The Lonely Lady Read online

  © Copyright 2018 by Michelle Sutton

  Cover designed by the author

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or any information retrieval or storage system without the prior written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents, and dialogue are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  The Lonely Lady

  (Tombstone series, book 2)

  By Michelle Sutton

  Chapter One

  Tara Hinkson reached for the broom and swept strands of wet hair into a neat pile. She blinked back tears of exhaustion. How she wished her troubles could be as easily swept away.

  Working as a hairstylist and caring for her disabled mother provided little time for herself. So little time, in fact, that she hadn't had a date in over three years. She was too young for this, but short of abandoning her mother, she didn't see a way out; and she would never do that to the woman who brought her in to this world.

  Trying to focus on the positive side, she thanked God her mother was still alive. Ever since the horrible accident four years ago, her life hadn't been the same. Now she was the parent and her mother more like the child. Most of the time she enjoyed caring for her mother, but if the Angels of Mercy agency hadn't provided affordable respite care, she would have burned out eventually.

  "See you Tuesday, darlin'," her boss, Frieda, shouted from the back room as she headed for the back door. "Don't forget to set the alarm."

  "Okay. Bye." Tara resumed collecting the loose hair into the dustpan. She'd never closed up shop by herself, so she hoped she wouldn’t mess up anything.

  Minutes later the front door jingled. She stiffened. She hated it when people came in at the last minute because it made her late getting home, and put her at risk of losing her current respite care provider.

  Jamie from the Angels of Mercy had warned her that she couldn't stay today if Tara ran late. She had a plane to catch in Tucson, and at first she had refused to work because she didn’t want to leave Tara's mother alone. But Tara had pleaded until the caregiver gave in. She wasn't able to find anyone to fill in at the shop and couldn't afford to lose her job. Hopefully, Jamie wouldn't regret agreeing to help.

  Glancing at the clock, she cringed. Ten minutes until closing. Oh, how last minute customers annoyed her. She had to persuade the person to come back tomorrow.

  "Just a minute," she called over her shoulder and stood.

  Flipping the trashcan open, she dumped the hair inside and closed the lid. With a sigh, she set the broom and dustpan against the wall. Tucking the loose strands of hair behind her ear, she glanced up to see who waited for her services.

  The sight of Josiah Reardon's six-foot frame and devastating smile made her stomach do somersaults. She swallowed hard. She had no idea he was back in town. From the looks of his vintage clothing, he had also joined the local acting group. No way would the sexy, carefree Josiah she remembered be walking around in a black suit with a white clerical collar, an old preacher's hat, and a Bible tucked under his arm unless he now played the part.

  The irony nearly made her choke as she stared at him. She couldn't look away.

  Josiah's smile faltered. He lifted his eyebrows. "Tara? What are you doing here?"

  He stepped forward as if he wanted to wrap her in a hug, but then clasped his hands together -- Bible still tucked under his arm -- as if he knew it would not be well-received.

  She averted her gaze. "You know I live here, same as you."

  "No, I mean... I thought you'd gone off to college. I expected you to be on Broadway by now, not working... here."

  Lifting her gaze, she frowned. "What? Not here as in working and holding a common job like some poor townie? Well, a lot's happened since you left--" She started to say me, but thought better of it. Her cheeks heated as anger filled every cell in her body. How dare he insult her after all he'd put her through.

  He merely nodded, looking repentant and vulnerable as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Red tinted his ears, telling her she'd struck a nerve. She remembered how anxiety would always make his ears flush. He stared at her like he wanted to say something else, but remained silent.

  Heaving a sigh, she asked, "What do you need?"

  "Gee, I entered a hair salon. What do you think?" His shaky half grin revealed a tiny dimple in his cheek.

  She remembered nuzzling that side of his clean-shaven face when they'd been young lovers. The memory warmed her from head to toe, and she had to block the images from her mind. That was not something she wanted resurrected in her heart, so she scowled and hoped he sensed her irritation. She wanted him to leave before she said something mean.

  With a more pronounced half-grin, his gaze darted around. "Nice place you have here."

  "Can you skip the small talk? I really need to get home."

  "Why? You married or something?" His attention shifted to her hand.

  Rubbing her bare fingers, she mumbled, "No. I just have more important things to do."

  Without missing a beat, Josiah said, "Good. 'Cause I need a haircut." Lifting his hat, he ruffled his hair, his gaze locked on hers as if he never heard her insinuation.

  She took in his thick, chocolate locks and agreed they did need to be cut. Badly. But why did she have to be the one to touch his head? She groaned inwardly at the thought.

  "They said my hair is too long for a preacher's part. So I need a trim."

  Tara broke contact with his chocolate-brown eyes and glanced at the clock. She frowned. "It's only eight minutes 'til closing. Sorry, I don't have enough time."

  His eyes widened, giving him that familiar endearing look that used to make her tingle all over when they'd been intimate. That same look now made butterflies dance in her chest.

  "But--"

  "Come back Tuesday." She wished his presence didn't affect her so much and wanted to appear unflustered around him. No doubt she was failing miserably.

  He rubbed his forehead, just like he used to when he was frustrated with her.

  Flipping open the appointment book, she traced the schedule. "Kate can cut your hair at nine on Tuesday morning."

  "But I need a haircut tonight. I have a big part tomorrow. I don't have time to get a haircut anywhere else." The pleading look in his eyes made her knees tremble. She had to get him out of there. Now.

  His broad smile displayed straight, white teeth. He set his Bible on the counter with a thunk and held his hands together, begging, "Pretty please? I'll give you a big tip that'll make it worth your while."

  She had to glance away before she cracked a grin. He could be so cute sometimes, especially when he groveled. That was how they'd started sleeping together back in high school. He'd acted the same way and she couldn't say no. While she didn't want to play that game, it sure made her heart feel good to see him begging her like he used to do back when they'd fallen in love. He had always been able to make her laugh, even at the most inopportune times, like in the middle of a heated kiss. Her cheeks warmed at the memory.

  "Ooh, I smell smoke. Must be you're thinking real hard." He rubbed his forehead as if concerned. "Should I say thanks, or would that be premature?"

  As she held his gaze and inhaled the light aroma of deodorant mixed with his manly scent, she reflected on how she'd once loved him so much that she would have done anything for him. Funny how someone's scent can release such painful memories. And because she'd done more with him physically than she should have at the time, the memories still ripped her heart clea
n through.

  She'd given him everything, both body and soul. But he'd left her, claiming God had called him to the mission field the last time she'd heard from him. And then he had the audacity to send her the message by e-mail rather than calling her on the phone or seeing her in person.

  Tara had never bought that line of bull. If he had become a Christian for real, he wouldn't have been hopping in bed with her every time they were together. It must have been an excuse to break up. The pain from losing him had ached so much she thought she'd never survive the gaping wound in her chest. She'd never thought when he went to college that he'd leave her for good. She'd thought it was just a religious phase he was going through. Looking back, she could see now it was probably all for the best. Her mother needed her now. He didn't.

  But she could use a healthy tip. She never had enough money.

  "Come on, Tara. It shouldn't take that long to decide." He rubbed the back of his neck.

  "I need the money but I don't think I can do it. I have to go home. My mom needs me."

  "Your mom? Is she okay?" His brows raised and the concern in his eyes made her heart pound. Surely he didn't still care? He had to be making polite conversation.

  "No, she isn't. I... Never mind. Like I said, things have changed... a lot."

  "I'm sorry." His eyes reflected empathy, and reminded her of Landon from the movie A Walk to Remember when he'd finally accepted that the woman he loved was going to die.

  Her heart pounded at the softness she glimpsed in his eyes. He seemed sincere.

  "Please?" He held her gaze and scanned her face, settling on her lips for a fraction of a second. "You're my last hope. I don't want to try and do it myself. I'm afraid it'd look like someone ran over my head with a lawnmower."

  Stifling a giggle with the tips of her fingers, she watched him paste on an adorable frown and jut out his lower lip, which she found herself examining. Since the salon was technically still open, she really had no choice but to offer him their services. Not to mention she needed her job, and didn't want her boss getting wind that she sent a desperate man away without a haircut just because he happened to be her old boyfriend.

  "Okay, but I'll have to make it quick."

  "Thanks, Tee. You're the best." He winked and removed his hat, setting it next to his Bible on the counter.

  Her heart sank to her toes the moment he'd called her 'Tee'. He was the only person she'd ever allowed to use that pet name. When he'd called her Tee in the past, it had often followed intimate moments they'd shared.

  She stiffened from the pain those resurrected memories sparked. Though they had never married because they were too young, they had been each other's first love. Seeing him again felt like running into an ex-husband. If he thought he could just waltz back in town and pick up where they'd left off, he had another think coming.

  His gaze locked on hers and he scanned her face for a moment, searching her eyes. Perhaps testing her reaction to see what she would do next. He tugged at his jacket sleeve.

  "Don't do that. Don't ever call me that again." Her voice trembled as she fought tears.

  Josiah stopped in the middle of removing his suit coat, and asked, "Don't do what?"

  "Say Tee. Don't call me that." She frowned. "That's from when we meant something to each other. I don't wear concert 'tees' anymore." She pointed to the red knit sweater that clung to her curves under her smock.

  "Yeah, I see that. Nice." He scanned her top with appreciation in his eyes, yet his expression screamed 'clueless'. Surely he couldn't be that dense.

  She hated to spell it out for him, but it seemed necessary to prevent him from getting the wrong idea. "You're here for a haircut. Don't expect more."

  Raising his hands in mock surrender, Josiah chuckled, "Whoa, there. I didn't mean anything by it, I swear."

  "Good." Grabbing the black cloth to drape over his shirt, she flipped it open and then pointed to the chair. He sat and she tied it around his neck, a stress headache creeping into her head. Irritation shredded her nerves.

  Rather than sitting, he peered at her with an incredulous look in his eyes.

  "Come on," she winced and touched her forehead. "I don't have much time."

  "Aren't you gonna..." Josiah pointed at his hair and nodded toward the sink.

  "No." She snapped the cloth again. "Just sit."

  "But, that's the best part." Ruffling his hair with both hands, he sighed. "All right, but my hair is sweaty and dusty. I think it'll be easier to cut if it's clean first. I'll even pay you extra."

  Did he think he could buy her forgiveness?

  But he did have a point. Taking in the faint cloud of dust forming beside his head as he ruffled his hair, Tara sighed. She rolled her eyes and pointed at the sink with her elbow. "All right, all right. Just hurry up. I need to get home."

  Josiah crept in slow steps and glanced over his shoulder. Tempted to push him along, she refrained, deciding the less hands-on contact she had with him the better. Maybe that was what he wanted. To get her riled. Well, it was working.

  The sooner she cut his hair and sent him on his way, the sooner she'd have time to think about what his return to town might mean. While tempted to quit the acting group to avoid seeing him, she refused to run away. Besides, playacting the part of a socialite at special events in town was the only fun hobby she allowed herself. She refused to give up her only link to acting.

  No, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of quitting. She'd keep playing the part and enjoy every minute of it. No man would take the fun out of her life ever again. Not even someone as devastatingly handsome and as important to her as Josiah had once been.

  *****

  Josiah sucked in his breath when he glanced over his shoulder and caught the pained look on her face. Tara looked more beautiful than he remembered, but something about her had changed. Something that went beyond her pretty face and amazing curves. There was a maturity there that he hadn't remembered seeing.

  Breaking up with her the summer before college had been the hardest thing he'd ever done. A new Christian at the time, he had approached his youth pastor regarding the subject of sexual intimacy before marriage. He didn't have to be a Bible scholar to know that he was sinning in that area. He just couldn't seem to stop, and he was afraid to tell the pastor about the extent of their physical relationship. In fact, he never admitted to having a girlfriend at all.

  His pastor had warned him of the dangers of dating someone who wanted to have nothing to do with Jesus. But he'd been with her long before he knew God, and he'd wanted to give her a chance, but she wasn't listening. His pastor had said God must be his first love. Of course, Josiah knew that was true, so he'd left for college without saying goodbye. It was a cowardly way of handling things, but he couldn't break up with her face to face. He'd loved her too much.

  Now he realized just how wrong he had been to do that to her. The pain in her deep blue eyes told him her wounds ran deep. She'd loved him once, just like he'd loved her. How he hated that he had been the cause of such heartache.

  As he watched her face contort with emotion, he wondered if she'd found someone else her senior year in high school once she realized he wasn't going to contact her again. Had she gone to the prom, or stayed home? He wondered if she still felt any affection for him.

  The hurt expression in her eyes suggested otherwise. He hadn't lied to her about why he was there at the salon. He desperately needed a haircut.

  He decided to endure the awkwardness of seeing her to achieve that end and approached the sink with caution. He sat in the chair and tried not to stare as he pressed his lips together to keep himself out of trouble. He could swear her hands trembled as she whipped the black cloth around his neck, tied it almost too tight, and then eased the chair back.

  Though he wanted to talk to her, to find out what she'd been up to over the past four years, the words stuck in his throat. So he closed his eyes and reveled in the feeling of warm water running through his hair and her fingers
massaging the shampoo into his scalp. He sighed, tempted to fall asleep in the chair. "Ahh, nice..."

  She paused for a moment, and then resumed washing his hair. Now she vigorously rubbed his scalp, the tender massage all but forgotten.

  Glancing up as she rinsed the shampoo from his hair, he couldn't help noticing the rose-red color blooming in her cheeks. She had always looked adorable when she blushed. And he'd often been the cause, or rather, his physical pursuit of her had elicited the same reaction. Maybe she did still have feelings for him.

  He closed his eyes. "So what have you been up to?"

  "Not much." Her crisp reply seemed to scream, 'No more questions.'

  The sharpness in her tone made his eyes spring open. Watching as she looked everywhere but at him, he noticed a slight tremor as she wrung out the excess moisture and squirted something into her hands. She rubbed the cool stuff into his scalp. "This is leave-in conditioner." Her voice sounded strangled.

  The mint-fresh scent of whatever she massaged into his hair had permeated the air around him. The subtle tension emanating from her, and filling the air between them, was about as palpable. But what did that mean? Maybe she did care about him.

  "Ahh, that stuff smells so good. Just like you."

  A low grunt escaped her, but he could swear from the sound that she suppressed a grin.

  As she nudged his back to suggest he sit up, he watched her closely. She blinked rapidly and he worried she might cry. Then what would he do?

  She lifted a hand and ran it under her eye. A tiny sniff escaped her and she cleared her throat. How he wished he could take back the damage he'd done to her heart. The urge to take her hands in his and kiss her pain away made his lungs constrict. If only he had waited to be intimate with her. But they'd been so in love. At the time all of their friends seemed to be doing the same thing with their partners, so he never thought about the long-term consequences.

  She dipped her head and directed him toward her station.