Caught Up in the Touch (12 page)

She was gearing up for another day of the same when Lilliana came bounding into the kitchen, snapping her fingers. “Since you’re going to be hanging out in Falcon for a while, it’s time to get out and meet some people. The football team is having their first open practice this afternoon.”

“So? Who cares?”

Lilliana’s swift intake of breath and pretend pearl clutch was only half-faked horror. “You’re speaking sacrilege. If there’s one thing the Baptists, the Methodists, and those heathen Presbyterians can agree on, it’s the sanctity of Falcon football. Anyway, you-know-who will be there.” As if her waggling eyebrows didn’t give it away, Lilliana added, “Logan Wilde is an assistant coach, you know.”

“Are you serious?”

“He’s the strength and conditioning coach. Didn’t he tell you? I didn’t think the man could go five minutes without mentioning football. He’s a fanatic. I’m sure getting his buddy hired on as coach so he could be an assistant was his master plan since childhood.”

Her mind whirling, Jessica marked the place in her book and set it on the side table. Yet another layer to the man. “When does he find the time?”

“He makes the time. I wonder when the man sleeps. We can grab some lunch and window-shop on our way to the practice field. Darcy will probably stop by to see Robbie. You can meet her.”

“Let me change and do something with my hair.” She was
not
going in public with high-water yoga pants, a grungy T-shirt, and wild hair.

Dread and excitement mingled, making her stomach dance on the edge of being upset. She wanted to see Logan again, but didn’t know what or how much she should tell him. Maybe it would be better to say nothing. After all, how long could she realistically hide out in Falcon? Tomorrow she would buckle down and look for a job. Or maybe she’d wait another couple of days until her car was fixed.

She pulled on a blue cotton skirt with white asymmetrical stripes and a white T-shirt. Staring in the mirror, she pushed her hair around. She didn’t have the excuse of being in the woods, so she pulled out her flatiron and, with difficulty, worked the prongs into the cracked wall outlet. She went on autopilot, the straightening of her hair a years-long habit.

No wonder Logan was in such phenomenal shape. Strength coach. The memory of the flex of muscles against her cheek on the ATV had her closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.

Her eyes popped opened and she sniffed. A rancid, electrical-type aroma wafted around her as smoke wisped from the outlet. She opened the flatiron, and soft threads brushed her neck and fell around her feet. The flatiron clattered to the floor, and she ran a hand over the back of her head coming away with a handful of hair.

She screamed and tried to turn to see the damage. She didn’t feel bare scalp, but a sizable swath of hair was gone.

Lilliana burst through the door, out of breath and wide-eyed.

“My hair. Omigod, omigod.” Jessica’s voice was shrill, and she bit her lip to stave off tears.

Lilliana grabbed the flatiron cord and yanked it out of the socket. The electrical burn of wiring combined with the smell of charred hair.

Lilliana spun Jessica to see the back and intoned a prayer. “Dear Jesus.”

“How bad is it?”

“I’m so incredibly sorry. The wiring in this old place … I thought I could … obviously not … so much money. Dammit.” Lilliana kicked the plywood cabinet.

Although she recognized Lilliana’s distress, agitation roughed her voice. “My hair. What about my hair?”

Lilliana pulled her into the hallway by her elbow and slipped her phone out. On their way down the staircase she said, “Marlene. You busy? I’ve got an emergency … No, I did not try to color my hair again. It’s a friend. Flatiron accident … We’re on our way.”

Jessica slipped on a pair of Lilliana’s too-small flip-flops, and shuffled after Lilliana. Lilliana whirled back inside and dropped a Falcon ball cap on Jessica head’s on the way out.

“It’s really bad, isn’t it?” Jessica asked.

Lilliana ushered Jessica into her ten-year-old SUV and put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m not going to lie. It’s not good. But Marlene works miracles every day. I’ve seen it. She’ll get you all fixed up.”

On the short trip to town, Jessica forced her hands to stay clamped on her thighs instead of probing the hair wound on the back of her head. They parked and entered through the back of the salon. The smell of hair color and chemicals undercut the sweet aroma of shampoo and mousse. A cloud of hairspray hung in the room. Half a dozen conversations buzzed. An occasional comment sling-shot across the aisle, inciting group laughter.

She had expected an old-fashioned beauty parlor complete with a bee-hived, gum-smacking owner, but the woman who glided over to greet them was the antithesis. A classic, willowy beauty with tastefully highlighted blonde hair swept into a neat chignon. Her age was indeterminate, between fifty and seventy. She tutted. “You poor dear. Let’s get you in a chair.”

With Lilliana holding one elbow and the woman holding the other, Jessica was guided into a chair as if she was physically injured. Lilliana commenced a short pace next to the chair and chewed on a nail. The hairdresser stood behind her with both hands on Jessica’s shoulders. Their eyes met in the mirror.

“My name is Ms. Marlene. Do you mind if I remove the hat to see what I have to work with?” A calm confidence emanated from the woman and wreathed Jessica. Her hands uncurled and her back rounded into the padded chair.

She nodded. Ms. Marlene lifted the hat slowly, as if Jessica might balk. Ms. Marlene’s eyes flared, but otherwise her expression never changed, the small smile never failing. Gentle fingers moved over her scalp.

“Yes, yes. Still plenty to work with. You’re lucky indeed it was only the bottom few inches. I’d like to play up the red in your hair, if I may.”

Jessica fingered the intact hair curling below her jaw. The reflection of her hand trembled. “You can make me look decent?”

Ms. Marlene leaned forward, her smile growing and emphasizing the fine wrinkles at her eyes and mouth. “I’ll do you one better. I’ll make you even more beautiful.”

The scent of magnolias enveloped Jessica, and she closed her eyes for a moment, wondering if it was her imagination playing tricks. She met Ms. Marlene’s eyes in the mirror once again and whispered, “Okay.”

Lilliana heaved a sigh and gave her shoulder a squeeze.

Ms. Marlene angled Jessica’s chair toward the center of the shop and away from the mirrors. Several women sent discreet looks her way, but no one stared as if she were a freak show. A black polyester cape fluttered around her shoulders and snapped at her nape.

Ms. Marlene spoke over her head. “Lilliana, get your hiney in a chair and get that mop trimmed. I’ve missed that sassy mouth of yours. What’s going on with your family?”

Conversations ebbed around her, a jumble of gossip and recipes and stories about children and grandchildren and uncles and cousins. No one prodded Jessica to join in. She allowed Ms. Marlene to lead her like a blinkered horse from station to station.

Strands of hair fell into the cape and skittered to the floor. Ms. Marlene’s hand ruffled Jessica’s hair. She could look up and probably catch a glimpse of herself in the mirror across the room, but instead she watched her hair being shuffled across the floor under the kitten-heels of Ms. Marlene who hummed along to the country song softly permeating the chatter.

Something cool and thick was applied to her hair. After winding plastic wrap around her head, Ms. Marlene slapped a couple of gossip magazines in her lap. “Sit tight, young lady. Color has to set.”

Jessica stared at the cover of the top magazine until Ms. Marlene led her to a different chair, where her hair was washed with an expensive-smelling shampoo. Jessica closed her eyes. It was just hair. It would grow back.

Ms. Marlene tousled her hair while whisking a blow dryer around. Maybe she could reduce the time she spent with a flatiron and aching arms. That would be a bonus.

Lilliana stood in front of her, wide-eyed and smiling, but Jessica couldn’t tell if it was a “you look amazing, I don’t have the words” smile or a “what craziness have I unleashed” smile.

“All done. You look lovely.” Ms. Marlene whipped the cape off, fluffed Jessica’s hair one more time, and turned her to face the mirror.

A stranger sat in the chair. Except Jessica could feel the warm, leather seat under her legs, recognized what the woman wore, could see the shaking hand that rose was hers.

Her freckles stood in stark relief against pale cheeks. Her nervous biting and pulling had worn any lipstick away. The sides and back were cut shorter than the top, which waved in artful chaos. Her bangs were gone, leaving her delicately arched eyebrows to frame eyes that glowed against the deep, complex auburn of her hair.

She wanted to smile politely like she’d been taught and say she loved it. She couldn’t. Her hair was the final block that tumbled her already rickety tower. A tear slipped out.

Ms. Marlene covered her mouth, her words muffled against her perfectly manicured fingers. “I did my very best.”

Lilliana squeezed her shoulder. Jessica saw more than felt it. “You look incredible. Truly. Don’t be upset. Please.”

“I … I…” The sprays and dyes turned noxious. She pushed to her feet, bolted out the front door, and ran-walked down the sidewalk in the direction of Lilliana’s house. Later, she would go back to pay and apologize. Later, when she had come to terms with the drastic turn her life had made.

A few more tears welled out, just enough to make her nose run. She tilted her head to the sky and sniffed, the sun hot and blinding. Her flip-flop caught on a crack in the cement, and she stumbled into another pedestrian. She grabbed an arm, hairy and sinewy. The man steadied her with two hands, one on each of her arms.

“You all right, ma’am?” The deep, smooth voice sugared her limbs. Of all the men in Falcon … she kept her gaze on his hands. They circled all the way around her forearms.

“I’m fine.” Her voice sounded huskier than normal, and she tried to pull away.

The man’s hands flexed. “Jessie?”

Her breathing shallow, her teeth clenched, a dam against her tears, she raised her face to his.

His gaze darted over her hair and face, flitting like a hummingbird, never landing on any one feature for long. “I didn’t recognize you. You look … different.”

“Different.” She repeated the word people used when they didn’t want to lie with a compliment. Her chin wobbled. No way was she going to stand here and cry in front of him. She jerked out of his hands and took off in a full run. The sidewalk petered into gravel. Lilliana’s house was somewhere beyond the bank of trees to her right if she wasn’t completely turned around. A path opened between the pines, and she veered toward it. A low, thorny bush scratched her calf.

Footsteps sounded behind her. “Jessie, wait.”

She ducked into the shadows of the trees, throwing a glance over her shoulder. Muttered curses carried on the breeze. His khakis had caught on the thorn bush, stopping him short.

The sun filtered through the rustling needles and leaves. Her breathing slowed along with her heartbeat. A healthy dose of embarrassment replaced her pathetic tears.

“You’re pretty fast considering you’re in a skirt and flip-flops.” Logan’s voice carried across the twenty feet or so separating them.

Between the thorn bushes and the fallen trees over the path, there was nowhere to run, so she leaned against the nearest tree and waited. She drove her fingernails into the soft bark. He approached as if she were a skittish dog. Birds chirped and two squirrels chased each other around and up a tree.

“I got my hair cut,” she said inanely.

“I noticed. Colored too.”

For the first time, she ran her fingers over the crown and down to her nape. “There was an accident.”

“Car?” His brow crinkled.

“Flatiron.”

His head cocked and his lips twitched.

“Don’t you dare laugh.” She pushed off the tree and poked him in the chest. “Something happened to the outlet in Lilliana’s bathroom. It started smoking, and a chunk of my hair got incinerated.”

“Damn.” He looked out into the trees, away from town. “I didn’t realize the electrical was so bad in that old place.”

“Now I look
different.
” She didn’t mean to sound so hostile, but men would never understand the power a woman’s hair held over the health of her psyche.

Logan took a step closer. “Look, you caught me off guard back there. You do look different. You were attractive before, but in an intimidating Russian-spy kind of way.”

She huffed and rolled her eyes.

“Now you’re approachable and downright hot.”

A fallen tree was rotting at her feet, and she concentrated on flicking the decaying fragments with the end of her flip-flop. “It’s just hair, right? It’ll grow back. You don’t have to be nice.”

His voice fell into a sultry drawl. “I’m not being nice. In fact, that red hair makes me want to be a little naughty.” He slid his hands around her nape, his thumbs brushing over her cheekbones. “Look at me.”

Although given softly, the command in his voice was absolute, and she lifted her gaze to his without an urge to rebel. This close, the golden flecks in his eyes heated her like the embers of a fire. She wrapped her hands around his wrists but didn’t try to pry him away. His fingers worked her neck in an erotic massage, loosening her muscles and curling her toes.

“Jessie, you’re fucking gorgeous and sexy as hell.”

No man had ever talked to her like that, much less looked at her like that. Like he wanted to strip her naked right there, right then.

His tongue dabbed his lower lip. It was full, but not in a feminine way. Everything about him, from the stubble on his cheeks to the calluses on his hands to the subtle, but noticeable bulge between his legs, screamed,
I am man.
Yet instead of raising her hackles and filling her with the need to assert herself, a feminine power surged through her, and in the power was the freedom to let him take charge.

The mouth she stared at moved closer, until it was a blur and sensation replaced sight. Instead of dominating her, he brushed his lips over hers, gently, sweetly. Jessica swayed closer, letting go of his wrists to grab fistfuls of his cotton T-shirt. Yet he didn’t move to take her in his arms.