Chapter Six
The scent of a fruity hairspray drifted past her nose.
Her sister was putting the finishing touches on Alycia Andrews’s sleek new bob. Alycia managed the Silver Pine winery and its popular tasting room on the town square.
“I love the new cut,” Cara called out as she walked over to her sister’s booth in the local hair salon.
Alycia flashed her a bright smile. “What color are you doing today, Cara? Are you going all purple?”
“Yes, I think it’s time for me to match the vines,” she said.
Her six-month pregnant sister playfully shot her client a dirty look. “Don’t be planting those silly ideas in her head,” the chestnut-haired Stacy said, wagging her finger at Alycia.
Alycia held up her hands as if to say, Who me?
“I take full responsibility for all my silly ideas. Every single one of them,” Cara said, tapping her temple.
“By the way, our new pinot noir is to die for. Stop by later, and I’ll give you a bottle,” Alycia said, and then eyed Stacy’s belly in apology. “And in a few months for you.”
Stacy smiled.
“I’ll definitely pop in,” Cara said, as Stacy unbuttoned the black smock, folded it up, and swiveled Alycia around to show her the back of her hair in a red handheld mirror.
“Perfect,” Alycia said, lightly brushing her new length with her fingertips as she stood up, thanked Stacy, and headed to the front of the salon to pay.
Stacy patted the chair. “Your turn. And don’t think you can do that snip-and-dash with me like you did last time.”
Cara rolled her eyes. “I always try to pay you,” she said, indignant.
Stacy ruffled her hair. “I’m just teasing you. You know your money’s no good here. So what can I do you for today?”
Stacy was an absolute whiz at hair and always had been. That might even have been the main reason she liked the late addition to the family. When Cara appeared in her life, Stacy had twenty-four hour access to hair to style, to brush, and to play with. She practiced all her techniques on Cara over the years, from temporary color to new twists and chignons. Not to mention a range of cuts and styles from multi-layered, to news anchor length, to this-is-so-short-I’ll-kill-you, to long, sleek and sexy, as Stacy referred to it now. Her business at the salon had picked up in recent months, about the time another stylist had left town after a scandal with a married man.
Cara met Stacy’s eyes in the mirror. “Can you make me a redhead?” she asked, because she’d cycled through the other major colors in the last year and was ready for a new look. She liked change, and mixing it up. Perhaps that’s why she and Stacy had achieved this perfect symbiosis—Cara was a willing guinea pig.
Though sometimes Cara wondered if she’d gone along with Stacy’s big sister edicts when they were younger because she had wanted to fit in with the Bailey family. Perhaps she’d been determined to show how well she belonged by happily going with the program. Her parents had treated her just the same as her sisters, but Cara had always been aware that she hadn’t joined the family the same way. Maybe that had made her more eager to be like the other girls, and to do what they did, whether it was having her hair done by Stacy, or her clothes picked out by Sofie, who’d always been the fashionista of the bunch. A vintage dress designer with a small Etsy shop, Sofie had used Cara to try out patterns when they were kids.
Nowadays, Cara simply loved having her hair done, and she adored picking out pretty dresses all by herself. Whatever had driven her in her younger years had become the core of who she was today. No point psychoanalyzing herself. She was who she was.
“You made me this way. You addicted me to your crazy styles,” she added.
“Fair enough. But we can’t go from this shade of dark to redheaded that quickly,” Stacy said, picking up a few strands of Cara’s hair. “You need to strip out the dark color first, and that’ll take some time. Can we do red streaks instead?”
Cara shrugged happily. “Works for me.”
“So give me the report. How was the date with Joe? And how was the bachelor-bachelorette party?” Stacy asked, as she mixed the color at the sink next to her booth.
Cara sighed, and shared the details of her lust-free date with Joe, then her lust-fueled hallway tryst a few nights before with Travis, then how much she’d wanted him last night when she gave him the dog collar. Every encounter with him had her hormones skyrocketing.
“Travis is hot as hell, but Joe’s a good guy. He even told me what a nice time he’d had, and how he wants to see me in a few weeks when he’s back in town,” Cara added as she finished the story. “I really think I should give him another chance.”
Stacy gave her the side-eyed stare. “Why? Because you think he’s the type of guy you ‘should’ like?”
“Well, yeah,” she said. It seemed obvious that she needed to try harder to stir up some desire for Joe, or someone like him. He wanted the same things, and if she could jumpstart her interest in him then she could be on her way to having all the things she longed for. Her sisters’ happiness was inspiring, and she craved a life like that, full of love, family, and kids someday—hopefully someday soon. She’d lived her life so far like her sisters and her parents, and she wanted to be able to give a child all the things that her birth mom hadn’t been able to do for her.
She didn’t fault her birth mom, but she wanted the opposite—a plan, a roadmap, a guide for how to have a family. She wasn’t sixteen and still in high school; she was nearly thirty and owned a business. She just needed a man. As a family guy, Joe possessed all the right raw ingredients. “He’s a great guy and we want the same things. I’m sure in time those other elements would develop.”
“You mean Mr. Furniture is perfect on paper but you don’t feel a spark?” Stacy asked as she grabbed some tinfoil sheets for the highlights.
Cara gulped and nodded. She didn’t intend to lie to her sister. “Yep. That’s pretty much a good way to sum it up.”
Stacy began separating strands of Cara’s hair and applying the highlights with a paintbrush. “And that’s partly because Mr. Fireman gave you the finger-banging of your life a few nights before.”
Cara’s eyes widened. “Stacy!”
“Oh hush. No one’s here but us. Besides, how do you think this happened?” she said, gesturing to the basketball-sized shape she was sporting.
“Not through finger-banging,” Cara said, deadpan.
Stacy rolled her eyes and patted Cara’s shoulder. “Obviously. And while I completely understand wanting to give Mr. Perfect another shot, and I think that’s an admirable goal, I have an idea to keep you occupied in the meantime.”
“What’s that?” she asked curiously, eager to learn what her sister was cooking up.
“Everything you need to wash that fireman right out of your hair.”
As she rinsed out the conditioner, her sister laid out a plan. Cara’s lips twitched in a devilish grin, and she didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of something like that before, but it was borderline brilliant.
…
Was it acceptable to drink wine at a dog training session? Hell no.
But Cara had a feeling she’d need a big fat glassful if she was truly going to go through with Stacy’s plan. She grabbed her biggest purse: the huge purple vinyl bag with silver stitching. The fun colors kept it from looking like a feedbag for a horse, even though it was approximately that size. She wrapped a hand towel around the pinot noir, then tucked it into the bag amidst a paperback, her wallet, a bottle of nail polish, her makeup case with a travel toothbrush and toothpaste, various dog leashes and collars, along with a bag of treats in the side compartment. Surely, a drink once she was off the clock would be fine, and he’d be game, she suspected.
She stopped in front of the scalloped pewter mirror in the doorway for one final primp. She fluffed out her new red-streaked hair, smacked her lips so her pink lip gloss spread evenly, and ran a hand down the front of the clingy powder-blue V-neck T-shirt that hugged her curves, smoothing it out over her jean shorts. The wardrobe looked suitable for the gig, but still pretty and feminine.
What truly mattered was what was underneath. That’s what had captured his attention the other night, and she wanted to give the man what he liked. The demi-cup bra was a dark pink satin, outlined with black lace, and finished with a bow between the cups. The strap of the bra was a tiny bit visible with the way the shirt fell. That’s how she wanted it. Just a little peekaboo for him.
“Perfect,” she said to her reflection, then patted Violet on the smooth fur of her head and told her to be good. The border collie mix leaned into her palm then wagged her tail. Cara locked the door, hopped in her car, and headed to Travis’s house. She always scheduled the initial sessions at a client’s home, because that’s where dogs needed to first learn to be on their best behavior.
Her heart sped up as she turned onto his block, and her palms were sweating. She wanted to blame the high eighties of this hot June evening, but she knew it wasn’t any fault of the great ball of fire in the sky that she was nervous. It was because she was about to propose something completely out of character for Cara Bailey.
Ready or not, here goes nothing.
She breathed in deeply as she cut the engine in his driveway, then cursed under her breath when she saw him waiting on the porch, leaning casually against the railing on the steps, looking cool and relaxed. Damn, she hadn’t been ready to see him yet, and she didn’t even have a second to collect herself in her car before she went inside. But then, as she stepped out of her green Mini Cooper, she was no longer thinking of what to say, or how to say it, or when to break out the wine. She was thinking she hoped the next hour flew by because she was dying to get her hands underneath that navy blue T-shirt, tug it over his head, and run her hands across his hard chest.
She wanted her turn to play with his body, and she wanted it ASAP. That was the one clear-cut, reasonable, thoughtful strategy to deal with the pesky lingering desire she felt for him.
“I have something for you,” he said as she reached him.
The sun shone brighter in the sky. The birds chirped louder. She was such a sucker for that sweet, thoughtful touch in a guy. But then, who wasn’t? “You do?”
He nodded, and handed her a white box, the kind from a bakery. “It’s no big deal. Just something from the biscuit bandit. He felt bad for stealing.”
Cara clutched the box to her chest, as if she treasured it. “He didn’t have to do that, but it’s very sweet of your dog to give me a replacement.”
Travis shrugged a shoulder. “He’s a very sweet dog, as you’ll see.”
“I have no doubt that he takes after his person,” she said, lowering her voice even though it was only the two of them outside under the still-strong evening sun.
Travis scowled. “No one ever accused me of being sweet.”
She squeezed him gently on the arm. “Maybe I think you are,” she said and there was no masking the flirtation in her voice.
“I better work harder, then, at getting you to see me as something other than sweet,” he said, pushing a hand through his dark hair. A note of longing played in her chest. Oh, how she wanted that hand to be hers. How she craved the feel of his hair sliding between her fingers.
“If you don’t want me to see you as sweet, how do you want me to see you?”
“Ask me at another time and maybe I’ll tell you,” he said with a sly wink.
She took heart that he was still as flirty as he’d ever been. That emboldened her for her big question.
“For now, tell the biscuit bandit that I say thank you. And tell him too that I completely understand his desire to steal treats, being a big fan of baked goods myself.”
Travis arched an eyebrow. “You don’t have to give those to the dogs if you don’t want. They’re from that bakery in Calistoga. You know that fancy dog bakery? They make the biscuits that dogs and owners can share.”
She snapped her fingers. “Yes! The one with the slogan ‘This is so good you’ll want to eat them too?’”
He nodded. “That’s the one. I was down there this afternoon for an executive game with some vineyard guys. I have to go back tonight to prep them for their tournament.”
She flipped open the top and brandished a bone-shaped biscuit. She bit into it. “Tastes like peanut butter,” she said with a smile, offering him a bite.
“Better than, say, tasting like chicken.” He tried the biscuit, and then ran a hand across his belly, making a sound of utter delight as he polished it off. “Don’t tell Henry we’re keeping them all for ourselves,” he whispered, and her heart threatened to cartwheel at the way he said we, as if there were a we to them.
“Speaking of, we should get started,” she said, returning to her professional voice.
He gestured to the front door, swiveling around to open it. Then he whipped his head back. His eyes roamed over her, as if he were seeing her for the first time. His brow knit together in curiosity.
“What is it?” she asked, hoping everything was okay.
He stepped closer, lifted his hand, and fingered a strand of her hair.
Her damn belly did a swan dive as he touched her. He was so close she could inhale that earthy smell of his cologne, like rainwater…subtle and intensely sexy.
“Your hair,” he said softly, the volume on his voice turned way down, the tone in it intimate. “It’s different.”
She drew a breath, as if that would center the wobbliness she felt inside. But the added oxygen only intensified the thrumming in her body, spreading through her veins and leaving a deep longing in its path.
“Red,” she said, in a voice that sounded like it was coming from a dream. “My sister did red streaks for me.”
His fingers threaded through a strand of her hair, drawing it between his thumb and forefinger. Her knees nearly buckled, and her hand shot out to the railing to steady herself. God, she loved having her hair touched by him. It was like some secret location on a treasure map. X marked the spot. One touch and she unraveled.
He shook his head in admiration, drawing a deep breath, as if he were breathing her in. “It looks good. Everything looks good on you.”