Rebecca’s call-waiting beeped before she could answer. “Hang on a sec,” she said and hit the flash button. “Hello?”
“Rebecca?”
It was her father. She sat up and shook another cigarette out of the package, knowing instinctively she’d need one. “Yeah?”
“I just talked to Josh Hill.”
She froze mid-motion. “Why do I get the feeling that comment is somehow related to me?”
“Because it is. I asked him to call a truce between the two of you.”
Rebecca stuck the unlit cigarette in her mouth and found her lighter. “You didn’t,” she said, speaking around it.
“I did.” A brief, unhappy hesitation. “Are you smoking again? I thought you’d quit.”
Dropping her lighter in her lap, she quickly pulled the cigarette from her mouth. “I have.”
“I hope so. That’s such a nasty habit.”
“Why did you call Josh, Dad? There’s no reason to ask for a truce.”
“After what happened at Delia’s wedding?”
“That was an accident. We haven’t done anything to each other on purpose for years.” Barring the night they’d gone to Josh’s place from the Honky Tonk, of course. They’d done a few things to each other then—and would probably have done a lot more if they hadn’t been interrupted. But that night didn’t count. Feverish groping didn’t fall in the same category as their earlier dealings.
“I’m tired of being afraid to have you two in the same room,” her father replied.
“Is that what you told him?”
“That’s what I told him.”
“And he said…” Rebecca toyed nervously with her lighter, flipping the lid open, closed, open, closed. Click, click…click, click.
“He agreed to let the past go.”
“He did?”
“That’s what I just said, isn’t it? Now, what do you say?”
Click, click…click, click.
Words were cheap, Rebecca decided. Why not let her father feel as though his intervention had solved everything? “Okay.”
“Okay, what?”
“Okay, we’re calling a truce.”
“Good.” Her father sounded inordinately pleased. “I told him I could convince you.”
“You’ve done a bang-up job, Dad. Is that all?”
“Not quite.”
Rebecca hesitated, fearing she hadn’t heard the worst of it yet. “What do you mean by that?”
“As a gesture of good faith, he’s stopping by the salon tomorrow for a haircut.”
Rebecca coughed as though she’d just swallowed a bug. When she could speak, she said, “But he always gets his hair cut at the barbershop.”
“Not tomorrow. Tomorrow he’s coming to you. He’ll be there at ten. Good night.”
“Wait,” she cried. “I can’t cut his hair.”
“Why not?” her father asked, his voice now gruff. “You agreed to the truce, remember?”
Collecting her cigarettes and lighter, Rebecca stood and began to pace across the small porch. “Of course I remember, but…but tomorrow’s Saturday. I’m booked solid.”
“Not at ten in the morning you’re not.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I was your first appointment, and I just gave him my slot.”
Her heart sank. “You sure you want to do that, Dad?”
“Positive.”
“But this is crazy. How does my cutting Josh’s hair cement this…little truce of yours?”
“Consider it a trial run for the anniversary party. If you two can get through tomorrow without killing each other, we’ll all breathe a little easier.”
Rebecca propped the phone on one shoulder and shoved a hand through her new Ashley Judd hairstyle, frantically trying to think of some way out. But her father didn’t give her a chance to argue further. He surprised her by saying, “You’re doing the right thing, Beck. And stay away from those damn cigarettes.” Then he hung up.
Shocked, she blinked into the dark yard for several seconds, not knowing what to think.
“Was that Buddy?” Delaney asked as soon as she switched back over.
“It was my father.”
“Everything okay?”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“Why?” Delaney asked. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m supposed to cut Josh Hill’s hair tomorrow.”
Silence met this statement, followed by, “You’re kidding, right? Josh is going to put himself at your mercy when you’ve got a pair of scissors in your hands?”
Rebecca bit her lip and sighed as she headed back inside the house. “I guess we’ll see, huh?”
CHAPTER THREE
REBECCA GLANCED NERVOUSLY through Hair And Now’s large front window as the clock ticked inexorably toward ten. The weather was cool and clear with a slight breeze—another perfect autumn day. Not many people were out and about yet, but Saturdays typically started slow at this end of town. Three blocks away at the bakery, there’d be a crowd wanting coffee, donuts and muffins. Starbucks might be taking over the planet, but the citizens of Dundee still patronized Don and Tami’s Bakery.
Maybe Josh wouldn’t show, Rebecca thought hopefully, noting the dearth of traffic. If he stood her up, she could shrug when she next saw her father and say, “I was perfectly willing to make peace, Dad, but he never arrived.” And then she’d look innocent for a change.
Perfect. She smiled as she began readying her station with rods and tissues for the permanent wave she’d be giving at eleven, imagining the look of disappointment on her father’s face if for once Josh failed him. This whole truce thing could end up working in her favor. She could feign disappointment in his stubborn refusal to put the past behind them and—
The bell rang over the door, causing Rebecca’s daydream to dissipate. She knew without turning that Josh had arrived. The murmur that ran from Katie, the other stylist, to Mona, the manicurist, to Nancy Shepherd, who was having her nails done, would have told Rebecca even if her sixth sense did not.
But her sixth sense was working just fine. Somehow she could always tell when Josh was around. He made her feel clumsy, nervous, unattractive.
No wonder she didn’t like him. Anyway, despite her wishful thinking, she’d known all along that he’d appear. He’d never been one to back down from a challenge.