Texan for the Holidays

by Victoria Chancellor

  Scarlett fiddled with her paper napkin and rearranged the flatware on the table, then said, “It’s simple. I was on my way to California, took a wrong turn in Dallas, ended up going a different way to the I-40, and then my aging Benz broke down.”

  “How bad is it?”

  “Claude pulled the engine and is getting estimates on parts, but he thinks it’s going to be bad. Real bad. Something about a cracked piston ring.”

  “That does sound bad.”

  “Honestly, I didn’t plan to spend all my money on that car. My parents gave it to me ten years ago.” She shrugged. “I guess I thought it would just keep going forever. I probably should have traded it in, but I never got around to it, and they kept telling me how safe it is.”

  “So, what’s waiting for you in California?” Boyfriend? he wondered. She wasn’t wearing an engagement ring or anything similar. As a matter of fact, she wore lots of rings, but they all looked…casual. Like costume jewelry rather than serious jewels. Her manner of dress was also casual—very California.

  “A great opportunity. I’m starting an internship in January at a very prestigious salon in L.A. Really, it’s a once-in-a-lifetime chance.”

  She seemed so excited about her new job, and granted, working in a prestigious salon seemed like a big goal. Scarlett—whatever her real name was—fairly radiated energy. “Sounds important for you to get there.”

  “Yes, it is. I met Diego, the owner, at a hair show in Atlanta. We hit it off, basically because I knew all the great places to shop and people watch, which is his specialty. Anyway, we had a good time, he liked my work and he offered me an internship at his salon. You would not believe the client list! He does hair for some of the top movers and shakers in town.”

  As James wondered why he was mildly jealous of the people-watching Diego, Twila, who was the cousin of his eleventh-grade girlfriend, came and took their drink orders. James had a beer, and instead of something sophisticated, urbane and expensive, Scarlett ordered a diet soft drink. “Tell me you’re old enough to drink,” he teased when the waitress left.

  She laughed, a hearty, real laugh that warmed him. “Yes, I’ve been old enough for oh, about seven years now. I’m just not much of a drinker.”

  “Twenty-eight is young.”

  “And you’re what, ancient?”

  He shrugged. “No, just feels that way sometimes. I’m thirty-three, divorced, and you know this is my hometown. My mother works for me part-time in my law office.”

  “Working with a relative seems as if it could be a real disaster. You must have a good relationship.”

  As he wondered if Scarlett was thinking of her own family, he fiddled with his knife and fork. “We do. She got bored sitting around what’s left of the family ranch. She and my dad sold off most of the acreage when he retired.”

  “Ah, yes. The Brodys of Brody’s Crossing.”

  “Well, that was in the late 1800s. My mother and father worked for a living. She’s a real people person. She and I both agreed that working for me would be good. However, sometimes she’s a little too enthusiastic about getting me clients.”

  “I guess I should be glad you’re not anxious to pursue bad-hair grievances.”

  “Well, that’s a boon for me, at least. I thought you might still be angry.”

  “No, I got over that pretty quick. Besides, you’re buying me a meal. And offering something new to do. Believe me, sitting around the back room of the House of Style all night is not my idea of a rocking good time. Clarissa doesn’t even have a TV, and I’m really getting tired of easy listening, classic rock and country, country, country on the radio.”

  That did sound pretty boring. “I’m glad I can be a diversion.”

  “I didn’t mean that’s all you are,” she quickly added.

  “I didn’t take it that way. I didn’t realize how ‘stuck’ you really are. I can’t imagine not having a car to get where you want to go.”

  She nodded. “I need to find an apartment and get settled in L.A. before Christmas.”

  “I know you want to go to California, but it must be hard being away from your family during the holidays.” How many people could give up Christmas in order to start over in a strange town? That had to be difficult. “Oh, not as much as you might expect,” she said, spreading her paper napkin on her lap. “I have a sister and a brother to fill in the gap, plus my sister-in-law is pregnant. And trust me, the parents are much happier to talk about the doctor, the accountant and the upcoming grandchild than they are talking about the ‘hairdresser.’”

  “But they’re your family! Do you really think they’re disappointed in you?”

  She shrugged. “I do. I’m a hairdresser—they can’t remember that I’m a stylist—in a perfect suburban family of overachievers. It’s not something they brag about.”

  What could he say to that? James had a hard time imagining a family that wasn’t supportive, because his parents had always been loving, even when he’d done some rather stupid things in high school. Darn his best friend, Wyatt. That boy could have talked a saint into sinning! But when Wyatt had left for Stanford, James had gone to UT Austin and cleaned up his act to get into law school.

  He understood goals, which Scarlett had, even if the goal wasn’t something her parents considered important.

  “Do you like Atlanta?” he asked.

  She shrugged again. “It’s okay. It’s kind of traditional, you know?”

  James was saved from asking what was so wrong with tradition as Twila came to take their dinner orders. “What can I get you?” she asked.

  Scarlett folded her menu. “I’ll have the meat loaf with mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans, and a salad with ranch. Oh, and two dinner rolls, please.”

  James smiled, thinking of her petite figure and her big appetite. “I’ll have the sirloin, medium, baked potato, and a salad with blue cheese.” He looked at Scarlett. “Are you sure you don’t want a steak?”

  “No, I have a real craving for meat loaf tonight.”

  “Comfort food?”

  She rearranged her knife and fork again. “Something like that.”

  SCARLETT LEANED BACK against the leather seat of James’s sporty red SUV. She’d been surprised earlier that his vehicle was red, but hadn’t made any snappy remarks. She was trying to be on her best behavior, since the man had bought her a meal, and she was way too bored to go back to the salon early if she insulted him accidentally.

  He’d told her that he’d really just wanted to make up for making her angry, for letting their conversation in back of the salon get out of hand. The way she remembered it, she’d been the one who’d accelerated that conflict, but he had made her angry with what he saw as a reasonable suggestion. She still didn’t see why he’d put himself in the middle of the hair wars between her and her clients.

  She sighed, and didn’t realize he’d heard until he asked, “Are you okay?”

  “Sure. I’m just thinking.” She sat up straighter. “Hey, look at those Christmas lights! That’s really cool.” A whole herd of white-light reindeer stood on a small lawn where all the bushes and trees sported multicolored lights.

  “You probably haven’t seen any of our Christmas lights, have you? Would you like to drive around a little?”

  “That would be great!” She definitely wasn’t ready to face another boring night of country-and-western Christmas tunes on the FM radio at the salon.

  James turned left off the road that led downtown from Dewey’s, onto a smaller residential street. “Lots of families around here go all-out to decorate their homes for the holidays. Sometimes you can see the lights from hundreds of yards away, when the houses sit far back from the road.”

  He cruised slowly down the street, which was lined with normal-size yards and houses.

  “I love the icicle lights that hang down from the eaves and gutters,” she said, leaning close to the window. Since the temperature was fairly mild, her breath barely made a frosty spot on the glass.
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br />   When she was a little girl, she would breathe on the glass on purpose and write with her finger. Her parents were not amused, since they’d paid someone to wash the car and clean the interior. She got in trouble even after she started writing her sister’s name on the glass, which apparently didn’t fool anyone, since her sister was too much of a goody-two-shoes to deface clean car windows.

  “Oh, look, multicolored icicle lights. I like those.”

  “You would,” James said.

  She heard the smile in his voice and glanced at him. His profile was nearly as perfect as his face. His hair still looked adorably ruffled, as if he’d rolled out of bed and run his fingers through it.

  Which, of course, hadn’t been her intention when she’d cut it earlier. Had it?

  “Why did you say that? Do you know me so well already?”

  “I know that the traditional icicle lights are white, so naturally you’d like the most colorful ones. Tell me if I’m wrong.”

  She settled back against the seat. “No, you’re right. I’m a rebel without a cause.”

  “Maybe you don’t have a cause, but you have a goal, and that’s just as important.”

  She sat up a little straighter. “I suppose you’re right! Even if other people don’t understand or agree with me, it’s my goal, and darn it, I will get to California.”

  “I never doubted it for a second. And,” he said, slowing the car and looking over at her, “I really wouldn’t have filed a lawsuit and kept you in town. I only said that because you…well, you irritated me for a moment.”

  “I never seriously thought you would. Oh, you might think about it. You might even mentally plan the whole thing. But I didn’t think you’d go through with it.”

  “You know me that well?”

  She shrugged. “Seems that way. Now, let’s find some more Christmas lights before they roll up the sidewalks in this town.”

  James laughed and turned left at the end of the street. Scarlett smiled into the darkness, blew on the glass and wrote his initials with her finger. However, unlike when she was just a kid, she didn’t draw a heart around them. That would be just too stupid, since in a couple of days she’d be out of here.

  But she wanted to…

  ON WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON Claude McCaskie called and asked Clarissa if Scarlett could walk over to the service station. Since she didn’t have any customers then, Scarlett skedaddled out the door, hoping like heck that the man would have good news.

  “Tell me you’ve found the parts,” she said, breathless from nearly-jogging in her high-heeled boots.

  “Nope,” Claude replied. “The places I usually get reasonably priced parts from in Fort Worth don’t have any piston rings for that engine, and I’m runnin’ out of options.”

  “No! I really need to get my car fixed.”

  Claude shook his head. “I’ve got one more place to check in Dallas. Now, the problem is, the rings they get might be really used, if you get my drift.”

  “I know we were trying to save money. That’s the only way I can afford the repairs.”

  “Just so you know. But I don’t want to leave you stranded again beside the highway. There might not be another town so close by.”

  That was true. She was nearly to the most desolate part of her trip, out through the uninhabited Wild West lands of New Mexico and Arizona. “Could you try? Maybe they can find slightly used parts.”

  “Missy, ain’t nothin’ slightly used on an old engine like this unless it was wrecked right off the bat. But I’m tryin’.”

  “I appreciate it, Claude,” she answered, trying not to seem too dejected.

  “If I can’t find them parts, do you want me to look into new ones? It’s gonna cost a lot more, but they’d be a lot more reliable.”

  Scarlett sighed. “Get me a price and I’ll see what I can afford.”

  “You could always see what you’d get for junk.”

  “Junk?”

  “For the Mercedes. At the junkyard or the auction.”

  She felt her eyes widen and the breath leave her lungs. Just for a moment. “No, I can’t do that.” Not yet. The Benz was still in good shape. It was just those pesky piston rings. Surely people didn’t trash their perfectly good cars because of something so small.

  So darn hard to find!

  Besides, the car was her link to her past. Okay, to her family. They’d given it to her. It didn’t seem right to practically throw it away.

  “’Course, we could try for a new engine. Well, not new, but with less miles. New to this car.”

  “Oh, that’s an idea. How much is a new engine?”

  “Probably about the same as new rings, but I ’spect we’d be able to find an engine. I can get some prices.”

  “Thanks, Claude. Call me when you have news. You know where I’ll be.”

  “I surely do,” he replied with an irritating chuckle.

  Scarlett left the service station and pulled her hoodie close around her. The wind was picking up again, but it wasn’t too cold. The sun shone on the silver tinsel and candy canes along the main street, pulling her eye toward the two-story building on the next block. The one next to the little park, which she hadn’t visited. Yet.

  With resolve to get out of her funky mood, she set off for downtown Brody’s Crossing. Maybe she should visit a park. Or a lawyer who had an office right beside one.

  JAMES LOOKED UP FROM reading a brief when his door opened, then closed. He wasn’t expecting anyone. He hoped no one had any more bad-hair cases.

  “Hello?”

  He recognized Scarlett’s voice and pushed back from his desk immediately. “In here.”

  She appeared at the doorway to his office, her cheeks nearly as red as her hair. She seemed even more disheveled than usual, as if she’d battled the wind all the way down the street.

  “You look cold. Can I make you some coffee?”

  “Do you have hot chocolate?” she asked, blowing into cupped hands.

  “Let’s check.” He walked toward her and she scooted back, out of the doorway, so he could pass. She obviously didn’t want to make contact.

  He felt her presence as he hunkered down in front of the cabinet where the coffeemaker and microwave perched next to the mini-refrigerator. “Looks like you’re in luck. My mother keeps the cabinet well stocked with almost anything a client or potential client would want.”

  “Great. Clarissa keeps the coffee going all day, and I’ve had enough to keep me awake until January.”

  James chuckled as he filled the coffee carafe at the small sink. “I think this hot water will be okay for the hot chocolate.”

  “Or I could make it in the microwave. I’m not picky as long as I get warmed up.” Scarlett rubbed her hands together as if emphasizing her words. “I wish I was already in California.”

  He didn’t say anything, and she must have understood how her statement sounded, because she added, “Oh, not that I’m not enjoying your company, but weatherwise…”

  “I understand. It’s difficult for a small Texas town to compete with sun and surf. Not to mention mud slides, brush fires and earthquakes.”

  “Very funny. Those are rare occurrences.”

  “Here’s some hot chocolate to warm you until you can get past those burning hills to the sunny beaches.”

  “You’re a bundle of joy, aren’t you? Just what I needed to cheer me up after talking to Claude McCaskie.” She accepted the white mug, wrapping it in her slender hands with the bright red nail polish on her fairly short nails. “But thanks for the hot chocolate.”

  “I’m just joking with you.” Sort of. He wasn’t a big fan of California. He’d gone to a legal conference out there and had ended up stuck in traffic, confined to his hotel due to dangerous smoke in the air, and then had a flight delay after a small earthquake. Of course, the beach had been spectacular. Not to mention the beautiful, tanned California girls in bikinis. “Did Claude have some news about your car repairs?”

  “No real news,�
�� Scarlett said with a sigh. She updated James on the conversation she’d just had with the mechanic, even the part about getting rid of the Benz.

  “So he mentioned junking it?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about it.” She turned away and walked around the office. “It’s cozy in here. I like the exposed brick wall.”

  “I do, too. This is one of the oldest brick buildings in town, built in the 1920s. Many of the original, frame structures burned after a particularly civic minded prohibitionist set fire to the local honky-tonk.”

  “Hmm, sounds like they could have used a good lawyer.”

  “Maybe. I’m not sure if there was one back then. Come to think of it, my predecessor could have been practicing then. He was pretty old when he passed on last year.”

  “Is that when you moved back to town?”

  “My parents became ill. My father first, and then my mother, from taking care of him. I knew I needed to move back here, even with their friends in town helping out. I was married at the time, and things got complicated.”

  “Your wife didn’t want to move?”

  “That’s right. How did you know?”

  “I’m a stylist. Women tell me things. One of the biggest stresses in a marriage is when one of the spouses either gets transferred or decides to move. They think the other one will go along, but find out their partner doesn’t feel the same way. I see it from both sides—women who want to transfer and expect their husbands to understand, and women who are in peril of being uprooted when their husbands take a new job.”

  “I thought Babs and I agreed on the importance of family, and had discussed the advantages of raising a family in the country.”

  “Your wife was named Babs?”

  “That was her nickname.”

  “Hmm.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Nothing,” Scarlett replied, setting her empty mug down in the sink. “You know, discussing the relative merits of country versus city life is a lot different than actually moving.”

  “I found that out the hard way.”

  “Do you miss her?”