Cinderella's Big Sky Groom (3 page)

Lynn felt Danielle's fingers close around hers.

“Step clear of the footrest,” Danielle instructed. “Good. Now, come this way….”

Lynn knew where Danielle was leading her—to the small back room, where her red dress and red shoes were waiting. She followed obediently, trusting the clasp of her friend's soft hand.

When they reached their destination, Danielle said, “Wait right here.” She released Lynn's hand. Lynn heard the door close. Then Danielle returned to her. She helped Lynn remove her cardigan sweater, her blouse and her wool skirt.

“I'm feeling really pampered about now,” Lynn said as Danielle pulled the kitten-soft cashmere sweater dress over her head.

Danielle gave a low, musical laugh. “That's the point.”

“I'm sure glad you came to Whitehorn.”

“I kind of like the place myself.”

Danielle had moved to town two years before, right around the time Lynn's father had died. Lynn had met her at the Whitehorn library, where Danielle had found a twenty-hour-a-week job right away. They'd liked each other on sight. The friendship had just seemed to happen, so naturally.

And they'd grown even closer the past two months, with Sara in Lynn's class and Danielle taking on the job of Room Mom. Danielle often came in during class time to help out with special projects. She also tended to linger after school when she came to pick up Sara, helping Lynn with her room displays, with restocking art supplies and planning class events.

“I don't want you ever to move away,” Lynn said softly.

“Don't worry. I don't intend to.” Danielle's voice sounded brisk, but Lynn didn't miss the undertone of sadness.

Her friend was thinking about her husband, probably—the husband who had never been to Whitehorn, at least not as far as Lynn knew.

Danielle was now seeking a divorce. She was always vague about the details, would only say that it hadn't worked out. But Lynn sensed her friend still loved the man. From the few things Danielle had said about him, Lynn knew that once Danielle had been a very happily married woman. A woman deeply in love.

What would that be like? Lynn wondered as Danielle gently pushed her down onto the small cot in the corner and knelt at her feet, to slide off her brown flats and slip on the red shoes.

What would that be like?

To fall, as the saying went, truly, madly,
deeply
in love? Would it be worth the price, if a woman ended up like Danielle, starting over in another town, without the man she loved so much at her side?

Lynn reached out. Her hand touched Danielle's silky hair. Within the darkness of the blindfold, Lynn pictured Danielle's face, looking up at her, hazel eyes bright.

“A good friend. The best,” Lynn whispered.

And Danielle whispered back, “You get what you give.”

You get what you give.
True words. But not absolute. Knowing Danielle, Lynn couldn't imagine she'd ever given her husband a moment's heartache. And yet, clearly, heartache had been his ultimate gift to her.

Maybe it was better to be like Lynn. Still a virgin on her twenty-fourth birthday. With no prospects of “truly, madly, deeply” anywhere in sight.

Then again, Danielle did have Sara. The adorable little chatterbox must go a long way toward making up for the heartache.

“Ready to see your new look?” Danielle asked. All traces of sadness had vanished from her voice. Now she sounded excited, anticipatory.

“I hope it's just half as good as you're acting like it is.”

“Only one way to find out.”

Lynn felt a sort of shimmer go through her body. A shimmer of anxiety—and of giddy expectancy. She held out her hand to be led back to the main room of the salon.

 

There was a full-length mirror on the wall opposite the door to the street. Danielle made Lynn wait, still
blindfolded, while Gracie moved a potted fern out of the way.

Then, at last, Danielle untied the scarf, whipping it off with a magician's dramatic flourish. “Voilà!”

Everyone, including little Sara, began clapping and squealing.

“Do you love it?”

“Isn't it perfect?”

“You look incredible.”

“Miss Taylor, you are
so
pretty!”

Lynn could only stare.

It was…magic. Real-life magic.

She didn't look like some glamorous, over-made-up stranger, as she had secretly feared that she might. She looked…exactly like herself.

Only better. A hundred times better. Everything was…enhanced. Made brighter. As if she had somehow been
fuzzy
before. A picture out of focus, now brought stunningly clear.

So very clear. Her skin glowed. Her hair shone. Her eyes were bigger, brighter, bluer than blue.

And the rest of her…

She couldn't believe it.

She turned, looked over her shoulder. The rear view was perfect, too. The red sweater dress clung lovingly to every newly slimmed-down curve, and the silver threads, woven so subtly through the cashmere, gleamed like tiny diamonds—or maybe a sprinkling of starlight—from the downy wool.

And the shoes. Why, the shoes didn't make her look too tall at all. She
was
tall. Why not make the most of it?

“Is that really me?” she heard herself whisper, turning and facing her reflection again.

“It's you!” crowed Sara. “Miss Taylor, it's really, really you! You're just like Cinderella, all ready for the ball.”

Lynn couldn't help but agree. All those fairy-godmother jokes aside, she honestly did feel as if someone had cast a spell over her.

“This is…just magic.” A wistful laugh escaped her. “Now all I need is for my prince to show up.”

Lynn had barely finished speaking when the bell over the street door gave a jangle and Ross Garrison entered the salon.

R
oss Garrison was not a man who gaped.

But it took all the considerable self-control he possessed not to gawk like an idiot when he walked into the Whitehorn Salon and caught sight of Jennifer McCallum's teacher for the second time that day.

It couldn't be the same woman.

But it
was
the same woman.

Amazing.

Not that she hadn't possessed a certain wholesome, shyly dignified appeal before.

But now…

Now she was downright tempting.

Whoever had fixed her hair had worked wonders. Before, it had been a little longer, hadn't it? And a sort of brownish-blond color. Now it just brushed her shoulders and seemed shot with moonbeams. And those blue eyes. He'd thought them rather attractive
before. He'd been struck by the way she had looked at him—with a careful reserve and with challenge, as well.

But now, enhanced as those eyes were with subtle shadows, they could take a man down to drowning.

He wanted to look away.

But he couldn't.

And Lynn couldn't look away, either.

Was this some dream she'd stumbled into? A heady, intoxicating dream, where suddenly a man like Ross Garrison stared at her—at
her,
plain, dependable Miss Taylor—as if she had captivated him?

Looking twice, that was what he was doing. Looking twice at
her.

And maybe it was foolish of her. Foolish and shallow and silly.

But she
liked
the way he looked at her. She felt all fizzy and sparkling. Like a bottle of champagne with the cork just popped. And so…powerful, suddenly. In a purely female way.

Twenty-four years old today, she thought. And as of today, her entire experience with the opposite sex had consisted of awkward dates in college with boys as shy as she'd always been. But at that marvelous, special moment, Lynn Taylor was a siren. Her beauty could sink ships. Ross Garrison's stunned, frankly admiring stare told her so.

Speak up, damn it, Ross said to himself. All right. The kindergarten teacher has gotten to you. But you're no tongue-tied cowhand.

In his most self-assured tone, he broke the silence that had descended on the women at his entrance. “It's five o'clock, Ms. Taylor.”

The little girl, Sara, grabbed her mother's hand and gave it a tug. “I thought you said he was a lawyer.”

“Shh, honey, not now…”

“But we don't need a lawyer right now, Mommy. We need a
prince.
”

All the women laughed at that—except the schoolteacher, whose glowing face turned a sweet, flustered pink. One of the two women Ross didn't know, probably the hairdresser, muttered under her breath, “I'd say he'll have to do,” which caused another flurry of chuckles.

Danielle told her daughter, “I think you'd better go on back to your coloring books.”

“But—”

“Go on now, Sara.”

“Oh, all right.” The little girl went over to a table in the corner and sat down.

Once the child was out of the way, all the women turned and looked at Ross again. He felt thoroughly outnumbered. And this wasn't a place where a man would feel all that comfortable, anyway. Maybe it was the excess of dried flower arrangements. There seemed to be one on the corner of every table, and they hung in wreaths and swags on the walls. Lace curtains draped the windows. The place smelled of women, too: perfume and powder, shampoo—and under everything, the harsh ammonialike scent of hair dyes and permanent waving solutions. He had no intention of interviewing Lynn Taylor there.

Dinner, he decided right then. He'd take her to dinner. At that new restaurant on State Street. Over a leisurely meal he could get past the hostility he'd sensed in her during their first meeting at the school.
He'd get her to open up to him, get her really talking about the child he'd been hired to represent.

Oh, come on, Garrison, taunted a cynical voice in the back of his mind. This is a fifteen-minute interview and a request for a short written report. You can do that over coffee at the Hip Hop Café across the street.

Ross tuned out that cynical voice. He gave the gorgeous blonde in the red dress his easiest, most casual smile. “Are you ready to go?”

Lynn hesitated. But not at the idea of leaving with him. Somehow, her reluctance to meet with him had faded away. She was thinking that she ought to change back into her regular clothes.

But no. She just couldn't bear to do that. Not right yet. Perhaps silver-threaded cashmere and two-inch red heels were unsuitable attire for a brief meeting with Jenny's new lawyer. But right then, Lynn didn't care.

She was keeping the dress on and the magic going. None of it was real, anyway. It was a dream she'd stepped into, a spell woven by the skilled hands of Gracie and Kim. She wanted to hold on to the magic. Just for a little while…

“You go on,” Danielle was saying. “I'll bring you your other clothes tomorrow when I pick Sara up after school.”

Gracie and Kim chorused their encouragement.

“Yes, you go ahead….”

“You go on, now….”

Danielle marched to the door and lifted Lynn's coat off the coatrack. “Here.” She handed it to the lawyer, who obligingly held it open for Lynn to put on.

What else could she do?

She approached him, slid her arms into the sleeves and pulled it around herself, overly conscious of the light brush of his hands as he settled the garment onto her shoulders, thinking foolishly that even in heels she wasn't quite as tall as he was.

Danielle held out her purse. She took it. Ross Garrison opened the door again. He waited for Lynn to go through ahead of him.

And then she and the lawyer were standing on Center Street, side by side. A cold wind was blowing down from the Crazy Mountains north of town. Lynn shivered a little and wrapped her coat more closely around herself.

“Hungry?” he asked.

“Starved.” And she was. She'd skipped lunch altogether. Forgotten all about it. But now that he had mentioned it, she was ready to eat. The Hip Hop was just across the street and two doors down. It was a charming little place, where everyone in town felt at home. She started toward it.

But Ross caught her elbow. “Come on. My Mercedes is just over there.”

She didn't argue. His touch had distracted her, sending a sweet, zinging thrill along her nerves, making her shiver again—but this time not because of the wind.

He led her down the street about a hundred feet and then helped her into that Mercedes he'd mentioned, which was actually an SUV, of all things. She hadn't known that you could get a sports-utility version of a Mercedes, but there she was, sitting in the lovely leather seats, running her hand along the gleaming woodwork on her passenger-side door.

“It's not far, but we might as well drive,” he said as the engine purred to life.

 

Ross took her to the State Street Grill, Whitehorn's newest and nicest restaurant, which had opened just last summer. There were hardly any other diners so early on a weekday evening, but he asked for a quiet corner table nonetheless.

And it was a lovely corner, shadowy and private. In the center of their table a single rose emerged, velvety-red, from a crystal vase. A pair of tall white candles flanked that rose. The waiter lighted them when he brought the wine list.

Ross studied the list and then glanced up at Lynn. “Any preferences?”

“I'm not much of a wine drinker, as a rule.”

He was smiling—almost. “But you'll make an exception this once, won't you?”

Not wise, she chided herself silently. A glass of wine is the last thing you need right now….

But what she said was, “Well, to tell you the truth, it
is
my birthday.”

That almost-smile deepened. “Seriously?”

She nodded.

And he said, “Then we'll have champagne.” The waiter hovered at his elbow. Ross turned to him and said the name of something French.

A few minutes later, he was lifting a flute glass full of the golden, bubbly stuff. “To you, Ms. Lynn Taylor. Happy birthday.” She held up her own glass until it met his with a bright-sounding clink.

The fizzy wine shimmered down her throat and made a warm glow in her stomach. They took a min
ute to order—appetizers, salads and the main course. Then the waiter disappeared.

Ross leaned toward her across the table. “So tell me…”

She set her glass on the snowy cloth, made a low, questioning sound.

“This new look of yours…”

She was not a woman prone to teasing, but right then, teasing seemed to come to her as naturally as breathing. She raised one newly reshaped eyebrow. “New look?”

He chuckled. “What? You didn't think I'd noticed?”

She confessed with a small laugh, “I noticed. That you noticed…”

“Good. We're clear on that much.”

“Yes, I suppose we are.”

“Then what brought on this change?”

She sipped again, felt that lovely fizziness slide down her throat. “It's my birthday present from Danielle. And Gracie and Kim, too.”

“Gracie and Kim. They would be the other two women, in the salon?”

“Yes. The owner and her daughter.”

“And what did the little girl mean, with that remark about the prince?”

Funny, she'd felt her cheeks flame back in the shop when Sara had announced so bluntly, “We need a prince.” But she didn't feel the least embarrassed now.

She told him. Simply and directly. About how Danielle had called her early that morning with birthday greetings and instructions to be ready after class, to bring her new red dress and red high-heeled shoes.
“She wouldn't tell me then what the surprise was going to be. She only said, ‘Just call me your fairy godmother.”'

“As in Cinderella?”

“That's right. It got to be kind of a joke. Me as Cinderella. And Danielle and Gracie and Kim as my fairy godmothers, waving a magic wand over me. Then, once they'd worked their magic, I said that all I needed was a prince.”

“Then I showed up.” The candlelight gleamed, two spots of soft gold, in his dark eyes.

“Um-hmm. Right on time.”

“But not a prince.” He put on a look of great regret. “Only a lawyer…”

Lynn picked up her flute again. “Sometimes a girl has to make do with whomever shows up.”

“Whomever,” he repeated. “You just proved you're still a schoolteacher, after all.”

She sipped. “Yes. And I'm warning you…”

“Don't tell me. At midnight, you turn into a pumpkin.”

“Much worse. At midnight, I give you a pop quiz.”

“I see.”

“Then I make you recite your
ABC
s.”

“And then?”

She considered. “Times tables. Yes. Right up through ten times ten. And from there, I'll want to see how you do at conjugating verbs.”

“It sounds terrifying.”

“It would be. But luckily for you, we'll have said good-night long before then.”

“Yes. Luckily for me…”

They shared a long look. A much too intimate look.

Lynn reminded herself that they were only here to talk about Jenny.

But then, before she could say anything to get them going on the topic of her student, their appetizers appeared.

He asked her where she went to college.

“Montana State,” she replied. “Major in education, minor in English. How about you?”

He said he'd gone to Princeton on a scholarship. “I was miserable there. Didn't know anybody. They'd all come from Ivy League prep schools. To them, I was just a cowboy, manure still on my boots, fresh out of high school in Billings.”

“But you stuck it out.”

“Damn right. Then I went on to law school in Colorado.”

“And got your law degree when you were—what?”

“I took the bar exam when I was twenty-four.”

“That's pretty young, isn't it?”

“I knew what I wanted. To make it and make it big. I hired on with Turow, Travis and Lindstrom, a major Denver law firm, right away.”

Trish, who spent her lunch hours at the Hip Hop collecting every tidbit she could on Ross Garrison, had mentioned that he'd come from Denver. “And then?”

His eyes turned cold. “I worked my way up the food chain.”

“At Turow, Travis and—?”

“Lindstrom. Right. I advanced there with alarming rapidity. I was twenty-eight when I made partner. It
was an unheard-of accomplishment.” The irony in his tone matched the chill in his eyes, making it seem that the “accomplishment” he spoke of was actually nothing of the kind.

Lynn had the strangest urge—to reach across the table. To lay her hand over his. To say something gentle and understanding, something that would bring warmth to his eyes.

She kept her hands to herself. And he finished, “I stayed with the firm until a little over a year ago, when I decided it was time for a change.”

Time for a change,
she thought, and knew there was more to it than that. Trish had mentioned a divorce. A broken heart Trish intended to mend…

Lynn studied him across the table, admitting to herself that, beyond this foolish and dangerous game of flirtation she was playing with him, she had started to like him, to respond to him on some deeper level—which she knew she shouldn't allow herself to do.

He was too rich. And too sophisticated. And even though he seemed to have zero romantic interest in Trish, her sister had set her sights on him. Trish would never consider Lynn any kind of competition. But still, there would be nothing but trouble in the family if Trish thought Lynn had dared to make a play for him.

And yet, here she was in this fancy restaurant, drinking champagne with him. And flirting. Showing off her smart mouth, as Jewel always used to say whenever her usually self-effacing stepdaughter had the bad judgment to let that particular side of herself shine through.