seat. However, the damage had already been done. Bridget had gotten what she paid for, a tall, slow-talking rancher who wasn’t about to let the best thing that had ever happened to him slip through his fingers.
Shaking her head, Tiffany eased off the desk and walked over to where she kept her two-cup coffeemaker. She filled a cup full of French vanilla and sipped; although it soothed her stomach, it did nothing for her clicking mind.
While she envied Bridget many things, her marriage was not one of them. Tiffany had come close to getting married only once; thank God it hadn’t come about. The man had been—and still was—a lush, though she hadn’t realized it. Even at thirty, which years ago would have classified her as an old maid, a ring on her finger wasn’t what she wanted. Her desires leaned more toward life’s amenities: a great job, a nice house, a fancy car and a hefty bank account, and not necessarily in that order, either.
Although she had none of the above at the moment, Tiffany intended to remedy that. Her goal was to eventually have enough money, borrowed or otherwise, to open her own shop, a shop that catered to rich and privileged women. Working at Cunningham’s was merely a stepping-stone.
Tiffany took another generous mouthful of coffee, savoring the taste, only to have it tainted by sudden thoughts of Hazel. She wasn’t sure just how much longer she could take the woman’s abuse, along with her lack of enthusiasm. She had about as much innovative energy as molasses running uphill.
“Grrr,” Tiffany muttered, then drained her cup.
There had to be a way to get through to her boss without jeopardizing her job. At the moment, however, nothing came to mind. She was always walking that fine line between getting ahead and getting canned.
Another smile flirted with her lips as thoughts of Bridget resurfaced. It had been only a little over a year since she and Bridget had had that conversation about how low both their lives had sunk.
Of course, Bridget’s hadn’t, not really, since she was from a wealthy family here in Houston, with money of her own, to boot. Tiffany, on the other hand, had nothing to fall back on—no family and no money.
That was why she couldn’t waltz into Hazel’s office and tell her what she could do with her antiquated ideas and this job.
“Yo.”
Tiffany, unaware that her privacy had been invaded, jumped, then whipped around. The intruder was Gretchen Wheeler, one of the salesclerks.
“Sorry,” Gretchen said. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You didn’t. What’s up?”
Gretchen made a face. “Hazel’s dander.”
“Great.”
“She wants to see you.”
“What else is new?” Tiffany’s mouth curved downward. “I get out of her sight for five minutes and she goes berserk.”
Gretchen gave her a sympathetic look, though she appeared uncomfortable at being the go-between who bore the unhappy message.
“Thanks,” Tiffany finally said, letting Gretchen off the hook. “I’ll see you later.”
Gretchen nodded, then left. Tiffany stood for a moment, contemplating walking into Hazel’s office and telling her what she could do with both her demands and the job; then the phone rang.
Thinking it was the witch adding insult to injury, Tiffany grabbed the receiver and said a curt “Yes.”
“Whoa! Down, girl.”
Tiffany threw back her head and laughed, having recognized the voice right off. “Why, Jeremiah Davis, fancy you calling me.” Then her voice sobered and her stomach lurched, as it dawned on her that something was amiss. First off, Jeremiah was calling, instead of Bridget, and second, it was in the middle of the day. “I take it this isn’t a social call.”
“You’re right.”
Her stomach gave another lurch, and at the same time fear clogged her throat; she couldn’t utter a word. Something must have happened to Bridget or Jeremiah’s six-year-old daughter, Taylor, from his first marriage.
As if Jeremiah had picked up on her fear, he went on, “ices Bridget. She’s been injured in a car accident, but she’s going to be okay.”
Tiffany picked up on the desperate ring to his voice, but she didn’t acknowledge it. “Thank God,” she whispered, sitting down before her knees could give way under her. “Was she alone?”
“Yeah. She slammed into a school bus, which caused damage to her spine and legs.”
“How much damage?” Tiffany hated asking that question, but she had no choice. She might as well know the good, the bad and the ugly now as later.
“She’s partially paralyzed, though the doctor says it’s not permanent.”
“What can I do to help?”
Jeremiah hemmed and hawed, then finally said, “I was wondering if it’s possible for you to take some vacation time and baby-sit Taylor. I can’t leave Bridget, and my aunt’s not able to keep Taylor. She’s had a slight stroke, and...” He hesitated. “I wouldn’t ask, but—”
“I’d be insulted if you hadn’t.” And Tiffany meant it, even though she didn’t have any vacation time left. Maybe all wasn’t lost Maybe this unexpected twist of events was the answer to her problem.
She could resign, then look for another job when she returned from Utah. Although her savings account was far from what she wanted it to be, it wasn’t all that shabby. If she had to, she could dip into that, then replace what she’d used.
“Tiffany?”
“I’m on my way.”
With that, she replaced the receiver, then listened as her heart banged against her rib cage. Even though she was concerned for her friend, she suddenly felt like a prisoner who had just been released from death row.
“Yes, yes, yes!”
She left her office and headed straight for Hazel’s, a bounce in her steps.
Two
Tiffany stood in the small hospital room in Hurricane, where Bridget had been taken following the accident, though Tiffany had yet to talk to her. A lab tech was in the process of drawing blood from Bridget’s arm.
Unable to watch the procedure, Tiffany kept her eyes averted. Needles gave her the willies, especially when they were used to penetrate the skin.
She had contemplated going to the ranch first and dumping her bags. But in her eagerness to see for herself that her friend was not critical, she had rented a car at the airport and come straight here.
Jeremiah had insisted on meeting her flight, but she’d insisted otherwise, pointing out that he needn’t be concerned about her, that he had enough on his plate at the moment. As if he’d realized she was as headstrong as his wife, he’d let out a sigh and given in.
Now,
