by Becki Willis
With a gleeful smile that should have made her client nervous, the young stylist set to work. Madison saw lock after lock of dark hair fall to the floor, but she refused to feel panic. With all the other changes in her life, why not change her look, as well? At least this change was of her own making.
As Madison closed her eyes and drew in deep, relaxing breaths, bits and pieces of conversation floated her way. Her ears perked up, even as she pretended nonchalance.
“I’m telling you, that new Ngyen boy did it. My Harold saw the fight they had, just a few nights before. Said that new Ngyen kept yelling ‘I kill you!’.”
“But why would he want to kill poor Ronny?” asked Deanna Gleason as she styled the other woman’s hair.
“Money, pure and simple. Ronny bought something from the new Ngyens and never paid them for it. Apparently he turned around and made a small fortune on whatever it was, and the new Ngyen boy wanted his share of the profit.”
“What was it?” Deanna asked in hushed wonder.
Madison could not hear the woman’s shrug, but she imagined it in her mind. “Beats me,” the woman said.
“I know for a little while Ronny seemed to have money to spare. He bought Ramona that fancy SUV and sent her off for another one of her ‘spa’ treatments. But about a week before he died, he was out at the house asking Cal for a loan. We didn’t have a penny to spare, not after new braces for little Calvin and all that new tack Trisha needed for Ranch Rodeo.”
As the conversation drifted toward Deanna’s daughter, Madison tuned out the conversation. She dared a peek into the mirror and gulped. There was much less hair than before.
“Don’t worry, I’m not through yet,” the stylist assured her. “You’re going to look fabulous when I get done!”
“Fabulous may not be possible, but I’ll settle for different.”
“With your bone structure and long neck, this style is going to be perfect. Trust me.”
A few more snips, and the stylist pulled out the blow dryer. As she worked with a round brush to style her hair, she gave Madison pointers on how to hold the brush and where to direct the blower’s heat, but she turned Madison’s back to the mirror as she finished. After stepping back and scrutinizing her work, the stylist made one more snip, trimmed the back of Madison’s neck with a razor blade, and added a fine mist of hair spray. She had a triumphant smile on her face as she whirled the chair around and presented Madison with the image in the mirror.
The woman looking back at Madison was much too elegant to be her. The simple new bob hairstyle looked anything but simple. Short in the back and stacked to fall forward at a point just below her chin, the layers added softness to her angular face. Her neck looked long and elegant, her high cheekbones more finely chiseled. Her nose looked smaller and her eyes looked larger. Large and luminous. Without the split ends and sun damage, her hair looked darker and healthier.
Madison tugged on the pointed lock of hair at her chin, just to make certain it was her image she saw. “I-I can’t believe it!” she breathed in awe. “I look so - so-” She broke off, at a loss for words.
The stylist was quick to offer a supply. “Gorgeous? Elegant? Sophisticated? You look all of that and more.”
“D-Different. I look different.”
“Don’t you just love it?” the girl squealed happily.
Madison had to smile and be honest. “I do.”
She left the stylist a generous tip. It would have been enough to treat herself to dinner out tonight, since she would be home alone. But she needed time to adjust to her new look, before she sported it in public.
And besides, the girl deserved the tip. She had worked magic, after all.
Madison came home to a quiet house. A note from Bethani said the teen had come and gone and was now off to her friend’s house. Blake would be out until eleven, and there was no telling what time Granny Bert would be in. She was out with Miss Sybil and a couple of other friends, catching a movie and dinner in College Station. Which meant Madison had a nice, quiet evening of solitude.
She fixed herself a Lean Cuisine frozen dinner, the only way she could afford a chef-inspired meal these days. When she caught them on sale, it was cheaper to serve the frozen meals to her family than to buy ingredients for a full meal. Even serving Blake two portions, it only took a tossed salad and a loaf of crusty bread to turn the frozen entrees into an economical meal for four. If Granny insisted on one of her smoothies, the count was only three.
There was a nip in the air tonight, perfect for snuggling on the porch by the chiminea. Madison pulled a jacket on over her faithful tee shirt and flannel sleep pants, gathered a quilt and her e-reader, and went out to the porch with a bottle of wine. The light from her reader gave off just the right amount of light, without the harsh glare of the porch bulb.
She read a full chapter before she set the book aside and concentrated on her wine. Every so often, she would rake her fingers through the ends of her hair, unaccustomed to the short nap on her neck. Gray would hate this new style, making her love it all the more.
Thoughts of Gray made her heart ache. Only forty-one, he was taken far too early in life. His death left her with a hollow feeling inside. Though she no longer loved him as a wife should love her husband, some part of her still loved him. He was the father of her children, after all, and once upon a time their marriage had been good. When she pushed aside the anger and the betrayal, she still felt the heartache of his death.
The telephone rang, making her worry it might be an alarm. The last thing she wanted tonight was to go back out to the farm. But the caller I.D. showed an unknown caller. She picked up, hoping it was another job inquiry.
Silence greeted her on the other end of the line. When she repeated her greeting, a hoarse voice whispered, “Go home.”
“I-I beg your pardon?”
“Go home. You don’t belong here.” With that, there was silence.
Frowning down at the phone in her hand, Madison tried to make sense of the call. Was it the same person who tried to run her off the road? But why? And who? Who wanted her to leave Juliet that badly?
Brash looked down at the file in his hand, debating what to do with it. The background check on Madison Cessna Reynolds had come back, making for some interesting reading.
He now had proof she was not some heart-broken widow, come home to heal her shattered heart. She had filed for divorce two years ago, then dropped the suit. Private sources confirmed the marriage had never been the same after that, merely a shell for the sake of the children. Grayson Reynolds owned his own investment company, but a series of problems —the sinking stock market, a series of bad investments, accusations of a ponzi scheme— left the company in shambles, even before his death. After his death, Madison had all but lost what was left of their life in the city. She sold the house for a loss, managed to pay off debts with his paltry life insurance policy, and came home to Juliet, the only place she could afford. From what he could see, Madison Reynolds was broke.
Okay, so she was not a grieving widow. Propriety said he should still respect the traditional mourning period, if for no other reason than to keep tongues from wagging. The last thing Maddy needed was to have her name drug through the mud here in The Sisters. Looked like that had already happened in Dallas, he thought, judging from the other information he had discovered.
Pushing the file deep into the pile on his desk, Brash reached for the folder he kept on Ronny Gleason’s death. All the details were there, but he felt like something was missing. What little information he had gathered pointed in the direction of Don Ngyen, but his gut told him the Vietnamese man was innocent.
Brash felt certain there was more to the gambling angle than what he knew. Rumor had it that organized crime was involved, but the ties were unclear. Some people insisted it was the Las Vegas mafia, one informant claimed it was Clyde Underwood trying to make a name for himself, still others insisted Tom Haskell was running the entire operation from the state pen. He was fai
rly certain Underwood would never resort to murder, but he could hardly say the same for the other two.
From what he understood, Ronny Gleason bought fighting roosters from both the Ngyens and Pedro Gonzales. It was unclear if he organized the cockfights himself or simply entered his roosters as contestants, but either way, he bet heavily on the outcome of each fight. On the Friday night before his death, he accused Don Ngyen of cheating, insisting the Vietnamese kept his best rooster for himself, to enter in the fight against Ronny’s cocks.
Even though he wanted to think the young man was innocent, there was a lot of circumstantial evidence against him. If his part in the cockfighting ring was discovered, he would be in trouble with both the law and Barbour Foods. If Ronny Gleason threatened to reveal his involvement, the man might have felt murder was the only way to ensure his silence.
Rolling scenarios around in his head, Brash still could not make Don Ngyen fit the profile of a killer. He knew the County Sheriff was pushing to send the case to the DA; elections were coming up and he wanted the case settled and done. Which meant if he was going to come up with any other suspects, Brash had to do it soon.
He fingered the latest item added to the file, the photo of a burned out pick-up truck. No doubt it was the one that hit Maddy. He had it in the file because his gut told him that somehow the accident and Gleason’s death were tied together. Somehow her innocent questions around town threatened someone enough to make them attempt murder, proving in his mind that the man sitting in the county jail was innocent.
Which left the murderer still running free, and with his sights set on Maddy.
Maddy, with her long hair and long lean body and long killer legs. The girl who once had a not-so-secret crush on him. The girl he wanted to date but never quite got around to asking out. The girl who later dated his friend. The girl who was no longer a girl, but a very beautiful, vulnerable woman. Maddy.
He thought about the day that he first saw her, when he thought the years had not been kind to her. What a fool he had been. Maddy was as beautiful and graceful as ever; more so, really. Her trim figure had matured, widening her hips just enough to make them irresistible. Some men preferred breasts, like the over-large pair Ramona Gleason flaunted in his face, but Brash had always been a sucker for full hips and rounded butts. Now that she had filled out a little, Maddy Cessna Reynolds was just about perfect.
Snapping the file shut, Brash grabbed his cowboy hat and headed for the door, before his mind could convince him it was a bad idea.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Madison tried to regain the feeling of serenity the call had interrupted. Even though the evening temperatures were dropping, the warmth from the chiminea and the wine kept her feeling toasty, inside and out. She wasn’t going to cower beneath the threatening tone of the call, not when she wasn’t ready to go in yet.
She saw the police cruiser pull up in front of the house. The overhead streetlights reflected in the colorful bar across its cab, casting a brief arc of red and blue as the car rolled to a stop alongside the curb. Maddy watched as Brash got out of the car, settled his cowboy hat atop his head, and ambled up to the porch. He had the swagger of a man sure of himself and his lot in life. Before she could stop herself, Madison admired that trait in him. Heavens knew she had no such assurance in her own life.
Brash bounded up the steps and stopped outside the front door. He did not see her there in the shadows. Madison watched as he positioned his hand to knock, then hesitated. After a long moment of silent debate, he pulled his big fist away. He turned to retrace his steps, his demeanor not quite so confident now.
The smoke from the chiminea wafted his way, hinting at her presence on the porch. He turned, and his eyes found hers in the darkness.
Something in Madison’s mind warned this might not be the best idea. She was working on her second glass of wine, and she had never believed in the dainty portions they doled out at restaurants. And Brash had clearly come here for a reason, even if he had changed his mind before he knocked on her door.
“Hey,” he said quietly.
“Hey.”
He made no move to come toward her. She offered no invitation. After a terse moment of silence, she finally spoke. “You needed something, Chief?”
He seemed relieved to have a reason to be there. Her reference to his official title was the only catalyst he needed to wheel about and proceed into the shadows of the porch. By silent agreement, she moved the edge of the quilt and he took a seat beside her on the swing.
“I have news about the truck that rammed you the other night,” he told her as he sat. He was grateful for the groan of metal chains and wooden slats, for it helped disguise the creak of popping joints.
“Oh?”
“We found a vehicle matching its description about fifteen miles out of town, out on County Road 497.”
“Minus a license plate, I’m sure.”
“And no VIN number. The cab had been set on fire, destroying any fingerprints or evidence we might could recover. But there was front-end damage and silver paint along the bumper, the same color as your SUV.”
“So now what?” Madison asked.
“The Sheriff’s department is going around the general area, asking if anyone recognizes the vehicle. Maybe someone will come forward with information.”
Madison tugged the quilt closer around her, suddenly chilled. “But it’s doubtful.”
“It’s worth a try.”
“I had a strange call just before you got here.” She relayed the details to him.
Even though it was useless, he grabbed her phone and checked the caller identification. “And you’re still sitting out here in the dark? You should be in there with your family.”
“No one’s home this evening.”
“Then what are you doing out here all alone?” he chided.
The wine made her smile a bit more saucy than it should have been. “I’m not alone. You’re here.”
She saw him frown as he looked down at the phone and stubbornly punched redial. No one answered, just as they both expected. Madison finally took the phone from his hands and advised him to give up.
“Hey, your hair is different,” he said, catching a better glimpse of it through the glow of her phone’s screen.
“Yeah, I thought it was time to try something new.” She ran timid fingers through the shortened length.
“It looks good.” The phone’s backlight timed out, enveloping them in darkness once again. Brash shifted on the swing, just enough to set its chains aflutter. The same flutter echoed in Madison’s chest as he stretched his arm out along the seat behind her. “You look good, Maddy,” he said, his voice as warm and inviting as the quilt that engulfed her.
“Thank you.”
It was the stuff her high-school dreams were made of. Sitting alone in the dark with Brash deCordova, his arm practically around her, the spicy scent of his cologne filling her nose as the spicy pull of the man filled her senses.
He’s married, a little voice whispered in her mind.
Madison tried to shift away, but for the life of her, she seemed to have melted, right there beside him on the porch swing.
His hand came out to toy with her hair. “I like it,” he said. “You look stunning.”
Stunning. Brash deCordova called her stunning. Madison knew she had no right to feel such pleasure at the compliments of a married man, but the words left her with a warm glow.
If she were being honest with herself, hadn’t that been part of the reason she had gotten this impromptu haircut? Seeing Shannon again brought out all her old insecurities, the ones that somehow haunted every grown-up teenage girl to some degree. Madison told herself she was being ridiculous, that she was a mature woman, a widow and mother of two, with no time for the petty competition of her youth. And, really, what competition was there? Shannon had won. Shannon had married the man of Madison’s foolish high school dreams.
Yet one glimpse of Shannon’s perfect image and Madison
knew she had to do something. The look in Brash’s eyes that first day, when she had been covered in chicken poop and worse, still haunted her memory and made her ego smart. And if she were still being honest, it was the same way Gray’s lack of interest these past two years still stung her pride. Gray quit complementing her long ago, perhaps when he quit noticing how she looked.
Her pleasure at Brash’s words, she told herself, was less about vanity and more about validation.
So why, then, did her voice come out so husky when she whispered, “Thank you.”
“Maddy.” Brash breathed her name on an exhaled breath, as he moved closer in. His hand found the curve of her shoulder as he gently squeezed his fingers.
That second glass of wine was making her reflexes slow. Madison knew she should jerk away from his touch. And she would. Just as soon as she could make herself move.
Being kissed by Brash was something she dreamed of her entire freshman year. Even after he went away to college and she started dating Matthew, there was still a part of her that had a crush on the mighty football player. As the years passed, she had all but forgotten about the man, but it had only taken coming home to Juliet, sleeping in her old bed, seeing the same old familiar faces and places, to make her feel like that young girl again. Foolish dreams and all.
Madison moistened her lips nervously. This was the moment she had always dreamed of, the moment she still wanted to happen, even after all these years. All she had to do was lift her face. Lift her face and move in a fraction of an inch. Her dreams were within her reach.
But it could not happen. Would not happen. He was a married man.
“No, Brash,” she mumbled. Gathering her wits about her at last, Madison pulled back and said more forcefully, “No! This is wrong!”
To his credit, he snapped his arm down to his side and his demeanor immediately changed. “I’m sorry, Maddy,” he said with all sincerity. “I know your husband has only been gone for a few months. I meant no disrespect.”