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.
Chapter Three
Ross 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
