Entice Me Box Set: The Truth About Shoes and Men\Cover Me\My Favorite Mistake (22 page)

I hiccuped. “What are we having?”

“Sausage, biscuits and gravy.”

I was pining for fruit and cereal, but I wasn’t going to argue. He set coffee and a plateful of steaming food in front of me—links of meat and open-faced biscuits smothered with taupe-colored gravy. I sniffed the gravy suspiciously, but my empty stomach overrode my reservations, and I dug in.

Sam was already working on his plate, piled twice as high as mine. He chewed slowly and with obvious enjoyment—a simple act that endeared me to him further.

“This is good,” I said, sipping the strong coffee.

He wiped his mouth with a napkin and grinned. “I’m not much of a cook, but I can manage breakfast.”

I saw my opportunity. “So…how do you make your gravy?”

He shrugged. “The usual way.”

Ah.

“So,” he said, “have you talked to your boss about her dog?”

I nodded. “She took it badly, but I promised to take one of the puppies and help find homes for the others.”

“Very commendable.”

I shrugged. “You inspired me.”

His eyebrows rose a fraction. “Thanks. And you inspired me.”

My heart bobbed in wonder. “I did?”

“To get organized.” He nodded toward the clinic. “The computer and whatever else you ordered were delivered this morning.”

“Oh. Well, I’ll help you set up everything today.”

He made a rueful noise. “It’ll have to wait until this afternoon. I need to drive to Syracuse to pick up some meds. And I still have to do that lice treatment. I should be back by noon.”

He didn’t want me to go.

“Unless you want to go,” he added.

Despite Helena’s edict for me to shadow him, I wasn’t about to force my company on him. Besides, he was probably safer if I
didn’t
go. “No, that’s okay—I was thinking I’d go into town and run a couple of errands.”

He nodded, then resumed eating. So did I, but tension had settled over the room, as thick as gravy. And just as baffling.

“So,” he said finally, “do you have enough material for your article?”

He was eager for me to go back to Manhattan. A bite of biscuit stuck in my throat. “Almost.”

He took a drink from his coffee cup and seemed to be weighing his words. “I was just wondering, since I won’t be spaying Angel, if you were planning to leave earlier than Sunday.”

I swallowed. “If you need for me to leave—”

“I don’t,” he cut in. “That’s not what I meant. You’re welcome to stay…as long as you need to.” He took another drink. “Or want to.”

My silly heart might have read something into that last remark except he was looking at his plate, talking to the sausages. He wanted me to leave and was too nice to say so. My appetite vanished, and I was tempted to go pack my empty suitcase and hit the road, cover curse be damned. Angel and I could hide out in my apartment until Sunday—Helena would never know we’d left early.

Unless she called.

I groaned inwardly. No, I had to stick it out, but at least I could help to get his office organized before I left. That might make me feel better about the pretense of my trip, and all the trouble I’d caused since arriving.

“I guess you’re missing the city, aren’t you?” he asked.

I looked up and nodded. “It’s my home. I guess a person misses what’s familiar.”

He nodded, then glanced at his watch. “I’d better get going if I’m going to make it back at a decent hour.” I helped him to clear the table, load the dishwasher, and wipe the wood counters. We moved with few words and in tandem, reaching around each other and picking up where the other person left off. Despite its pioneer appearance, the kitchen was stocked with state-of-the-art appliances, and the wood cabinets featured custom organizers, recycling
bins, and storage racks. Perhaps he didn’t have Madison Avenue taste, but the man appreciated quality.

“Thanks for the help, partner,” he said, then winked and disappeared in the direction of his bedroom.

I stared after him, then took Angel for a walk, hoping the fresh air would help clear my head. But since the air was still tinged with the smell of smoke from my most recent disaster, the walk did little but remind me how much I didn’t belong here. And gave me a roaring headache.

Sam came out of the cabin carrying a travel mug as we were stepping upon the porch. “I’ll be back in a few hours,” he said, then hesitated.

For a few seconds, the scene felt…
domestic
and I had the crazy sensation that he was going to kiss me goodbye. I stepped backward, trouncing on Angel’s paw. She yelped and I apologized, then waved at Sam who’d resumed making his way toward the truck. “Be careful.” He nodded and I bit back a reminder to wear his seat belt. That was just too telltale—although I did stand there long enough to make sure he buckled himself in. He waved as he pulled away, and when his brake lights disappeared, I was overcome by a pressing sense of loneliness. The trees towered around me. The air echoed with quiet. I wondered if Sam ever felt lonely.

I left Angel in the guest room with food and water and drove the Volvo into town, keeping my eyes peeled for discount stores and hair salons. I pulled over at a dollar store and purchased a package of socks and one of underwear—not French, but sturdy and sufficient to get me through the weekend. I asked the clerk about a hair salon and she directed me to the Cut and Curl within walking distance.

It was a nice day for a walk, and the temperatures had warmed to the mid-sixties, according to the digital marquee
on the Peoples’ Bank of Jar Hollow. Warm for spring in upstate New York. The street cleaners were out—not the huge raucous machines with spiraling brushes, but two old men with wide push brooms, making their way down the edge between the sidewalk and the street a few feet at a time. From my vantage point I could see the town square and the hustle and bustle there around the fountain. The hair salon was down a shady side street, between a video rental store (free popcorn) and a pizza parlor (free breadsticks). A pink awning marked the door of the salon, and the windows were dotted with taped-up pages from hairstyle books. I squinted—
dated
hair-salon books. I worked my mouth from side to side wondering if I should risk it. Next to the leader of the Free World, the person with the most power was a hairdresser. A hairdresser could make your day, or ruin your year.

Before I could make up my mind, the door opened and a plump woman with a helmet of jet-black curls smiled wide. “Come on in, honey. You look like you could use a friend.”

While I was thinking it was a bizarre thing for the woman to say, my feet moved forward and carried me into a long, aromatic beehive of a room full of women having their hair and nails done. Except for the country music playing in the background and the coffee pot in the corner instead of a bottled-water bar, the Cut and Curl could have been a salon in Manhattan.

“Now, what can I do for you, miss?” the woman asked me.

“I need a cut and blow-dry. Do you take walk-ins?”

“Sure do.” She consulted a pink appointment book, then patted my arm. “I’ll be right back.”

I realized that I was being checked out by every woman in the room and tried my best to look unaware. But I found
it difficult to maintain my composure when I looked up to see the woman returning with Val Jessum in tow. Val Jessum wearing a pink smock. When she saw me, her step faltered, then she recovered.

The older woman smiled wide. “Val will be glad to take you, Miss—?” She held her pen over the appointment book.

“Mansfield,” Val and I said in unison. An awkward stare-down ensued, both of us weighing the implications of her cutting my hair.

“Look,” Val said, “if you don’t want to do this, I can swap with another stylist.”

“No,” I said with more aplomb than I felt, then conjured up a smile. “Let’s do it.”

I followed Val, noticing that many women were reading the copy of
Personality
with Sam on the cover. When we reached Val’s station, the cover was taped up in the corner of the mirror. I climbed into the chair as if I were ascending to a guillotine. She and I both knew she could scalp me if she wanted to.

“How long have you been cutting hair?” I asked nervously.

She gave a short laugh. “All of my life.” She snapped open a pink plastic cape and fastened it around my neck, a tad too tight. “I left and worked for Sam for a year, then came back.” She sighed, as if she regretted the move.

“Sam said the paperwork is killing him, and from the look of his desk, I’d have to agree.”

“I thought he would replace me,” she said pointedly. “But he hasn’t.”

Point taken.

She averted her gaze. “Sam and I worked well together.”

“He mentioned that.” I opted not to mention that he’d
insinuated they had worked together better than they’d played together.

The tight line of her mouth softened and she seemed to be contemplating…
something
—going back to work for Sam? He did appear to be holding a place for her. The fact that she was considering it gave me some idea of what Sam’s answer had been to the “Who is she to you?” question.

Val released my hair from the ponytail holder and turned me around to face the mirror. “What kind of cut would you like?”

I was silent for a few seconds, struck by the polar extremes in our reflection—her olive skin and glossy beauty next to my Milk of Magnesia complexion and limp, malodorous hair. “Urn…something rather short, I think.”

Her lovely brows arched. “Really?”

I lifted a longish lock ruefully. “I had a run-in with a skunk.”

She smiled as if she wished she’d seen that. “Can’t get the scent out?”

“Not completely.” I looked in the mirror and tossed my head, suddenly brave. “And I’m ready for a new look for spring.” I swallowed. “What would you suggest?”

She fluffed my hair with both hands, then pulled it back, away from my face. “With your bone structure, you could go really short, like a pixie cut.” She wet her lips. “But if you have a special man in your life, you might want to consider that men usually prefer longer hair.”

Sam, she was telling me, preferred longer hair.

“Pixie cut it is,” I said cheerfully.

I hoped the gleam in her eye was anticipation and not retribution.

19

T
WO HOURS LATER
, I pulled into the driveway between Sam’s house and clinic and acknowledged a little pang of disappointment that he hadn’t yet returned, which scared me because it gave me a taste of how I might feel after I went home.

Disconcerted, I collected Angel from the cabin and paused to finger my close-cropped do. It was reminiscent of Sharon Stone’s cut in
The Muse
, except, of course, I was no Sharon Stone. But I had to admit that Val Jessum knew hair. She had even talked me into white highlights to brighten my eyes and my complexion, although at the time I’d wondered if it was only a ploy to keep me there to ask me more questions about city living. Regardless, we had established a rapport, if not of friendship, of mutual respect. Still, when I left she seemed happy to know my visit to Jar Hollow was nearing an end.

And she didn’t invite me to come back.

I suspected, as Val apparently did as well, that she’d eventually wear Sam down and they would make a life together in this town.

I pushed aside those thoughts and decided to get a jump on setting up the office equipment. I ventured into the menagerie room to fetch the dolly, and took a few minutes to interact with the scruffy-looking cats and dogs on the mend. I even glanced at the snake aquarium—once. Then I fled.

I hauled in the computer first and had it going within an hour. My dad was a whiz with computers—passing hours tooling around with all the latest software had been a way for us to spend time together and not talk about Mom. I had managed to pick up a few skills along the way. Next I set up the peripheral equipment, and soon the office was buzzing with an electronic whir. I was feeling very pleased with myself when the phone rang. I picked up the receiver.

“Dr. Long’s office.”

“Kenzie, it’s Helena.” Her voice vibrated with excitement. “I have great news.”

“I can come home?”

“No,” she said flatly. “In fact, it’s even more important now that you stay.”

I frowned. “Why?”

“News of the cover curse hit all the trade magazines this morning.”

I frowned harder. “I thought that’s what you were trying to prevent.”

“I was, but now that the rumor has leaked, our warehouse has been emptied—every copy of every back issue is gone! Subscriptions have skyrocketed, and advertisers are
flooding
in.”

My heartbeat spiked. “What does that have to do with me?”

“I suspect that reporters will be contacting Dr. Long, perhaps monitoring him to see if he suffers an injury.”

I closed my eyes, knowing how much Sam would
hate
that, would hate me if he suspected I’d come to “supervise” him for the purposes of fending off a silly cover curse. “Again, what does this have to do with me?”

“Well…” Helena’s tone descended into the sing-song she adopted when she wanted to persuade, influence, coax and wheedle.

I braced myself.

“Do you think Dr. Long would be open to the idea of
simulating
an injury?”

My jaw dropped, then anger gripped me. “Don’t you mean
faking
an injury?”

“We don’t have to get wrapped up in semantics.”

I set my jaw. “Helena, Sam has integrity—remember the reason you put him on the cover to begin with? He’d never even consider it.”

“You sound as if you know him so well—Kenzie, you’re the last person I thought would ever mix business and pleasure.”

I chose to ignore the barb. “Anyone who has spent ten minutes with Sam Long would know that he’d never go along with something so deceitful.”

“It wouldn’t be deceitful really.”

“How?” I sputtered.

“Madame Blackworth said Dr. Long would definitely incur an injury this week, which is why I sent you up there in the first place. So if you hadn’t been looking out for him, he would’ve been hurt anyway, so why would he mind pretending?”

I touched my forehead in disbelief and spoke slowly. “Because it wouldn’t be pretending, it would be
lying
.”