by ANDREA SMITH
“Yes, dear,” Ray repeated, feigning annoyance. “I’ll get your cell phone when I’m back there Tylar.
“Thanks, Ray,” I replied, smiling. “
“Be right back with your case, ‘Neecie.”
The shower felt exquisite. It looked like I'd lost a little weight through this ordeal. I lathered my hair with shampoo, twice, then rinsed and conditioned. Denise had found a fresh hospital gown, which would have to do until Ray returned with my clothes.
Once I’d toweled off, Denise had me sit on the bedside chair while she combed out my wet locks. “Now, I’m going to spray on a little detangler here, honey,” she explained. I felt so good under her careful hands.
“Honey, are you particularly fond of wearing your hair this long and with this blunt cut that you have?” she asked me, wrinkling her nose slightly.
“Why?” I asked, eying her a bit suspiciously, noting she wasn't fond of my current hairstyle.
My thoughts strayed back to my freshman year of high school, two days before class pictures were being taken. Mom decided that my hair needed a bit of a trim before picture day. My hair fell to my shoulders and I loved the way it swung softly about.
“Just an inch or so, Ty,” Mom prods. “Just let me get the split ends off. It will lay better and look much healthier for your pictures. If I’m paying for those pictures then you can damn well make sure you look your best in them, hear?”
An hour later, I look at the pile of hair laying on the bathroom floor in shock. I grab the hand mirror off the vanity. I see the look of horror that appears on my face as I see my own reflection. My hair is in a short, butch cut. My mom's beside me, watching my reaction. I turn and face her incredulously.
“Now don’t blame me!” she says, holding her hands up defensively. “You got that funny shaped head and it makes it hard when I’m trying to even up both sides of it. Had to keep taking more off so I could get it evened up, but I think it’s cute. You ought to see the back. I think they call this a bob.”
When she sees I’m not buying it she gets more flustered with me. “It’s just hair, dammit! It’s not like it won’t grow back. I swear, I try and do something nice for my girl and do you think she appreciates it? Hell no - no way!"
“I’m sorry, I’m sure once I wash and style it myself it will be fine. I'm sorry, Mom."
“Tylar? Earth to Tylar?” It was Denise’s voice bringing me back to the present. “How about it? I've a really cute cut in mind. I want to take a little length off; I’ll mostly just put it in long layers to frame around that beautiful face of yours. And how about if I put in some highlights?” she coaxed eagerly. “Nothing major, mind you, just to soften the look and highlights will give this gorgeous hair of yours more depth. What do you think?"
“Go for it, Denise,” I allowed.
Forty-five minutes later Denise had finished.
“All done,” she announced pleased with the look. We hurried into the bathroom so she could show me the results. Flipping on the light, she spread out her arms, “Voila!”
“Wow,” I said, then another “Wow!”
“You like?” she beamed proudly.
“Yes, Denise, actually, it looks really great. I look like—”
“—Rachel!”
Yep, that was what I thought. The style was gorgeous; the highlights were radiant. I swung my head from side to side. The layers bounced. I stared at my reflection. How could I not love looking like Jennifer Aniston’s hair double?
Denise was clearly pleased with her workmanship. My hair was now an exact replica of Jennifer Aniston’s style from, oh, 15 years ago? I liked it well enough and it was an improvement over the last cut. It was still long enough to pull up into a ponytail when I worked. I knew Denise was waiting for more.
“Denise,” I said, turning to her and smiling, “I love it!”
I gave her a big hug and watched as she beamed proudly.
It was a little after five when my dinner tray arrived. Denise and I'd been chatting away, losing track of the time. I was famished and ate hungrily as Denise busily put her tools of the trade away in her case.
“You go on and eat, honey. Don’t mind me,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. Ray should be here any minute with your stuff, and then we're going to grab a bucket of cluck on our way back to my place.”
I'd just finished eating and Denise was watching the news when Ray arrived. He carried a wrapped box along with my cell phone and charger. He placed the items down on my bed.
“What’s this?” I asked peering at the gift-wrapped box.
“Oh,” he shrugged, “I think maybe Jenna felt guilty about what happened. Instead of going into your cottage, she went out shopping. She said that this would fit you fine, and to give you her best wishes.”
“Open it,” Denise directed excitedly.
I complied, tearing the wrapping paper off.
Oh, my!
The box contained a black silk thong and matching bustier camisole. I doubted as to whether it would cover my belly button.
Ray blushed for the first time ever. Denise gave a startled ‘Oh My God’!
I was in shock. I turned the box over to see what kind of store sold such skimpy lingerie. The print on the box read, Fred-X of Follywood. I felt my cheeks redden with embarrassment.
Ray cleared his throat, trying to change the subject, “By the way Ty, I really do like your new hairstyle, and believe me, and I’m not just saying that because I love Denise. You remind me of someone, I just can’t place it at the moment, but you really do look great!”
“Thanks, Ray! Denise is awesome. I love it, too.”
“Tell you what,” Ray continued, “’Neecie and I'll get out of your way. It’s been a long day for you, I know. We’ll see you when you get back to the ranch, okay? You get some rest.”
“Thank you both. It means a lot to me what you’ve done.”
They both gave me a warm hug and kiss. I heard them giggling as they left my room. I giggled too, putting the lid back on the box.
CHAPTER 6
I was alone in my hospital room for the first time in days. I figured I might as well get dressed for bed. I was bored and feeling cheeky, so I decided to try on my new “outfit.” I pulled the tags off the thong and the bustier camisole and took them to my bathroom to try on.
My God, I loved the feel of the silk, but it appeared Jenna had selected a top that was much too small for me. My breasts practically spilled out over the lace-trimmed bodice of the bustier. I studied my new hairdo, admiring my reflection. I was satisfied with my new look, despite the tacky underwear that Jenna had sent. Maybe I'd buzz the nurse’s station for a clean gown after all. I switched off the bathroom light and headed back to my bed. I didn’t see him as I leaned over my bed to flip the light switch. As I reached over the bed for the nurse call button, the sound of his smooth, silky voice startled me.
“Well, Ms. Preston, I see hospital garb suits you well.”
“Oh!” I exclaimed, startled. Trey was half sitting, half sprawled out in the only cushioned chair in the room. He'd taken his suit jacket off and tossed it over the back of the chair. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the top, his tie was loosened. The sleeves of his french cuffed shirt were rolled up to just below his elbows. His sapphire blue eyes seemed even darker as they flickered appreciatively over my body, coming to rest on the generous cleavage created by the too-small camisole. I scrambled into my bed, pulling the covers up to my chin. I could feel the blush coloring my face; I glared at him for causing it. He chuckled, displaying that magnificent dimple.
“That kind of defeats the purpose, doesn’t it?”
“What purpose is that?"
“Showing off your sexy lingerie for everyone."
“Why would I want to do that?"
"Trolling for doctors, perhaps?”
“Isn’t that your job counselor?” I replied smugly.
“I don’t practice that kind of law,” he snapped, but I noticed a hint of amus
ement flicker across his scrumptious face. He got on his feet and approached the side of my bed. He lifted a lock of my newly highlighted, layered hair, thoughtfully rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger.
I like it,” he said thoughtfully. “Denise did a very nice job on your hair.”
“Thank you,” I managed a smile.
“I’m curious to know where you got your, uh, pajamas for lack of a better word?”
“Jenna, who else? Denise asked her to stop by my cottage and pick up some of my things, but this was Jenna’s idea of a conciliatory gesture.”
“I see,” he said softly, “and you don’t like the olive branch she offered?”
“Well, it’s not exactly my style in case you haven’t noticed. And it’s too small at the top. Probably Jenna’s way of letting me know I’m built like a boy or something,” I replied, shrugging.
“I hardly think so,” he said a bit derisively. “You’re extremely beautiful but I suspect you knew that already."
I blushed under the compliment, not quite sure how to respond to this unfamiliar territory. I'd never considered myself pretty let alone beautiful. I figured I was okay looking but I didn't spend a lot of time worrying about it one way or another. His closeness was starting to unnerve me; I felt clammy and nervous. Maybe a change of subject would take those piercing blue eyes off of me.
“Tre… I mean Mr. Sinclair?” I started.
“Please let’s dispense with this ‘Mr. Sinclair’ stuff once and for all,” he said, laughing and waving his hand dismissively. “After all, I’ve seen parts of you over the course of this past week that clothes would never cover if it were up to me. It’s Trey, okay?”
What the hell did he mean by that? What kind of hospital didn't take appropriate steps to protect an unconscious patient’s privacy?
“What were you about to ask me, Tylar?”
“Oh, um, would you mind getting my hospital gown off the hook in the bathroom? I think I'd be more comfortable in it.”
“I’m sure you would, but I wouldn’t,” he teased.
I was about to give him a snotty retort, but he held up his hand warding off my response.
“I think I've got something here that will be comfortable and give you some modesty as well,” he said. He retrieved a shopping bag from the chair and placed it next to me on the bed, indicating for me to look inside. I opened it and removed a tissue-wrapped bundle. The tissue was sealed with the scrolled “VS” gold seal. I opened the seal and lifted a pink terrycloth bathrobe from the tissue. It was soft and fluffy as I rubbed it up against my cheek. There was a “VS” silk embroidered emblem on the front panel.
“Thank you. I totally love it,” I clutched it appreciatively.
“There’s more,” he said with amusement. “Keep going.”
I tilted the bag and found a matching pair of pink fluffy slippers inside, and another tissue-wrapped package at the bottom. I opened the package and pulled out a pink satin nightie. It had spaghetti straps and was full length, with a slit up one side to just above the knee. It was sexy yet soft and classy. There was also a pair of bikini panties that matched.
"These are beautiful,” I breathed, brushing the satin nightgown against my cheek. “Thank you, Trey.”
He was pleased that I was pleased. “Why don’t you change into them?” he suggested. Good thinking; however, there was no way I was parading my thonged ass past him to get to the bathroom. He realized my dilemma, but made no attempt to move. He cocked his eyebrow at me, sporting a devilish grin. It was then I realized the bed sheet had dropped to my lap. I was inadvertently presenting him with a view of my ready-to-spill-over breasts. Trey made no secret of perusing them.
“Do you mind?” I snapped, pulling the sheets up to my chin again. “Some privacy would be nice.”
Trey was still grinning like a cad, but finally stood up and sauntered to the door. “I’ll be back in three minutes, ready or not.”
I flew into action, knowing that he meant what he said. A couple of minutes later, fully dressed with my new robe cinched tightly around me, I climbed back into my hospital bed, stretching out on top of the covers. I finger combed my hair again nervously, pulling the shawl collar of the robe up so that my neck was covered.
In a few seconds Trey re-entered the room. He stopped short, giving me a frown when he saw that I was fully covered and safe from his bold stare and lingering perusal.
“Comfortable, Tylar?” he asked.
“Absolutely. You chose well and everything fits perfectly.”
“I’m glad,” he replied, “though I might’ve re-thought the robe in retrospect.
I gave him an angelic smile.
“Ok then,” he continued, “You and I need to discuss a few matters if you’re not too tired at the moment?”
“I’m fine,” I answered, “in fact, I feel almost back to normal. I bet I get released tomorrow.”
“Actually you were released today,” he said. “I insisted they keep you over at least another day or two so that arrangements can be made.”
What? How could he decide when I could leave the hospital? What arrangements was he talking about? I worried about how much these extra days would cost. “I’m not sure what you mean about arrangements, Trey.”
“Tylar, several of the staff members and I have attempted to reach your mother on the number listed in your personnel file. It's no longer a valid cell phone number. It could've been put into our computer system in error. I'd like for you to call her now please.”
“I've no problem calling my mom,” I replied, “but wouldn’t she be a little late to the party since I’m fine now?”
“My point is that your mother will probably want you to come home for a couple of weeks to fully recover. Any type of concussion can have lingering effects; it’s important to minimize the risk of further complications. Your work here with the horses is the type of risk I'm talking about.”
I cut him off abruptly. “So you’re firing me?”
“Calm down,” he warned. The edge in his voice told me he meant business. We'd so quickly gone from flirting to this. I wanted to rake my fingernails down his face and pictured myself doing so. It helped.
“You're not fired yet,” he responded slowly. “I'm simply concerned about your recovery. I guess I figured you'd want to be home with your family during your recuperation. You can't return to work at any rate until a doctor clears you.”
“First off,” I croaked, my Demi Moore voice was back. “My family is just my mom. It’s always been just Mom and me.”
“I see, so your father is totally out of the picture?”
“I don’t remember him, if that's what you’re asking. He left us when I was about a year old. They divorced.”
“What kind of a man doesn’t contact his daughter?” Trey asked more to himself than to me, shaking his head in disapproval.
“He did send money, though,” I offered. “About the hospital bill, I have some money in my college trust. There’s almost $50,000 the last time I checked the balance. I can pay my hospital bill out of that. I really don’t want you to feel responsible for picking up the tab on something caused by my own poor judgment.”
“Tylar,” he implored, “I don’t want you to worry about the hospital bill. I'll cover it, do you understand? I won't have you exhaust your college funds when I can well afford to pay it.”
“But I feel responsible,” I interrupted.
He raked both hands through his thick hair; he looked at me with blue eyes blazing. “And just what does that accomplish? So you don’t finish college, then what? You find some nice good ‘ole boy to share his trailer with you? Maybe raise a pack of brats until he moves on to another trailer, stealing your best years?”
That was a low blow. “I didn’t deserve that!” I hissed. “Maybe I wasn’t born into wealth and privilege like you, but I do have some pride and dignity. I don’t need your charity."
I turned my face away from him totally pissed off. He was at the side
of my bed in a flash, turning my chin, forcing me to look at him. I hated that he saw a tear roll down my cheek. He brushed his thumb down my right cheek, catching the tear that rolled down it.
“Hey now,” he spoke softly, his anger dissipating, “you're right, I was out of line with what I said, Tylar. I'd no right to say something like that to you. I guess I wanted you to accept what I was offering and was mad when you refused it. I'm used to getting my way on things. I’m sorry, Tylar.”
I wasn't sure why he affected me this way. His apology was sincere. The sob that I'd been holding back finally escaped. A fresh tear rolled down my left check, onto his hands that were gently framing my face, followed by another. He leaned into me, his face now very close to mine. Close enough that I could feel his warm breath near my lips. I closed my eyes, tilting my face up a bit, waiting to feel his lips on mine and wanting to feel them more than I'd ever wanted anything else.
Then nothing happened.
I opened one eye and then the other; he'd moved back from me, his eyes still studying mine with obvious indecision. His hands released my face and he stood up abruptly, his brow furrowed in confusion.
God! Idiot cracker number two!!
I scooted away from him on the bed, smoothing my hair nervously. "Apology accepted; I'm good, Trey."
He handed my cell phone to me, his eyes now searching my face.
“What?” I asked.
“Call your mother, Tylar,” he instructed, “she needs to know what’s going on and I need to know what your plans are so that I can schedule adjustments with the staff.”
I took my phone from him and pulled up my mom’s number. It didn’t ring. There was a three-tone signal followed by a digital recording stating that the number dialed was either out of service or had been disconnected. No further information was available. I snapped the phone shut and let it fall onto my bed.
Trey looked at me expectantly, “Well?”
“It’s either out of service or has been disconnected. You had the right number after all.”
“Is this typical of your mom?” he questioned.
“Nothing is typical about my mom.”