He lifted his hand, his fingers circling her wrist and pulling her finger away, and he gave her his answer by bending his head and kissing her.
Then he put his arms around her. Holding her tight. Never letting her go.
“I love you, Silas Quinn,” she murmured against his lips, giving him more of the truth that lived in her heart. “You’re strong and honest and passionate. And you have the biggest heart. You’re a good man—you always have been.”
His arms around her tightened. “And I love you, Hope Dawson. You’re the bravest woman I’ve ever met, not to mention caring and smart. Tough too, yet underneath, you’re all flame.”
Hope pulled away a little, reaching up to thread her fingers through the thick black silk of his hair, her heart so full it felt like it might burst. “Actually, underneath I’m all marshmallow, but please don’t tell anyone.”
He laughed, the sound natural and warm and like nothing she’d ever heard. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Your secret is safe with me.”
She had to rise on her toes to kiss him again then, because she loved the sound of that laugh. But only a light brush, because there was something else she wanted to know. “What made you change your mind and come back?”
Silas’s arms tightened around her. “Phil, oddly. He said the only cure for a broken heart was more love, and when I argued, he told me that love hurt and not everyone was built to handle that kind of pain.” His mouth curved in that way she adored, one of his special, rare smiles. “It got me thinking about Mom and Dad. About pain. About you. About how brave you were telling me that you loved me and how it was fear that kept me from doing the same, despite having loved you for years.” His smile faded, his expression turning serious. “I always thought love was a choice, but in the end, it wasn’t. I could either have you or live without hope. And I couldn’t live without that.”
Her heart got tighter and tighter, but it was a good pain. A sweet pain. “I’d really like to tell you something meaningful about your name too, but Silas doesn’t really mean anything else.”
He laughed that gorgeous laugh again. “Actually, it means ‘of the forest,’ which is kind of apt.”
“No, it doesn’t.” Hope put her hand on his chest, right over that big heart of his. “I think it means love.”
His smile made the sweet pain in her chest worse, but she didn’t mind.
She knew what that pain was now.
It was happiness.
Epilogue
Si looked over the final contract, then glanced at Hope, who was standing at the bar next to him. “You good with that?”
She smiled, and the Moose seemed suddenly full of sunlight. “Abso-goddamned-lutely.”
He lifted the pen. “For you, madame.”
Hope grinned, took it, and signed her name with a flourish.
Finally, the ownership of the Happy Moose’s lease was now Hope’s, as it always should have been, and Si was glad. The town had voted to keep the oil companies out by a narrow margin, which meant he was going to have a lot on his plate, and though he liked the Moose, he’d rather not have to manage it.
Not that Hope was going to have a lot of time to deal with the Moose herself. Not since she’d decided that a double major in literature and business would be a good idea. It was going to mean she’d have very little time for anything else, but if anyone could handle it, it was her.
And she wouldn’t have to do it alone this time.
This time, she had him, and together, they could do anything.
Si pulled her in close, kissing her, as always loving her passionate response to him.
“Ahem,” someone said from the direction of the doors.
Silas didn’t stop what he was doing. “We’re closed,” he growled.
“Are you?” a familiar voice said. “The doors aren’t locked.”
Si snapped his head up.
A tall man with golden brown hair stood in the doorway of the Moose, a duffel bag over one shoulder.
Dammit. It was Damon.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Si demanded.
“You weren’t answering my calls,” Damon said, his sky-blue gaze flicking from Si’s arm around Hope’s waist to take in Hope herself. “And I can see why.” He grinned the grin that usually had anything female panting after him. “Hey there, pretty. The name’s Damon.”
“I’m no one’s ‘pretty’ but Si’s,” Hope said calmly. “And the name’s Miss Dawson, Damon.”
Si grinned. God, he loved this woman.
Damon, who didn’t get offended easily, laughed. “You’re sharp. I like you.” He moved from the doorway, strolling in and looking around as he came toward them. “So this is the bar you’ve been staying in, Si. And I’m using the term ‘bar’ in the loosest possible sense.”
Si, who’d been hoping for some uninterrupted time in the honeymoon suite with Hope, gave him a glare. “Like I said, what the hell are you doing here?”
Damon came to a stop in front of the bar, his gaze utterly unreadable. “Thought I’d come and see what all the fuss was about. Also, since you wouldn’t answer your damn phone, I thought I’d better check you were still alive, not to mention perhaps needing a reminder that you still have a business to run.”
Oh yes. The business. That he hadn’t thought once about in the past few days.
A flicker of guilt caught at him, but he refused to let himself feel too bad about it. Not when he’d had a few good reasons not to contact his friend.
Reasons such as the woman standing next to him and how he couldn’t keep his hands off her and loved her to distraction.
“Yeah,” he said shortly. “I’ve had a few things to do.”
“Things such as this pretty little redhead and this weird yet oddly cozy pub?”
Hope cleared her throat. “First, Damon, I did tell you my name so feel free to use it. Second, the Moose isn’t weird. Third, I’m right here.”
Damon looked at her, then at Si, still grinning, the bastard. “Ah. I see how it is. I wondered since it was all ‘Hope this’ and ‘Hope that.’”
“I didn’t—” Si began.
But Damon rolled right over the top of him, glancing in the direction of the stairs. “And speaking of hope, I sure hope you’ve got a bed available in this apparently not weird pub, because the weather’s closing in and it’s looking like I can’t fly out of here tonight like I planned.”
And just like that, Si suddenly had a very wonderful idea.
“You know about finance, don’t you?” he asked, knowing full well that Damon knew about finance. Quite a lot, in fact.
The other man’s expression turned suspicious. “Yeah, why?”
This time, it was Si’s turn to grin. “In that case, let me tell you a little bit about a town called Deep River.”
Acknowledgments
I would like to acknowledge my agent, Helen Breitwieser, for her work on selling this series. My editor, Deb Werksman, for loving this book so much. And Sourcebooks, for my wonderful cover. You all rock!
Can’t get enough small-town charm? Settle down in Blessings, Georgia, with bestselling author Sharon Sala’s novella, Count Your Blessings!
Chapter 1
Ruby Dye showed up in Blessings, Georgia, twelve years earlier with nothing to her name but her divorce papers and a cosmetology license. She had just enough money from her divorce settlement to set up a beauty shop she called The Curl Up and Dye, with very little left over. It was a simple plan. If she didn’t cut enough hair, she wouldn’t eat. But as it turned out, she had arrived in Blessings to provide a service that had been missing. Before the first week was out, she was booked solid. Considering it was the first good thing that had happened to her in a long time, she was grateful.
She made it a practice to change her hair color and style on a biyearly basis as a means of advertising h
er own skill, and last night had been the night for another change. She’d gone home with shoulder-length brown hair and auburn highlights. This morning her hair was chin length and red. Audacious Red was the color on the box, and she considered it a good measure of her attitude. She came in the back door, unloaded the box of doughnuts fresh from the bakery, and started coffee.
Vesta and Vera Conklin, her fortysomething identical twin stylists would be here soon, and neither one of them was fit for conversation until they’d had something sweet and a cup of coffee in their bellies. Ruby loved the both of them, but they were the most opinionated women she’d ever met, and their confrontational attitude was probably why neither one of them was married.
At thirty-two, Mabel Jean Doolittle was the youngest employee. She did manicures and pedicures at The Curl Up and Dye and, when they were extra busy, helped out on shampoo duty, as well.
She was a feisty little blond with a scar on her forehead from going headfirst into the windshield of her boyfriend’s car when she was only sixteen. It was a daily reminder to never make stupid-ass choices in men again.
Ruby was proud of what she’d accomplished. The one thing she hadn’t expected was for the shop to become the local confessional, which it had. Eventually, every secret in town came out at The Curl Up and Dye.
She was running the dust mop over the black and white tiles when the back door opened. Vesta and Vera entered, both wearing pink smocks and the same pissy scowl on their faces.
“Morning, girls. Coffee is hot. Doughnuts are fresh. Help yourselves,” Ruby said.
“Morning, Sister,” they echoed, then stopped. “Nice hair color,” they added, and headed for the break room.
Ruby smiled as she headed for the register to count out the money for the till. Nearly everyone in town called her “Sister,” and she liked it. It made her feel like she was part of a great big family. Once the money was in the drawer, she moved to the front door. She was just about to turn the Closed sign to Open when she saw Alma Button pull up in front of the shop.
The fact that it was August 15 and Alma was driving the family van made Ruby wince. It must be time for back-to-school haircuts for Alma’s six boys. When she saw the side door open and boys spilling out like puppies turned loose in a barn full of chickens, she took a deep breath and yelled out, “Girls, grab your scissors! Here comes Alma and her boys.”
The twins stepped out of the break room. On a scale of one to ten, their tolerance for children was a three, and judging from their expressions, that had just plummeted to a one.
Vera was muttering beneath her breath as she brushed powdered-sugar crumbs off her smock.
Vesta frantically stirred a second packet of sugar into her coffee.
Ruby turned the sign to Open and unlocked the door.
“Morning, Alma. Y’all are here early.”
She smiled at the boys trailing in behind their mother.
From the looks on their faces, they were no happier to be here than Ruby and her girls were to see them coming.
“Morning, Ruby,” Alma echoed, and gave the boys a warning look. “You know Joe down at the barber shop is still in the hospital from his hip replacement, and I didn’t want to have to drive all the way to Savannah with six boys just to get their haircuts. I figured if we came early we could avail ourselves of your ‘walk-ins welcome’ offer.”
Ruby pointed to the three open stylist chairs. “Yes, I heard about Joe. They say he’ll be out of the hospital in another couple of weeks but won’t open back up for a while yet.”
“That’s what I heard, too,” Alma said.
Ruby pointed at the chairs. “Okay, boys, who’s first? Three of you grab yourselves a seat and we’ll get this over. My goodness, you all have grown. Looks like no more booster seats for the Button boys, right?”
“I’m six now and tall for my age,” Cooter announced.
Billy Joe punched his little brother on the arm.
“Big deal, Cooter. I’m almost eight.”
“Shut up, the both of you,” Larry muttered. At ten, he considered himself beyond that.
Ruby heard what sounded like a slight whistle, followed by the scent of an odorous fart. She turned on the ceiling fan and pretended not to notice, but was guessing it was either Jesse or James, the twelve-year-old twins, who were suddenly interested in the display of hair gel.
“Madre, someone farted!” Cooter yelled.
Alma glared at her son. “Hush your mouth,” she hissed. “He’s learning Spanish from Sesame Street,” she added, hoping the use of a second language overrode her other child’s social faux pas.
Vesta’s nose wrinkled in disapproval, both for the smell and the task ahead.
Bobby Button, who had been nicknamed Belly before he started first grade, took a seat in Ruby’s chair, refusing to acknowledge the boys he’d come in with. He would turn fifteen in a week and eyed his hair with regret. He’d been growing it all summer and was pissed at having to give it up. When he saw his mother watching him, he glared.
She glared back. Whether they liked it or not, part of getting her six boys ready for a new year of school meant buzz cuts, and they had Belly’s entrance into second grade to blame. Before his first month in second grade was over, he had been infected with head lice and proceeded to share the infection with everyone else in the family before Alma knew that he had them.
By the time she had the scourge under control, she’d quit having sex with her husband, claiming it was partly his fault for giving her nothing but boys; burned every piece of bed linen she owned; and shaved the boys bald. Her skin had crawled for months afterward. Although it had never happened again and she finally went back to her wifely duties of submitting to her husband’s sexual advances, she was thoroughly convinced the scourge remained under control because of her due diligence to cleanliness and the removal of most of her sons’ hair.
The twins climbed up in the other two chairs, somewhat fascinated by the fact that the women who were about to cut their hair were also twins. They looked in the mirror, then at each other, and giggled. Then they looked at the expressions on the hairstylists’ faces and frowned. Obviously, Vera and Vesta were not as amused.
“The usual?” Vera asked, as she put the cape around a twin.
“How short?” Vesta asked.
Alma folded her arms across her bosom. “The usual. Very short.”
When the clippers began to buzz, Cooter covered his eyes. Billy Joe fell backward onto the floor, pretending he was dead, and Larry was picking his nose.
It was an auspicious beginning to what would turn out to be an eventful day.
* * *
By noon, the foot traffic in the salon was slowing down. Mabel Jean didn’t have another manicure until after 1:00 p.m. and had gone across the street to Granny’s Country Kitchen for lunch. Vesta and Vera were in the back eating lunch they’d brought from home, leaving Ruby up front to finish Patty June Clymer’s weekly hairdo.
Patty June’s husband, Conrad, was the preacher at the Freewill Baptist Church. Up until the last few weeks, he always had his hair trimmed when he brought Patty for her appointment. But for the past six weeks, Preacher Clymer had been a no-show.
The first trip Patty June made alone seemed of no consequence to anyone, especially Patty June. The second one she was a little bit miffed but made all kinds of excuses. After that, she hadn’t mentioned his name again.
But when she arrived alone today, Ruby could almost feel her anger. The little preacher’s wife hadn’t said a word to anyone from the time she walked in the front door. Ruby knew better than to ask what was wrong.
Then the bell jingled over the door.
“Hey, Patty, excuse me a sec,” Ruby said, and headed for the front of the shop as a tall, leggy redhead walked in.
“Bobbette. Long time no see,” Ruby said.
“Hi, Sister! I
haven’t been here in a while. I moved to Chesterville after Daddy died.”
“Well, I’ll say! I didn’t know that,” Ruby said. “How can I help you?”
Bobbette batted her fake eyelashes in double time and held out her right hand.
“Can you believe it? One of my nails has popped off. Makes my finger looked naked. I was wondering if Mabel Jean had time to put on a new one.”
“That’s acrylic, right?” Ruby asked.
“Yes. I tried silk wrap once but I didn’t much like them. So can she fix it? I have a hot date and I don’t like to keep my honey waiting, if you know what I mean.”
“Ooh, so you’ve got yourself a fellow, do you? What’s his name?”
Bobbette giggled. “I never kiss and tell. So can Mabel Jean work me in?”
“She’s across the street eating lunch at Granny’s. Why don’t you run over there and ask her?”
“Thanks, Ruby. See you in a bit.”
Bobbette Paulson made a quick exit as Ruby went back to Patty June.
“Sorry for the wait,” Ruby said and picked up the hair dryer, then caught the pissed-off look on Patty June’s face.
“Is everything all right?” Ruby asked.
Patty countered with a question of her own. “Sister, can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“How do you feel about fornication?”
Ruby blinked. “Excuse me?”
Patty lowered her voice. “How do you feel about people who fornicate with someone other than their spouse?”
“Oh. You mean cheat? Sleep around? You’re asking me? Girl, that’s why I’m not married. My old man cheated on me for a year and I didn’t know it. Might never have known it if it hadn’t been for our next-door neighbor’s kid. He asked me who the blond lady was who came to my house every Tuesday and Thursday, which happened to be the days I went in to work early. Can you imagine?”
Patty’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, I can imagine. What did you do?”
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