A Suitable Wife: A Sweetwater Springs Novel (18 page)

Excerpt from:
 
HER UNEXPECTED FAMILY

(A Sweetwater Springs Novel)
(#2)

Copyright © 201
4 by Carol Burnside

CHAPTER ONE

“
Y
ou just keep your secret, Claire Larkin.” Marge Heller lifted a determined chin, intensifying the odor of permanent wave solution inside the small salon. “In a small town like Sweetwater Springs, the truth will come out.”

Not this time
. “What would you and Miss Lilah talk about then? The weather? It’s barely May and already there’s talk of the summer being a scorcher. Hot and humid covers that subject.” Claire smiled indulgently at both customers via the beauty station mirror while avoiding her own ultra-short cut.

“I’ll bet she drives into Little Rock to visit a wild rocker boyfriend with tattoos and a blue Mohawk. Come on, Claire honey, fess up.” LouAnne Lebowitz, owner of the Curl Up & Dye, leaned over the L-shaped reception counter, bracing on plump forearms.

Claire flicked an annoyed glance at her boss. She’d shared her medical past with LouAnne of necessity, but that didn’t mean an over-the-top cover up was called for. “You’re all way off base. I’m not even looking for a man, but you could find my boss one. She deserves someone special.”

LouAnne’s sputtered protest sparked a round of good-natured teasing.

Claire removed curlers from Lilah Bradshaw’s frizzy, grayish-brown hair, pretending to concentrate on a task as second nature to her as walking. Both Marge and Lilah were bread-and-butter customers, keeping weekly shampoo, set and style appointments with the occasional cut or perm.

The phone rang. LouAnne answered, and the lines marring her forehead softened. She flicked a look over the trio and turned her back to them, her voice lowered.

Well, well. Maybe she didn’t need anyone to find her a man.

“She could be leading a double life,” Marge mused from a nearby styling chair, in her deep Arkansas drawl.

“Who? LouAnne?” Lilah’s brow wrinkled.

“No. Claire.” Marge shook her head. “Get with the program, honey. We’re talking about Claire’s mysterious appointments.”

Claire suppressed a groan. While there were advantages in moving to a place where a quarter still bought you a half-hour on the parking meter, there could be drawbacks too. As much as she loved living here and being semi-adopted by her customers, she wasn’t entirely comfortable being treated like folks’ cousin twice removed. She’d never had those kind of family connections back in Texas. Even in foster homes, no one had encouraged more familiarity than was necessary.

“Oh, yes. Come on, Claire. Tell us the truth. You have a love slave stashed in Little Rock, don’t you?” Lilah winked at Claire in the beauty station mirror and tittered with Marge over the delicious prospect.

“Love slave? Good gravy, Miss Lilah. Your imagination is working overtime this morning.” Her trips into the city to give cancer patients free beauty services was private. But her salon customers enjoyed the mystery and remained ever hopeful she’d cough up a clue.

“Think so? My Herman always said I had a vivid imagination. God rest his soul.”

“Y’all spread your wild ideas around and I’ll
never
get another date.” Claire began teasing Lilah’s frizz.

“Another? You hardly date at all.” Marge waved a dismissive hand. “What if we spread the word you’re looking for a husband?”

“Don’t you dare. Remember, your hair is frequently at my mercy.” Claire adopted a stern look and continued backcombing.

Marge remained unfazed. “Travis needs to find someone and settle down. He’s the last holdout of those Baxter kids, now that his sister is married.”

Claire’s pulse stuttered over Marge’s unexpected statement. The Baxter-Moreland wedding for his sister, Rosie and her fiancé, Sam, was the first time she’d seen Travis in formal wear. He’d stood tall and self-assured in a tux that clung to his body like white on rice, his dark blond hair bleach-streaked by the sun.

Too bad her one and only date with him had turned sour. Something solid and steady about the man caused a tug-of-war inside her chest every time she saw him.

A few months later he’d sported a navy suit, his face etched in sadness over his sister-in-law’s sudden passing. The service, one more confirmation of life’s uncertainty, had been a jolting reminder that she should keep her distance.

“He’ll have to look in another direction.” Claire said softly, sadness tempering her frustration.

Even if he was in the market, Travis would never consider her a prospect. Not after the way their date had ended, and that was fine with her.

Her date with the man was a shining example of how her logic could fail, and she’d reacted like an idiot. The memory made her cringe.

“You sure?” Marge winked. “It wasn’t too long ago I remember his mama mentioning you two makin’ eyes at each other during a family get-together.”

“Temporary insanity. I think she spiked the iced tea.”

Marge lifted a skeptical brow.

With his semi-playboy past, Travis had appeared a safe bet for a going-nowhere date, much like the user-loser men her mom had paraded through the squalid little single-wide trailer they’d lived in. Okay, so he wasn’t that bad, but he had enough of a player rep that she wouldn’t be tempted to form a relationship. No way he’d want one either, right? He’d be the perfect casual fling.

Wrong.

How could she have ignored the fact that Travis came from the most normal, decent family she’d ever encountered? Some of his upbringing had to have stuck.

“Didn’t you and Travis date for awhile?” LouAnne’s voice all but dripped honey. “Was he a terrible womanizer, hon? That boy earned quite the reputation back in high school. Got suspended for peeking in the girl’s locker room while the cheerleaders were changing.”

“Wasn’t the only time, either.” Marge added. “He and Lisa Harper got caught in a kiss and grope session. In the janitor’s closet, no less.”

LouAnne’s lips twitched. “Practically had to beat the gals off with a stick.”

Marge and Lilah nodded in unison, all eyes trained on Claire in the mirrors.

What kind of game was her boss playing? She kept her expression neutral. “Actually, no. He was nice enough. We just . . . didn’t work.”

She expected a freak bolt of lightning to strike her for that one, especially when Marge shook her head and Lilah made sympathetic clicking noises. LouAnne stared through the large front window at the cars parked diagonally to the curb, with a lost-in-thought squint.

In reality, the heady Cinderella-at-the-ball feeling during Claire’s date with Travis had lowered her defenses. His kisses had drowned everything but sensation—until he’d pulled away—proving how easily she could fall under his spell.

Travis couldn’t have known how seductive his behavior would be to someone with her pathetic past. When she’d moved here two years ago, his sister Rosie had bulldozed Claire into a friendship of sorts, but so far she’d avoided divulging details of her life in Texas.

A shuddering groan emanated from inside the walls of the old building. Both her customers gazed at each other, with “uh-oh” expressions on their faces.

Claire glanced at their reflections in the mirrored wall and fought the urge to laugh. Lilah, so tiny her head barely cleared the stylist’s chair, had teased tufts all over her head, while Marge, nearly six feet and gaunt, sported dozens of colored permanent wave rods. “Y’all relax. It’s only the water pipes groaning again.”

“They’re getting worse,” Marge grumbled.

“I’ve got a guy coming by to give me an estimate on repairs today. We left the appointment time loose, but I need to run an errand and meet someone for lunch.” LouAnne grabbed her purse from a shelf under the register and headed for the front door. “If the construction guy arrives before I get back, you can answer his questions, Claire.”

“Me? But I don’t . . .” Too late. The door swept closed with LouAnne already on her way.

Picking and shaping the tangled mess Lilah believed to be her crowning glory, Claire concentrated on her work, and the ladies’ chatter faded into the background. How anyone lived with a ratted, lacquered helmet on their head was beyond her. Did the woman sleep on her face?

“Lilah, why don’t you try a new style next week? Maybe a few highlights around your face.” The stylist in Claire couldn’t help but offer to relieve the woman of her 1960’s look, even as she smoothed the bowl-like mass.

The older clients usually took one look at her own hair and stuck with LouAnne for their appointments. Until they saw Claire in action. Word of her own unique style had spread, resulting in the influx of a younger crowd and delighting LouAnne.

For now, the funky ultra-short look suited her and didn’t exactly elicit envious looks from the oncology patients she attended to during her off hours. That in itself was priceless, worth any sacrifice.

“I’ll make a deal with you, dear. You grow your hair out with its natural color, and I’ll give you
carte blanche
to change my style.” Lilah challenged her with raised brows.

For a second Claire’s breath caught in her throat. Had Lilah guessed her secret? Her gaze swept over the older woman’s face for signs of pity, searching steady blue-gray eyes.

Questioning.

Innocent.

No. Lilah was sweetly clueless, as usual. Claire released the air from her lungs and forced a smile. “You heard that, didn’t you, Marge?”

“You betcha, kiddo. A promise if I ever heard one.”

“I hope to take you up on that some day, Miss Lilah.” No one knew how deeply Claire meant that.

“I won’t hold my breath.”

“Speaking of changes, Claire, what do you call your new color?” Marge asked.

“It’s Plum Pudding. Would you like to try it sometime? I bet Emmett would be surprised.” Claire kept her face carefully composed as Marge sputtered her refusal and Lilah smothered a giggle.

Claire glanced at the large clock in the waiting area. Right on schedule. Her next client wouldn’t arrive seeking highlights for at least another fifteen minutes. She began to fog Lilah’s helmet with extra-hold hair spray, smoothing here and there. “All right. You’re good to go. See you next week.”

“Thanks, Claire. I’ll hang around and wait for Marge.”

Claire checked the progress of Marge’s perm while Lilah dropped her check by the front desk. “About five more minutes on this, Marge. I’ll be right back.”

That left her time to take a bathroom break and start a load of towels washing. Or did it? She cocked her head to one side, trying to remember if LouAnne had said when the construction estimator would arrive.

* * *

T
ravis eased his truck to the curb and exited the vehicle, dreading the estimate his business partner had insisted needed to be done today.

The site didn’t bother him. Hell, it was simply another place of business in Sweetwater Springs’s vintage version of downtown. The problem wasn’t with the clientele, either. He’d always had a soft spot where females were concerned, and they seemed to return the sentiment with . . . well, with enthusiasm.

All except one, and she worked here, so he’d look the place over, make some notes and get out. Obviously, this was a courtesy thing. Massey & Co. did major construction, not messy remodels.

Taking a deep, fortifying breath, he strode across the curb and inside what most men in this neck of the woods would consider No Man’s Land—the dreaded beauty salon.

All chatter between two women inside the Curl Up & Dye came to an abrupt halt. Both their gazes focused on him while his lungs tried to adjust to the chemical-laden air.

“Good morning.” He addressed the tiny woman standing beside one with colored rods in her hair. “I’m looking for—”

“Speak of the devil,” said the woman seated. “Look who’s here, Lilah.”

Travis took another look at the woman in the chair. “Miz Heller?”

“That would be me.”

“Miz Bradshaw.” He nodded at the woman standing. “I have an appointment with LouAnne.”

“Here?” Lilah asked, grasping Marge’s hand, her eyes wide with surprise.

“This
is
her salon, isn’t it?” Travis frowned. “Something wrong?”

“Well, no, but we don’t see many men customers in here.”

He hitched his chin as understanding dawned. While Little Rock might have its share of unisex salons, the manly men of Sweetwater Springs hadn’t evolved—yet. “Not that kind of appointment. She—”

“You’re in construction, aren’t you, Travis?” Marge’s soft smile turned sly.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’ll have to hand it to her, that LouAnne’s a crafty one.” She rotated her chair toward the back of the shop and called out, “Your estimator fella is here.”

“Be right there.”

Damn. He knew that voice, and it wasn’t LouAnne’s. Travis steeled himself not to react and turned, facing the direction the voice had come from.

“Travis!”

Holy smokes. Purple hair this time.