Going Cowboy Crazy (21 page)

Jenna laughed, the sound so familiar it was almost creepy. “Bramble is pretty close-minded. But I have to admit, you two do look like two peas in a pod.”

“But you knew.”

Jenna’s eyes grew misty again. “Yes. I knew.”

It took a while before Faith could pull her gaze away from the soulful brown eyes.

“Well, I better get going,” she said. But before she had taken more than two steps, Jenna stopped her.

“Faith.” The word slipped from her mother’s lips like a prayer. “Thank you for letting me tell my side of things. It felt good to finally get it out.”

Faith nodded. She hadn’t forgiven Jenna and Burl for
giving her away, but at least now, she knew why they had. And Jenna was right; it did feel good to get it all out.

“So I’ll see you on Sunday,” Jenna chirped happily as she followed Faith down the steps. “Of course, I’ll probably see you even sooner than that.” When Faith shot her a questioning look, she continued. “Homecoming’s this weekend, and you’re planning on going, ain’t you? After all, you were Bramble’s prettiest queen,” she teased.

Unfortunately, Faith didn’t see the humor in the joke. She’d forgotten about homecoming. Or maybe she’d shoved it out of her mind, along with the Hollywood sex lies and kissing cocky cowboys in men’s restrooms. If she stayed until Sunday, there was no way she could miss the festivities. Not with the way this town felt about their Hope.

And not when Faith was responsible for cups and plates.

“…
SO
I
SAID TO
K
ENNY,
I’m not puttin’ up with that kind of crap from nobody. Not even a man who knows what to do with his tongue.” Twyla yanked the comb through Faith’s hair, uncaring of the tears that sprang to her client’s eyes.

“I mean, where does he get off, anyway? My mama may worship the ground he walks on, but that don’t mean I will.” She paused and rested a hand on one denim hip as she waved the comb around. “And I’ll tell you one thing, if he don’t start treatin’ me like the successful business-woman I am, I’m likely to find some other Texan to hang my hat on.”

Since she had already relayed numerous stories about the other Texans she’d hung her hat on, Faith believed her.

“ ’Course, you got the best one.” Twyla went back to tugging. “Good Lord, that man is somethin’ to look at. I saw him at the diner this mornin’.” She paused in mid-yank. “Funny, but he didn’t smile and wink at me like he usually does. In fact, he didn’t stay more than a second.
He just looked around, and then away he went. ’Course, I’m sure he’s all flustered up about the game tonight…. Still, he usually smiles and winks.”

Smiles and winks and makes women fall at his feet.

Faith gritted her teeth. And she was one of them. Of course, it had taken more than a smile and a wink, but not much more. The simple brush of his lips had just about done it. And now, try as she might, she couldn’t get the image of his sweet lips out of her mind—or any of his other body parts, for that matter.

Twyla turned on a blow-dryer and continued to talk, even though Faith couldn’t hear a word she said. No longer distracted by Twyla’s sordid past, her mind wandered back to Slate.

It was probably stupidity at it finest, but she believed him when he said he and Hope hadn’t been lovers. Although by the way he stammered and blushed when he talked about it, Faith knew there was more to their relationship than he was letting on. Enough for Faith to want to keep her distance.

The blow-dryer clicked off, and Twyla stepped back to examine her work. Faith wanted to examine it as well, but it was hard to see much of anything in the tiny section of mirror that wasn’t covered with pictures of Twyla and all her cowboys. If Faith had enough hair to worry about, she might be scared. But, so far, all the woman had done was shampoo, condition, and blow-dry.

“Now comes the best part.” Twyla scurried over to a large cabinet in one corner and pulled something out. At first, Faith thought it was the pelt of some wild animal. But then she noticed the white Styrofoam mannequin head peeking out from beneath the brown fur, and
suddenly she felt the fajitas she’d had for lunch rise to the back of her throat.

“What is that?”

Twyla twisted it around to display the long, fat curls from all angles. “Isn’t it just gorgeous? It’s a Joni Tail.”

“A what?”

“A Joni Tail.” Twyla hurried over and set it down on the counter amid her instruments of torture. “Ever since you came home I’ve been worried sick about what to do with your hair.” Her eyes narrowed. “Seein’ as how you let somebody butcher it and all. At first, I was thinkin’ about orderin’ some of those hair extension things that all the famous stars use. And since Darla’s so good with hot glue I was going to have her come over and help attach them. But then I was watchin’ QVC the other night, and my eyes almost jumped right out of my head.” She clapped her hands together. “Right there on the television I won in my last divorce was the answer to all my prayers. The Joni Tail.”

“Twyla.” Faith tried to get up, but the plastic cape was hooked around the back of the chair. “I don’t know if this is a good idea.”

“Of course it is, honey. You should’ve seen those models before. They all had ugly short hair just like you, and then with just a few bobby pins, they were transformed into the prettiest things you’ve ever seen in your life. I’m tellin’ you it was just like a miracle. And thank the Lord for overnight shippin’ because I might not have gotten it here in time for the parade otherwise.”

“I-I don’t know. The color doesn’t even match my hair.”

“It does now.”

“What?” Faith ducked her head and moved closer to the mirror. “You dyed my hair?”

“Don’t worry, honey. It’s semipermanent. So it’ll wash right out after twelve to twenty washes.”

“Twelve to twenty?”

“Oh, please, Hope!” Twyla grabbed Faith’s hand and held it to her ample chest. “Just let me try it. I promise if you don’t like it, I’ll take it right out. But I just know if everyone sees that I can make even your awful hair pretty, my business will double. Maybe even Shirlene will start coming in here, instead of flying all the way to Austin.”

After standing up to Sheriff Winslow and an arrogant cowboy, Faith had started to believe she wasn’t such a pushover after all. But staring into Twyla’s pleading eyes made her realize that she was still a wimp at heart.

Thirty minutes later, Faith figured she wasn’t a wimp as much as a sucker. Her head felt like a pincushion, and her neck strained under the weight of a mountain of curls and a towering tiara. But the hair was nothing compared to the dress she now wore, a pile of canary yellow satin that belonged on the front lawn of Tara—instead of a basement salon in the twenty-first century.

“Oh. My. God.” Twyla clutched a hand to her chest, her eyes watering as she bit her lip. “You look just like you did on homecoming night over ten years ago.”

Oh. My. God.

“But those red boots don’t match,” Twyla stated as Faith struggled to get the numerous stiff petticoats through the door of the tiny bathroom. “But I guess they’ll be all right. Nobody will be paying any attention to them anyway. Not with the way your hair looks. Good Lord.” She rushed over and jerked a hairpin out, popped
it in her mouth, smoothed out a curl, and then rammed it home. “There. That’s better.”

“Well, well.” Shirlene’s drawl came from the doorway. “Would you just look at the Princess of Haskins County.”

Faith’s eyes narrowed as she turned to the grinning woman at the bottom of the basement stairs. After spending the last few days with Shirlene, Faith had started to think of the woman as a close friend. But a close friend wouldn’t have convinced her how fun it would be to get her hair done before the big homecoming game. And as Shirlene continued to rub it in, Faith’s gaze settled on a pair of Twyla’s scissors.

“Well, you’ve sure outdone yourself this time, Twyla.”

“Why, thank you, Shirlene.” Twyla beamed. “She does look stunnin’, don’t she?”

“She sure does. As stunning as a yellow rose of Texas.” With her green eyes sparkling, Shirlene turned and headed back up the stairs. “Get a move on, honey. I can’t wait until people get a load of you.”

Faith hurried after her with every intention of giving her a piece of her mind. But by the time she had corralled the full skirt and petticoats up the stairs, out the door, and into the Navigator, she was too tired to do much more than glare at Shirlene.

Shirlene laughed as she pulled away from the curb. “I don’t know what you’re scowling at, honey. This is going to be more fun than a barrelful of monkeys.”

“Fun” wasn’t the word that popped into Faith’s head as she struggled to buckle the seat belt over the pile of satin. Although it started with an
F
.

The town hall was a two-story building made of pretty gray stone that, according to the bronze plaque between
the two flagpoles out front, had been built in 1892. But as Shirlene and Faith stood in the shade of the maple trees waiting for the float to arrive, Shirlene informed Faith that the date was wrong.

According to her, William Cates, a metalsmith out of Lubbock, had been commissioned to make the plaque before the building had been completely finished. When bad weather delayed the completion by a few months—fourteen to be exact—the date on the plaque Cates delivered was no longer accurate. The mayor of Bramble refused to pay him. Irate at the injustice, Cates grabbed the man and demanded his money. Unfortunately, the sheriff at the time—who happened to be a distant relative of Shirlene’s—didn’t take kindly to people grabbing the mayor and shot Cates dead. Rather than put money out for another plaque, the townsfolk voted unanimously to keep the one they had.

After all, Cates had done a beautiful job. And what difference did a few months make?

If Faith was a tourist, the story would’ve been rather quaint and folksy. But standing in the late afternoon heat in a pile of petticoats, waiting for a float to arrive so she could display her “Gone With the Wind” attire and Joni Tail for all to see, she completely sympathized with the poor metalsmith whose fate rested on one tiny little mistake—attempting to do something nice for a town of loonies.

“Here she comes!”

Faith looked up in time to see the large red and silver semitruck bearing down on the fifty or so women who were decked out in formals, paste tiaras, and towers of teased and curled hair. The young girls didn’t look so bad,
but a few of the older women were dressed even more outrageously than Faith. Poor Rachel Dean, who even with her man hands had snagged the title of Bramble High Queen 1971, wore a long, polyester dress and a short cape with a fake-fur collar that looked like roadkill a good week after the hit-and-run.

The semi’s horn blasted, and Faith almost jumped out of her boots as it eased up to the curb amid squeals of delight and Shirlene’s gasp of disbelief.

“Good God.”

Faith stared at the flatbed trailer hitched to the truck. Shirlene was wrong. There was nothing good or godly about the horrendous sight. Nothing at all. It looked like a satanic nightmare. A huge purple fantasy of the devil.

Although Twyla was right; Darla had to be good with a glue gun to attach the thousands of purple silk roses that covered the float and draped down over the tires to the street. But the roses weren’t the worst part. No, the worst part was the gigantic gray spray-painted Styrofoam revolvers that graced all three tiers of the float, their long barrels pointing out like weapons of mass destruction.

“Get it!” Darla shrieked. “Guns and Roses!”

“Guns and Roses?” Rachel Dean looked puzzled.

“You know, that’s the name of the band that sings the theme song.”

“Oh.” Rachel stared up at the towering monstrosity. “Why, isn’t that clever.”

“Well,” Shirlene said. “It could’ve been worse.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.” Faith refused to take her eyes off the float for fear it might turn into something even more horrific.

“Yeah, you’re right. Nothing could be worse.”

But she was wrong again.

“Who gets to sit up top with the Colt Peacemaker?” one queen yelled.

“Who else?” another answered.

It took Faith a second to realize all eyes were on her. “Oh no.” She backed up until she bumped into Shirlene. “I think someone else should have the honor.”

“But, Hope, it has to be you,” Darla said. “You’re the most popular queen in Bramble history.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that,” Cindy Lynn mumbled.

Faith grasped the opening. “Of course, you’re right. You should be up there, Cindy Lynn. You look stunning in that black velvet with those colorful…” She waved her hands at the yards of multicolored satin that billowed from her sleeves. “You should ride on top. Or better—” She looked at the group of young girls. “This year’s queen should ride on top.”

“Can’t happen,” Rachel Dean said. “Lou Ann gets the honor of drivin’ the truck. Besides, you haven’t been home in a while and people want to get a good look at you.”

That was what Faith was afraid of.

“Of course it should be Hope,” Shirlene stated. “Now, Hog, quit trying to be humble and get your little yellow behind up there on that Colt.”