Texan for the Holidays. Victoria Chancellor

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ groomed that she couldn’t even criticize his brows, skin care or even his hair—although the style was kind of boring with a side part, and just long enough to start to curl at the nape of his neck.

      “These are as you say, more dramatic than what you did, but that won’t necessarily satisfy Mrs. Desmond.”

      Scarlett grabbed the magazine and put it back on the little table next to the chair. “I won’t be around long enough to care. As soon as my car is repaired, I’m out of here.”

      James Brody, attorney at law, shrugged. “That might be best.”

      “Hey, who elected you hairstyle sheriff? This is the twenty-first century. You can’t run me out of town!”

      He frowned. “I’m just pointing out your best option.”

      She stepped closer and pointed her own finger at him, nearly jabbing him in the chest—which she didn’t actually touch because he might have her arrested for assault. “Listen, I don’t need to be told I don’t belong here. If you want to be useful, get Claude McCaskie to find the parts he needs to repair my car. I’ll be out of here faster than you can say ‘lawsuit.’”

      “I didn’t come down here in any official capacity, and I’m not getting in the middle of the fight.”

      “Oh, you put yourself in the middle, bub.”

      His eyes narrowed. “Don’t call me bub.”

      “What are you going to do—sue me?”

      He leaned closer, until they were nearly eye to eye. “I might just take Mrs. Desmond’s case, at which point I’d have you held over for a trial.”

      Scarlett’s eyes narrowed. If she could, she would have blown smoke and fire from her nose. “You wouldn’t dare.”

      “Don’t provoke me.”

      “You’re the one who came down here and threatened me!”

      She watched anger and frustration war on his face. Granted, it was a handsome face, but as her Southern belle grandmother used to say, “Pretty is as pretty does.” Right now he didn’t seem so much like a pretty boy as he did a small-town ogre. What nerve, to come in here and tell her she didn’t know how to fix hair, then threaten to keep her here with bogus charges!

      “I came here to deflect a possible issue for you. I can see you’re not going to cooperate, so I’ll be going. Don’t be surprised if you get more complaints.”

      “I never let the criticism of small minds bother me.”

      “We’ll see. I guess that depends on how long you’re here and whether Clarissa decides to support you.” He turned and stormed down the two steps to the gravel parking space behind the salon, and disappeared around the side of the city hall office building.

      Scarlett slumped against the wall. Where would she stay if Clarissa decided she was too much trouble? Damn that car! She should have traded it in on something more reliable years ago, even if her actions did make her seem ungrateful to her parents, who’d given her the clunky monster because it was big, safe and paid for.

      That’s what happened when you depended on others. That’s why she needed to be successful and independent. So she wouldn’t have to apologize to the Mrs. Desmonds of the world or defend her actions to her family.

      When she was successful, she could express herself and people would actually listen and care. They wouldn’t tell her to stop trying to be different. They’d ask her what was next! They’d expect a new, original, bold style.

      But right now, she was stuck in a town where mothers expected updos and lawyers threatened to sue over a hairstyle! Unless she hitchhiked to L.A., she’d be here until her car was running again.

      Maybe she would have to bite her tongue and play nice, but she wasn’t going to like it.

      JAMES WAS TOO UPSET by his confrontation with Scarlett to talk to her or about her the rest of the day. He hadn’t encountered such a defensive, argumentative person in a long time. Definitely not since moving back home. Although some of the folks around Brody’s Crossing could be cranky and opinionated, they didn’t actively argue like Scarlett No-last-name. At least, not unless they’d been drinking too much at Dewey’s Saloon and Steakhouse. He had a couple of clients who fit that description, but he usually only saw them late on occasional Saturday nights or holiday weekends.

      That redheaded stranger was infuriating. He’d tried to be nice and helpful, and she’d gone ballistic on him. Well, maybe not ballistic, but she’d been one step away from poking him in the chest. If she had, he wasn’t sure what he would have done. Grabbed her finger and pulled her too close to punch him, that was for sure. The extremely odd and vexing thing was that he’d also had the strangest urge to kiss her while he was at it. Just to shut her up, he told himself. Definitely not for any other reason.

      On Tuesday morning, as he worked on a new legal agreement between Troy Crawford and Angelo Ramirez to lease part of the Rocking C, James heard a commotion in the reception area. “It’s that new girl at Clarissa’s,” one of the women said in a whining, shaky tone.

      “We didn’t tell her to fix our hair this way,” another woman said.

      James dropped his head in his hands for just a second, then heard his mother reply, “I’m sure James can help you.”

      “No, I can’t,” he whispered, but that didn’t do any good. He pushed away from his desk and prepared to face the newest hair crisis in Brody’s Crossing.

      “Oh, James, Maribelle and Ellen want to talk to you,” his mother said as he walked up to her desk.

      “About their hair,” he finished.

      The women were obviously sisters. Maybe twins, although he couldn’t remember them from growing up here.

      “We’ve worn our hair the same way for…well, for a long time,” one of the ladies said. “Here.” She thrust forward a photo he recognized as the church directory photographer’s work.

      “I see,” he said. The picture showed a woman frozen in time, with an extremely traditional, tightly curled hairstyle and oversize beige, plastic-framed glasses. It could have been taken last year or thirty years ago.

      “That girl said she’d like to try something flattering, and well, since she’s from Atlanta on her way to California to work at a fancy salon, we said okay,” the other woman said.

      “We didn’t expect her to do anything really different,” the first woman whined.

      He looked at their softer waves, the pale blond replacing the slightly blue color in the photo, and the ends kind of feathering along their necklines. He thought they looked pretty good. “Yes, the style is different, but both of you ladies look very nice.”

      “Why, thank you, young man,” the second woman said.

      “But we liked our hair. We felt comfortable with it. We’re not even sure how to fix it now. And what are we going to do with all our temporary rinses that we’d stocked up on when the drugstore in Olney went out of business? We must have two years worth of Fanciful!”

      James СКАЧАТЬ