Restless Heart (19 page)

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Authors: Wynonna Judd

BOOK: Restless Heart

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Again, she looked in the mirror.

This was
her
hair. Her life. For once, something could be about what
she
wanted.

“Girls,” she said, “I’ve used my last can of Final Net. Chez Mia, here we come!”

T
he next morning, enticed by the aroma of coffee and bacon, Destiny fumbled her way into Seth’s kitchen with Mike trotting at her heels. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she reached the doorway, but the sight standing before her stopped her in her barefoot tracks and curled her toes. “Wow.”

A shirtless Seth turned around and gave her a smile that was much too cheerful for the crack of dawn. Oh, wait, the digital clock on the microwave said it was nine. Oops. She hadn’t meant to sleep in. She had a huge day ahead of her. . . .

And now, all she wanted to do was go back to bed, with Seth in tow.

For a moment, she wished she were wearing something more appealing than her XXL NASHVILLE IS FOR LIVERS T-shirt, a Nessie castoff.

But then, she wasn’t a Victoria’s Secret kind of girl, and Seth knew it.

“Wow . . .
what
?” he echoed.

Wow, you look amazing even with rumpled hair and dark stubble shadowing your jaw.

But there was no time for romance now, Destiny reminded herself sternly; she had to get moving.

“Wow,” she improvised, “is that coffee and bacon I smell?”

“You betcha.”

That familiar pang of wishing this wasn’t just temporary—waking up together—fluttered in Destiny’s stomach, and without thinking she put her hand on her midsection.

“Hungry?” He nodded toward her hand and turned back to the stove, deftly turning over the sizzling strips of bacon.

“Starving,” she admitted, as Mike trotted into the kitchen. Destiny bent to pet him.

“How do you want your eggs?”

“Eggs?”

Seth took one from the carton on the counter and held it up for her inspection. “These here are eggs, little city girl. They come from chickens.”

“Ha-ha. Very funny. It’s just that . . .”

Again, she looked at the clock.

I don’t have time for breakfast. I barely have time to jump into the shower before I have to be at rehearsal.

“I wasn’t expecting you to cook for me,” she said, not wanting to hurt his feelings.

“Well, you deserve a little pampering. Especially on a special day like this. So . . . the eggs. How do you want them?”

Her mouth was watering. Maybe she could spare a little extra time.

“Over easy,” she said, “and Mike likes his scrambled.”

“You want me to scramble eggs for your dog?”

Her chin came up. “It’s good for his coat.”

Seth removed the bacon from the skillet and placed the strips on paper towels to drain. “Yeah, I can see how that fur is the envy of all the local dogs.”

“Don’t you be pokin’ fun of crazy hair,” Destiny warned with a wag of her finger. “I might just take offense.”

“What are you talking about?” He turned around and looked at her in question.

Destiny rolled her eyes and pointed at her wild bed-head.

“I like your hair. Like I keep telling you, you should wear it down more often.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Their eyes locked. She knew, from his expression, that he was thinking not about her bed-head, but about her . . .
in
bed.

Sure enough, he started toward her, nearly knocking an egg to the floor, but catching it just as it rolled over the edge of the counter.

“Nice save.”

He set the egg on the counter and turned toward her again.

She took a wary step back. “Um, shouldn’t you be cracking that into the skillet?”

“I will. In a minute.”

“But I’m starving, remember?”

“So am I.” He reached for her, and the look in his warm brown eyes melted Destiny’s resolve like saltwater taffy on a hot summer day.

“Seriously, Seth . . .”

“Here. This’ll hold you over.” He grabbed a slice of bacon and held it to her mouth.

“Yum,” she said as she took a crispy bite.

Mike, at their feet, barked, and then sat up to beg.

“What, you want some too?” Seth asked.

“He can have a little nibble, but then I should take him outside. His bladder must be ready to burst.”

Seth shook his head. “I took him out earlier while you were still sleeping. Don’t worry—I have it all under control.”

“I can see that.” Destiny broke off a piece of bacon and tossed it to Mike.

Seth wrapped his arms around her and kissed her.

Laughing, she shook her head. “Not now.”

“Yes, now.” He backed her against the counter and buried his face in her neck, sending shivers through her.

But she really didn’t have time.

Blindly reaching behind her, she found the carton of eggs. Her fingers closed around one. Without stopping to reconsider, she pulled it out—and cracked it over his head.

Seth sprang back with a yelp.

“What was that?”

“That there was an egg. Eggs come from chickens, and—”

“Oh, you are gonna pay for that!” he shouted and lunged for her.

“You gotta catch me first.” She tugged her arm free and took off running for the living room.

Mike scampered after them barking with doggie delight.

“I can run a lot faster than you!” Seth’s bare feet slapped against the hardwood floors as he came after her in fast pursuit.

“Yeah, but I’ve got some moves, see?”

She took a flying leap over the couch, bounced off the wall, and kept on running. She laughed when she heard him grunt in frustration when he had to circle around, giving her time to tear down the hallway.

That was where she realized her game plan was lacking, since she basically had nowhere to go but the bedroom—which was exactly what she’d been trying to avoid when she’d cracked the egg over his head in the first place.

She decided she’d circle toward the window, scramble across the bed, and head back to freedom. But her plan was thwarted when she tripped over her own duffel bag left on the floor, went airborne, and landed on the bed with a big bounce. She rolled over with the intent to scoot away, but he dove on top of her with a whoop of triumph.

“Gotcha now!”

She squirmed, laughing.

“Hmmm . . . just what am I going to do with you?”

“Let me go?”

“Not a chance.”

He gathered her into his arms, and she knew she was helpless to resist.

The rest of the world—the rehearsal and sound check, her mother and sister, the salon trip—would just have to wait.

O
n the opposite side of town, the Harts faced each other stubbornly across the breakfast table.

“Sara, I just can’t support something I believe is wrong.” John threaded his fingers through his short hair. “You know that simply isn’t me.”

“Just how can pursuing a dream be wrong?”

“It’s not wrong if you go about it in the right way, but—”

“The right way or
your
way?” Sara cut in.

“Those two things don’t have to be mutually exclusive, you know.”

She knew he was trying to joke, but she failed to see the humor. “She’s your daughter, John. Everyone else in town is going to be there, and—”

“And you really think that means everyone else in town loves her more than I do, Sara?”

“Well, you sure have a funny way of showing it.”

“It’s not in me to stand back and watch my children make mistakes.”

“Mistakes are part of life, John. Stop controlling and start supporting before it’s too late. Please . . . just come to see her perform tonight.”

He shook his head.

A hot wave of disappointment washed over Sara. She pushed back her chair.

“Where are you going?” he asked with an edge of panic in his voice that clawed at Sara’s heart.

She clenched her fists and fought the urge to sit down again. “Outside for some fresh air. I have some serious thinking to do.”

He didn’t ask about what, and Sara didn’t offer. “Maybe you should do the same,” she advised, and stepped out onto the deck.

It wasn’t fair. It was a holiday weekend, and the first time her entire family had been together in ages. Grace had found happiness in Nashville with her sister, Destiny’s career was going well and she was seeing Seth Caldwell . . .

If only John Hart would come to his senses, all would be right with Sara’s world.

“It shouldn’t be this way,” she whispered and tried to swallow the hot moisture gathering in her aching throat.

While she knew that John’s stubbornness was born of love, he had to learn that it couldn’t always be his way or the highway.

Sara gripped the railing harder and raised her face to the blue sky with a silent prayer that her husband would learn that it’s possible to bend without breaking.

After all, I’ve been doing it for years
, Sara thought grimly.

“A
ll right, Mrs. Hart, what can I do for you?” asked Mia, who sported bright chunks of pink in her platinum-blond spikes and a piercing in the corner of her eyebrow.

Definitely not what you did for—or rather,
to—
yourself
, Sara thought.

Aloud, she said, “I do believe I’d like my hair frosted.”

“Frosted?”

“She means highlighted, Mia,” Destiny explained.

“Full or partial?”

Mia might as well have been speaking Greek. Sara looked at her daughters for help.

“I think she might like to go short,” Destiny said.

“But Daddy might not like it,” Grace told her.

That did it!

“Make me short and . . . sassy!” Sara instructed Mia. “With lots of blond frost—I mean,
highlights
.”

“So you want a full?” Mia started threading her fingers through Sara’s hair, only to get stuck in the stiffness.

“A full? That means all over, right?”

“Right.”

“Okay, then, all over. Do me up good and proper.” Sara folded her hands on her lap and nodded with conviction that she wasn’t quite feeling.

“No problem!” Mia picked up a big book. “Look through here for some styles and color while I get started on Destiny. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Left alone in the chair with Grace standing by, Sara frowned at her reflection in the mirror. “There was a time when I was carefree and pretty,” she said, more to herself than to her daughter.

“You are pretty, Mom. Just look at your skin—it’s perfect. And you have a great figure with all that healthy living. You just hide it under layers of clothes. And you need more color in your wardrobe—and jewelry. We can stop at the mall and hook you up.”

“No, Grace. This is Destiny’s day, not mine.” She put her hands on the arms of the chair and started to push up. “In fact, I shouldn’t really even be here.”

Grace put a restraining hand on her shoulder. “When was the last time we got to spend a day together, the three of us?”

“You’re right.”

“Here, look at the book and find yourself a style.”

Heart pounding like a hummingbird’s, Sara started turning pages, not really seeing the photos until Grace stopped her.

“There!”

“What? Where?”

“Turn back a page.”

Sara obliged, and Grace tapped the picture of a woman with soft layers framing her face. It was short, but not too radical. Feminine, but with a hint of sass.

“Throw in some highlights in honey blond, Mom, and you’ll be a knockout.”

“A knockout? Get out of here.” Sara nibbled on her bottom lip.

“I mean it.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Sara had birthed two babies and sent her husband off to war. This was a haircut and color, for pity’s sake.