Fiona's Flame

Home > Other > Fiona's Flame > Page 13
Fiona's Flame Page 13

by Rachael Herron


  That had been such an awful time. The police report, the interviews … The detective involved had told her that when her mother came back, she’d have to appear in court for sentencing.

  She’d never come back, though. Her father knew where she was, Fiona knew he did. But she’d never asked him. And never would.

  Fiona stood, the knitting falling to her feet and bouncing under the table. ‘This is …’ She couldn’t find the word she needed.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Hope said.

  As Hope looked at her, her eyes also filled with tears, Fiona could tell she was sorry. And that just made it worse.

  Breath by breath.

  ‘Thank you for the knitting lesson.’ Manners. Her mother had always said that manners were important.

  Then she fled.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Sometimes the sweater you think you’ll never wear turns out to be the most flattering one you’ll ever have. A best friend, like the best pattern, is not always recognized instantly. – E. C.

  ‘Do something,’ said Fiona, settling herself in Daisy’s chair at the salon.

  ‘I can’t believe you’re letting me touch your hair.’ Daisy used the hand-pump Fiona had installed three years earlier, the one that raised and lowered the cutting chair, bringing Fiona down to Daisy’s chair level.

  ‘Let’s not talk about it. Just do something.’

  ‘Oh, I will. Believe me. I can find the shape your hair wants to be …’ Daisy lifted a lock and let it drop again. ‘… somewhere under this rat’s nest.’ She lowered the chair so that it dropped into the recess Fiona had built when she installed the lift. Now Daisy was seated higher than Fiona.

  ‘Just because I cut it myself doesn’t mean I do a bad job of it. I like to change it around. Never the same thing twice.’

  ‘Darling, I cut my own, so I agree.’ Daisy smiled at herself in the mirror and tucked a long blonde curl behind her ear.

  ‘You don’t get Fabio to do it?’

  Fabio was the hair stylist who rented space from Daisy. He was short, round, and bald. He couldn’t have been further in looks from a romance-cover hero, and no one could remember where he’d gotten his nickname anymore.

  Daisy whispered, ‘No. He’s good. But come on.’ Daisy looked at herself in the mirror, again. ‘I’m vain enough to know what I want. But you, honey? Are you using the metal snips from the garage again?’ She tugged a lock of Fiona’s hair.

  ‘Just once, and that’s only because Stephen was using my good scissors for one of his projects …’

  Daisy sighed heavily. ‘It’s a good thing I could fit you in. It’s a crazy day, what with the …’ She paused, and Fiona closed her eyes, hoping she wouldn’t guess the real reason she was there.

  ‘Oh!’ Daisy froze. ‘This is for the Cowboy Ball tomorrow night! That’s why you’re here.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh, yes it is.’

  Fiona groaned. ‘I saw Mayor Finley at the station. She said it would be a good place to talk up the park proposal, maybe get some of the council members on my side early.’

  ‘No way. You’re not going for politics. You’re going for Abe.’

  ‘Didn’t you witness our little spat at Tillie’s? You really think I want to see him?’

  Daisy lowered Fiona’s chair another notch. ‘That was a spat? Because it sounded like foreplay to me.’

  Fiona bit her lip. There wasn’t much to say to that, she supposed.

  ‘Okay. A swan’s haircut.’ Daisy sprayed water on the back of her head, sending a chill down Fiona’s spine.

  Fiona froze. ‘What?’

  Daisy laughed. ‘I’m teasing. You know, duckling to swan? For the ball?’

  ‘Hey, you know what, I should probably get back to the shop, Stephen had a thing …’ Fiona reached behind her to undo the black cape Daisy had affixed around her neck.

  Daisy looked horrified. ‘Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. I was only teasing.’

  Bunny sat on the back steps of the lighthouse, her cigarette a raw red glow against the night sky. The foghorn mourned half a mile away. The talent show was the next day, and Fiona danced down the steps to show off the green dress she’d borrowed from Traci to wear for their ‘On the Good Ship Lollipop’ song. For once, she wasn’t wearing an old thrifted t-shirt and too-big jeans. The ruffle of the dress flounced at her knee. The bodice, a collection of green ribbons, made her feel like a princess. Fiona felt thrillingly beautiful. Like her mother. ‘Mommy, look! Look at me!’ Bunny had taken a long drag of her cigarette and tilted her head to one side. Her cat eyes went to slits.

  ‘You’re like the ugly duckling who just won’t grow up.’

  Now, in Daisy’s chair, Fiona struggled to breathe. It wasn’t bad to be the ugly duckling. It just was what it was. Daisy was pretty. Tabitha, Daisy’s daughter, was pretty. Rayna Viera was pretty. Some people started out that way. Others got that way later … if they were lucky.

  Fiona looked in the mirror. Her hair was slicked back with water, and her face was pale. Her lips had lost their color, almost disappearing against her skin. Her eyes watered.

  ‘This was a silly idea.’

  ‘No, no.’ Daisy touched her upper arm. ‘I’m sorry. You’re gorgeous, my friend. I was only teasing you about your homemade haircut. I shouldn’t have. I know better than that.’

  Gorgeous. That’s what friends did for each other. They lied. Fiona leaned back in the chair and shut her eyes. No matter what, her hair could use a trim, and Daisy would undoubtedly do it better than she would herself in the too-dark bathroom at the shop.

  ‘Give me a blue streak.’

  ‘What?’

  You talk a blue streak but you manage not to say anything. Once Bunny had slapped her so hard for talking out of turn she’d had to stay home from school for a week because of the bruise on her cheek. ‘Bright blue.’ Daisy nodded. ‘You got it. I’ll go mix it up now.’

  An hour later, Fiona woke in the chair with a start. From behind her, Daisy laughed. ‘Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.’

  ‘Are we going to flip through all the Disney princesses today?’

  Daisy whispered, ‘Look who’s in Fabio’s chair.’

  Fiona looked. ‘Oh, crap.’

  Two chairs down, Abe was sitting bolt-upright, the same kind of black cape around his neck. He looked as uncomfortable as she felt. His eyes were screwed shut as Fabio combed his hair straight.

  ‘He looks about five years old, right? He comes in every six weeks, sits there for half-an-hour and then bolts out.’

  Fiona hoped desperately that the noise of the dryers covered their lowered voices. ‘Did you plan this?’

  ‘How could I have done that? I didn’t even know you were coming in this morning.’

  ‘But you knew he might show up,’ Fiona hissed.

  ‘As much as I know that anyone in town might choose to drop in. I’m not psychic.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Fiona tried to tear her eyes from Abe, but for a long moment she couldn’t look away. His legs were splayed in the chair, as if he was comfortable. There was tension in his face, though, a kind of tightness. What was he thinking about? Fiona’s heart dropped. Had he seen her? Of course he had. She’d been asleep in Daisy’s chair when he arrived. So not only had he seen her, but he’d seen her looking her absolute worst.

  Awesome.

  ‘Are you almost done?’ Fiona pulled again at the neck of the cape.

  Daisy hung up the blow dryer. ‘Totally done. And guess what?’ She spun the chair so that instead of facing Abe, Fiona faced the mirror.

  She barely recognized herself.

  ‘What …?’

  ‘Right? Who is that gorgeous woman?’

  Fiona’s dark hair hung in long, soft waves, the kind she could never seem to get by just towel-drying her hair. And just above her right eye started a long, brilliant blue streak that ran to the very tip of the thick strand. Her eyes, usually so muddy, were bright green next to the blue. She looked like someone e
lse, someone edgy and punk, someone interesting. She looked … almost pretty.

  Okay. Maybe actually pretty.

  Fiona leaned forward and turned her head. ‘I don’t know how you did that.’

  ‘It’s a good cut. Thank the magic of my talented scissors.’ Daisy clicked them between her fingers. ‘And that blue is perfectly you. It’s heavenly. No clue why I didn’t think of that first.’

  Fiona glanced over her shoulder. Had Abe …

  No. His eyes were still closed, but the tension in his shoulders showed that he was keeping them closed intentionally. No one could sit like that and actually be asleep.

  Man, he was gorgeous, though. Fiona let her eyes rest on the long plane of his cheekbone. From here she couldn’t quite see his eyelashes but she knew they were there, curling against his cheek, something that should have made him look less manly but instead just highlighted his masculinity, his harder edges.

  And then, as if he felt her looking at him, his eyes opened. He looked directly at her, and he didn’t look surprised.

  Fiona gasped.

  Abe’s lips twisted into a smile that was for her. Only for her.

  Daisy undid the cape and Fiona spun in her chair, digging her hand into her back pocket for her wallet. ‘How much?’

  ‘As if I’d charge you.’

  ‘This is why I don’t come to you. You have to let me pay.’ Fiona was saying the words by rote. She wasn’t listening to herself or, for that matter, to Daisy. She could only pay attention to the way Abe’s gaze felt on the back of her neck. She had chills. As if he’d reached out and touched her, run his finger along the length of the blue streak that now flashed at the side of her vision.

  ‘No money. I have a dent in my van’s side door, though …’

  That got Fiona’s attention. ‘You do? Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘Because you’d insist on fixing it without letting me pay.’

  Fiona smiled. ‘I hear you. Swap?’

  Daisy shook the hand Fiona held out. ‘Swap.’

  Fiona leaned forward and whispered in Daisy’s ear, ‘I’m going to run away now.’

  ‘You’ve been spotted, you know.’

  ‘That’s the problem.’

  ‘At least say hello to him.’

  Fiona exhaled. ‘Do I have to?’

  ‘No. But you might want to look in the mirror again before you make that decision. Because you look amazing.’

  She had a point. Fiona wasn’t going to look this good again for a long time – there was no way she’d be able to make her hair do whatever it was Daisy had whispered it into doing.

  The few steps it took to cross the salon felt like a mile. Abe didn’t blink. He still had that smile, that inward one. Fiona imagined, just for a second, what he would do if she just straddled his lap. If she draped one leg over each of his, and wrapped her arms around his neck, lowering her head to kiss him. Hard.

  Breathe.

  ‘Hi,’ she said. Her voice was scratchy.

  ‘Hi yourself,’ he rumbled.

  ‘Okay. That’s all I wanted to say.’

  ‘You going to the ball tomorrow night?’

  Fiona nodded. ‘I guess I have to. That’s what the mayor said, anyway.’

  ‘Yeah. She told me the same thing.’

  ‘Oh.’

  He cast a glance at Fabio, who was still dragging the comb through Abe’s hair. ‘Can I have a minute?’

  Fabio tucked the comb in his shirt front and said in an aggrieved voice, ‘It’ll dry wrong, but I guess you don’t care about that.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Abe waited until Fabio had gone to the sink before he continued. ‘Will you go with me?’

  ‘Where?’ Fiona had lost track of the conversation. Had the pretty she’d seen in Daisy’s mirror worn off yet?

  Abe smiled again and Fiona’s stomach flipped. ‘To the ball. With me.’

  For one moment, Fiona felt like a princess. ‘Oh. Floop. Yesh.’

  ‘Yesh?’

  Fiona blinked hard. ‘I mean yes. Of course. Yes.’ Not too eager. ‘Are you sure?’ Gah. ‘I don’t mean that. I mean, sure.’ She felt herself color. ‘I’m going to stop talking now.’

  ‘But I like seeing you confused like this.’ His eyes danced.

  Fiona couldn’t help grinning. ‘Okay. See you tomorrow, then.’

  ‘Pick you up at eight?’

  ‘Good. Fine. Good. Um, fine.’

  ‘See you then.’ He looked amused, which was natural. She was acting like a freak. A complete idiot. Fiona turned, conscious that his eyes were still on her. As she left the shop, she waved at Daisy with one hand. With the other hand, she tapped out on her cell phone a desperate text. ‘Dress needed. ASAP. 911!’

  Within seconds, Daisy’s text came back. ‘Already got you covered.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Sometimes a woman likes her wool with a little shine to it. – E. C.

  The problems Abe had with the Cowboy Ball were the same problems he’d always had with the damn thing. Too many people. Too much dancing. Too much idle chit-chat at the edges of the room, gossip flying with the speed of a pissed-off harbor seal. The ball was a tradition now, started dozens of years ago by the cowboys who worked on the ranches at the outskirts of town. They’d wanted their own party, always held in a local barn, one where they didn’t have to get too gussied up. One where they could wear their best western shirt and jeans and, after shining their boots, could call it good.

  In the forties and fifties, the ball had become Cypress Hollow’s biggest dance, drawing all the belles of town out into the arms of handsome, hard-working cowboys. It had been the catalyst for many marriages and more than one divorce. But as the ranches merged and folded, the ball had become less and less important, until the tradition had almost died. A few years ago, Mayor Finley had decided it was too good a tradition to let go, and had proposed that the city boost it. She’d pushed press at the dance, to the point that national magazines had done pieces touting Cypress Hollow’s Good Old Downhome Cowboy Ball.

  So this dance, instead of being what he remembered – a dusty, sleepy gathering with a bluegrass band and a caller half-drunk on whiskey before the first dance – was a big damn event.

  The barn used this year was on the MacArthur property. Cade MacArthur had rented a big wedding tent – not for the party, but to house his horses and sheep for a few nights. After mucking and scrubbing, his everyday barn was now clean-smelling and empty of everything but decorations and people ready to dance.

  The city had paid for the decorations, and Abe had to admit, the barn did look great. The only source of lighting was myriad white, twinkling strings of lights. Strands were strung over every rafter, along each beam. Someone on the decorating committee had come up with the idea of sticking bare trees in wine barrels, lacing the lights through the skeletal branches. If Abe had been asked, he’d have guessed that was a bad idea, but he would have been wrong. It looked like a magical wooded forest in that damn barn, not that he was going to tell anyone about that thought.

  Well, maybe he’d tell Fiona. If she asked.

  She wasn’t talking much, actually, which was making him nervous. Hell, he felt like a teenager, raging hormones and all. But even though he’d lost his breath at the sight of her in that blue dress, which practically sparkled like the night sky, he’d managed to say, ‘You look nice.’

  You look nice. That was the very outer edge of what he should have said. What he’d thought was How the hell do I keep from pulling that dress off your body right here in front of everyone? Instead, he’d told her she looked nice.

  She’d smiled, though, her hazel eyes that danced between brown and green, the exact way the ocean did after a storm kicked up the sand from the depths.

  When they’d arrived at the dance, Fiona had looked nervous. She met his eyes, just for a second. ‘I’ve never been to one of these.’

  ‘You’re kidding? You’re from here. How did you get away with that?’

 
She held out her arms. ‘I’m wearing my normal cowboy boots! Do I look like the kind of girl that goes to a ball?’

  He laughed. She looked down at the delicate dress and her black boots, which she’d obviously shined to a high gloss. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I guess I do.’

  ‘You do,’ he’d said. The blue of her dress was the exact blue of that damned streak in her hair, the streak that was driving him wild. He wanted to catch it between his fingers and tug it, pull on that lock until she brought her lips to his again, like she had in the caves.

  But she was treating him like a friend. Sweet smiles when he managed to catch her eye, which wasn’t often. How was he going to get through tonight? All Abe could think about was taking her out of this barn and back to her house, where he’d walk her through that little garden and right up to her door. And then he’d kiss the hell out of her.

  He hadn’t gone beyond that in his head. If he did, he’d get so hard he’d have to hide behind one of those lighted trees until he calmed down.

  ‘Punch?’ he said.

  Fiona socked him in the arm and then laughed.

  Surprised, he rubbed his bicep. ‘Hey. You’re stronger than you think, you know.’

  She shook her head, and the blue streak fell over her eye. ‘Nah. I know how strong I am.’

  Tonight’s earrings were from a Lexus, she’d told him. Cotter pins and something that looked like a piece off a broken mirror – they flashed and twisted in the dimness as she moved, reflecting the sparkling white lights back at him.

  ‘What I meant was, would you like some punch?’

  She grinned again. ‘Yes, please. And spike it.’ He left her standing there in the dimness, next to a bale of hay almost as big as she was, and he wondered if she were a figment of his imagination. Would she still be there when he got back? Could he be that lucky?

  If he could get that lucky, what had he done to deserve it? And could he do it some more? To keep her close, a little while longer?

  ‘Abe Atwell!’ said Phil Jenkins, glittering in a sequin-covered western shirt. ‘Glad you’re here, son. How’s the prep going for the council meeting? I hear you’re gonna try and talk us into saving the old lady of the shore.’

 

‹ Prev