Second Chances (Nugget Romance 3) (8 page)

The problem was handling the woman and not letting her make him wish for things that he couldn’t have.

“J
eez, how much longer do we have to do this?” Darla whispered to Harlee as she tried to hold her downward dog position.

“Suck it up, girlfriend. You’re the one who thought it was a good idea to sign up.”

“I need exercise,” Darla said. “I’m like a total gut queen. All I’ve done since I’ve gotten here is eat.” Because every day was snack day in Nugget. She hadn’t had one client since Griffin. Not unless you counted the blue-hair who’d wanted Darla to shampoo and comb out her shih tzu. So she ate out of boredom. Out of frustration.

Pam, the too-perky yoga instructor, had the class move into a downward-dog split. “Not you, Maddy.” Apparently, pregnant women weren’t supposed to do downward dogs of any kind. Darla suddenly wished she were pregnant.

“For the rest of you, I want to see that leg straight up in the air.” Pam demonstrated like she was a freakin’ contortionist.

“I swear I’ll kill her,” Darla said, and Harlee began to laugh.

“You girls okay back there?” Pam asked, and told everyone to assume the dolphin pose.

Darla nodded as she brought her forearms to the ground and stuck her ass up in the air.

“I’m going back there with them.” Donna Thurston picked up her mat and lined it up next to Harlee’s and Darla’s. “What’s so funny?”

Harlee started to laugh again, this time so hard Darla thought she might choke.

“You’re going to get us kicked out of the class,” Darla muttered.

There were a few titters at the front of the studio from Maddy and Emily. Soon everyone in the class, except for the instructor, was laughing like hyenas. It reminded Darla of when she’d been in grade school and had to leave class for getting the giggles.

“For God’s sake,” Pam said. “Should we call it a day?”

“Hell yes,” Donna said.

“Fine.”

“I’m sorry,” Harlee said. “I don’t know what came over me. I really didn’t mean to interrupt the class.”

Pam brushed her apology off with a wave. “Don’t worry, it happens sometimes.”

Maddy and Emily were wiping tears off their faces, trying to control themselves. The rest of the women sat cross-legged on their mats while Pam did a few quick stretches. Darla was a little awestruck by how limber the woman was. She had to be in her forties, though you’d never know it from her body. Or from her stamina. Darla had seen Pam many times running herd over half a dozen little girls in tutus. It probably beat running herd over five obnoxious adults who couldn’t keep from getting the giggles.

“You and Clay pick a date yet?” Donna broke the silence.

“June,” Emily said, and her whole face lit up. “We’re doing it at the ranch, under a big white tent with lots of good food.”

“And an open bar, right?” Donna scooted closer to Emily.

“Yep,” Emily said, and Darla had never seen anyone look so happy. “Maddy and Sophie will have had their babies by then. Lots of babes at this shindig.”

“Let’s do something at the inn,” Maddy said. “A shower or a bachelorette party, where we can take all the rooms and have a sleepover. My gift to the bride.”

“Ooh, I like it,” Pam said.

“I’ll burger us, compliments of the Bun Boy,” Donna chimed in. “Gracie and Ethel will want in, too.”

“Of course,” Emily said. “We can’t have a party without the entire Baker’s Dozen.”

Darla knew that the Baker’s Dozen was a local cooking club. Maybe she and Harlee should join. God knew she could use some cooking lessons. She and her dad pretty much lived on frozen fish he’d caught. It was the only thing Owen seemed to know how to make and she was getting serious steelhead and salmon fatigue.

“I could do all of your hair,” she exclaimed, wanting so badly to fit in. But her offer was met with silence.

And more silence.

Harlee came to the rescue. “Darla is an amazing stylist. Did you guys see the fabulous cut she gave Griffin Parks?”

Harlee hadn’t even met Griffin yet. She only knew about his haircut because Darla had told her. Of course she’d meet him when they attended his open house at Sierra Heights on Saturday. Darla had volunteered her and Harlee to help show the models. Afterward they planned to go bowling.

“You cut Griff’s hair?” Maddy asked, obviously sensing the awkwardness in the air.

“Mm-hmm,” Darla said, wanting to change the subject before she felt completely humiliated.

“Have you seen all the great hair products she carries now?” Harlee asked, pimping Darla like she was Paul Mitchell. She loved Harlee for her loyalty, but her gushing rang a little desperate. For Darla.

“What brands do you carry?” Donna seemed genuinely interested.

Darla ticked off lines Donna had never heard of. Most of her products were new on the market. Only very contemporary metropolitan salons carried them. The companies were pretty snotty about whose shelves their items went on. Luckily, she’d become friendly with quite a few reps during her internship and they’d been willing to let her sell their merchandise in the barbershop.

Darla couldn’t help but run her hands through Donna’s hair. “You could use a little moisture. Your ends are brittle from color treatments.” The color was good, but she needed a protein treatment, and fast.

She could feel Donna bristle and wished she’d kept her mouth shut.

“How does mine feel?” Emily asked, leaning her head toward Darla.

Better than Donna’s
. “Fine. But make sure you’re only applying your conditioner from the ears down. Not on the scalp. That makes your hair dull.”

“Really?” Emily said, and the other women gathered closer.

“I switch my shampoo brand every six to eight months,” Pam said, clearly wanting validation.

“That’s important,” Darla said. “Also try to use milder shampoos—something with a lot of fatty acids and protein.”

“Darla knows everything about this stuff,” Harlee bragged.

“The thing is,” Donna said, “we all get our hair done in Reno at a place I’ve been going to for fifteen years.”

“I totally understand.” It was starting to look to Darla like if she wanted to make inroads in this town it would have to be with the male population. Her dad’s old clients. Basically, all that time she’d spent studying at a fancy salon would be wasted on giving ranchers and railroad workers buzz cuts.

After they left the yoga studio, Harlee said, “Don’t get discouraged, Darla. There are other women in Nugget. Not everyone wants to travel forty-five minutes for a great stylist.”

Darla let out a sigh. “I know. It’s just that they’re the popular girls.”

“The popular girls?” Harlee laughed. “Where are we, in high school?”

“You know what I mean. I’m starting to think it was a mistake coming here.” For far bigger reasons than her lack of business.

Every day she saw Wyatt coming and going from the police station. The sight of him, so manly in his uniform, was torturous. Not to mention that she thought about him every day—of what might’ve been, but would never happen now.

“Maybe I should’ve gotten a chair in a low-rent Sacramento salon until I built up a good clientele. Then I could’ve moved to a nicer one.”

Harlee stopped in the middle of the square’s greenbelt and put her hands on her hips. It was colder than the North freakin’ Pole, so they both burrowed deeper into their down jackets. “You are so not giving this a chance. Businesses take time to get off the ground, Darla.”

“Okay. Okay,” she said, knowing that it would be easier to agree with Harlee than tell her the real reason she was having second thoughts about having moved to Nugget.

They walked the few remaining yards to the barbershop and Harlee pulled her car keys out of her purse. “You want to drive together to the open-house deal on Saturday?”

“Sure,” Darla said. “I can’t wait to see the development. My dad says the homes are like mansions. Last time I saw the place, they were just being built and the whole town had their panties in a bunch over it.”

“Why?” Harlee asked.

“They were afraid Nugget was getting too built up. That it would lose its down-home charm.” Darla made a noise of exasperation. “Anyway, you’ll love Griffin, the king of hotness.”

“I’m looking forward to it. Even the bowling.” Harlee laughed. “I haven’t been
out
out since I left San Francisco. I might even wear my Jimmy Choos.”

“Well, come early and I’ll straighten your hair for you.”

“Darla, I can’t afford you. Otherwise, I’d come in for the works. Colin is even trying to talk me into selling my Mini Cooper.”

“The straightening is on the house, hon. And Colin is right. The car is precious, but totally impractical for the Sierra. So you and Colin hanging out a lot?” Hopefully one of them was getting some.

“Just friends,” Harlee said, and Darla didn’t press further. She had her own man trouble to figure out.

When she got inside the barbershop, the Nugget Mafia was there, lounging around the waiting room, drinking coffee and discussing the big topic of the day: Griffin’s open house.

“I tell you, that boy is up to his ass in alligators,” Owen said, “between the gas station, his custom bike business, and that Sierra Heights fiasco he wasted his money on. Who’s gonna buy one of those fancy-pants houses in this economy?” Apparently her dad hadn’t gotten the memo that the economy had shifted—people were spending money again. Just not on her services.

Dink, the mayor, piped up, “You been by the Gas and Go lately? He’s ripped the place to shreds. He’s even going through with that idiotic car wash.”

Owen kissed Darla on the top of her head. “Can you hold down the fort, missy? We’re grabbing some lunch at the Ponderosa.”

“Sure, Dad.” She kissed him back.

After he left, she tidied up, swept the floor, and rearranged the magazines. The place sure could use a facelift. The checkerboard floor had been dulled by the sun. The walls were a drab off-white. And the art consisted of a Josey Wales poster featuring Clint Eastwood, and a row of plaques and letters thanking Owen for buying local 4-H kids’ prize-winning livestock at the county fair.

No wonder women never stepped foot in the place.

Darla had gone to the back of the shop to find a new bulb to replace one of the recessed lights that had burned out, when she heard the door chime. Wyatt stood just past the threshold, his hands jammed into his police jacket, red faced from the cold.

“Can I help you?” she asked, committed to her promise to always stay professional.

“Darla”—he let out a breath—“are we ever going to talk about it?”

Nine years had passed and not one word from him. Not one goddamn word about what they had lost. Just a lousy note that said he’d joined the army. Then she’d never heard from him again. Even after he came back and she’d occasionally visit, he never uttered a peep. She’d been living in Nugget for more than a month now and the most she’d gotten out of him was lingering looks. At the Ponderosa the other day she thought he’d finally worked up the nerve to approach her. But no. He’d walked across the room toward her and Harlee’s table, only to change direction to the men’s room.

It was a little late for talking.

“I have nothing to say to you.”

She did have a question, though. The same burning one she’d carried for nearly a decade.

 

Saturday morning Harlee put on skintight jeans, a cashmere sweater, and her favorite boots. Despite Darla’s offer, Harlee flatironed her own hair until it hung stick-straight to her shoulders. After applying a little makeup and putting on a heavy coat and hat, she walked up the hill and down Colin’s driveway, straight to his shop.

It wasn’t difficult to know his routine. He worked and slept without much in between. Sure enough, he was sawing away, while Max lazed in front of the iron stove, soaking up the heat. This time, Colin jammed AC/DC on his iPod. A little jolting first thing in the morning. At least to Harlee. Colin seemed to be enjoying it though, bouncing his head and moving his hips to the pounding beat of “You Shook Me All Night Long.” He had absolutely no rhythm whatsoever, but Harlee found the dance irresistible. Completely un-self-conscious—until he caught Harlee watching.

“Ha, ha. Caught you.” She laughed.

He took off his plastic goggles, turned off the music, and bobbed his chin at her—the universal man gesture for
What’s up?

“My mom sold your rocking chair and table.”

“Really?” He appeared both pleased and surprised.

“Yeah, really.” Harlee smiled up at him. “She wants more. Can you ship?”

“Yup. Should I send the same?”

“Why don’t you send another rocker and table and try something new?” She pointed. “Like one of those swings.”

“I can do that,” he said, and took her in from head to toe. He did it every time he saw her. Not in a creepy way, but like he thought she was the most ravishing woman in the world. It would be a lie to say she didn’t get off on it a little. Okay, a lot. “You hanging out with Darla again today?”

“We’re going to the open house at Sierra Heights. You want to come and gape at the big homes?”

“I’ve seen them before,” he said, but Harlee knew he wouldn’t go in case there were crowds. What a way to live.

“Have you given more thought to acupuncture?” she pushed, stepping closer so that they were nearly toe-to-toe.

“What are you doing, Harlee?” He tilted his head so that they were almost eye level.

“Trying to get you to conquer your demophobia.”
And kiss me.
She thought it might loosen him up and help him fight his demons.

He gently clasped his hands around her waist and effortlessly lifted her to the side. “I’m still thinking about it.” Which in Harlee’s mind meant no.

“I could make an appointment for next week,” she said.