laughed and wrapped them in another hug. “Not just any kiss. It’s different when you kiss the one. Trust me, I know. I bet they could see the sparks flying between the two of you clear down to the coast.”
Looking into Joe’s trusting face, she couldn’t let Sam’s father pin his hopes on her. She had to tell him the truth.
“Mr. Callahan, I don’t—”
“You’re right, Dad,” Sam agreed. “It’s different with Julia. I’m different, and I don’t want you to worry about me anymore.” He pinched the tip of Julia’s nose, a little harder than necessary if you asked her.
“Ouch.”
“Such a delicate flower.” He laughed and dropped a quick kiss on her forehead. “What would I do without you?”
“Troll for women over in Charlotte?” she offered.
“See why I need her by my side?”
Joe nodded. “I do.”
Sam turned to Julia and rubbed his warm hands down her arms. “Where are you parked?”
Julia pointed to the blue Jetta a few spaces down from where they stood, her mind still reeling.
“Perfect. I’m going to walk Dad back to the hotel and we’ll talk tomorrow.”
She didn’t like the look in his eye. “I’m kind of busy at the salon tomorrow.”
“Never too busy for your one true love.”
Julia stifled the urge to gag. “I guess not.”
“Get going, then, sugar.” He pinched her bottom, making her yelp. She rounded on him but, at the calculating gleam in his eye, turned back toward her car. Sam and his dad watched until she’d pulled out.
Despite this peculiar evening, his announcement had served its purpose. Lexi Preston had said having Sam in the picture might change things. That could be the understatement of the year, but if it kept Charlie safe, Julia would make it work.
No matter what.
* * *
Sam took a fortifying drink of coffee and watched as another woman walked through the door of The Best Little Hairhouse. He knew Julia had worked at the salon since her return to Brevia two years ago, but that wasn’t why he avoided this place like the plague. It was too girlie for him. The bottles of hair product and little rows of nail polish on the shelves gave him the heebie-jeebies.
The one time he’d ventured into the Hairhouse, after the owner had reported a man lurking in the back alley, he’d felt like a prize steer come up for auction.
He adjusted the brim of his hat, buttoned his jacket against the late-morning rain and started across the street. He’d put the visit off until almost lunchtime, irritated with himself at how much he wanted to see Julia again. Part of him wanted to blame her for making him crazy, but another piece, the part he tried to ignore, wanted to get close enough to her to smell the scent of sunshine on her hair.
He scrubbed a hand across his face. Sunshine on her hair? What the hell was that about? Women didn’t smell like sunshine. She worked at a salon and probably had a ton of gunk in her hair at any given moment. Although the way the strands had felt soft on his fingers when he’d bent to kiss her last night told another story.
One he wasn’t interested in reading. Or so he told himself.
Sam opened the front door and heard a blood-curdling scream from behind the wall at the reception desk. He jerked to attention. He might not spend a lot of time in beauty salons but could guarantee that sound wasn’t typical.
“I’m going to choke the life out of her,” a woman yelled, “as soon as my nails dry.”
Nope. Something wasn’t right.
He glanced at the empty reception desk then stepped through the oversized doorway that led to the main room.
A pack of women huddled around one of the chairs, Julia in the center of the mix.
“Is there a problem here, ladies?”
Seven pairs of eyes, ranging from angry to horrified, turned to him.
“Sam, thank the Lord you’re here.”
“You would not believe what happened.”
“Congrats on your engagement, Chief.”
The last comment produced silence from the group. He met Julia’s exasperated gaze. “Not a good time,” she mouthed and turned back to the center of the cluster, only to be pushed aside by a woman with a black smock draped around her considerable girth. Sam tried not to gape at her head, where the neat curls framing her face glowed an iridescent pink.
“There will be time for celebrating later. I want that woman arrested,” Ida Garvey announced. Sam was used to Ida issuing dictatorial commands. She was the wealthiest woman in town, thanks to a generous inheritance from her late husband. Other than the clown hair, she looked like a picture-perfect grandma, albeit one with a sharp tongue and a belief that she ruled the world.
For an instant, he thought she was pointing at Julia. Then he noticed the young woman hunched in the corner, furiously wiping tears from her cheeks.
“Ida, don’t be a drama queen.” Julia shook her head. “No one is being arrested. Accidents happen. We’ll fix it, but—”
“She turned my hair pink!” With a screech, Ida vaulted from the chair and grabbed a curling iron from a stand. “I’m going to kill her!” Ida lunged toward the cowering woman, but Julia stepped into her path. The curling iron dropped, the barrel landing on Julia’s arm before clattering to the floor.
Julia bit out an oath and Ida screamed again. “Look what you made me do,” she bellowed at the now-sobbing stylist. “I burned her.”
Sam strode forward with a new appreciation for the simplicity of breaking up a drunken bar brawl. Ida looked into his face then staggered back, one hand fluttering to her chest. “Are you gonna arrest me, Chief?”
“Sit down, Mrs. Garvey.” He waved at the group of women. “All of you, back off. Now.”
Ida plopped back into the chair as the group fell silent again.
Julia winced as he took her arm in his hands. A crimson mark slashed across her wrist, the skin already raised and angry. “Where’s a faucet?”
“I’m fine,” she said through gritted teeth. “Happens all the time.”
“I sure as hell hope not.”
“Not exactly like this. I can use the sink in back.” She tugged her arm but he didn’t let go.
“Don’t anyone move,” he ordered the women. “That means you, Ida.”
“I don’t need your help,” Julia ground out as he followed her to the back of the salon.
“You
