“Same as usual,” came the casual reply. Then Gabe added with a wide grin, “You sure do have pretty blue eyes, Wendy Campbell.”
Wendy closed those pretty eyes briefly and offered up a pleading entreaty. Oh Lord, please give me strength. It wasn’t really much of a prayer, but it was the first one she’d petitioned God for since her father’s 911 scare three days ago.
Wendy had accepted Christ as her Savior at an early age. She’d attended Sunday school and church for many years, too. Prayer and Bible reading used to be an important part of her life.
It wasn’t until she began dating Dale Carlson while she was attending Bailey’s Barber School in Spokane that things started to change. Dale had been the perfect Christian … or so he’d let on. Dale’s mask of self-righteousness came catapulting off when he began making unwanted advances, asking Wendy to sacrifice her chastity. Not more than a week after putting Dale in his place, Wendy discovered he’d been seeing Michelle Stiles the whole time while coming on to her. The entire episode had shaken her faith in men and her own good judgment. Her relationship with Christ had suffered, as she was no longer sure she could even trust God.
“I don’t think you’re gonna get much hair taken off by just standin’ there frowning like the world is about to end,” Gabe declared, disrupting Wendy’s reflections.
She shook her head, trying to reestablish her thoughts and get down to the business at hand. The sooner she got garish Gabe’s curly black hair trimmed, the better it would be for both of them.
Half an hour later, Wendy had just taken the clippers to Gabe’s neck and was about to dust him off when he announced, “That’s not quite how I want it. Could you take a little more off the sides?”
Exasperated with this big hulk of a man, Wendy gritted her teeth, forcing herself as always to comply with the customer’s wishes.
“I wouldn’t mind having one of those neck rubs you’re so famous for,” Gabe said when the haircut was finished. “Yep, it sure would feel great to have your soft hands work some of the kinks out of my neck.”
Right here is where I draw the line with this guy, Wendy reasoned silently. “I just don’t have time for that today, Gabe,” she said through tight lips. “I barely managed to squeeze you in for a haircut.”
“You’re sure not very sociable.” Gabe stepped down from the chair. “I’ve spent the last half hour telling you how great we’d be together, and all you’ve done is give me the silent treatment.”
Wendy chewed on her bottom lip, trying to hold back the words that threatened to roll off her tongue. She moved toward the cash register, hoping he would follow.
He did, but as soon as he handed her the money, Gabe blurted out, “If your mood doesn’t improve some, you might start to lose customers.” He shrugged into his black leather jacket. “Seriously, most folks don’t come in here for just a shave or a good haircut, you know.”
Wendy eyed him speculatively. “Oh? Why do they come in, Gabe?”
“A barber is kind of like a bartender,” he said with another one of his irritating winks.
“Is that so?” Wendy could feel her temperature begin to rise, so she took a few deep breaths to keep from saying the wrong thing.
“Yep,” Gabe retaliated. “Many barbershops—especially ones that operate in small towns like Plumers—are noted as places where folks can share their problems, tell a few jokes, and let their hair down.” He draped his muscular arm across her slender shoulders and smirked. “Get it, unfriendly Wendy? A good barber is supposed to be friendly and courteous to their customers.”
Wendy grimaced. Gabe had stepped on her toes with that statement. She really did try to be polite to her customers, no matter how much they might irritate her. With Gabe, it was different. She didn’t need men like him trying to put her down or take advantage. And she certainly wasn’t going to give him the chance to make a complete fool of her the way Dale had.
“Have a nice day, Gabe,” Wendy said in a strained voice.
He nodded curtly. “Sure. You, too.”
The door was closing behind Gabe when Wendy heard it—that ear-piercing whine of a siren. She shuddered and glanced out the window. An emergency vehicle sped past the shop and headed up her street.
“Oh no,” she moaned, “not again. Please, God, don’t let it be going to my house this time.”
Kyle Rogers couldn’t believe he was being called back to the same house he’d been to only a few days ago. The dispatcher said Wayne had called asking for help because he was in terrible pain. What really seemed strange was the fact that the 911 call had come in about the same time as three days earlier. He shrugged. Probably just a coincidence.
“Ready?” Kyle asked Steve, opening the door of their truck and grabbing his rescue case.
“Ready,” Steve said with a nod.
Kyle rapped on the front door. A distressed-sounding voice called out, “It’s open. Come in.”
When they stepped into the living room, they found Wayne lying on the couch.
“What is it, sir?” Kyle asked, kneeling on the floor in front of the couch. He had just put on his gloves when Wayne reached out to clasp his hand.
“I–I’ve got a cramp in my leg, and it’s killing me! Wendy’s not home from work yet, but she should be here soon.” He drew his leg up and winced in pain as Kyle began probing.
“Is this where the cramp is, Mr. Campbell?”
Wayne shook his head. “No. I mean, yes—I think it’s there.”
“Do you get leg cramps very often?” Kyle inquired.
“Sometimes. It goes along with having rheumatoid arthritis, you know.” Wayne glanced at the door. “Where is Wendy, anyway? She should be home by now.”
Kyle gently massaged Wayne’s contorted limb. “Is this helping any?”
Wayne thrashed about. “No, no, it still hurts like crazy. I think it’s getting worse, not better!” He began moaning, then started gasping for breath. “I can’t take it! I can’t take any more!”
“Calm down, Mr. Campbell,” Steve admonished. “You’re only making it worse.”
“He’s hyperventilating, Steve. Get a bag.”
Steve reached into their supply case and quickly followed instructions, placing a brown paper sack over Wayne’s nose and mouth. “Do you think he could be having a panic attack,
Kyle?”
Kyle nodded. “It looks that way. Once he begins to relax, we can work on that leg cramp.”
The uncooperative patient pushed the bag aside. “Wendy—she—”
“I don’t think we should be concerned about your daughter right now,” Kyle asserted. “Let’s get you calmed down; then we’ll see if we can’t take care of that charley horse.” Kyle took the paper sack from Wayne and held it to his face again. “Breathe as normally as you can, and please, no more talking until we say.”
A red-faced Wayne finally complied, settling back against the throw pillows.
Steve had just started to massage the leg again when Wendy came flying into the house.
“What happened? Is my dad sick? He wasn’t playing with his fishing line again, I hope.” Her eyes were huge as saucers, and her face white like chalk.
Kyle eyed her with concern. “Steady now, Miss Campbell. Why don’t you have a seat?”
With an audible moan, Wendy dropped into the rocking chair. “Please tell me what’s wrong with Dad.”
“He called 911 because he was in terrible pain. When we got here, he said his leg had cramped up,” Kyle explained.
“What’s the paper sack for?”
“He started hyperventilating,” Kyle replied.
“What would cause that?” She leaned forward with both hands on her knees.
“Probably a panic attack, brought on by the stress of not being able to get the pain stopped,” Steve interjected.
Wayne was trying to remove the sack again, but Kyle shook his head. “Let’s keep it there for a few more moments, Mr. Campbell. It will help you calm down; then you’ll be able to b
reathe better.” Kyle turned to Wendy. “Does your father get many severe leg cramps?”
She shrugged. “Some, but nothing he can’t usually work out with a bit of massage or some heat.” She looked at her father with obvious concern. “Dad, when did the cramping start, and why didn’t you call me instead of 911?”
Kyle pulled the sack away so Wayne could respond to his daughter’s question.
“I didn’t want to bother you,” Wayne mumbled.
“Wouldn’t it have been better to interrupt my day than to make these men answer a call that could have been handled with a simple heating pad?”
Wayne tipped his head to one side and blinked rapidly. “Guess I didn’t think about that. I just wanted to get some relief, and it hurt like crazy, so—”
“When was the last time you had some aspirin?” Steve asked.
“He has to take it with food, or it upsets his stomach,” Wendy glanced over at her Dad with an anxious look. “I’d better fix some lunch so you can take your pills.”
Wayne nodded and pulled himself to a sitting position.
“The leg cramp’s gone now.” He looked up at Wendy. “Some of that take-and-bake pizza you bought last night would sure be good.”
“Okay, Dad, if that’s what you want.”
Wendy was almost to the kitchen when Wayne called, “Let’s invite these nice young men to join us. How about it, guys? It’s lunchtime. Does pizza sound good to you?”
“Sure does,” Steve was quick to say.
“Count me in, too,” Kyle agreed. He cast a quick glance at Wendy. “That is, if it’s not too much trouble.”
Wendy smiled. “No trouble at all.”
Wendy sat across the table from her dad, watching with interest as he and the other two men interacted. He really is lonesome, she thought ruefully. How could I have let this happen? She began to massage her forehead. I’ve got to figure out some way to help fill Dad’s lonely hours.
“Wendy, are you listening? Kyle asked you a question.”
Wendy snapped to attention at the sound of Dad’s deep voice. “What was it?” She looked at Kyle, who sat in the chair beside her.
“I was wondering about your barbershop.”
“What about it?”
“What are your hours? Do you only take appointments?”
“I do take walk-ins, but many of my customers make appointments. The barbershop is open Tuesday through Saturday, from nine in the morning until five at night, with an hour off for lunch at noon.” Wendy eyed him curiously. “Why do you ask?” Her heart fluttered as she awaited his answer. Was she actually hoping he might come in for a haircut? Kyle shrugged. “Just wondering.”
“How did you become a barber?” Steve asked. “Isn’t that kind of unusual work for a woman?”
“Actually, I’ve heard that some of the finest barbers are women,” Kyle inserted before Wendy could answer.
“That’s right,” agreed her father, “and my Wendy girl is one of them. Why, she graduated in the top five of her barbering class.”
“Spoken like a proud papa,” Kyle said with a grin.
“Dad tends to be a little bit prejudiced,” Wendy was quick to say. “After all, I am his only daughter.”
“And the only breadwinner these days,” Dad added, bringing a note of regret into the conversation.
“I served my apprenticeship under Dad,” Wendy said, hoping to dispel the gloomy look on Dad’s face. “He sometimes forgets that I wasn’t always so capable.” She shook her head. “If you had time to listen, I’ll bet he could tell you some real horror stories about how I messed up several people’s hair during those early years. Dad is a wonderful, ever-patient teacher, and if I do anything well, I owe it all to him.”
Steve laughed, but Kyle seemed to be deep in thought. Finally, he reached for another slice of pizza and took a bite. “Mmm … this is sure good.” He washed it down with a gulp of iced tea, then changed the subject. “Say, Mr. Campbell, I know you were tying some flies the other day, and I was just wondering if you’ve done much fishing lately. I hear there’s some pretty good trout in several of the streams around here.”
Dad rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I used to fish a lot—back when I could still function on my own, that is.”
“When was the last time you went fishing?” Kyle asked, leaning forward on his elbows.
“Well, let’s see now,” Dad began. “I guess it’s been a little more than two years since my last fishing trip. My buddy Fred and I went up to Plumers Creek one spring morning. We sat on the grassy banks all day, just basking in the warm sun, shootin’ the breeze, and reeling in some of the most gorgeous trout you’d ever want to see.”
“Plumers Creek is a great place to fish,” Steve put in. “I’ve been there a few times myself. How come you’ve never been back, sir?”
“I don’t really think Dad’s up to any fishing trips,” Wendy interjected. “You saw the way his leg cramped up.” She grimaced. “I’m sorry, but there are times when I have to wonder if all men ever think about is hunting, fishing, and telling contemptible jokes.”
Three pairs of eyes focused on Wendy, and Dad’s face had turned as red as the pizza sauce.
“I, uh, think maybe we’d better go,” Steve said, sliding his chair away from the table. “The pizza was great. Thanks, Miss Campbell.”
“No, no, you can’t leave yet!” Dad protested. “I mean, we were just beginning to get acquainted.”
“Our lunch hour’s not quite over yet, so we can hang out a few more minutes,” Kyle said.
“I really do need to get back to work, Dad.” Wendy stood up and grabbed the empty pizza pan. Not only was she going to be late for work if she didn’t leave now, but she didn’t care much for the direction this conversation was going. There was no point giving Dad false hope, and besides, sitting next to ever-smiling Kyle Rogers was making her nervous.
“Since your cramp is gone and you seem to be feeling better,” Wendy said, moving across the room, “I’ll leave you in the capable hands of these paramedics.”
CHAPTER 4
Twice in one week! Wendy fretted. Was it a coincidence that Dad called 911 so often, or did he really think it was an emergency? Was Dad merely “crying wolf” just to get some special attention?
Wendy was glad they’d made it through the weekend without any more problems. Yesterday she scheduled a doctor’s appointment for her dad; today, right after work, she’d be taking him in for an exam. He didn’t know she’d done it though. He’d been so adamant about his leg feeling better and had assured her several times that there was no more cramping and no need to see Dr. Hastings until his regular checkup later in the month. She’d tell him about his appointment and try to make him see reason when she went home for lunch today.
Wendy’s nerves felt all tied up in knots. Maybe that was why she’d been so testy the other day when the paramedics were talking to Dad about fishing. She didn’t need any more chilling 911 calls to deal with either. What she really needed was a little peace and quiet. Maybe she should close the shop for a few days and stay home with Dad.
“That’s probably not the best solution though,” she murmured as she put the OPEN sign in the front door of the barbershop. “What I really need is to concentrate on finding some way to make him feel more useful and less lonely. If Dad won’t take the initiative, then maybe I should give some of his buddies a call about lunch.”
Wendy’s first scheduled appointment wasn’t until ten o’clock, so that gave her a whole hour. She drew in a deep breath and reached for the telephone.
After several rings, a gravelly voice came on the line. “Fred Hastings here. What can I do ya for?”
“Fred, this is Wendy Campbell, and I need to ask you a favor.”
“Sure, ask away,” Fred said with a deep chuckle.
“You and Dad are pretty good friends. Isn’t that right?” Wendy drummed her fingers against the counter where the old rotary-dial phone sat.
“Yep. Right as
rain. Why do ya ask?”
“When was the last time you paid Dad a visit?”
There was a long pause.
“Fred? Are you still there?”
“Yep, I’m still here. Let’s see now … I think it was last month, when I dropped some fishin’ magazines by your house.” Wendy grimaced. Fishing magazines? Those were the last things Dad needed, since he could no longer fish. What was the point of adding fuel to the fire by reminding him of what he couldn’t do? No wonder he was trying to tie fishing flies. “Your dad and me went fishin’ a few years ago, and—” A low moan escaped Wendy’s lips as Fred began a long, detailed narration of the last time he and her dad had gone up to Plumers Creek. She was trying to figure out the best way to politely get back to the reason for her call when the front door opened, jingling the bell and announcing an unscheduled customer. Wendy turned her head toward the door, and her mouth fell open. There stood Kyle Rogers, wearing a pair of blue jeans and a red flannel shirt. He looked so manly and rugged. Kind of like one of those lumberjacks who often came into the shop—only he was much better-looking. Another distinction was the fact that none of the woodsmen wore a religious pin on their shirt pocket, announcing to the world that they were trying to live and respond to others as Jesus would.
What would Jesus do right now? Wendy mused. She forced her thoughts back to the one-way phone conversation and cleared her throat loudly. “Um, Fred—someone just came into the shop. I’ll have to call you back another time.” She hung up and slowly moved toward Kyle.
He smiled softly and ran long fingers through his thick brown hair. “Hi, Wendy. Do you have time to squeeze me in?”
“Squeeze you in?” she squeaked.
“For a shave and a haircut.” Kyle rubbed his stubbly chin and chuckled. “I’ve heard through the grapevine that you not only cut hair well but can give a really close shave.”
Was Kyle flirting with her? Well, why wouldn’t he be? Gabe did, and a few other guys seemed to think they could make a play for the town’s lady barber, too. Why should Paramedic Rogers be any different? “I was trying to get some phone calls made, but I guess I could manage a shave and haircut,” she said as politely as possible.
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