Texan for the Holidays

by Victoria Chancellor

  “Pleased to meet you,” she murmured.

  Introductions went around. People talked about the crowd, the cold weather, and the chances that the tinsel-clad peppermint sticks on the posts downtown would hold up for one more Christmas season. Scarlett ordered a Diet Coke, and everyone asked her if she’d be their designated driver. She laughed and told them that the last car she’d driven had ended up in Claude McCaskie’s garage.

  “That reminds me,” James said. “I have some information about your car situation. Would you be interested in finding a quiet place to discuss it?”

  “Uh, sure.” She wasn’t at all certain that she wanted to get up and leave with James, but she needed to know what he’d found out.

  “Folks, I’m going to update Scarlett on her car options I just found out about,” he told the table in general.

  “Sure, if that’s what they’re calling it now, go right ahead,” Venetia said with a chuckle.

  “Seriously, it’s about her car,” James claimed.

  “Don’t get all defensive. I’m just teasing,” the other stylist said.

  “It should be quiet in the back, by the pool tables,” he said, touching Scarlett’s elbow as they got up. He leaned close and said in her ear, “There are no speakers there, and almost everyone is out here, socializing.”

  She didn’t care what words he said; shivers went down her spine when she felt his breath on her neck and ear.

  They made their way to the rear of Dewey’s, James receiving greetings from people she assumed were friends and clients. He had a lot of them. She remembered how he felt about this town, and wasn’t surprised that he knew so many folks. A couple of them even commented on his hair, which made her feel good.

  He found a niche between the emergency exit and the pool cue rack. As James had predicted, few people were playing billiards. Almost everyone was in the Christmas spirit. “You have news?” she asked, leaning against the wall.

  “Claude found an engine from a junkyard just south of Dallas. The car was rear-ended a couple of years ago, so it’s not in the most pristine condition. According to the former owner, though, it worked great before the wreck.”

  “Won’t that be a lot of work, to get it into my car and make it run again?”

  “It could be. It’s one of those things—you never know how well it works until you try. These used parts don’t come with guarantees. However, Claude seems to think that he can make it work.”

  “Should I put my faith in Claude?”

  “I can’t make that decision for you,” James said earnestly. “I can only tell you that he is a good mechanic.”

  Scarlett let out a sigh of frustration and looked away. “What are my other options?”

  “Claude also looked at the car auction for a good used vehicle that might have some damage. He found two that he thought would be good for you. He thinks both of them would get you to California safely.”

  “These have been wrecked?”

  “One was hit in the side, the other needs an overhaul and some parts. Both would be about the same price as the engine for the Mercedes.”

  “I don’t know. I never learned much about cars. My dad…well, he always made those decisions. For all of us. My brother and sister don’t know anything about cars, either, not to mention my mother.”

  Her dad was such a traditionalist that he believed the man of the house needed to have all the knowledge about auto and household repairs, tools and maintenance. And if he did his job of raising children right, they’d be so successful they wouldn’t need to know about such things. That might be okay for the doctor and the accountant, but not the lowly hairdresser, who couldn’t afford to hire people to do everyday chores.

  Her dad wasn’t mean about it; he just automatically took care of everyone. Scarlett thought he was too much of a control freak. Why couldn’t he have asked if his children were interested in cars and lawns and tools?

  Not that she was interested, but still…

  “I’m no expert, but I’ll be glad to go with you to see Claude on Monday. Or hey, maybe you’d like to call and talk to your father. He might have an idea—”

  “No! I mean…well, I don’t want to tell him the Benz is on the blink. He picked out that car for my high school graduation present. It was used, but in great condition. He wanted something big and safe. He took it to get oil changes regularly and checked the tire pressure weekly. I’m telling you, he loved that car.”

  “Maybe he just loved the idea that you had a safe car.”

  Scarlett looked away, studying the design on the worn, green-and-brown carpet. “Maybe. But whatever, I don’t want to tell him that I let the engine die a quick and painful death in Texas.”

  “Whatever you feel comfortable with. I’m just here to help if you want me to.” She looked back up in time to see James smile. “Or give you a ride when you’re bored.”

  She forced herself to smile in return. “You’re a good friend. Let me think about the car situation over the weekend. I’ll go see Claude Monday morning.”

  “Okay.” James stood there in front of her, and the moment grew awkward. She felt as if she should say something else, but what? He was being friendly. Nothing more. So why did she feel as if she wanted to grab that red plaid shirt and kiss him senseless? As she stared at it, she realized the shirt had pearlized snaps, not buttons. Snaps. Oh, that was very dangerous.

  “We’d better get back to the party,” she said, before she did something stupid. “You were right—this is one event I wouldn’t want to miss.”

  “No, of course not,” he said softly, still looking at her. He shoved his hands in his pockets and stepped back. “Come on. Maybe I’ll talk you into dancing later.”

  “Maybe.” But she knew she wouldn’t dance with James tonight. Too risky. She’d find some good-natured cowboy she didn’t care about, and they’d dance and laugh. She’d be polite with James, but careful. He’d made himself clear about his priorities, and she had her own goals.

  Goals that didn’t include sticking around a small Texas town when she had a chance to make it as the next stylist to the stars in exciting L.A.

  SCARLETT HAD A NICE DAY off on Sunday, sleeping in, having breakfast at the café and then taking herself to a family-friendly movie at the old-fashioned Rialto Theater. She saw a fairly good comedy, ate red hots and drank a big Diet Coke. Most of the other theatergoers were couples with one or more children, although there were some teens. The atmosphere was so small-town, so idyllic. She wondered if she looked as out of place as she felt.

  The weather was nice, so after the movie she stopped by the little park next to James’s office and sat on a bench. This time of year, there wasn’t much foliage or any flowers except for some pansies in pots around the fountain. Several cedar trees were decorated with thin strings of popcorn and cranberries, and birds chirped and hopped among the branches.

  The scene was very peaceful, albeit lonely, but soon she felt as if someone was watching her. The windows to James’s office were dark, so he probably wasn’t working. She looked around, then up. Had one of the blinds moved upstairs? She wasn’t sure, but didn’t like the idea of strangers watching her. Suddenly, she felt very alone. Downtown Brody’s Crossing was nearly deserted on Sunday afternoon, and probably as safe as anywhere on earth. But still…She pushed herself up from the bench and reluctantly left the birds behind. She had some laundry to do, anyway.

  A couple of minutes later, she unlocked the back door of the salon and discovered chaos. Clarissa and Venetia had multiple old-fashioned dresses hanging from the door frames and from hooks around the room. Bonnets were piled on the counter by the coffeemaker. Shoes and boots littered the floor.

  “Oh, good. You’re back!” her employer said, hurrying forward and grasping Scarlett’s hands. “We need you to pick out your dress.”

  “Dress?”

  “For the Settlers Stroll this evening. Don’t tell me you forgot!”

  Actually, she had. “I thought I men
tioned that this wasn’t a good idea.”

  “We’ll have a great time,” Clarissa insisted, forging ahead.

  “You might as well give in,” Venetia said with one of her throaty chuckles. “Clarissa’s not giving up until you’re laced in.”

  That sounded uncomfortable. “But—”

  “Come on.” Clarissa grabbed Scarlett’s arm. “I have just the thing to make you shine.”

  AN HOUR LATER, the sun was setting and Scarlett was indeed laced into one of the most outrageous outfits she’d ever worn. Yards of red and purple satin, taffeta and net formed a skirt that flowed from a very fitted waist to the tops of lace-up boots. The purple bodice, equally fitted, had a round neckline accented by red sequins.

  “How’s the hat?” she asked, bending to see the whole concoction in the mirror.

  “Pretty wild,” Venetia said, checking out the arrangement of purple plumes, lace and red satin perched on Scarlett’s head. She’d combed her hair back from her forehead and tucked it behind her ears so it wouldn’t compete with the crazy hat, which was suitable for a circa 1900 Las Vegas showgirl act, if such a thing had ever existed.

  “We’ve never had such a convincing showgirl,” Clarissa said, walking back into the room with her shawl draped around her. “You look fabulous, as if you stepped out of the Dry Gulch Saloon.”

  “They’ll probably run me out of town,” Scarlett murmured, thinking of the families she’d seen at the theater. Not one potential saloon girl among them.

  “You have a warped view of this town,” Clarissa said, draping a heavy shawl around Scarlett’s shoulders. “They’re much more tolerant than you think.”

  Scarlett wasn’t sure about that. In her experience, people were threatened by anything different. But she’d just bluff her way through the situation, if necessary.

  “So, what do we do? Stroll around?” she asked.

  “We’re meeting just across the side street in front of the hardware store,” Clarissa answered, pointing out the back door with her closed fan. “Then we’re all strolling down Main Street to Memorial Park, then over to the community center for refreshments. Some of the businesses along the way will serve finger food and drinks.”

  Ordinarily, Scarlett would roll her eyes at this old-fashioned custom. She wasn’t a period-costume kind of girl. But somehow, dressing up in the saloon gown, boots and hat was kind of funky.

  “Okay, let’s go,” she said, hoping Clarissa didn’t regret hauling her along for the stroll.

  Venetia led the way. Clarissa, who looked like a friendly farmer’s wife from the late nineteenth century, hooked her arm through Scarlett’s. She leaned close and said, “Venetia told me what happened with Hailey.”

  “I hope you didn’t get any complaints about her hair.” James hadn’t shown up to give her a lecture or a warning.

  “No! I just wanted to say that you handled that so well, so sweet.”

  “Um, thanks.” Scarlett didn’t know what to say.

  “Look who’s here,” Venetia said as they stepped beneath the canopy of the farmer’s market. Old-fashioned metal lamps hung from long hooks over the windows, casting a warm glow over the assembled group.

  Scarlett looked around, her gaze drawn to one tall figure in a turn-of-the-century dark suit, hat and cravat-style tie. The standing, pointed collar of his white shirt appeared to be poking a hole in his jaw as he looked down to talk to a shorter man.

  James Brody looked good enough to make even a jaded saloon girl swoon. Scarlett slipped away from Clarissa, threw back her shoulders and sauntered up to the lawyer.

  “Hey, mister,” she said in a throaty voice. “Buy a girl a drink?”

  Chapter Six

  James couldn’t have been more shocked if a real saloon girl had time-traveled to Brody’s Crossing and materialized beside him. “Scarlett?”

  “Who else would be crazy enough to wear this outfit?” she asked, chuckling.

  “I don’t know about crazy,” he answered, “but definitely unique.” She appeared as a bright, bright rose in a field of pastel flowers.

  “Why, thank you, kind sir. That’s the nicest thing you could say.”

  He didn’t agree. Being different wasn’t a real goal of his. But Scarlett had apparently decided to be outrageous tonight, and he wasn’t going to chide her for it. “Scarlett, this is Mr. George Russell, president of the First National Bank of Brody’s Crossing.”

  James speculated that George had never seen a saloon girl before, based on the banker’s wide eyes. Or perhaps he was surprised that a conservative lawyer was friendly with a vivacious, colorful person such as Scarlett.

  She held out her hand to the stunned-looking banker. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Russell.”

  “Er, good meeting you, Miss Scarlett.”

  As soon as they shook hands, the mayor, Toni Casale, announced the start of the procession. People would walk two abreast down the sidewalk to the park. She looked very dapper in what James had been told was a lady’s walking dress.

  “I’d better find the missus,” the banker muttered, giving Scarlett another wide-eyed glance.

  James looked at her. “I guess that leaves us.”

  “Um, you’re not with anyone?”

  “Why do you ask me that?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe because you’re single and…everything.”

  He wasn’t sure what “everything” entailed. “If you don’t want to walk with me, just say so.”

  “No, I do.” Scarlett shrugged. “I just thought—”

  “Then let’s go.” He assumed she was about to make some unnecessary remark about how different they were.

  He offered his arm, and after a startled glance, she tucked her hand inside his elbow.

  James had seen Scarlett at the little park earlier in the day. She’d looked so alone sitting there, her bright red hair glistening in the winter sunlight, her hands clasped in her lap as she sat on the park bench. He’d stood in his kitchen, which faced west and overlooked the park, and wondered if he’d ever mentioned that he lived over the law office. He’d been about to go downstairs and talk to her when she’d jumped up and walked away.

  Perhaps it was just as well that he hadn’t spoken with her earlier. He would have invited her upstairs, and she might have actually accepted! And then what? Being in public with Scarlett was tempting enough, but being alone was dangerous to his peace of mind.

  His mother had also hinted that “seeing” Scarlett could hurt his reputation. He wasn’t sure about that. She was a stylist, not a criminal. Granted, she was different from other women he’d dated, but that wasn’t exactly scandalous.

  Not that he could keep people from talking…. However, not everyone in town loved to gossip. Only about half of the people on the Settlers Stroll tonight, he thought with a smile, would be talking about the saloon girl tomorrow.

  “What’s so funny?” Scarlett asked.

  “Oh, nothing. Just enjoying our walk.”

  He noticed lots of friends. Raven, dressed as an Indian princess, walked arm in arm with Troy, who hadn’t dressed up per se, but just donned cowboy apparel. Mr. and Mrs. McCall appeared stately and conservative in their “rich settlers” clothing. James recalled the look on their faces when a group of “wild Indians,” as the townsfolk called them, had swooped down Main Street about twenty years ago.

  Most people still didn’t know who, besides Wyatt, had participated in that raid. James smiled and nodded at the McCalls, remembering the fun of running wild in the street. Of course, the loincloth had been a bit chilly….

  Everyone stopped at city hall for store-bought cookies and pink punch, which was a little too sweet for his taste. Then most of the group split off to go to the hardware store, where Leo Casale, the mayor’s brother, reportedly had assorted imported chocolates.

  “Chocolates or hot chocolate?” James asked Scarlett.

  “Hmm. Hard decision. Since I’m a little cool, I’ll opt for the hot chocolate.”

  “Goo
d choice.” He steered her across Commerce Street, past the closed café. When he opened the door to a store-front, she paused.

  “Hey, this is your office.” She narrowed her eyes. “Hot chocolate isn’t your code word for ‘see my etchings,’ is it?”

  James laughed. “Absolutely not. Come in, and you’ll see. Besides, we’re well chaperoned,” he said, nodding to the group behind them.

  His mother waited inside, an urn of hot chocolate, stacks of disposable cups and Christmas napkins ready. She’d also made and decorated sugar cookies. “Hi, Mom.”

  “Hello, Mrs. Brody,” Scarlett said. “This looks really great.”

  “Thank you, Scarlett. James mentioned that you like hot chocolate,” she said, with a meaningful glance in his direction.

  His mother sometimes administered a few good jabs, but tonight he wasn’t going to take the bait.

  “The office looks nice,” he said. She had decorated the reception area with a small Christmas tree, plus a Santa and a reindeer he remembered from his childhood. The little table was covered in fake snow.

  “Thanks for taking care of this while I was at the farmers’ market,” he added. His mother hadn’t wanted to get dressed up in a costume, anyway, but James enjoyed the tradition.

  “You’re welcome. I think we have some visitors.”

  They drank hot chocolate and ate several cookies, which were much better than the store-bought ones at the city hall. Before long, it was time to meet with everyone else at the park.

  The wind had picked up while they were inside, and Scarlett moved closer, feeling chilly with just a shawl over her sleeveless dress. She didn’t know what to expect, especially when a man James identified as the minister of the community church stepped up on the concrete planter box at the end of the park.

  “Thank you for coming to the annual Settlers Stroll. This is the time during the evening when we reflect on the past and give thanks for what we have today.”

  As Scarlett listened to the man talk about the founders and their hardships, she thought about her own situation. She’d been traveling west like so many people over a hundred years ago. She’d broken down, like a horse that had gone lame or a wagon that had lost a wheel. Unlike the settlers, she had a profession, so she could work. Also unlike them, she had a fairly comfortable place to stay, people to help her, and other ways to get where she was going.