His Hometown Girl

Karen opened her mouth to protest, but Gramma winked at her, so she offered Marj a lid for her cup instead.

Gramma locked the door after the women departed. “Leave your purse. This is my treat.”

“What treat? I’m going to say this one more time so you understand. I’m going along for moral support only.”

“Of course you are,” Gramma said indulgently. “Now get a move on, because I don’t want to be late for my new life.”

See? This is what always got her into trouble. In the end, she hadn’t been able to disappoint her grandmother. Look what that had gotten her.

“It wasn’t supposed to do this,” Michelle, her youngest sister, apologized. “Working with hair is always tricky. You have a lot of naturally gold highlights in your hair, which was a surprise considering it’s such a dull brown—”

“I never should have agreed to this.” Karen wished she had Cecilia Thornton’s knack for a death-ray glare. “I should’ve never trusted you.”

“I guess I left the color in too long.”

“You guess?” She could only stare in the mirror at her wet, scraggly hair. It hung in limp, ragged strands and shone perfectly gold. Except in about ten or twelve places. “Look what you did to me. My own baby sister.”

“Sorry. This is the first time I’ve ever turned someone’s hair green. Honest.”

“Fix it. Whatever you have to do, do it now.”

Michelle grabbed a fresh towel. “I know what to do. I think.”

“You think? What did they teach you at that school anyway?”

“They warned us never to work on our own relatives. Now I know why.” Michelle dashed away and disappeared from sight.

“It’s certainly different, I’ll grant you that,” Gramma said from the neighboring chair. “With those green streaks, you could be in the latest fashion. Anywhere but in Montana.”

“Thanks, I feel so much better.” Karen peered at her reflection, her heart sinking. What if Michelle couldn’t fix it? “I didn’t mind being mouse brown. At least my real color wouldn’t glow in the dark.”

“That’s the spirit. Don’t worry. We’ll turn you into a dazzling blonde yet. Michelle might be new at this, but Dawn here has decades of experience. She can work wonders. Why, look at me.”

“I’m looking.” Karen couldn’t believe her eyes as the other beautician switched on a blow dryer and began styling Gramma’s hair.

No more gray curls. Rich auburn locks fell in a short, feathery cut. She looked beautiful. Infinitely beautiful.

“I’ve always wanted to be a redhead,” Gramma confessed above the hum of the dryer. “It’s a whole new me.”

“You don’t need any improvement.” By contrast, Karen’s hair looked like a cosmetology school disaster. “Look at me. I could sure use something. Michelle, I want you to put this back the way it was.”

“Don’t be silly,” Gramma admonished. “You promised moral support, so don’t think I’m going through this alone. You’re staying at my side every step of the way, missy. It’ll be good for you.”

“I don’t want a makeover.”

“You need one more than anyone else I know, my darling sister.” Michelle returned, armed with a cup that smelled like varnish. “I don’t know how it happened, but you got all the recessive genes in the family. A shame it is. Gramma, you wouldn’t know a good plastic surgeon, would you?”

“Mess up my hair again, and you’ll pay,” Karen threatened.

Michelle didn’t look a bit afraid. “I know you too well. You’re all bark and no bite. How about platinum blond streaks? What do you think, Gramma?”

“No! No streaks. No blond anything.” Karen couldn’t help panicking a little. “I’ve come to adore mouse brown. Really. It’s the way God meant me to be. Just give me a rinse or something to get this color out of my hair.”

“Trust us, Karen.” Gramma winked. “They say that blondes have more fun. Let’s find out if it’s true.”

Seeing the happiness on her grandmother’s face, how could she refuse—even if disaster loomed?

Zach felt the hot midday sun burn the back of his neck as he twisted the bolt with his pliers. “Your car should start fine, Mrs. Greenley.”

“You, my dear boy, are nothing short of an angel.” The older lady blew him a kiss. “Tell me why a handsome man like you doesn’t have a ring on his finger.”

“No girl can catch me, I guess.” Zach shut the car’s hood.

“Doesn’t a smart fellow like you know not to run too fast?”

He wiped the grease smudges from his fingers off her gleaming hood. “No one said I was a smart man.”

“You can’t fool me, Zachary Drake.” Nora Greenley shook her head at him, watching every movement he made as he reached around the steering wheel and turned the key. “You’re not as bad as you seem, even with the motorcycle. How much do I owe you?”

The engine rolled over, purring contentedly. He released the key. A movement caught his gaze on the sidewalk across the street. Karen with hair as gold as summer sunshine breezed out of the Snip & Style. She looked more beautiful than he’d ever seen her.

Then he remembered Mrs. Greenley was watching him. Anyone with good eyesight would be able to see how he felt for Karen, so he closed his mouth and turned to his client. “I’ll bill you for the battery. Have a good afternoon.”

“I’ll sure try.” The older woman glanced across the street before she climbed behind the wheel. “You behave yourself, you hear, young man?”

Zach closed Nora’s car door and waited until she pulled away. Alone, he dared to look across the street again. There she was, with her grandmother at her side, talking with a group of women who’d spotted them on the sidewalk. Their conversation rose and fell with merry energy, but all Zach could see was Karen.

She looked great as a blonde. The lighter color made her eyes bluer. Somehow it made her seem more wholesome, if that could be possible, as if she’d spent all summer outdoors in the sun.

Karen’s words from earlier in the day echoed in his mind, replaying over and over again. Everybody doesn’t know me, not if they believe that. I’m never going to marry Jay.

Words like that could give a man hope.

Home. Finally. Zach snapped on the light switch just inside the door of his apartment over the garage. A bulb popped with a bright flash, leaving him in darkness.

Great. Just great. Too exhausted to even summon up a little anger, Zach rummaged around in the dark. His closet was too messy and so he couldn’t find his flashlight. His stomach grumbled in loud protest, not wanting to wait a second longer for supper. He’d change the bulb later and make do with the light in the kitchen.

Sweat trickled down the back of his neck, and he tugged off his T-shirt. Man, it was hot. He headed straight for the air-conditioning window unit and flicked it on high. Tepid air sputtered reluctantly, and the fan inside coughed. A lukewarm current breezed across his heated face.

What? No cold air? He flicked off the machine, marched across the small apartment to the kitchen and yanked open the window above the sink. Humid air blew in. As he circled his apartment, opening the windows wide, his stomach clamped with hunger.

Food. He needed it bad and he needed it now.

Not overly hopeful, Zach scoped out his kitchen cupboards. At the sight of the practically empty shelves, his stomach twisted harder. A can of olives, a stale box of cheese crackers and there was mold growing on the remaining slices of three-week-old bread.

Okay, maybe the refrigerator held more promise. He jerked open the door and stood in the welcome icy breeze, surveying the empty metal racks. There was only a half-empty jar of mayonnaise, the butter dish and an empty container of salsa. His stomach growled so loud, it hurt.

Maybe there was something in the freezer.