the phone she extended as if he’d never seen one before. “Who is it?”
“I didn’t ask.” Some woman. Maybe the woman you were with last night. “And I’m busy.” She pushed the phone into his hand and turned away.
Unfortunately, she didn’t move fast enough to miss his impatient “Hello” followed by his much less impatient “Hey, there, sweetheart.”
Well, of course, she told herself.
Guys like Wood Tolliver naturally had a “sweetheart” somewhere. She was just fooling herself to think otherwise.
He may have kissed her, but she was the type of woman the Wendell Pierces of the world wanted, not the Wood Tollivers.
Chapter Seven
“Your sleigh, Miss Day.” Hadley grinned and waved her hand at the horse-drawn sleigh waiting beside Tiff’s.
Nikki Day’s jaw dropped ever so slightly. “I didn’t think it would be so—” She broke off and waved her ivory-gloved hand expressively.
Alan and Trev and Julie were all practically dancing around the sleigh, and she knew one of these days she was going to have to make arrangements to have them taken out.
“It is pretty grand,” she agreed. “Every time I see it I get a little shiver.” The ornate blue sleigh was like romance on gleaming runners with a plush red seat and velvet blankets with gold tassels. “And Ivan, here, will make sure his horses don’t get too rambunctious, right, Ivan?”
The old man standing beside the two beautifully matched Morgans smiled and tipped his hat. “We’ll take good care of you, miss. I’ve been running sleigh rides in the winter and hayrides in the summer since I was a lad.”
Nikki smiled, but to Hadley it seemed forced. And the other woman’s face, surrounded by a long cloud of auburn hair, looked pale. But maybe that was just because Nikki wore ivory from head to toe.
“Thank you.” Nikki took Ivan’s hand and stepped up into the sleigh and arranged a blanket over her legs. Hadley called back the kids and they reluctantly moved out of the way while Ivan climbed up onto the slanted driver’s bench and picked up the reins. With a cluck of his tongue and a jingle of the horses’ riggings, the sleigh set off over the open field, toward the line of trees in the distance.
“It’s so pretty,” Julie sighed. She was a dreamer. Like her aunt. Hadley hugged her narrow, young shoulders, and steered everyone back inside.
“Wash your hands before you touch any more cookies,” she ordered when they got to the kitchen.
“What are all the cookies for?” Alan had asked the question a few times already. He wasn’t satisfied with Hadley’s explanation that she’d just felt like baking. Not with Christmas and dozens of cookies still a recent memory.
But she couldn’t very well tell the children they were for their mother’s surprise birthday party, or there would undoubtedly be no surprise. “We’re making them for Grandpa Beau,” she blatantly lied, and hoped it wasn’t a terribly punishable offense.
And despite the holidays just past, she knew Evie would still appreciate the homemade storybook cookies. They’d always been her favorite.
Fortunately, the explanation seemed to satisfy Alan, who—along with his siblings—was sitting on a high stool at the counter, using paintbrushes to add colorful splotches of egg-yolk “paint” to the trays of unbaked cookies.
“That child looked peaked to me,” Mrs. Ardelle observed when Hadley finished washing her own hands and sat down at the table beside Joanie. She pointed the end of the rolling pin out the back window where they could see the tail end of the sleigh gliding through the snow. “Mark my words. She’s got troubles.”
“She seems lonely to me,” Joanie said. “And I know she’s not married,’ cause I asked her.” She picked up another cookie and put half of it in her mouth.
“You’re supposed to be icing them, not eating them,” Mrs. Ardelle said, laughter in her voice.
Joanie shrugged and smiled around her mouthful. “If Alan and Julie and Trev get to eat some, why can’t I?”
Hadley added some blue piping onto the square cookie, and fashioned a little bow so it would look like a birthday gift. “I’m going to the Tipped Barrel tonight.” She reached for another cookie to decorate.
Silence met her announcement.
Mrs. Ardelle finally broke it. “Excuse me, dear, but aren’t they closed on Sundays?”
Hadley paused. “Well, yes, I suppose they are. Tomorrow night, then.”
“But why?” Joanie’s eyes were wide. “The sheriff will have a conniption fit and fall right in it.”
“I don’t care.” And, Hadley realized, she didn’t care if Shane disapproved. Or Stu. Or Evie or Beau or Wood. She kept trying to write stories about women, capable women, making their own way in life. How could she do that if she weren’t making some similar effort in her own life? “Until this town starts seeing me as something other than the thoroughly boring and settled Hadley, nothing’s going to change. Maybe Wendell’s not the only one I have to convince that I could possess a wild side. Right?”
She looked up to see Joanie’s and Mrs. Ardelle’s twin expressions. “I know. I don’t look like I belong in the Tipped Barrel.” She’d figured that when she and Wood had gone there, only to find Charlie instead.
“Well,” Joanie pondered. “I can help you with that. Some. I’ve been watching the girls doing hair at Curl up and Dye. Maybe we could do something with your hair. You know. Something a little outrageous. Sexy.”
Hadley stomped out a sneaky whisper of unease. “I don’t want to dye it or anything.” Joanie was a receptionist at the hair salon, not a stylist.
“Joanie knows that.” Mrs. Ardelle bustled over to the table and sat down, her floury hands fluttering. “But I know what she means. Fluff it up, or something. Your hair is lovely, Hadley, but it’s… well, it’s so—”
“Boring.”
“Nice,” Mrs. Ardelle finished. “You’re a nice girl, Hadley, and you look like one. I’m just not sure changing your image for a night is likely to dissuade Mr. Pierce in his pursuit.”
“I have to do something,” Hadley muttered. “I can’t seem to get my brothers from helping him along. So, unless Wendell decides himself that I’m not as suitable as he’d always figured—” She broke off when she heard the front door open, followed by a yell.
She pushed away from the table and hurried to the hall. Ivan stood there, his weathered face flushed. “Call the ambulance,” he barked.
Dismay streaked through Hadley. She pointed Mrs. Ardelle toward the phone, but the woman had already yanked the receiver off the wall.
She hurriedly followed Ivan outside. “What’s wrong?”
His boots clumped down the steps. “That Miss Day. She just passed out. We were nearly
