A Husband of Her Own (Dundee, Idaho #2)(33)
Author: Brenda Novak

Momentarily between clients, Katie was busy sweeping up hair clippings. “He can have all the nerve he wants,” she said. “There isn’t a better-looking man within a hundred miles of here. Except his brother, of course.”

The buzzer over the door squawked, and Mary Thornton stepped inside. “Hi, everyone.”

Mona, who worked only half a day on Tuesday, did Mary’s nails every other week. She’d arrived sometime while Rebecca was gone and was now busy setting up her station. Erma, the owner of Hair And Now, took Tuesdays off, and they rotated to be sure there’d always be someone available to close the salon at night.

“Hi, Mary. I’m almost ready,” Mona said. “Come on over and have a seat.”

“We were just talking about your boyfriend,” Katie volunteered.

Mary pulled off her sunglasses and slipped them into her purse, along with her car keys. “What were you saying about Josh?”

“Just that he’s handsome as the devil.”

“And rich, too, which certainly doesn’t hurt,” Mary said, smiling proudly.

Rebecca gritted her teeth and headed purposefully to her own station. She wasn’t going to get involved, wasn’t going to say anything.

“When do you think you two will be getting married?” Katie asked.

Mary sauntered over to Mona’s chair and settled in for her appointment. “I’m thinking December might be nice. I’d like to give Ricky a father for Christmas. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

Great, she really would be the last in her group of peers to marry, Rebecca thought. “I didn’t realize the two of you were engaged,” she said, unable to keep her silence any longer.

Mary twisted to look at her. “Well, it’s not official or anything, but everyone knows it’s just a matter of time. We’ve been together for six months.”

Rebecca remembered Josh’s answer when she’d asked him if they’d be getting married soon. I don’t know. Do you think we should? He’d sounded almost flippant, definitely not as certain as Mary. And there’d been other moments when he’d seemed less than committed. Just before he stormed out of Rebecca’s house was one of them. And then, on the telephone he’d said, “Anytime you want to let that fiancé of yours off the hook and come on out here…” He hadn’t even mentioned Mary.

Probably because he was all talk, Rebecca decided. He’d made that offer assuming she’d never take him up on it. But he still seemed far from devoted….

“Well, money isn’t everything, you know,” Rebecca said.

Mary laughed and shook her head. “Only you would say something like that. Everyone else knows Josh has it all.”

Rebecca knew it, too. She’d heard it her whole life. Most often from her own father. But she wasn’t about to admit—to anyone—that, deep down, she agreed.

“What’s his brother doing these days?” Katie asked Mary. “Is he still seeing that woman from McCall?”

Rebecca knew Katie was trying to make the question sound nonchalant. She failed miserably, but Mary was so caught up in flaunting her plan to become the wife of the most admired man in town, she didn’t notice. “I think so,” she said absently. “I suspect he’ll be getting married soon, too.”

A sad expression flickered over Katie’s face, but Mona had already started Mary’s manicure, so Rebecca was the only one watching. Catching the younger woman’s eye in the mirror, she said, “You never know about those things, Katie. A wedding’s not a done deal till both parties say ‘I do.”’

Katie smiled gratefully, but it was Mary who answered.

“Oh, it’s pretty much a done deal for me and Josh,” she said. “All we have to do now is set the date.”

REBECCA CLOSED HER EYES, took her first sip of coffee and told herself she could relax at last. She was at Jerry’s Diner. Grandmother Hatfield couldn’t bother her here.

“I thought you told me she’d have a few chores for me, nothing too arduous,” she complained to Booker, who sat in the booth opposite her.

Booker still wasn’t quite awake. She’d gotten him up before dawn and dragged him out to breakfast, hoping for a reprieve—anything to stop Hatty from banging on her door at seven o’clock to ask for some new favor. They’d lived together for a week now, plenty long enough for Rebecca to learn that Booker’s grandmother was no one’s fool. She came off as fragile and elderly, but she knew what she wanted and how to get it. Rebecca had already spent as many hours helping the old woman make raspberry jelly, varnish the kitchen cupboards and label the shelves in the cellar as she’d spent at the salon. Now she understood why Hatty had been so agreeable about letting her move in. She was actually getting the better end of the bargain. Especially because she kept Booker as busy as Rebecca. He’d already changed her oil, rotated her tires, fixed a few broken sprinklers, organized the shed and was now in the process of cleaning out the garage—which hadn’t been done since Mr. Hatfield died twenty years earlier.

“She takes that saying, the one about idle hands being the devil’s workshop, seriously,” he said. He rested one arm over the back of the booth, letting his black leather jacket gape open to reveal the white T-shirt beneath.

“No kidding,” Rebecca grumbled. “So how did you manage to get into so much trouble when you were a kid?”

Judy delivered his breakfast, a big plate of eggs, bacon, hash browns and pancakes, and he started right in. “Like any other self-respecting punk,” he said between bites. “I’d sneak out.”

“Sort of like we’re doing now?”

He poured ketchup over his hash browns, then added half a bottle of Tabasco sauce. “Exactly, babe. You learn fast. But don’t worry. Granny’ll chill out once she feels caught up.”

Rebecca suspected Hatty would never feel “caught up.” She was the kind who believed in spring-cleaning—all year round. Rebecca had never met such a clean freak in her life, and she’d always thought she and her own mother were pretty scrupulous in that area. But she didn’t want to disabuse Booker of his pleasant illusions. With her luck, he’d bail out and leave town, and she’d be left alone with Hatty until her wedding in January.

“I used to look forward to my day off,” she said, stirring another packet of Sweet-’N Low into her coffee. “I used to sleep in and do laundry and go grocery shopping and—” She dropped her spoon. “Oh God,” she said. “Can my luck get any worse?”