“You always look nice, honey.”
She stayed silent, their gazes locked. Cam glimpsed a hint of the woman she was to become when she sat back and resumed gazing out the window, her face and posture quietly shutting him out.
He’d blown it, big time, but he had no idea why. Or how. Or why hair mattered to a pair of little girls who should be more interested in crushing opponents on a soccer field than playing with dolls.
As he turned into Meredith’s driveway, his mother’s warning resurfaced. He’d worked hard to raise grounded, gracious girls. Two days after meeting Meredith, he felt like Commander Queeg, murmurs of mutiny surfacing around him.
He parked near the side door and started to unload his gear. For the next few months he’d be here in whatever spare time he could muster. But the girls…
His precious girls.
He’d worked hard to direct them to things of import. If being around Meredith elevated looks and fashion higher than they should be, he’d seek another option. Yes, he needed the money this job would bring. He’d called the orthodontist’s office and set up Sophie’s first appointment to get the ball rolling.
But no amount of money could coerce him to risk his daughters’ emotional well-being. He’d recognized that early on, and refused to leave them with his mother more than occasionally for that very reason. Her negativity could quash their ingenuity, and he wouldn’t have that.
But he wasn’t about to go the other way, either, and have them turn into prima donnas, more concerned with appearance than content.
As the girls rushed the side door with their book bags in hand, Cam sent a look skyward. If only he’d been more on top of things five years ago, Kristy would be here, taking care of the girls, teaching them soccer drills and playing house with them. But she wasn’t, and there was only one person to blame for that, the husband who’d promised to love and cherish her, in sickness and in health.
He’d blown that big time with his wife. He had no intention of risking a grievous mistake with his daughters.
* * *
The bang of the side door preceded the hurried sound of small, running feet. Meredith grinned in anticipation, rose, rolled her shoulders to loosen them, then put a choke hold on an emotional upsurge when Cam’s cautioning voice followed the rapid footsteps.
“Girls. No running. This is a house, not a soccer field. Meredith?”
“I’m here.” She descended the wide, turning staircase quickly, feeling his upturned gaze, pretty sure the inside temperature had risen indiscriminately with his arrival. Or maybe it was her personal internal temperature, in which case a nice, cold glass of tea should do the trick.
One look into Cam’s sky-blue eyes said tea wouldn’t cut it.
Meredith hid that realization behind a mask of calm, a look she’d perfected while dealing with pretentious spa customers who thought money more valuable than good manners.
She wouldn’t have that problem in Wellsville and Jamison. Here she’d have to deal with the naysayers who thought great haircuts, pedicures and facials were acts of self-indulgence.
Meredith knew better. She’d watched her father ruin his life and his health by poisoning his system with drugs and alcohol.
Taking care of one’s self was a reverent act. God offered one body, one life. Meredith believed that. And while painted nails might not provide world peace, didn’t it make sense to add to the beauty of the world, not detract from it?
Cam would probably laugh at her assertion, but he’d be wrong. Looking nice fed heart and soul, and a good spa should be a peaceful, joyous experience. No matter what her fine carpenter thought of the whole deal. “You wanted to check upstairs?”
“Yes.” He thrust his chin toward the back porch. “I brought my tools along. I’m going to lock them inside the kitchen if that’s all right with you. The back porch locks, but the windows make the tools pretty noticeable, and it’s harder to break in through two rooms.”
“Has that been a problem around here?” Meredith couldn’t imagine it, but…
“Yes,” Cam admitted. “There have been a bunch of things gone missing from people’s cars, garages, porches. Saleable stuff, and my tools would bring a nice price to a thief. And most of them are portable.”
Meredith moved toward the porch. “Let’s bring them inside now, then. That way it’s done when we’re tired later.”
“We’re?”
Okay, she’d had it with that little note in Cam’s voice that doubted her abilities to walk and chew gum at the same time. She pivoted. “If you’ve got something to say, Cameron, say it now. Get it off your chest, and let’s deal with it, because I haven’t spent the last fourteen years working night and day to come back here and have you dismiss my work. First of all—” she waggled a finger while he took a wise half step back “—we were kids, it was a long time ago, and things didn’t work out for a wide spectrum of reasons, so if that’s what’s bothering you, I suggest you drop it. It’s over. Done. Finished. And second…”
She leaned in, narrowed her gaze and wished she’d kept her heels on. Without them he had a distinct height advantage, and that brought her face-to-face with a strong, broad chest. Nevertheless… “Taking care of your body, your skin, your face and your hair isn’t a bad thing. It’s food for the heart and soul, and—” she held up two fingers this time, pressing her point “—statistics prove that while women could generally care less about a man’s aging, a hint of gray, laugh lines, a thickening middle—”
He sucked in a nonexistent gut, but Meredith refused to laugh. They’d have this out here and now if they were going to be able to work together at all. “Men tend to flock toward younger women. So if looking good keeps a man from looking elsewhere, I don’t think that’s a bad thing.”
“Decent men don’t look elsewhere, Mere.”
The softness in his voice said he sensed dangerous ground and would tread softly, while his words rang true. But Meredith had been surrounded by financially comfortable men with less than stellar virtue, starting with her father and ending with the man she’d thought she known. Loved. Trusted. Experience had shown her that a fair number of successful men thought nothing of breaking vows. Or lying and schmoozing to get what they wanted.
“While that’s true, there’s still nothing wrong with men or women wanting to take care of the vessel God gave them. Their body.” She stepped back and gave a wave in his general direction. “If looking good isn’t wrong for you, then why is it wrong for me? For women?”
His expression changed. Deepened. For a quick take of breath he looked thoughtful, but then he latched on to one thing of note, arched a brow and sent her a teasing smile. “I look good?”
He looked better than good, but she was not going there. “I meant it as an example.”
“For teaching purposes only?” He moved a step closer, and yes, he did still smell good, making her wonder if he’d reapplied the scent because he knew they’d be seeing each other, or if he managed to smell good all day without reapplication, a thought that made her want to draw closer. Just to see.
She didn’t.
But he did, and it was impossible to miss the glint in those blue eyes, a twinkle that said…
She had no idea what it said, but the sparkle drew her and she had no intention of being drawn to a guy who thought her simply decorative.
She started to turn, but he caught her hand as naturally as he had all those years before. His fingers melded with hers, the skin tough and callused, firm and solid. Pinpricks of awareness clenched her gut. He drew closer, held her gaze and made a face of regret. “I apologize for being a jerk.”
She started to shrug him off, pretending it didn’t matter, but he moved closer and tipped her chin up, a move she remembered well. “It was rude. I can admit I had preconceived notions about all this.” He waved his free hand around the
gracious old house. “You’ve set me straight. I promise to keep an open mind. Generally.”
She growled.
He grinned and released her hand, and she was pretty sure a fairly good piece of her heart. But she’d learned the hard way that men were not always what they seemed.
Was that true with Cam?
Probably not, but Meredith wasn’t in a position to take chances. She’d lost her job, and probably a good share of her credibility by believing the wrong guy. She’d smartened up, but couldn’t afford more mistakes.
She’d been fooled once.
Her fault for being naive.
Letting herself get fooled twice?
Not about to happen, and definitely not in her hometown where private moments were a backyard conversation away from being common knowledge.
She led the way to the porch and helped lug Cam’s tools into the kitchen. She’d do whatever it took to guard Cam’s stuff.
She’d do even more to protect her heart.
Chapter Five
You can do this.
Eyeing the short walkway linking her car and Heather’s entry, Meredith wasn’t so sure.
She approached the door of the somewhat worn Federal-style building in Wellsville, noted the Closed Mondays sign, and hesitated.
A part of her wanted to run.
Another fraction longed to turn back the hands of time and fix things, an impossible task made harder by a guilt span of fourteen years. She raised her hand to knock, but a voice hailed her from above. “It’s open, Mere.”
She stepped out from under the overhang and looked up. “Hey, Heather.”
Heather Madigan jerked a thumb. “Come on in. Coffee’s fresh.”
Her voice and easy acceptance made Meredith feel more like a jerk, deservedly. As she let herself in, the door emitted an old, familiar squeak, a welcome whine that reminded customers of where they were.
“Same door,” she noted as Heather hurried into the room. Heather had gained weight, something she’d struggled with all through high school, but the look of cautious question in her face, her eyes, said Mere’s visit was only a little surprising.
Heather waved a hand toward the door and motioned left toward the kitchen. “I could change it, but it was always that way when Mom was running the shop. It reminds me of her.”
“Your mother was a good woman,” Meredith said softly. She faltered, then frowned in apology. “I’m sorry I didn’t come back for her service. Her funeral. It was rude.”
“Everybody gets busy, Mere.” Heather poured two mugs of coffee, grabbed out milk and sugar, then turned. “It’s understandable.”
“It wasn’t that.” Meredith figured if she was going to wipe the slate clean, best to do it now. “I just couldn’t face coming home then. Seeing people. Having them talk.”
Heather settled a look on her that mixed common sense and compassion. “You always cared too much about that. You worried Mama something fierce because she said you’d fall head over heels for the first guy with a good line that came your way because you wanted desperately to be loved.”
The truth in Sandy Madigan’s words must have shown in Meredith’s face because Heather stepped forward. “And that’s what happened, right?”
Meredith hadn’t come here to spill secrets, but Heather’s look of sympathy touched old feelings, rusty from disuse. “Let’s just say your mother’s common sense held true. Like always.” Meredith walked back to the doorway separating the salon room from the small kitchen. “It looks the same.”
Heather frowned. “I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”
“It is.” Meredith turned her way and inhaled. “The same scents, too. Coffee, shampoo, neutralizer.”
Heather laughed. “Brady hated that smell. He complained loud and long about how he smelled it in his shirts. In his food. How he couldn’t even go upstairs to get away from it.”
“So he left.” Meredith set the words out gently. To her surprise, Heather didn’t look all that disturbed.
“He never meant to stay, Mere. I was the one pushing, always. For a ring, then a wedding, then a family. He didn’t want any of it, but I was too young and naive to see that. Or admit it to myself.”
“How’s Rory?”
Heather’s smile broadened. “Amazing. So sweet. So smart. She’ll do more than this someday.” She spread her arms wide, indicating her attached-to-the-salon home. “I’ll make sure of it.”
Meredith pondered that comment, then pulled out a chair. “Can we talk?”
“Isn’t that what we’ve been doing?” Heather supposed, but she pulled out the seat opposite and sat.
Meredith leaned forward and steepled her hands. “I’m starting a business.”
Heather nodded.
“A spa.”
A shadow darkened Heather’s features as realization set in. A spa would go toe to toe with her business. “Where?”
“The Senator’s Mansion.”
“That’s like three minutes from here.”
“Yes.” Meredith nodded, then slipped a proposal out of her bag. She extended it across the table to her old high school friend. “Here’s the layout. The basic plan. Cam’s doing the work for me.” That news didn’t shock Heather, because word spread fast in small towns. Maybe the following question would be a bigger surprise. A good one, Meredith hoped. Prayed. “And I was hoping you’d go into business with me. Be my partner.”
Heather’s eyes shot up. “What?”
Meredith hesitated, with good reason. She’d stomped the dust from her hometown off her feet fourteen years past and hadn’t looked back, not even as much as a Christmas card to her old friend.
Talk about cold. Stupid and unfeeling.
Now she had a chance to right old wrongs. Isn’t that what Matt had intimated? That she needed to make amends where needed? And wasn’t that what Christ instructed the throngs that gathered to hear him speak? To forgive, go forth and sin no more.
Heather was the perfect starting point. “I’ve got a great head for business, for spa procedures, for running a large-scale shop. What I don’t have is customers.”
Her admission softened Heather’s look of surprise. “I’ve got plenty of those.”
“And it would be a good pairing.” Meredith leaned in farther. “You and I always worked well together. We learned at your mother’s feet, we go-fered until we were old enough and pesky enough to do nails. Then hair. And I’ve worked with a lot of stylists over the years, but no one better than Sandra Dee Madigan.”
Heather put her head in her hands, groaned, then grinned. “That name. So funny. But so endearing.”
“She was a great lady.”
“I know. I miss her so much.” Heather glanced around, misty-eyed, then reached for a tissue. “I keep these everywhere,” she confessed. “Women get to talking and then they spill their guts about everything, and we have a cry fest, and go through crazy boxes of tissues.”
Meredith considered that. “That part is different with a spa. People aren’t so close together. There’s more autonomy.”
“Is that good or bad?” Heather wondered.
Meredith made a face. “Until just now I considered it the norm, but you’ve given me reason to rethink part of the layout. Because I think people would miss this.” She nodded toward the closer, tighter spacing of the old-style salon. “And we don’t want that.”
“I don’t have a lot of money, Mere.” Heather faced her, square and honest. “I had to re-mortgage when Brady took off and there’s no leverage to do that again.”
“We’ve got start-up costs from Gram,” Meredith explained. She opened the proposal to page four and pointed. “What you’d be bringing to the table is customers. Familiarity. A base from which to build.”
Heather examined
the papers, then sat back. “It’s a lot to consider.”
“Yes.”
“I’ve done things my own way for a long time.”
“And now there’d be two of us running things. And a crew to run.”
“A crew.” Heather’s eyes sparkled. “I’ve always thought how fun it would be to run a place.”
“And hard work,” Meredith advised her. “You have to handle all the down stuff, the negative stuff, the backstabbing-girl stuff.”
“Well, that won’t happen, so that’s not a problem,” Heather declared.
“No?” Mere eyed her, amused. She knew better.
“No.” Heather’s voice took a more mature, not-on-my-watch air. “Not allowable. God offers people the opportunity to be kind or not. To be loving or not. There’s nothing in the Bible that says I have to offer paychecks to jerks.”
“There’s not, but…”
“No buts.” Heather met her gaze firmly. “If we’re to do this, and I can’t say I’m not totally tempted, you need to know I don’t suffer brats well. You might want to think on that, Mere, because if we have stylists who can’t get along, I’ll pitch ’em to the curb. Life’s too short and God doesn’t expect us to reward misbehavior.”
No-nonsense. Direct. Approachable. Honest.
Meredith had always loved those qualities in Heather. She’d forgotten how good that felt, to have a friend who didn’t smoke-screen a conversation or blow sunshine at her right before they backstabbed her. She smiled, relieved. “I like the way you think.”
“In this business, it’s the only way to think,” Heather advised.
It hadn’t been that way in her old job. A percentage of that was her fault. She should have insisted on a neutral zone. Instead she’d worked zealously to put fires out, one after another, dealing with emotional tirades that had no place in a good business.
Live and learn.
She reached out a hand to Heather’s. “No matter what you decide, I want you to know that I’m sorry for taking off like I did. Not coming back. Not writing or calling.”
A Family to Cherish Page 5
