A Husband of Her Own Read online

  Rebecca’s call-waiting beeped before she could answer. “Hang on a sec,” she said and hit the flash button. “Hello?”

  “Rebecca?”

  It was her father. She sat up and shook another cigarette out of the package, knowing instinctively she’d need one. “Yeah?”

  “I just talked to Josh Hill.”

  She froze mid-motion. “Why do I get the feeling that comment is somehow related to me?”

  “Because it is. I asked him to call a truce between the two of you.”

  Rebecca stuck the unlit cigarette in her mouth and found her lighter. “You didn’t,” she said, speaking around it.

  “I did.” A brief, unhappy hesitation. “Are you smoking again? I thought you’d quit.”

  Dropping her lighter in her lap, she quickly pulled the cigarette from her mouth. “I have.”

  “I hope so. That’s such a nasty habit.”

  “Why did you call Josh, Dad? There’s no reason to ask for a truce.”

  “After what happened at Delia’s wedding?”

  “That was an accident. We haven’t done anything to each other on purpose for years.” Barring the night they’d gone to Josh’s place from the Honky Tonk, of course. They’d done a few things to each other then—and would probably have done a lot more if they hadn’t been interrupted. But that night didn’t count. Feverish groping didn’t fall in the same category as their earlier dealings.

  “I’m tired of being afraid to have you two in the same room,” her father replied.

  “Is that what you told him?”

  “That’s what I told him.”

  “And he said…” Rebecca toyed nervously with her lighter, flipping the lid open, closed, open, closed. Click, click…click, click.

  “He agreed to let the past go.”

  “He did?”

  “That’s what I just said, isn’t it? Now, what do you say?”

  Click, click…click, click.

  Words were cheap, Rebecca decided. Why not let her father feel as though his intervention had solved everything? “Okay.”

  “Okay, what?”

  “Okay, we’re calling a truce.”

  “Good.” Her father sounded inordinately pleased. “I told him I could convince you.”

  “You’ve done a bang-up job, Dad. Is that all?”

  “Not quite.”

  Rebecca hesitated, fearing she hadn’t heard the worst of it yet. “What do you mean by that?”

  “As a gesture of good faith, he’s stopping by the salon tomorrow for a haircut.”

  Rebecca coughed as though she’d just swallowed a bug. When she could speak, she said, “But he always gets his hair cut at the barbershop.”

  “Not tomorrow. Tomorrow he’s coming to you. He’ll be there at ten. Good night.”

  “Wait,” she cried. “I can’t cut his hair.”

  “Why not?” her father asked, his voice now gruff. “You agreed to the truce, remember?”

  Collecting her cigarettes and lighter, Rebecca stood and began to pace across the small porch. “Of course I remember, but…but tomorrow’s Saturday. I’m booked solid.”

  “Not at ten in the morning you’re not.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I was your first appointment, and I just gave him my slot.”

  Her heart sank. “You sure you want to do that, Dad?”

  “Positive.”

  “But this is crazy. How does my cutting Josh’s hair cement this…little truce of yours?”

  “Consider it a trial run for the anniversary party. If you two can get through tomorrow without killing each other, we’ll all breathe a little easier.”

  Rebecca propped the phone on one shoulder and shoved a hand through her new Ashley Judd hairstyle, frantically trying to think of some way out. But her father didn’t give her a chance to argue further. He surprised her by saying, “You’re doing the right thing, Beck. And stay away from those damn cigarettes.” Then he hung up.

  Shocked, she blinked into the dark yard for several seconds, not knowing what to think.

  “Was that Buddy?” Delaney asked as soon as she switched back over.

  “It was my father.”

  “Everything okay?”

  “No. Absolutely not.”

  “Why?” Delaney asked. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m supposed to cut Josh Hill’s hair tomorrow.”

  Silence met this statement, followed by, “You’re kidding, right? Josh is going to put himself at your mercy when you’ve got a pair of scissors in your hands?”

  Rebecca bit her lip and sighed as she headed back inside the house. “I guess we’ll see, huh?”

  CHAPTER THREE

  REBECCA GLANCED NERVOUSLY through Hair And Now’s large front window as the clock ticked inexorably toward ten. The weather was cool and clear with a slight breeze—another perfect autumn day. Not many people were out and about yet, but Saturdays typically started slow at this end of town. Three blocks away at the bakery, there’d be a crowd wanting coffee, donuts and muffins. Starbucks might be taking over the planet, but the citizens of Dundee still patronized Don and Tami’s Bakery.

  Maybe Josh wouldn’t show, Rebecca thought hopefully, noting the dearth of traffic. If he stood her up, she could shrug when she next saw her father and say, “I was perfectly willing to make peace, Dad, but he never arrived.” And then she’d look innocent for a change.

  Perfect. She smiled as she began readying her station with rods and tissues for the permanent wave she’d be giving at eleven, imagining the look of disappointment on her father’s face if for once Josh failed him. This whole truce thing could end up working in her favor. She could feign disappointment in his stubborn refusal to put the past behind them and—

  The bell rang over the door, causing Rebecca’s daydream to dissipate. She knew without turning that Josh had arrived. The murmur that ran from Katie, the other stylist, to Mona, the manicurist, to Nancy Shepherd, who was having her nails done, would have told Rebecca even if her sixth sense did not.

  But her sixth sense was working just fine. Somehow she could always tell when Josh was around. He made her feel clumsy, nervous, unattractive.

  No wonder she didn’t like him. Anyway, despite her wishful thinking, she’d known all along that he’d appear. He’d never been one to back down from a challenge.

  Rebecca cleaned her combs and scissors before looking up. She needed a moment to gather her nerve. Josh was so much easier to hate when he wasn’t within ten feet of her. Ever since she’d made the mistake of going home with him that one night, something had changed. She wasn’t sure exactly what it was, but it made their relationship—or absence of a relationship—very complex. She supposed kissing a man the way she’d kissed him, as though she longed to climb inside his skin and live there for the rest of her life, tended to confuse the issues.

  “Hi, Josh, what brings you in today?” Mona asked. At least fifteen years his senior, Mona had a handful of children at home as well as a husband, but the pitch of her voice suggested she could still appreciate a handsome man when she saw one. And Josh was definitely handsome. He had thick blond hair that fell carelessly across his forehead, skin that tanned so easily he was golden-brown before anyone else even thought of bringing out their summer clothes, and intelligent green eyes that sparkled with more than enough mischief to keep a woman guessing.

  Fortunately Rebecca had long ago perfected her immunity to his rugged virility. She couldn’t really explain her brief lapse that fateful August 16th, but she was still Rebecca Wells. Josh Hill was never going to get the best of her.

  “I have an appointment this morning,” he told Mona.

  “You’re Katie’s first client?”

  “He’s not my ten o’clock,” Katie said. “Unless there’s been some mix-up, I’m doing a perm for Mrs. Vanderwall. And Erma’s not coming in today. She’s off visiting her sister in Boise.”

  From the corner of her eye, Rebecca saw Josh shove his hands in the pockets of his Wranglers. “Actually, I’m here to see Rebecca.”

  “You’re joking, right?” Mona was chuckling as she spoke, as though he had to be joking. Everyone in town knew that putting her and Josh together was like putting a match to gasoline.

  Rebecca cleared her throat and faced them fully. If she waited any longer to acknowledge Josh’s presence, he might realize she wasn’t quite up to her usual self.

  “Josh, good to see you,” she said, forcing a smile.

  He gave her that crooked grin of his, the one that showed his dimples, and immediately called her on the lie. “Are you sure?”

  Hell, no. “I’m trying to be positive,” she said, clasping her hands in front of her because she suddenly didn’t know where to put them.

  He settled his black felt cowboy hat further back on his head. “So this truce thing is for real.”

  “I guess,” she said with a shrug.

  “Because I gotta tell ya, that fiasco at your sister’s wedding was…” He shook his head and let his breath go all at once.

  “I can’t believe you’d even bring that up,” Rebecca responded, bridling. “You made me take out the punch fountain.”

  He cocked an eyebrow at her. “You’re the one who tripped me in the first place.”

  “I didn’t even touch you!”

  “Wait a second,” Katie said. “That wedding was the most exciting thing this town has seen in the past three years. If you two call a truce, life’s going to get pretty boring around here. Who will Rebecca have to fight with?”

  “She doesn’t need me,” Josh said. “She’s always been her own worst enemy.”

  Katie started to chuckle, but Rebecca gave her a look that said “shut up or pay later.” Katie covered her mouth with one hand in
an effort to hide her amusement. But Rebecca wasn’t fooled. She would’ve said something to the effect that she wouldn’t be around to entertain everyone much longer. Except she felt a little unsure of that right now. And Mrs. Vanderwall entered the salon just then, offering the perfect distraction.

  “Your ten o’clock is here,” Rebecca said pointedly to Katie and narrowed her eyes at Mona long enough to remind her that she had a client, too. As Mona finally bent over Nancy Shepherd’s hands, Nancy said, “Don’t look at me, I didn’t say anything,” and Rebecca turned back to Josh. “I should’ve known you’d make this difficult.”

  His devil-may-care grin reappeared. “I thought that’s how you like things.”

  “I don’t like things difficult.”

  “Yes, you do. The harder the better.”

  Rebecca was fairly certain he didn’t mean what he’d said as a sexual innuendo, but his words still brought visions of August 16th. He’d been as aroused as she had—which was the only saving grace about the whole experience. She might have embarrassed herself by nearly sleeping with the enemy but, if memory served, the attraction had been very mutual. “I’m not the one who rained on your parade,” she said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You moved in across the street from me.”

  “That’s what you hold against me?” he cried. “That I moved in across the street from you? How the hell was I supposed to help that? I was eight years old, for crying out loud.”

  She hadn’t really meant what she’d said, of course. He hadn’t ruined her life by moving in across the street. He’d ruined her life by being everything her father had ever wanted. But trying to explain that would sound equally ridiculous. She was thirty-one. Her father’s preference for Josh shouldn’t bother her anymore.

  “Never mind,” she said. “Are you planning on staying or what? Because you don’t have to, you know. I’ll just tell my father that you chickened out at the last minute. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

  “Chickened out?” he repeated.

  She smiled sweetly. “Isn’t that what you’d call it?”

  “I’d call it an issue of trust. The thought of you standing over me with a sharp instrument strikes fear into my heart.”

  “Oh, come on. You’d have to have a heart for that,” she said, and thought she heard Mona snicker.

  Josh rubbed his chin as though she’d just delivered a nice left hook. “You certainly haven’t changed much,” he said sulkily.

  “You have good reason to worry,” Mona muttered from where she was sitting at her station up front, filing Nancy’s nails.

  “I bet five bucks he won’t stay,” Nancy piped up.

  “I’ll put ten on that,” Katie said.

  “What’s the bet?” Mrs. Vanderwall had been too busy trying to straighten her girdle so she could sit down to pay much attention to what was going on around her. At eighty, her hearing wasn’t what it used to be. Katie started to explain, but she only got partway before Mrs. Vanderwall waved her to silence. “Never mind the rest. It doesn’t matter. No one’s a match for Rebecca. I’ll put twenty on her getting the best of him.”

  Rebecca wasn’t flattered by this show of support. She wasn’t that much of an ogre, was she? Sure, she’d lost her temper a few times in the past. Once she’d blackened Gilbert Tripp’s eye when he backed into Delaney’s car, but he’d deserved it. He’d tried to drive away before she and Delaney could get out of the Quick Mart, and when Rebecca finally chased him down, he’d blamed the accident on Delaney’s parking. Their argument had quickly escalated and the next thing Rebecca knew…well, she’d let one fly. But she didn’t doubt Josh would have done the same!

  “Forget it,” she told him. “I’m not out to get the best of you or anyone else. Just go down to the barbershop and buy yourself a haircut.” Her voice had gone flat. She cleared her throat and tried to put more inflection in it. “I’ll tell my father you stopped by and everything went fine, okay?”

  He stared at her for a long moment without speaking. She lifted her chin and threw back her shoulders, praying he wouldn’t realize that her friends’ banter had stung. She was tired of being the bad guy, tired of being a laughingstock. But as long as she remained in Dundee, there was no escaping her reputation.

  “Okay?” she repeated when he didn’t respond.

  He started to move. She thought he was going to swing around and head right back out, onto the street. But he didn’t. He strode across the salon, doffed his hat and planted himself decisively in her chair.

  “You’ve probably got a big day,” he said. “We’d better get busy.”

  Rebecca blinked at him. She could’ve sworn he’d decided to stay for her sake, to silence the others. But that couldn’t be. That would take intuition and an unusual degree of sensitivity, and this was Josh Hill. The Testosterone King. The boy who wrote, “For a good time call anyone but Rebecca Wells,” on the bathroom wall at the A&W, starting a whole section of graffiti about her, none of which was very flattering. His staying probably had more to do with proving to everyone else in Hair And Now that they’d been foolish to bet against him—why would anyone do that? He was the great Josh Hill.

  The others grumbled about being wrong but finally returned to minding their own business. Rebecca nodded in acknowledgement. “Fine. It shouldn’t take long.”

  Spine so rigid she was surprised it didn’t creak when she moved, she draped her cape over his broad shoulders, covering his polo shirt and most of his blue jeans. As she fastened the collar, her fingers brushed his neck and he swiveled to look up at her.

  She raised her hands to show him she held nothing sharp. “Just fastening the cape,” she said.

  “I didn’t think you were going to stab me,” he grumbled.

  “You jumped.” What else would make him react that way? She’d barely touched him. In any case, she wasn’t going to argue the point. She was too determined to get through this as quickly as possible.

  “What would you like me to do for you?” she asked.

  “Do for me?” he repeated as though the question somehow surprised him.

  “To your hair.” Stepping on the lever, she lowered the chair as far as possible. She was tall, but he was several inches taller. She needed to accommodate his height. “What would you like me to do to your hair?”

  “Just give it a trim.”

  “Okay. You don’t want me to shampoo it, though, right?” She reached for her spray bottle. “We’ll be done much faster if we just wet the hair down and go from there.”

  He leaned away from her. “Isn’t shampooing included in the price of a cut?”

  Rebecca hesitated, spray bottle in hand. “Um, yes, it is, but…I’ll give you a discount. A good discount.”

  “No, thanks,” he said. “I’ll have the full treatment.”

  “O-k-a-y. Sure.” She glanced from Katie to Mona to see if they’d done something to challenge him, thereby causing him to prolong the agony, but they seemed engaged with their own clients.

  Setting the spray bottle on top of the rolling cart that held most of her supplies, she took a deep breath. She’d shampooed hundreds of people without a second thought. But she didn’t want to shampoo Josh. “Then…uh…you need to come back here with me.”

  He stood and followed her past the short row of old-fashioned hairdryers, shelves of products and racks of hair magazines to the sinks at the very back of the salon. Waving him into a cushioned seat on her left, she levered the adjustable black vinyl chair so he could lie with his neck resting comfortably in the crook of the porcelain bowl.

  Mostly decorated in pink, with a wide stripe to the wallpaper and a black canvas awning over the door, the salon was about as feminine a place as Rebecca could imagine. It smelled of bleach and acrylic and perm solution—a virtual self-improvement paradise into which few men ever ventured. Until recently, anyway. With the growing popularity of spiked, bleached hair among young boys, Rebecca’s male clientele had grown sharply.

  But Josh looked out of place all the same. His body was too big for the chair, which had been designed twenty years earlier for women, and his well-scuffed boots and the slightly frayed hem of his jeans provided a notable contrast to the muumuus and cotton print dresses Rebecca generally saw sticking out from below her plastic cape. He smelled different, too. More…evocative. A blend of warm skin, leather and soap reminded her of that night a year ago last summer when she and Josh were dancing at the Honky Tonk. While they were swaying to the music, he’d put his hands possessively on the small of her back, drawing her closer, and then he’d kissed her neck just below the earlobe….