Maybe you should’ve thrown another drink in his face to cool him down.
No. He definitely wouldn’t have stood for that. Renner was deceptively laid back, but underneath his calm façade was a man coiled tight, ready to spring. They’d circled each other, boxers in the ring, words carelessly flying like fists. And when his final punch had hit too close to home . . . she hadn’t fought back. She ran.
Unfortunately, there weren’t a lot of places to run to in Muddy Gap. She’d cruised past the churches and the lone restaurant, tempted to pray for patience or comfort herself with chocolate cake. On a whim, she’d decided to stop at the local hair salon.
The entire clientele of Bernice’s Beauty Barn stopped talking when Tierney walked in. Four ladies in various stages of beauty treatments loitered in a waiting area straight out of a 1950s beauty shop. Tierney glanced at the salon chair, where a robust woman snipped tiny gray tufts from her client’s head.
Immediately the redheaded hairdresser boomed, “Don’t look so darn scared. I ain’t started cutting your hair yet. That’s when you’re entitled to get the deer in the headlights look.”
Everyone laughed. One woman piped up, “You’re so ornery, Bernice.”
Tierney’s gaze flicked to the lounging ladies and then back to Bernice, wielding the scissors. “It appears you’re booked today. I’ll come back another time—”
“Nonsense,” Bernice said. “Have a seat. I’ll squeeze you in between Garnet and Pearl. You want a haircut? Or something more?”
“Just a . . . trim, but I wouldn’t want to impose and take someone else’s spot.”
“Oh, pooh.” The lady with rollers in her hair scooted over and patted the empty spot next to her. “There’s plenty of room. I’m Pearl Tschetter.”
“Tierney Pratt.”
“I don’t mind if you go ahead of me. I’d probably sit here and gab for a couple of hours anyway, after Bernice fixes me up proper. This is the only time of the week I get to gossip.”
Two of Pearl’s cohorts snorted. One rolled her eyes.
Tierney perched on the edge of the Danish modern sofa, set her handbag next to her left thigh before she folded her hands in her lap.
Still actin’ so prim and proper. You need to loosen up.
Shut up. Your voice has no business in my head, Renner Jackson.
“So, are you the big cheese up at the Split Rock?” came from across the coffee table. Hard not to ogle the woman whose orange hair clashed with the sleek silver jumpsuit from the disco era. The high-topped tie-dyed sneakers were an unusual touch, as was the rainbow-striped scarf she’d jauntily looped around her neck. The woman was eighty, if she was a day.
Before Tierney could respond, a grandmotherly type whapped the disco escapee on the knee with a steno pad. “Garnet Evans, behave.” She offered Tierney a sweet smile. “I’m Maybelle Linberg, reporter for the Muddy Gap Gazette, and I’m so very pleased to officially meet you.”
“Me too,” the woman getting a haircut piped up. “I’m Tilda O’Toole. We’re all friends of Harper’s.”
Garnet leaned forward, resting her forearms on her knees. “I notice you didn’t answer my question. Who’s in charge up there?”
Good question. “I work for the financial management company that invested money in the resort.”
The youngest of the group, a distinction Tierney made because the woman in question wore a short denim miniskirt, said, “So you are the big boss,” as she continued to flip through a fashion magazine.
“One would be hard-pressed to boss Renner Jackson around in any capacity.” Tierney almost clapped her hand over her mouth. What on earth had possessed her to blurt that out to total strangers?
“I wouldn’t mind being pressed hard against Renner Jackson,” Garnet said with a soft rowr. “He’s a sexy hunk of real man. Have you seen him in chaps?”
“Garnet, are you tryin’ to make Tierney run outta here on her very first visit?” Bernice tossed over her shoulder.
“What? The girl’s got eyes, don’t she? Surely she’s let them wander over that hunkalicious bod a time or two?”
You have no idea how many times I’ve eyeballed that man’s ass. And his abs. And his chest. And his arms.
A gasp. A throaty laugh. Then silence.
Tierney glanced at Garnet’s self-satisfied expression. “What?”
“Bet you didn’t mean to say that out loud.”
Her face flamed and she stuttered, “N-no. I didn’t.”
“Don’t make it less true,” Pearl said.
“I can believe that man don’t like to be bossed around. But I bet he does plenty of bossing in the boudoir.”
“Oh, don’t be too sure, some of those macho men prefer a woman with a firm hand and a soft whip. Or so I’ve read,” Maybelle said.
Pearl and Garnet laughed.
The miniskirt woman lifted her head and crossed her long legs. Tierney reassessed her earlier age assumption. With spiky auburn hair, vivid green eyes, killer bone structure and flawless makeup, the woman could’ve passed for fifty, but the truth was, she was probably closer to seventy. She held her hand out to Tierney and smiled. “I’m Vivien Edwards.”
“Vivien’s got a date tomorrow night,” Tilda announced.
“It’s just coffee,” Vivien demurred.
Garnet patted Vivien’s knee. “It’s a start, sweetie.”
“I know. It’s just . . . I haven’t done this for so many years.” She sipped from a can of V8 juice and looked at Tierney. “What the gossip girls here haven’t said, is I’ve been widowed for five years. I spent the first three years traveling to the exotic places all over the world Bill and I never did. The next year and a half I bounced between our kids’ houses until I drove them and my grandbabies insane. I decided I was ready to come home to Muddy Gap last month.”
“And she’s already got a date! Can you believe it?”
Tilda seemed really impressed with Vivien’s date. Tierney wondered how long it’d been since Tilda had a date.
Maybe you should think about how long it’s been since you’ve had a date.
“At least somebody’s dating. I don’t remember the last time I saw a live penis,” Garnet complained.
Maybelle whapped Garnet on the knee again. “You saw several last week when we went to the ‘Crash with the Past’ all male revue in Casper, smarty.” Maybelle confessed in a loud whisper, “It was research for an article I’m writing for the Gazette.”
Tierney grinned.
“Oh, them penises don’t count,” Garnet scoffed. “Them penises were in captivity. I was guaranteed to see at least one when we shelled out for the show. That’s not like finding a penis out there in the wild. Where at the end of the night when that zipper comes down you discover if he’s hung like a horse or just dangling a worm.”
“I’ll bet Tierney dates a lot,” Pearl said, interrupting Garnet’s musings on penises.
“Not a single date in the time I’ve been here.”
“But you’ve been asked out, right?” Maybelle pressed.
She shook her head.
Silence. Exchanged looks. More silence.
Great. These seventy- and eighty-something women pitied her. Her. A woman in the prime of her dating life. A woman who’d seen exactly one live penis out of captivity in her twenty-six years—and only recently by accident.
Now she pitied herself too.
“Girl, you oughta start askin’ guys out. Hit Buckeye Joe’s. Flirt a little. Dance a little. Drink a little. Have some fun!”
Vivien squeezed Tierney’s knee. “Don’t put off living the life you want, waiting for the ‘right time’—the right time is now.”
Garnet added, “I bet if you loosened up you’d get to see a lot of different penises.”
“Garnet, can you head to the dryers?” Bernice called out.
Tilda tottered by, snagging a silver fox fur coat from a rack that’d been fashioned out of animal horns. After Tilda paid and admired her hairdo in the big mir
ror behind the cash register, she turned and addressed Pearl, Maybelle and Vivien. “You’re coming over at five?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for nothin’,” Pearl replied. “Don’t forget the nondairy whipped cream for the pie. Milk gives me gas.”
Bernice shut the cash drawer and stopped in front of Tierney. “You’re next.”
“But what about her?” Garnet’s mouth hung open and she appeared to already be asleep beneath the hair dryer. “Is she okay?”
“The white noise resets her brain, and after the penis discussion, we all needed our brains reset.”
Tierney ditched her glasses and followed Bernice to the rinse bowl, allowing herself to relax as her head was massaged.
Back in the chair, Bernice combed out her wet locks. “So just a trim?”
“Yes, please.”
Bernice paused. “Look, Tierney, I don’t know you, and maybe it’s none of my business, but how long have you worn your hair in this style?”
“Since . . . well, since always. Why? Do I have split ends?”
“No, sugar, you have such pretty hair. Usually this beautiful sable color only comes out of a bottle. I’d like to showcase it in a style that is more age appropriate.”
She didn’t know what to say. Her hair was brown. It’d always been . . . just boring brown. “But I don’t have time to fuss with my hair. I keep it one length because it’s easy.”
“If I could give you a style that’s easy, but will make you look like the hot, young executive you are, would you be willing to try it?”
“It’d still need to be long enough to pull back in a ponytail.”
“I was thinking long layers.”
“Nothing I’d have to straighten or curl?” she asked skeptically.
“I have a cut in mind that’ll allow you to go right from the shower, to putting product in, to a little finger fluffing and . . . hello gorgeous.”
Tierney squinted at herself in the mirror, not that she could see anything without her glasses. It was only hair, right? And if Bernice did a hack job, well, she could wear it back and no one would probably notice. She inhaled a deep breath. “Let’s do it.”
Snip snip snip. Chunks of dark hair started to fall around her. She closed her eyes and mentally chanted, it’s just hair.
An eternity later, Bernice said, “Put your glasses on and have a look-see.”
Quelling her nerves, Tierney slowly lifted her head. Her mouth dropped open. Holy cow. The person staring back at her in the mirror . . . looked like her. But a better version of her. Hipper. Younger, yet more polished.
“Well? You like it?” Bernice prompted.
“I love it!” She angled her face side to side. Her hair was so swingy. So shiny. So . . . cool.
“Check out the back.” Bernice spun her and handed her a small mirror.
It even looked great from behind. “It’s perfect. Thank you so much!”
“My pleasure. I will caution you this type of precision cut requires maintenance. You’ll need to come in for a trim every four weeks.”
“On top of being a magician, you’re a shrewd business woman. I admire that.”
Bernice grinned. “I haven’t even pitched the styling products you’ll need yet.”
“I’ll buy them all if I can look this good every day.”
As soon as Bernice swept up the hair, Vivien, Pearl, and Maybelle surrounded her.
“You look fabulous,” Vivien gushed.
“Sophisticated,” Maybelle added. “Perfect for a financial overseer.”
“Girl, you look hot,” Garnet yelled. “You’d better slip on sexy duds to match your smokin’ new look, because when the men in this town get an eyeful of you? You’ll have more penises to choose from than you can shake a stick at.”
Tierney laughed. “And to think I’m finally getting what I always wanted—a plethora of penises.”
She decided to take their advice as soon as she got back to her cabin, taking her time to get ready and playing with her new look.
Her eyes watered like a fountain and she blinked repeatedly at the reminder of why she rarely wore contact lenses. She smudged black eyeliner along her top and bottom lashes. A shiny berry-colored stain gave her lips the illusion of plumpness. A darker shade of blush emphasized her cheekbones. She used concealer to cover up the dents on her nose from her glasses. She adjusted the low-cut peasant blouse with swirls of orange and brown. Harper insisted the vivid pattern would showcase Tierney’s coloring, and once again, she’d been dead on. Turning sideways, she scrutinized her new Western jeans. The dark denim was tighter than she normally wore. Hopefully she could hook a cowboy and entice him into taking her for a ride.
Don’t you mean take you on your maiden voyage?
Tierney shoved that niggling thought aside, refusing to put pressure on herself tonight. It’d happen when it happened. Still, she checked the expiration date on her unopened box of condoms just in case. She slipped on the four-inch lace-up half boots, grabbed her keys, and went honky-tonking.
Whatever that meant.
Chapter Thirteen
Renner flicked a glance at the brunette as she breezed past him. He’d hidden in the corner at Buckeye Joe’s with a Crown and water, which sat mostly untouched. Not in the mood to drink, he’d just needed a break from the resort for a little while.
He snorted. Resort. Even he’d started calling it that, instead of the term “ranch” he preferred.
Just another thing he blamed on Tierney.
Her perfectly polite smackdown still stung. Dividing is not conquering, Renner. All we’re doing is pitting our employees against each other by expecting them to choose sides between you and me. Can’t we just try to get along for the greater good? Managerial infighting isn’t the way to do that.
And what words of wisdom had he lobbed back at her?
He’d insulted her. Talk about mature. Now here he was, brooding in the corner. He let his hat shadow his face, trying to look like just another anonymous cowboy drowning his sorrows.
His wishful thinking lasted about five minutes.
“Jackson? What’re you doin’ here?”
Sheriff Bullard’s belt was at Renner’s eye level. He glanced at the sidearm strapped on the right side, and his eyes traveled up Bullard’s rotund torso. The gray-haired man had been the law around here for over twenty years and had that “fess up” vibe down pat. “You cruising through hopin’ to bust underage drinkers?”
“Yep. Susan is good at tossing them sneaky suckers out, but she don’t got eyes in the back of her head. I’m just doin’ a run-through ’fore I get on home.”
“I’ll buy you a drink if you’re off the clock.”
Bullard waggled the Styrofoam coffee cup. “Got mine right here. But I’ll join ya for a bit, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. Have a seat.”
The sheriff pulled out the chair, tossed his hat on the table and swallowed a slug of coffee before he spoke. “How’re things up at the Split Rock?”
Renner shrugged. “Good. I’d be happier if all the rooms were full every night, but we still don’t have the staff to handle that, so I’m grateful for what we’ve got.”
“Slow and steady wins the race, eh?”
“I suppose so.” Renner sipped his drink. “Any complaints from the locals?”
“Nah. You must have a good crew ’cause I’ve heard no grumbling at all.”
“That would be Janie Fitzhugh’s doing.”
Bullard frowned again. “She’s Abe Lawson’s ex-wife.”
Renner knew that term grated on Janie. “Any new information on the vehicle that ran her off the road?”
“None. It’s the damndest thing. Stuff like that don’t happen around here.”
“Unless it was someone who’d been drinking and didn’t wanna face the music.”
The sheriff harrumphed. “Abe’s just damn lucky he came upon the accident so fast on that remote section of road. Coulda been a whole lot worse.”
“True.” Rather than make idle chitchat, Renner seized the opportunity to talk to Bullard without an audience. “When I was talkin’ to Abe last year, he mentioned something about the tract of land I purchased bein’ bad luck land.”
“You’re talkin’ about the section that used to belong to your grandparents?”
Renner nodded. “Without sounding all woo-woo and shit, Janie’s accident happened alongside that land. And Willie, our jack-of-all-trades, says he gets a bad vibe.”
“And?”
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