Trace returned her greeting. “What can we do for you?”
“I wondered if you had any news for me regarding the CMB’s request to have the carnival banned from the fair this year.”
“Bitsy.” Jason reached down deep for patience. “We’ve explained that it’s too late to ban the carnival.”
“Yes. But I believe the morals of our children are more important than the few dollars involved in breaking a contract.”
“More than a few dollars. The economy can’t absorb another hit.”
“So it’s of no matter that the children will be exposed to a bad element? Everyone knows these carnival people are little better than transients and thieves. Look at what happened with poor Melissa Tolliver.”
Trace fielded that one. “It’s not like you, Bitsy, to be so judgmental. Let me reassure you this troupe is the best in the country. They may travel from town to town, but they are professionals at what they do.”
“I’m afraid that’s not good enough.” Bitsy’s shoulders went back and pink tinged her cheeks from the sheriff’s gentle rebuke. “Trouble is what they are. I can assure you, you’ll be hearing more about this from the committee.”
Tucking her gray purse into the crook of her elbow, she inclined her head. “Good day, gentleman.”
Full dark had fallen by the time Jason carried his daughter, Rikki, into the house that night. He dropped his briefcase inside the door, adjusted her slight weight against his shoulder, and carried her upstairs.
She didn’t stir once, not even when he laid her on the bed. She lay with arms sprawled, half turned on her side. If he left her like this, she’d still be in the same position when he came in to wake her tomorrow morning.
The girl had two speeds, full tilt and full stop.
He envied the first and lived for the second. Just looking at her made his heart melt, but sometimes he loved her best just like this, blessedly still and blessedly quiet.
Hard to believe she’d be three in a week.
He pulled off her shoes and socks, amazed at the dirt accumulated in both. He replaced her shirt and shorts with bunny pajamas, giving her a quick swipe with a disposable wet cloth in between—what his mother didn’t know couldn’t hurt him—then he tucked her between the sheets.
He bent to kiss her soft curls. When he rose and turned, he caught sight of the picture on the dresser.
His wife, Diane. Taken when they were on a ski trip in Colorado.
He lifted the frame, angled it so the light from the hall caught it. Her cheeks were rosy, her eyes bright with laughter, her blond hair tucked under a red-and-white knit cap. They’d still lived in Lubbock when the picture was taken, before she’d gotten pregnant.
They’d lived for the moment then, lived for each other. Those had been the best of times.
She’d been so happy to learn she was expecting Rikki. It’s what they both wanted. A family. A lifetime together. They’d moved back to Blossom City as their life plan dictated. They opened an office, he practiced law and Diane and his sister Hannah sold real estate.
Then Rikki was born. Their beautiful baby girl. A miracle. Life was good, the best ever.
Then it was over. Gone. The heart of his life destroyed by an accident. Rikki’s mother stolen from them because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. A car crossed the median when the driver suffered a heart attack.
And suddenly Jason was alone with a one-month-old baby girl. He hadn’t had time to grieve, to mourn the loss of his wife. His life.
He’d missed Diane so much.
Still did. Or the long, lean lady in leather wouldn’t get to him so easily.
He’d handled Diane’s loss just like he’d handled every crisis in his life—by taking one day at a time, following a routine, keeping everyone close and accounted for.
So why did he have the feeling life was slipping out of his control? Maybe because his mother had run off to Europe with Aunt Stella. Or because his sister had become secretive lately. Or just because his baby was growing up.
It couldn’t be because he’d begun to chafe under his own need for control. Keeping life on track meant keeping his loved ones safe.
He set the picture down, pulled the door half-closed and made his way down the hall to his room.
He dated, more out of expedience than for romance. But the women knew the score, and he had no desire for entanglements. Especially not a sultry brunette with a talent for riling his temper. And for sticking her nose where it didn’t belong.
Just to prove her wrong, he went to the nightstand to the right of his bed, and lifted it away from the wall. Fully prepared to find nothing.
Almost hoping to find nothing.
No such luck. Gold sparkled against the dark blue carpeting.
Bending, he scooped up his wedding ring, flung in guilty rage the first night he went out with another woman and had more than dinner with her. He’d gotten over the guilt of living when Diane died. Yet losing the symbol of their love had stuck with him.
Finding the ring helped.
Being attracted to the sexy gypsy that helped him find it was another thing altogether.
Two days later, after making arrangements for Carlo Fuentes to drive her rig into Blossom when the troupe came to town in a few days, Cherry walked into the Cut N Curl.
No better place to jump into the thick of things in a small town than the local beauty parlor.
The bell over the door jingled. Orange, yellow and pink bright enough to require sunglasses greeted her along with a cheerful hello from a tiny woman with a big voice and big hair the same color as the orange seats.
“Welcome to the Cut N Curl. I’m Wanda Mae.” A blast of hairspray accompanied her words.
“Do you take walk-ins?” Cherry asked. As she’d hoped, the place was packed with women in the process of beautifying themselves.
“Well, of course we do. Hang on just a sec.”
Cherry took a seat and absorbed the scene. Besides Wanda Mae, two other women worked on hair while another three did nails. A posted sign advertised everything from waxing to tattooing.
Tattooing? My, my, weren’t they progressive in Blossom?
Wanda Mae whipped the protective cover from the lap of her customer, an older woman with decidedly pink hair piled into a helmet of curls. “All done, Miss Ellie. You’re all set to turn Big Al’s eye at bingo tonight.”
The woman had to be close to eighty, yet she twittered like a teenager. “Do you have any of that peppermint pink lipstick? Peppermint pink drives Big Al wild.”
“’Course we do.” Wanda Mae rang up the order, then sent Miss Ellie on her way
