Tumbleweed Weddings (23 page)

Man, that girl irked him!

With a shiver, Murray slipped into the driver’s seat of his black Chevy Impala patrol car. Turning up the heater, he wished he could tell Tonya Brandt what he really thought about her. Who did she think she was—trying to use her beauty to get out of paying a speeding ticket?

Her beauty
. Yep, she sure was beautiful, he had to admit that. When she leaned toward him, her face only inches from his own, and batted those thick black eyelashes, he almost relented. Tonya rivaled most Hollywood actresses with her silky black hair, dark blue eyes, and flawless skin.

Murray had never thought much about her beauty before. Having known Tonya since childhood, he always thought of her as Callie’s baby sister, the little pest who tagged after them. But now men stood in line to ask for one evening of her company. She must have dated every guy in Niobrara County.

And I can’t get a date to save my life
.

But what did it matter? He wasn’t about to stand in line and grovel at her feet. And he wasn’t going to let her get out of this speeding ticket either. She deserved it.

Picking up a clipboard, he positioned the ticket and began filling in the lines with his neat, square printing.

“Eighty-five dollars!” Tonya sat in one of the two beautician chairs at the Beauty Spot. “Can you believe this, Aggie? Just because I drove a few miles over the speed limit, I have to pay eighty-five bucks. And I can’t write out a check—no, I have to get a money order at the bank and mail it to the county courthouse in Cheyenne.”

Agatha Collingsworth swept a broom under the other chair, cleaning up after their one and only customer of the morning. “Now, sugar, it’s what I’ve been telling you for weeks.” Her gold bangle bracelets clinked together as she continued sweeping. “Get your bod out of the bed when you’re supposed to, and the day’ll go much smoother.”

“I did get up early, but Murray had determined to give me a ticket. It was premeditated.”

Aggie let out a throaty chuckle as she smoothed down her pink beehive hairdo. “Premeditated, eh? More likely Murray was just doing his job.”

Tonya raised her chin an inch. “I do not appreciate him watching me like that—sitting in his patrol car waiting for me to drive by and hoping I’d go a few miles over the speed limit so he could ticket me.”

“Don’t take it so personal.” Aggie finished sweeping.

“I can’t help it. I never liked Murray Twichell.”

“What’s wrong with him, sugar?” Aggie’s dark brown eyes stared at her.

“He’s a nice boy.”

“Nice? He’s not nice. He threw a snake—a real snake—at me.”

Aggie leaned on the broom handle. “He didn’t!”

“Yes he did. It was a garter snake—but still, he threw it at me, and it got tangled up in my hair.” A shiver ran over Tonya just thinking about it.

“That’s awful, hon! When did this happen?”

Tonya tapped her lips. “I think I was seven—”

“Seven!” Aggie placed her hands on her wide hips. “Land sakes, girl. This happened when you two was little kids, and you’re still holding it against him?”

Tonya felt her temper flare. “I had nightmares for weeks! If Callie hadn’t managed to get that scaly thing untangled from my braids, it might still be there.”

“If that don’t beat all.” Aggie chuckled as she waddled to the back of the store. Her tight jeans puffed out at her thighs, straining the seams.

Tonya followed her boss. “But that wasn’t the only time Murray was mean to me. The summer after that, he and my brother were catching toads in the pond down at the end of our property.”

Aggie chortled as she closed the storage room door. “I bet he threw a toad at you.”

“It’s not funny! He chased me with several toads and then stuck one down the back of my shirt.”

Aggie’s laughter pealed out as they made their way to the front. “He thought you were cute. It was just his boyish way of getting your attention.”

“Oh, he had my attention all right.” Tonya folded her arms as she dropped into a chair. “I had nightmares about that one, too.”

“Don’t let it eat at you.” Aggie ambled toward the front door. “You have to forgive and forget.”

Tonya sighed. “That won’t be easy. Do you know that I had warts all over my hands when I was in the fifth grade? I think it was because of that toad.” She splayed her fingers and scrutinized them. Sometimes a wart would still pop up.

Aggie looked out the large plate-glass windows. “Don’t know if we’ll have too many customers today. It sure is snowing.” Aggie seemed ready to close the subject about Murray.

Forgive and forget
. Why did Tonya still resent what he did those many years ago? Maybe what Aggie said was true—he thought she was a cute little girl and wanted her attention. Tonya had never looked at it from his point of view before.

Joining Aggie at the window, Tonya gazed out at the bleak snowy day. The snowflakes were falling hard, and the wind often swept them sideways. “We might get snowed in and have to spend the night at the Beauty Spot.”

“Hope not.” Aggie walked behind the cash register. “Course, it’s Friday, and I need to do my bookkeeping. A couple bills to pay and your salary check to make out.” Her dark eyes twinkled as she glanced at Tonya. “Do you think ya can handle the thousands of customers who’ll flock to our beauty shop while I work on the books?”

Tonya smiled. “I’ve got it covered, Aggie. You write out those checks. Tomorrow I plan to go shopping.”

“Now don’t spend all your money, sugar. Remember that speeding ticket.”

“You had to remind me.” Tonya sighed.

The morning and afternoon dragged by with only two more customers. At four o’clock, the bell over the door jangled. Both women turned as Murray Twichell strode inside.

Tonya placed her hands on her hips. “Murray! What are you doing here?” He never came to the Beauty Spot.

Aggie had a sudden coughing fit.

His small, closely spaced eyes widened. “I need a haircut.” He shook the snow off his heavy jacket and hung it on one of the hooks on the wall.

Of all the people to want a haircut! The overpowering fragrance of his aftershave wafted toward her, and Tonya resisted the urge to sneeze. He must have just splashed some on his face before he walked in. His reddish-brown hair was growing down the back of his neck, but the top seemed kind of short, almost like a crew cut.
He wouldn’t look so bad if he let his hair grow in the front
. But she wasn’t going to argue about cutting his hair. After all, he was a paying customer.

Murray turned around and cracked his knuckles. “Clint’s Barbershop is closed today. Must be the snow.”

Without replying, Tonya walked back to her workstation. She pulled the vinyl cape off the chair and waited as he approached.

Obviously Murray was off duty. His state trooper uniform had been exchanged for old jeans and a navy T-shirt that stretched across his chest. His biceps bulged out of the short sleeves.

Wow, he’s really bulked up
. She remembered him as the skinny kid catching toads with Derek. Murray had towered over her back then, but now he seemed short and stocky. Callie said he was only five feet six inches. Tonya was an inch taller.

He took a seat, and Tonya threw the cape around his shoulders. With the slight movement of air, the overpowering aftershave floated toward her. She grabbed her nose so she wouldn’t sneeze, taking a deep breath through her mouth. When the feeling passed, she snapped the cape together at the back of his neck. “Don’t blame me if I nip your ear or—or accidentally cut off your head.”

Aggie had another coughing fit.

“Still upset about that ticket?” Murray’s eyes met Tonya’s in the mirror. “I’m a professional who did my job, Tonya. Now you need to do yours.”

“You could have let me go.” She took her spray bottle and doused his hair with water, wishing she could wash the aftershave off his face. “That would have been the Christian thing to do, in my humble opinion.”

“Are you sure it’s humble?” He closed his eyes against the onslaught of water.

As the water dripped from his head, Tonya’s conscience hit her.
This is ridiculous
. She was a professional, as Murray said, but she was acting like a spoiled child.

It was all that toad’s fault.

Forgive and forget
. Grabbing a towel, she mopped up some of the water. “Okay, how do you want your hair cut?” She would give Murray the best haircut he ever had, and somehow—but only with a divine miracle—she would improve his looks in the process.

W
ith a flourish, Tonya wrote her name on the 3 × 5 card. She added,
I love old movies, the colors blue and purple, and classical music
. She handed the card to her brother, Derek, who collected a card from each member of the Sunday school class. The single people of the church, comprised mainly of women, attended this class, known as the Single Servings. Most of the members were in their twenties or thirties, although Horace Frankenberg attended, as did Aggie, Tonya’s boss. Aggie must be over sixty-five. She was always threatening to retire.

“Do I have everyone’s card?” Derek’s eyes circled the seventeen chairs. “Now here’s the reason I’m collecting this information. Our class has been studying Christian charity and friendship during the past two months, and for the next six weeks, from Christmas until Valentine’s Day, we’re going to show some of that friendship by doing something totally different.” He cleared his throat. “Everyone is going to get a secret pal.”

“Secret pal?” several voices asked in unison, followed by moans—mainly in the bass timbre—and an outbreak of conversation.

A little thrill shot through Tonya at Derek’s great idea. She looked around. Why all the complaining? She loved secrets, and what could be more fun than secret pals? Smoothing her red skirt, she crossed her legs, letting her black stiletto-heeled boot swing back and forth. She looked at her brother, thankful that once he made up his mind, he usually didn’t change it.

Derek held up his hand. “Yes, we’re going to do this. Sometimes single people get lonely and need encouragement, especially over the holidays. That’s where Christian charity comes in.”

“But I don’t get it.” Corey Henning folded his arms across his lanky torso. “Are we supposed to send flowers to the other person or something?”

“Yeah.” Matthew Werth slid down an inch in his seat. “What do we have to do?”

Derek straightened his tie. “Send that person a card in the mail to encourage him or her. Pray for that person every day, and let them know you’re praying. You could even send a gift, or several gifts, if you want.”

Corey smirked. “What if we don’t want?”

Tonya glared at him. “Don’t be a party pooper, Corey. It’s only for six weeks.”

She hoped she didn’t get Corey or Matthew as a secret pal. She had dated each of them one time, and once was enough. All Corey wanted to do was kiss her, and Matthew had barely said a word.

On the other hand … Tonya glanced across the room at Reed Dickens—the hottest guy in the Single Servings, and she had never dated him. Of course, he had only been attending their church a few weeks. He worked at the county hospital in Lusk and, she wasn’t sure, but he might be a doctor.

“All right.” Derek lifted his hand to stop the undercurrent of chitchat. “Let’s try it out and see what happens. This week I’ll select—at random—a secret pal for everyone. I’ll give these cards back next week, and remember to keep that person’s name to yourself. As a secret pal, you need to encourage and pray for your, uh, person.” He grinned. “I’m not sure what the recipient of a secret pal is called.”

“How about your chosen one?” Horace called out.

Tonya rolled her eyes. She sure hoped she didn’t get Horace. Of course, some unfortunate person would get the fifty-year-old bachelor.

“I don’t know, Horace.” Derek scratched his clean-shaven chin. “In this case, you’re not choosing the other person. And remember, if you happen to get someone of the opposite gender, there’s nothing romantic about being secret pals. We’re doing this as friends.” He looked at Tonya as if he wanted to make sure she got the point.

She did not appreciate her brother’s unspoken message.

“What about a receiver?” Wearing a suit and tie, Reed Dickens looked like a model in a men’s fashion magazine.

Derek raised his eyebrows. “A receiver?”

“Like a football receiver.” Reed pantomimed catching a football. With those broad shoulders filling out his suit, he was definitely football-player material. “The person is on the receiving end of the encouragement or gifts of the secret pal, so he or she would be called a receiver.” He looked around, his green eyes stopping at Tonya.

She smiled at him.
What a gorgeous guy!

Cheyenne Wilkins, sitting three seats from Tonya, raised her hand. “Derek, the recipient is called a secret pal also.”

“But that doesn’t make sense.” Reed frowned. “I think the recipient should be called a receiver.”

Derek shrugged. “It doesn’t matter to me, but for the sake of being clear, maybe we should take Reed’s suggestion. All in favor?” He waited while a few heads bobbed. “So you’ll all be secret pals and receivers.” He wrote something down. “Don’t forget about our Christmas party on the twenty-third. Everyone needs to come. For the gift exchange, each receiver will get a present from his or her secret pal. So don’t put your name on your gift.”