by LuAnn McLane
“Th-thanks.” I grip the phone tighter and swallow.
“I should have told you that before now.”
“We were busy . . .”
“No, I mean before tonight.”
“Luke . . .”
“Oh God. No, Macy. What am I doin’? I should shut my mouth.”
“Why?”
He sighs. “Because you’re Macy.”
Frowning, I ask, “What does that mean?”
“Everything,” he says, explaining absolutely nothing.
“Luke, if there’s something you want to say to me—” I begin, but he cuts me off.
“So, anyway, I’m glad you’re safe and sound,” he says, completely switching gears. “I’m guessin’ you already talked to Jamie Lee? She was worried too.”
My heart plummets and I swallow the words that were on the tip of my tongue. “Oh, so she sent you looking for me?”
“Yeah, but—”
“Well, I’m home all in one piece.” I make a show of yawning. “So you can rest easy. Sorry for the worry. Night, Luke.” Before he can say another word—and I can embarrass myself making something out of a simple You looked pretty—I flip my phone shut and then sit there in the darkness. “There you go again trying to read something into something that simply isn’t there, at least for Luke,” I whisper. After another long sigh I lean over and place the phone on my nightstand, telling myself that I have everything under control. Still, for a minute there I thought he was going to say something . . . wonderful. “Ahhh! Stop!” With an exasperated groan I punch the pillow. “Just stop!”
My eyes tear up but before I can start wallowing once again I remind myself that I love my job and have friends and family who care deeply and a daddy who might be on the road a lot but who adores me too. I need to quit feeling so doggone sorry for myself.
The Carters have been like family, and I love them to pieces but it’s high time I start living my life on my own terms. Jamie Lee is my best friend but she’s moving on with her life. After snuggling beneath the covers I vow to give up this obsession I have with Luke as well.
Surely there’s got to be some adventure out there for me too?
With that thought in mind I close my eyes, hoping that fatigue and alcohol will put me fast asleep. My last thought though is that if adventure doesn’t come to Hootertown, then maybe I need to go out there and find it. Yes, I do believe that it’s high time for a little less talk and a lot more action.
5
The Sooner the Better
“Hey Macy, are you coming over for chicken dinner?” Daisy asks as I’m walking out of church. I’m trying to hurry to my Blazer so I don’t have to face Luke.
“Mrs. Carter, aren’t you worn out after last night’s festivities?” Not that she appears tired. No, Daisy Carter looks lovely in a crisp buttercup yellow dress. Not one strand of auburn hair is out of place and her makeup is a tad over-the-top but perfectly applied. I marvel at how she does it.
“Oh, I’m fine.” She waves a dismissive hand. “A crew came over and cleaned everything up.”
“I don’t want you to go to any trouble. You need to relax today.”
“A person still has to eat.” She pats my shoulder.
“I appreciate your offer,” I tell her with a warm smile. “But I’m still a bit tired.” I pick up my pace trying to put some distance between Luke and us.
“Are you feeling okay?” Daisy inquires with a frown. “Luke said that you were under the weather and left the reception early.”
“Oh, I’m okay. I just overdid it a bit,” I assure her, and force another smile. “But I think I’ll just watch a movie and be lazy today.”
“Okay.” Daisy relents but looks at me a bit more closely, as if she doesn’t quite believe my story. “But my offer stands if y’all change your mind. And you know your daddy’s always welcome too.”
“I believe he’s fishing today but thank you.” I lean over and give her a quick kiss on her powder-soft cheek but then quickly dig in my purse for my keys since I see Luke and Mr. Carter heading in our direction. Luckily Daisy spots Rose Jenkins and excuses herself. My keys of course are hiding from me somewhere in the mess in my purse. I make a mental note to clean out the junk this afternoon.
I’m so intent on my task and getting a little perturbed that I don’t notice Luke approach me. “There you are, dammit,” I snap when my fingers finally find the illusive set of keys.
“Well good morning to you too,” Luke says, startling me into dropping the key chain. When I bend over to retrieve them Luke does as well and we bump heads. “Sorry!” he says while rubbing his head. “You okay?”
That’s a loaded question but I give him a polite smile while rubbing my head as well. “I’ll live. Maybe I needed some sense knocked into me,” I tease, proud that I’m holding myself together.
“Me too,” he says, but instead of laughing, his blue eyes seem serious. I’m wondering if he’s remembering our confusing conversation from last night and I’m not sure what to make of it but then give myself a mental shake not to go there again. “Are you comin’ over for Mama’s chicken?”
Wow, he sounds hopeful, I think to myself but then shake my head. You know, I really wish I could kick my own butt. When he hands me my keys I totally ignore the tingle when his fingers brush against mine.
“Oh, I thought Mama invited you.”
For a second I’m perplexed but then realize that Luke thought I was shaking my head in answer to his question and not at my own stupid self. “She did but I’m still a bit under the weather. I think I’ll pop a movie in and chill for the day.”
“You want company?”
I’m so unprepared for this question that the keys slip from my fingers again and land with a jangle in the parking lot.
“Got ’em,” Luke warns so we don’t bump heads again. As he hands them back to me he says, “Well?”
“Well, what?” I ask like an idiot.
“Would you like some company watching a movie?”
I grip my keys as though they’re suddenly a lifeline. A big part of me—well okay, all of me—really wants to shout Yes! but I know or at least I think he’s doing this out of concern and not the need to spend time with me, so I force myself to shake my head. “That’s okay, Luke. I’ll probably just end up falling asleep on the sofa anyway.”
“Okay,” he says quietly. Something flickers in his eyes that I can’t read . . . hurt? Disappointment? Regret pools in my stomach and I almost change my mind. As if sensing my indecision he says, “I’ll bring over some leftover chicken.”
Be strong, Macy. “I appreciate the offer.” I hate that I might have injured his feelings. “But I’m fine, really,” I assure him, and place my hand on his forearm that’s leaning against my Blazer. The sensation of his sun-warmed skin beneath my hand sends such a thrill through me that I snatch my hand away and feel the heat of a blush warm my cheeks.
“All right, then,” Luke says, but threads his fingers through his hair, making me wonder if he’s trying to think of a reason to change my mind. I don’t probe, however, since I’ve vowed not to obsess over him any longer. It’s just not healthy to moon over a guy whom I have no chance with. I’m too darned old to crush on my best friend’s brother but when he hesitates for another fraction, my heart betrays my vow by beating fast. “If you change your mind give me a call,” he offers as I slide behind the wheel.
“Thanks, Luke. I’ll remember that,” I assure him, knowing full well that I would never muster up the nerve to call and invite him over. When he nods slowly and then turns away I feel an odd sense of loss. I’m struck again with the notion that there’s something going on here that I’m missing and I suddenly feel as if there’s an important reason that I should call him back. But then I close my door with a click while muttering hotly, “Macy McCoy, you are one crazy chick. Luke is just a nice guy with a Southern sense of polite concern for a family friend.” The sooner I get that through my thick skull the better off I’ll
be.
After arriving back at my apartment I take off my church clothes and slip into my favorite ratty jeans shorts and a hot pink T-shirt that reads WHATEVER. Jamie Lee bought it for me when I used that word so often that it drove her crazy. I tend to latch on to a word and use it to death. Whatever . . .
But after trying my best to relax on the couch with a Diet Dew and baked potato chips—I know, ew, they just don’t cut it—I get antsy. Telling myself to chill, I channel surf but nothing captures my attention for more than a few seconds. Maybe it’s because the devil on my shoulder keeps telling me to call Luke and invite him over. Finally I give up and decide to drive down to the Cut & Curl and do something constructive even though it’s a Sunday afternoon. There probably won’t be much for me to do since the part-time stylist we hired, Daisy, will be there. She usually works only one day a week to keep her long-time clients happy, but will still be filling in during Jamie Lee’s absence.
The familiar beauty shop smells make me smile when I open the door but the shop feels almost eerily quiet, so I turn on some country music to fill the silence. While humming along with Dierks Bentley, I’m trying to remember if I’ve ever been in here by myself as I tidy up the shelves of hair products and tanning lotions. We added tanning beds last summer and Jamie Lee is even toying with the idea of having Griff build on to the shop. I feel proud of the business we’ve created and I enjoy what I do, but I’ll never be more than the hired help.
Odd that this never really bothered me until now but I suppose it’s just the mood that I’m in. With a sigh I start arranging nail polish by color. Luckily the sassy Tammy Turner song “Just Watch Me” comes on and starts to lighten my mood. At first I just hum but then really get into the song and begin to sing rather loudly. I grab a nearby broom and use the handle for a microphone while belting out the refrain. My eyes are closed as I bring the song home, do a little booty shake for good measure, and then add my own little whoop with my fist in the air at the end.
When I hear applause, at first I think it’s a fantasy in my head that I’m singing before a large adoring audience. This wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had this particular wishful thinking. But when I open my eyes I grip the broom tighter and mouth, Ohmigod since my voice totally fails me. All I can manage is a little squeak. I blink and think that maybe this is the aftereffect of a night of heavy drinking.
“Well now, that was pretty doggone good! I loved that move at the very end.”
“T-T—” I squeak, I point, I swallow, and then mouth, Ohimgod again.
“Tammy Turner,” she says, and extends her hand.
“M-Macy McCoy,” I manage to stutter.
“Are y’all open for business? I have a bit of a hair emergency,” says the one and only Tammy Turner who is standing right here, right now in the Cut & Curl! I glance out the window and there’s a huge tour bus parked out front. Two big men who must be her bodyguards are standing just outside the door. Their tree-trunk arms are folded across massive chests as they watch from behind mirrored sunglasses. Not that there’s likely to be a ruckus on Sunday morning in Hootertown but wow wouldn’t it be cool to have a bodyguard? A person could say whatever they felt like and let the big burly dudes take care of the matter with a flex of muscle and a steely-eyed glare.
“Well?” Tammy asks in a patient tone but I’m trying unsuccessfully to make my brain and mouth work together. “Look, I know it’s Sunday but I’ll be ever so grateful if you could help a girl out.”
Thankfully I manage to nod—kind of a nervous jerky nod but I get my point across because Tammy raises her hands upward and says, “Ah, praise the Lord.” A white cowboy hat is hiding her jet-black hair so I’m not quite sure what I’m getting myself into. All of a sudden my palms start to sweat.
Okay, I take a deep breath, give my head a little shake, and attempt to put on my professional face. “What exactly is your emergency, Ms. Turner?” I ask in a crisp tone that’s only a little bit shaky.
“You mean just what am I hidin’ under this here hat?” Tammy asks with a grin. She’s gorgeous in a don’t-mess-with-me Gretchen Wilson kind of way and, like Gretchen, her songs are both in-your-face anthems for women and sweet love songs that bring tears to your eyes. She whips the hat off her head, and I don’t mean to yelp but I instinctively do. Embarrassed by my outburst, I clamp my hand over my mouth.
“I know,” Tammy says with a grimace. “Damned hair extensions! I cheated and used regular shampoo and half of the damned things fell out! And the kicker is that I have to be in Nashville to do an interview on Country Music Minutes in a little over two hours.” With her eyebrows raised she holds up her index and middle fingers. “Please help me, Macy. I’ll make it worth your while.”
Lowering my hand from my mouth I confess, “We don’t do hair extensions here.” Jamie Lee and I looked into it but hair extensions run hundreds, sometimes thousands of dollars!
Tammy shoves her hands in the back pockets of her low-rise jeans. “You don’t need to replace them. Just remove the rest and then style my hair. Think you can hop on the bus and do that for me?”
“H-hop on the bus?” I glance out the window.
“We don’t have time to do it here.”
“May I take a look?”
“Sure.” Tammy nods and then dips her head since she’s a few inches taller than me.
“Oh, my, they’re like glued on with hard little suction tips.”
Tammy sighs. “I know. It took the stylist three and a half hours to put the doggone things in.” She raises one dark eyebrow. “I’m not good at sittin’ still, let me tell ya.” With another long sigh she rocks back on the heels of her boots. “I was supposed to use this special shampoo so the extensions wouldn’t slip off my real hair, but the stuff didn’t lather, you know?” She wrinkles up her nose. “Felt like I wasn’t getting my hair clean so I broke the rules and used real shampoo.” She grins at me and explains in a low tone, “I tend to break rules. Not always a good idea.” Her grin is infectious and I find myself relaxing just a tad. “Well, whad’ya think?”
“I don’t have the product they use to get them out but I think soaking your hair in deep conditioner will loosen the connection and allow the extensions to slip off with minimal damage to your hair. Although I have to tell you that I’ll need to trim up the damaged ends. Do you trust me to cut your hair?”
“Well sugar, I’m in a bit of a pickle. My hair and makeup chick had the nerve to go into labor,” she explains with a laugh. “If she had been on the bus I wouldn’t have gotten away with using regular shampoo. You’re a licensed beautician, right?”
I nod. “We’re small but we keep current.”
“Good enough for me. I’m a small-town girl myself. I’d be right at home gettin’ my hair done here. Don’t tell anybody but I would rather have my hair done here than by some of the snooty people I have to deal with.” She jabs her thumb over her shoulder toward the tour bus. “You ready to go?”
I glance down at my worn shorts, my WHATEVER T-SHIRT, and my flip-flops.
Tammy waves a hand at me. “You’re fine. Looks like something I’d wear. Just get the tools of your trade and hop on the bus. Oh, you might want to pack an overnight bag. Just in case. Or do you have to get back tonight?”
“N-no,” I answer as I gather up my things. “We’re closed on Mondays so I’m good to go.” Holy crap! “Just let me run into my apartment and I’ll throw some stuff in a bag. It’s just right down the street on the way out of town.”
“Fair enough,” Tammy says as she puts her hat back on. “Let’s get a move on.”
When I stand there with my duffel bag sort of dumbfounded and wondering if this is really happening, Tammy links her arm through mine. “Oh, quit. I grew up in a town about the size of Hootertown.” She laughs and says, “Hootertown. What a name, huh?” While hauling me toward the door, she adds, “Listen, it’s hard when you make it in this business to stay grounded. I do try to remember my roots but if I start to act like a spoil
ed diva, just give me a good whack upside the head.”
“Okay,” I assure her, knowing full well there’s a snowball’s chance in hell of my actually doing that. I lock up and give a tentative smile to the big burly guys. The bald one takes my duffel bag and carries it for me. Cool. Protection and service, not to mention that they’re both really hot in a badass kind of way.
“You think I’m kiddin’, don’t ya?”
“Um . . . yeah.”
“Well, okay, I am. But I do try to stay grounded,” Tammy says, climbing up the steps and entering the bus.
“Yeah right, she’s a demanding diva,” counters a cute little blonde who looks up from a tabloid. “Says here that you’re dating Jason Aldean.” She snorts. “Yeah right, in your dreams.”
“In his dreams,” Tammy shoots back, and then turns to me. “Macy, meet Lilly Mason, my friend since forever and backup singer. Maybe you can do something with her hair.”
Lilly reaches up and pats her short layers. “Not everyone has to fall into the stereotype of big Southern hair.”
Tammy rolls her brown eyes. “She always did march to the beat of a different drummer. Speaking of which—”
“Don’t even go there,” Lilly warns.
“You mean you and Keith haven’t kissed and made up?”
“When hell freezes over,” she says, and starts rapidly flipping through the magazine.
Tammy turns to me. “She might not have big hair but she’s big on drama.”
“Bite me,” Lilly says without looking up.
While shaking her head Tammy grins. “Her sister is much nicer.”
“Bite me again.”
“Prettier and younger too.”
“Yeah well, I’m a better singer than her. Better than you too.”
I look at Tammy, wondering if she’s getting angry but she just laughs. “Where is Sam anyway?”
Lilly shrugs. “Sleeping, I think.”
“Stayed up late workin’ on that song, didn’t she.”