes turned to Elsa, who would normally know the answer, but Elsa was thinking of Jack, wondering how he’d coped. The way he’d looked when she’d mentioned Kate’s name, staring over her head with his mouth turned down in sorrow, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed his pain, had stayed with her across the weekend. If she hadn’t been so busy and he not in such a hurry, Elsa would have urged a cup of sugared tea on him and let him talk. Like most hairdressers, she was an excellent listener, and for many the next best thing to a confessional.
‘She’s daydreaming about him,’ said Serenity.
Elsa rolled her eyes.
‘Don’t roll your eyes at me. Everyone knows you love them big.’ Serenity leaned towards the others, nodding conspiratorially. ‘You should have seen the look he gave Elsa through the window at the end.’ She blew air between pursed lips and fanned her hand back and forth as though hot. ‘Wowsers.’
‘He nodded his thanks!’
‘With smouldering blue eyes.’
‘They were sad, not smouldering. God, Serenity,’ said Elsa, rising to top up her wineglass, ‘he was on the way to his mum’s funeral.’
‘It must be years since he was last home,’ said Maggie. ‘I only know he exists from local gossip about Kate.’
Eight years, according to Mrs. Brierly, who’d stalked in with her silver-topped cane for a wash and wave that afternoon, and spent the entire appointment gossiping about the Hargreaves. The late Mr. Brierly had been mayor for twelve years—a fact the former lady mayoress never let anyone forget—and which, somehow, entitled her to have opinions on everyone, few of them good.
The nastiness of some of the comments, especially those about Jesse and his notorious father, had left Elsa cold, but that was the norm with Mrs. Brierly. Elsa’s mum, Shayna, theorised that widowhood followed by the perceived loss of power and respect had left the elderly woman permanently bitter-hearted. She was probably right, but some days Elsa felt Mrs. Brierly was simply an innately horrible person so devoid of compassion she’d likely find Mother Teresa wanting. Unfortunately, Elsa wasn’t in a position to refuse her business. Yet.
‘So, did Jesse turn up?’ Maggie asked again.
Elsa shook her head, her thoughts returning to Jack and how hard it must have been for him to face Kate’s funeral alone. ‘According to Miranda Brierly, the only people to show up to the service were Jack, Anne and Tony, and Angus McNamara. And Dotty Whitfield who rudely snuck in the back for a look. Anyway, if Jesse had been in town the footpaths would still be lined with hysterical girls.’ At Iz and Maggie’s baffled expressions, she explained. ‘He’s very pretty.’
‘Pretty?’ said Maggie. ‘How can a man be pretty?’
‘Easily,’ said Elsa. ‘Leonardo Di Caprio was pretty when he was young, in Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo + Juliet.’
Iz smiled. ‘You and your movies. Speaking of which, did anyone want to come with me to Ararat to see that new rom-com they’ve been advertising? It sounds fun.’
With that, the subject of the Hargreaves brothers was left behind, but Elsa couldn’t stop her mind returning to Jack.
She hoped he came back in soon. If nothing else she owed him change from the hundred he’d left, and Serenity had been right about the look he’d given her through the salon window.
There’d been gratitude as well as grief, but beneath both those emotions there’d been a flare of something else. Something glittering and hot.
Something that, as impossible as it seemed, had looked a lot like desire.
Chapter Five
Elsa was going through product orders when a shadow cut the stream of sunlight splashing through the top of the salon’s front door.
She looked up. Jack Hargreaves’s handsome face regarded her from above the window tint line. A thrill tunnelled down her spine at the sight of him. Although the local rumour mill claimed he was still at Strathroy, her hope of seeing him again had faded as days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. The more poisonous gossips claimed Jack was going mad, like his mother. Others said he was working hard on the property, trying to turn it around. Whatever was happening in his life, it hadn’t merited many visits into town. And it certainly hadn’t involved any haircuts.
Smiling in welcome, she left the counter to open the door. It was eight-fifteen in the morning and while salon hours were officially nine until six, Elsa was always in at eight, working on accounts, orders or cleaning, and available for any passing trade. She often had people from outlying properties drop in early when they came to town, especially when the livestock sales were on, and it wasn’t uncommon for the occasional mum to pop by after school drop-off. Today, being a Monday, it was typically dead. Even the imminent arrival of Christmas didn’t change that trend.
Elsa kept her voice light and teasing. ‘Back for another do-it-yourself job or happy for me to take over this time?’
Jack stepped inside, ducking his head to avoid the jamb. ‘You, if you’re free.’
‘Free as a bird.’ She closed the door and gestured at the barber’s chair. ‘Take a seat.’ Without waiting, she crossed to the chair and rested her hands on the back.
Jack remained at the entrance, haloed by the bright morning light, eyes flicking from her face to the chair and back again. His clothes were clean but heavily worn, the cotton of his blue shirt faded, his khaki cargo pants the same. Even his lace-up suede work boots were the colour of ready-to-harvest wheat.
Elsa patted the back of the chair. ‘Don’t be shy.’
His mouth twisted up on one side. He strode to the chair, sat, and regarded Elsa in the mirror.
She combed her fingers lightly through his hair. A coating of dust had made the ends slightly gritty but his scalp was clean. He’d likely been working outside this morning, sorting chores before the day turned too hot. Summer had well and truly arrived in Wirralong, and today was forecast to be another stinker.
Her brief inspection over, she smiled at him. ‘It’s grown a lot.’
Jack said nothing. Elsa supposed her comment didn’t warrant a response. It’d been almost three months since he’d shorn himself, and of course his hair would have grown. No repeat of the bushman’s beard, although from the length of the stubble coating his jaw he hadn’t been fussy about shaving.
She wheeled over her trolley. ‘I’m Elsa, by the way. Elsa O’Donoghue.’
‘Jack.’
‘Jack Hargreaves, I know.’
She glanced his way and found him staring. If another client had regarded her so unnervingly, Elsa would have made some excuse to fetch the salon phone and keep it in her pocket, just in case, but Jack’s ice-blue gaze seemed more curious than creepy.
More than curious. Interested.
Her stomach fluttered with the thought. The months had eroded her memory of how achingly attractive he was. Not just his size, but the sheer ruggedness of his looks. Her body hadn’t forgotten though. Elsa had been buzzing from the moment she’d spotted him at the door.
‘Don’t worry, I haven’t been spying. I remember you from school. You were a couple
of years above me.’
‘Right.’
Elsa decided to get the tricky conversation out of the way early. Not that conversation was going to come easily. So far, the longest sentence Jack had managed was ‘You, if you’re free.’ Which shouldn’t come as a shock. He’d barely spoken on his previous visit and, from what she could recall, Jack had been quiet at school too.
No, not quiet. Remote. Which had only added to his aura of untouchability and cool danger.
‘I didn’t get a chance to say when you were here last time but I was sorry to hear about your mum. She came in a couple of times for a trim, when I first opened.’
Jack blinked.
‘It was only those two times. After that I didn’t see her again, but she seemed nice.’
He dropped his gaze and cleared his throat. ‘She was.’
Okay, still a painful subject. Time to move on to safer things.
Elsa selected a comb and ran it through his hair, smoothing it back from his face. ‘So, what would you like? Something a bit more stylish than a number one all over I hope?’
‘Normal cut.’
She moved to stand near his knee and pursed her lips. Elsa toyed with his fringe a little then checked the sides, before moving back behind him and using the comb as a pointer. ‘We’ll keep it short at the back and sides and a little bit longer on top.’ She ruffled his crown. ‘But textured. Okay?’
He shrugged.
Elsa grinned at him. ‘You don’t care, do you?’
‘Just want it out of my eyes.’
‘You can have it out of your eyes and look good at the same time, you know. All right, how about a quick wash first, to get the dust out?’
‘If you want.’
That surprised her. She’d expected refusal. Most of her male clients believed a fast cut was a good cut. Elsa tried not to read anything into it, but she couldn’t help a warm ball forming in her belly at the thought he might want to stretch out their time together. Which was dumb. If Jack had wanted to see her he could have come in any time over the last three months.
She indicated the basin stand at the rear and waited until he’d levered his bulk out of the chair before following. The urge to ogle his bum was strong, but she settled for an admiring glance instead. There were too many mirrors in the salon to risk more.
Jack settled on the contoured recliner, his mouth curling in that crooked smile he favoured as Elsa tucked a towel around his collar and draped a protective cape over his front. Even though she tilted it as far up as it would go, Jack still had to shuffle down a distance before his neck fitted into the gap in the basin. The chair wasn’t designed for men like him. His long legs stretched well past the end, while his backside balanced precariously halfway along the seat.
She frowned. ‘That looks awkward.’
‘I’m all right.’
‘Are you sure? I can …’ Except Elsa was at a loss as to what she could do to fix it. The basin wouldn’t tilt any higher and the recliner was one of the cheaper models and not adjustable.
‘Been in worse positions.’
‘Okay, but let me know if it becomes too uncomfortable.’ She winked at him. ‘I’d hate to get a reputation for torturing clients.’
He made a noise that could have been a grunt or an abbreviated laugh.
Elsa rinsed and applied shampoo, watching his expression as she rubbed it to a good lather and massaged his scalp. She smiled to herself as his eyelids drooped.
She shampooed twice then applied conditioner, studying the way his face relaxed even further under her touch. He had the kind of face a girl could never tire of looking at. Dark eyebrows, lashes long enough to tickle his cheeks, or butterfly kiss some lucky female. His mouth was delicious, defined and nicely curved, and with a lower lip slightly bigger than the top. The sort of lip she could imagine herself sucking and nibbling on.
He was far from perfect though. Jack had too many rough edges, and his nose bent slightly to the left as though it’d been broken and never reset properly. An indented scar marred the left side of his jaw too, leaving a patch where the hair didn’t grow. Elsa wondered what had caused it. Other than the fact he’d left Wirralong to go digging for opal up north, no one seemed to know much about Jack Hargreaves. There was the usual mean gossip about his dad and brother, and about Kate’s eccentricity, but of Jack there was only supposition and, Elsa suspected, a fair few lies.
She checked his arms where the sleeves were rolled up. No tattoos, just tanned skin, sun-bleached hairs, and the nicks, cuts and scars of a man who’d spent his life in physical labour.
He shifted a fraction and his brow furrowed. The chair was causing him discomfort.
‘I’ll finish up,’ she said, curling her fingers to give a last rub at the hairs at the base of his head.
With Jack rinsed and towelled dry, Elsa led him back to the barber’s chair. She fixed her tool belt to her waist and used her foot to adjust the chair’s hydraulic lift until his head was at a workable height.
‘So, you’re at Strathroy permanently now?’ She laughed at his expression. ‘Don’t look so surprised. You know you can’t hide in a small town.’
‘Pity.’
‘Oh, come on. You can’t blame people. You’re new and exciting, and they need something else to gossip about now the fuss around Wirra has died down.’
‘What about Wirra?’
She scooted her saddle-seated wheeled stool round to face him. ‘Have you been living under a rock or something?’
That seemed to amuse him. ‘You could say that.’
‘Well, thanks to my friend Maggie, Wirra Station is now the place to get married in the western districts. People come from all over. There’s accommodation and a chapel, and the shearing shed’s been converted to a fantastic reception hall. It’s done wonders for the local economy.’
‘Huh.’
Elsa continued to talk as she went back to work. ‘I love weddings. Everyone is so excited and cheerful. And the brides always look beautiful because of it. Glowing, you know? It’s contagious, all that good feeling. Weddings make you feel happy about the world. Hopeful.’
‘Never been to one.’
‘Really? You’ve never been to a wedding?’ The man really had been living under a rock.
‘Nope.’
‘You’ll have to go to one at Wirra. Experience what it’s like. See what Maggie’s done to the place.’
They lapsed into silence, the only sound scissor snips and the old pop music Elsa had playing. By now most of her clients would be chatting away, filling Elsa in on their and everyone else’s lives, offering opinions on anything from the economy to the local bushfire risk, to what they planned for Christmas lunch.
Despite their being virtual strangers, it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. Each time she checked the mirror, Elsa caught Jack watching her, and while he didn’t return her smiles, his mouth would twitch and his pale eyes seemed to sparkle a little bit as though he was holding one back.
With the main cut complete, Elsa switched on the clippers to tidy the back of Jack’s nape and sideburns.
‘There, that’s better,’ she said, and removed his cape before using a soft brush to sweep away any loose hairs that had snuck down the back of his collar. ‘Much more handsome.’
Jack raised an eyebrow.
‘Come on, even you have to agree it’s an improvement.’
His gaze flicked to his reflection and back to her. ‘Still me.’
‘A better version of you.’
‘Better?’
‘Definitely.’
He gripped the armrests, ready to rise.
‘Perhaps I can tempt you into a shave too?’ Elsa took another breath and beamed her most tempting smile. ‘A proper cut-throat razor one. It doesn’t take long.’
Which wasn’t quite the truth. The deluxe version, which was a glorified man-facial, could take a good hour.
Jack’s gaze scanned her face, flicking from her mouth to her eyes and back again. The
buzz she’d been experiencing since his arrival turned electric.
‘I’m trained. And I promise I’m not even remotely psychotic. No Demon Barber of Fleet Street here. That’s a film, by the way. Sweeney Todd, starring Johnny Depp, Helena Bonham Carter …’ God, now she was babbling.
The corner of his mouth lifted in what Elsa was beginning to suspect was Jack’s version of a smile. ‘Not sure I have time.’
‘Somewhere better to be?’
For a charged moment, his focus shifted from her face to her body, then veered away. ‘Work.’
Elsa tried again, looking at him from under lowered lashes with her best puppy-dog eyes. No doubt she’d squirm over her ridiculous behaviour later, but Elsa had had her fair share of attractive local men in her salon and none had made her feel this silly with want. Besides, she’d denied herself for too long. It was time for some fun. Jack looked like he could do with some too.
He rubbed his jaw, and Elsa had the feeling that if she let Jack leave now it could be another three months before she saw him again. She wasn’t sure her hormones could take it.
‘Please?’ She bit her lip, heart hammering. ‘I’ll be gentle.’
And with that, he laughed.
Chapter Six
Christ on a bicycle, how the hell was Jack supposed to resist when Elsa looked at him like that?
He had a hundred things that needed doing at the farm. Fences to fix, stock and troughs to check, rubbish still to be cleared, and a tractor that needed servicing. The neglected house demanded even more attention.
Not to mention he had sapphires that needed to be found.
Jack rubbed his jaw. He should say no. He needed to say no. This girl, this funny, leggy, pretty girl, had already stolen enough of his headspace. Space that should have been taken up by the memory of his mum, or his fury and worry over his brother, or the Herculean task of bringing Strathroy up to scratch. Over the last three months he’d been occupied with all those things and more, yet, somehow, she’d been there too. The tall redhead who’d barely blinked when he’d bullied his way into her salon and helped himself to her equipment, then regarded him with genuine sympathy when she realised why he was there.
