by Cathryn Hein
He’d always been a sucker for kindness.
And pretty girls.
She bit her lip. She had him and she knew it, the minx. Yet, somehow, he didn’t mind. She blinked innocently, ramming home her advantage. ‘I’ll be gentle.’
Jack couldn’t help it, he laughed. ‘Go on then.’
‘Really?’
He nodded, idiot that he was.
Elsa grinned and clapped. ‘You’re going to love this!’
She dashed about, fetching towels and wheeling across a different trolley loaded with bowls and bottles and a wicked-looking razor.
Last time he was here she’d been wearing tight blue legging things. Today she was wearing a yellow sleeveless dress that skimmed the top of her knees and swished when she moved. Unlike her arms, which were covered in golden freckles, her legs were pale. Pale and slim with fine ankles made even more delicate by strappy heeled sandals that showed the tips of her sparkly gold toenails.
‘It’s not that you don’t look great with a beard,’ she said as she draped a fresh cape around his shoulders and fixed the studs.
Jack lifted an eyebrow.
‘But there’s nothing quite like a clean-shaven jaw, and you can’t get any cleaner than a cut-throat shave.’
Every brush of her fingers made his skin tingle. Every smile made his heart somersault. She was sunny and sweet, and soft and curved in the best places. He couldn’t remember the last time he wanted a girl so badly.
Too long without female company, that was his problem. Except that wasn’t entirely true. For the past few years, Jack had had a friendship with a young mum in Lightning Ridge. The baby’s father had skipped town before his child was born, leaving Simone on her own. Simone wasn’t one to wallow though. She’d dusted herself off and supported herself and little Zoe with work at one of the gem shops, which is where Jack had met her.
They’d worked out the rules from the start—no strings sex, and company when they needed it—and it suited them well. Although Jack always kept an eye out for Simone doing it tough, and helped where he could. Only occasionally did he suspect Simone might want more, usually when he was mucking around with Zoe. The little girl was bright and cute, and made him laugh with her demands to play horsey and other games. But if Simone did hanker for more, she kept her desire silent.
Jack checked Elsa’s fingers. They were ringless but that didn’t mean anything. Hairdressers probably didn’t wear rings or bracelets in case they got caught in hair or were ruined by chemicals.
Not that Jack needed to know if she was single. He was in a bad enough state over her as it was. Learning that would only make it worse.
‘Why Elsa?’ he asked suddenly.
‘Elsa? As in why am I called that?’
He nodded. ‘It’s unusual. German.’
‘It’s not German, not in this case, anyway.’
He waited for her to elaborate but instead she went off to fetch a bowl of hot water. Jack watched every step, enjoying the sway of her hips. He expected her to explain on her return but, after easing his chair back, she talked about the shave instead.
‘I’m going to apply a foaming cleanser first, to clean the bristles and your skin. It’ll help make the shave smoother.’
She dipped a shaving brush into the bowl of hot water and brushed it over Jack’s face. Then she squirted cleanser onto her palm and, sitting behind him, massaged it into his jaw and cheeks in a circular motion. He kept his eyes open, catching glimpses of Elsa’s red hair as she bent forwards. It was shiny and silky. He wanted to touch it.
‘This is a pre-shave oil,’ she explained, when his face was wiped clean. ‘It’ll soften the bristles and act as a lubricant, then we’ll follow up with a hot towel. That’ll help open your pores.’
Jack gave an amused grunt. Hot towels, lubricants … sounded more like a brothel service than a barber’s. Not that he had experience of either. Jack had never visited a brothel, or wanted to, and proper barbers were a bit thin on the ground in the outback.
‘Worried it’s too girly for you? That all these creams and treatments will affect your masculinity or something?’
A few creams and a bit of a rub affect his masculinity? As if.
Elsa laughed, the sound pretty, like her. Musical. ‘It’s all designed to give you the best shave. And it feels nice.’ She leaned closer, her breath tickling his ear and triggering a rush of blood straight to his groin. ‘You wait, once you’ve experienced one of my shaves, you’ll want it all the time.’
Jack wanted it all the time right now and they’d barely started.
She took her leisure with the oil, massaging and tapping and doing other strange-but-nice things with her fingers that only made his predicament worse, and glad for the big cape. He needed to think of something else. Anything to take his mind of that soft, agile touch.
‘You still haven’t told me why Elsa.’
‘I was named after Ilsa Lund, Ingrid Bergman’s character in Casablanca. And it’s Norwegian rather than German.’
Jack blinked.
‘You don’t know it?’
‘Know of it. Never seen it.’
‘Never seen Casablanca? Oh, my mum would love you. You’re practically a virgin.’
Jack made a choked sound, which only made Elsa laugh.
‘Don’t worry. I won’t tell her. She’s a complete nut when it comes to old films, which is fun if you’re into that kind of thing. Not so fun it you’re not. Anyway, she wanted to call me Ilsa, with an I, but Dad reckoned Ilsa O’Donoghue sounded too much of a mouthful and put his foot down. So they compromised and called me Elsa. I told everyone that I was named after the lioness in Born Free because it was more exciting.’
Born Free? He’d never heard of it. Not that that meant much. Jack had a television, but until recently there’d been limited channels to choose from, nor was the reception great. Most of the time on his claim he was either digging, sorting, repairing something or sleeping. When he did entertain himself, it was usually with a book he’d picked up from Lightning Ridge Library.
‘Don’t tell me you don’t know Born Free either? About Joy and George Adamson who adopted an orphaned lion cub in Africa and brought her up then had to set her free?’
‘No.’
‘It’s a lovely film. Very romantic in its own way. The ending, when they return to Kenya and Elsa comes to them and she has cubs, always makes me cry. They were all so brave.’
The way she spoke, her voice turning slightly husky with the memory, made Jack want to watch it with her. He really needed to get a grip.
‘You don’t talk much, do you?’
He nearly laughed at the understatement. ‘No.’
‘Strong, silent type. Like Clint Eastwood in High Plains Drifter. Except in that film, when he settles down for a shave, he gets set upon by baddies and has to shoot everyone. Which I hope isn’t you. I’ve just had the windows done.’
‘Thought you said your mum was the film nut.’
‘She is, but when you’ve been made to watch as many films as I have growing up it tends to rub off. And Clint was pretty sexy back then.’ She tilted her head to one side. ‘Still is.’
Clint Eastwood sexy? Huh.
She touched his shoulder. ‘I’ll be back in a tick.’
He watched her disappear around a partition. He heard running water, some beeps followed by a pause, then more beeps.
She returned with a white towel balanced over her hands, steam rising from it.
‘Close your eyes.’
Jack did as he was told. Elsa wrapped the towel around his face, leaving only his nostrils exposed, and pressed it into his skin. It was hot and scented with something he didn’t recognise.
‘I’ll leave that on while I prepare.’
Locked in the chair with his face covered, every noise seemed amplified. He could hear her feet move, her skirt swish, and tried not to think about the way it’d be caressing her legs.
‘Just so you know, I use a new blade with
every shave. For hygiene, but also to make sure you get the best shave. I’m sure I don’t have to explain to you what it’s like to shave with a blunt edge.’
More rattling, then he felt the skim of her skirt against the back of his hand as she moved behind him. The towel came away, and his vision was filled with Elsa’s sunny smile.
‘Okay?’ she asked.
‘Good.’
More than good. That smile could melt Antarctica.
She worked cream over his jaw with the brush, again taking her time, and held up a shiny straight razor. ‘Ready?’
Jack nodded.
She began at the top of his cheek, near the sideburn, working with careful quick strokes, her thumb pressed lightly into his cheek to stretch the skin. The razor made a light scratchy sound as it cut through his whiskers.
Her face was so close he could feel her breaths cooling the sensitive bare area where the razor had been. As she leaned in, her body skimmed his, and he caught snatches of sweet perfume through the spicier scent of the shaving cream.
He let his eyelids droop, but watched her between the narrow gap, amused and weirdly turned on by the way her top teeth dug into her lip as she concentrated.
As the shave progressed from the planes of his jaw to the contoured skin around his upper lip and nose, she leaned even closer, bending at the waist and inadvertently giving Jack a good eyeful of the swell of her breasts.
They looked perfect.
He wanted to bury his face between them.
‘Nearly done,’ she said, tickling her fingers across his cheeks and jaw, testing the skin and re-shaving a few sections. ‘There. No, don’t move. I haven’t finished yet.’ She walked off again, returning with yet another towel. ‘Gird your loins.’
‘Shit,’ said Jack, shuddering as an icy towel hit his skin.
‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t sound it,’ Jack managed to mutter before the towel engulfed his entire face, muffling him.
‘Don’t be a big baby. It’s good for your skin. Helps your pores close. I could have been much meaner and used an alcohol-based aftershave. Then you really would have jumped.’
The freezing towel had been a shock, but it did have another side effect in helping with his problem under the cloak.
He heard her wander off. It felt like forever before she returned.
‘Okay,’ she said, slowly unwrapping him, and using the towel to wipe a few spots. ‘Now for some soothing balm.’
More stuff went on his face and was gently rubbed in. Then she massaged his temples, slowly making smaller and smaller rings with her fingers until her touch was feather-light and then disappeared entirely.
‘There,’ she said, adjusting the chair upright and unfastening the cloak. ‘You’re all done.’
Jack felt his jaw, surprised by its smoothness. He regarded the mirror and half-snorted at the man staring back at him. He looked tidy. Almost decent.
‘Like I said, a better version of you.’
‘Not so sure about that.’ He lifted himself up and rubbed his jaw again. Smooth as a baby’s bum. Amazing.
‘So,’ said Elsa, walking towards the counter with her yellow dress swinging, ‘did you enjoy it?’
He did. A lot. Too much.
‘Yeah.’
‘Good.’ She walked backwards for a moment, dazzling a smile at him, before whirling around again.
Christ on a bicycle, it was like being hit by a lighthouse beam.
Instead of stopping at the counter, she headed for the shop front. Jack halted, wallet ready in his hand, and stared at her but Elsa opened the door and tilted her head.
He glanced at the till and back at Elsa. ‘How much?’
‘Nothing.’
Jack tapped his wallet against his fist, and stared again at the till, unsure what to make of this development.
‘Jack, you left a hundred dollars on the counter last time. Enough to cover four haircuts. I owe you.’
‘I used your equipment, left a mess. You don’t owe me anything.’
‘Even taking that into account it was too much.’
He shook his head. Leaving without paying didn’t seem right. He opened his wallet, determined to give her something.
‘Don’t.’ Suddenly she was there, her hand curling over his. ‘I mean it.’
‘Next time then.’
Her voice was as teasing as her smile, her hand warm and soft on his. ‘Just as long as there is a next time.’
Jack opened his mouth to tell her ‘sure,’ when an elderly man bustled in.
His wrinkly mouth sank inward as he looked Jack up and down, then his gaze narrowed as he noticed Elsa’s hand on Jack’s. Jack knew that look. The disapproval. The I-bet-you’re-just-like-your-father suspicion.
‘All good there, young Elsa?’
Jack stepped aside, breaking Elsa’s touch, and shoved his wallet in his back pocket, all good feeling evaporated. Christ, he hated Wirralong.
Elsa frowned. ‘I’m fine, Al. Why wouldn’t I be?’
Jack didn’t stick around to hear the answer. He knew exactly what it’d be.
Because Jack Hargreaves is bad news.
Chapter Seven
‘It was awful,’ Elsa said as she laid the breakfast bar with placemats and cutlery. ‘The way Al looked at him, like Jack was something less than dirt. I felt so bad for him.’
Shayna tipped a handful of spaghetti into a pot of rapidly boiling water and stirred the strands. It was just Elsa and her mum tonight. Her dad was at a cricket club meeting along with her twin brothers, Sam and Tim. The boys no longer lived at home, but Elsa had moved back in to save money when she opened the Hair Affair. She didn’t mind. Elsa and her mum got along well, she paid board and helped with chores, and it wasn’t as if Elsa had a love life to worry about. Establishing the salon, then keeping her faltering dream alive, had left her too stressed and working too hard for that.
Shayna gave the pasta a last stir, replaced the lid and set a timer. Her mum was a redhead too, so were Elsa’s brothers. Locals loved to tease Elsa’s dad about living in a house full of coppertops, and make comments about tempers and fiery arguments, and Bruce, being a tease himself, would shake his head ruefully and say things like ‘you have no idea.’ Because they didn’t. The O’Donoghues were as laid back as they came. Anyone eavesdropping on the family would be more likely to encounter laughter than shouting.
‘I wouldn’t worry,’ said Shayna, leaning against the bench and wiping her hands on a tea towel. ‘If Jack’s anything like his mother it’ll be water off a duck’s back.’
Elsa wasn’t so sure. She’d seen the way Jack’s face had shuttered at Al’s look. The way he’d snatched his hand from beneath hers as though they were doing something wrong, jaw tight as he’d shoved his wallet away.
They weren’t doing anything wrong. Just flirting, having a little fun, and with one look Al had destroyed the moment. Jack had walked out without a word of farewell, not even a nod. Elsa had wanted to brain the interfering old sod.
‘Kate never cared what anyone thought of her,’ continued Shayna. ‘I don’t think she even noticed she was the subject of gossip, even when she arrived home with Jack and pregnant with Jesse. Mind you, no one had heard of Fraser Greene then, and old man Hargreaves wasn’t one to tolerate anyone criticising his daughter. For all their eccentricities, they were a loving family. That side of it anyway. Can’t say the same for Anne’s lot.’
‘Did you ever teach him? Jack, I mean.’
Shayna dumped the tea towel and fetched a couple of pasta bowls from the cupboard. ‘Not Jack, no. I had Jesse for a year. Year five I think. Gorgeous-looking boy, like a cherub with those big blue eyes and dark curls, which hid the fact he was a little terror. I think he got away with half of what he did simply because no one could believe a boy that angelic looking could be so naughty.’
Elsa laughed. Her mum had been a teacher at the local primary school for over twenty-five years and had seen it all. She adored her students, t
hough, believing even the naughtiest redeemable. In her expert hands, most of them were.
‘Broke Kate’s heart when he went to live with his dad.’
‘Surely she could have stopped it? She would have had custody, wouldn’t she?’
Kate Hargreaves and Fraser Greene’s relationship had always been murky with conjecture and rumour, but Elsa was sure they’d never married. As far as she knew—and thanks to Al’s refresher on the man and his misdeeds, followed by a warning about apples never falling far from the tree, Elsa knew a bit—Fraser had never lived in Wirralong.
Shayna placed her hands around a bowl, frowning at the memory. ‘I think she was worried that Jesse would end up hating her if she tried, and when Fraser promised to enrol the boy into Caulfield Grammar she could hardly say no.’
An expensive school, and no comparison to Wirralong High where Jack and Elsa had gone. If Al and his cronies were to be believed, it hadn’t done Jesse much good. But just because something was gossip didn’t make it true. A lesson Elsa and her brothers had been taught from an early age.
‘Such an odd couple,’ said Elsa. ‘Makes you wonder how they ever crossed paths.’
Kate had been a farm girl—albeit an unconventional one by Wirralong’s standards—and Fraser was, if the newspapers were to be believed, a city boy from a good family who’d somehow gone bad. It seemed impossible they could find each other, yet they had, and then stayed together long enough to have two children.
‘Kate never said. Although your nan reckoned old man Hargreaves said Kate met Fraser on one of her digs. She was being harassed by another fossicker and Fraser stepped in.’
‘He was a gem hunter too?’
‘Not that I know of.’
‘A mystery then.’
The timer went, and her mum drained the pasta while Elsa took the pan of puttanesca sauce off the stove and began tearing into it the basil leaves she’d picked earlier from the garden.
‘Have to say I was surprised when Jack left,’ said Shayna as they settled down to their meals. ‘He and Kate seemed close.’
