Truly Madly Yours

Chapter Five

The Miata’s door handle dug into Delaney’s behind as Steve pressed into her front. She placed her hands on his chest and ended the kiss.

“Come home with me,” he whispered above her ear.

Delaney pulled back just far enough to look into the dark shadows of his face. She wished she could use him. She wished she was tempted. She wished he wasn’t so young and that his age didn’t matter, but it did. “I can’t.” He was handsome, had pecs of steel, and seemed genuinely nice. She felt like a cradle robber.

“My roommate is out of town.”

A roommate. Of course he had a roommate. He was twenty-two. He probably lived on canned chili and Budweiser. When she’d been twenty-two, a well-rounded meal consisted mostly of corn chips, salsa, and sangria. She’d been living in Vegas, working at Circus Circus, not even concerned with the rest of her life. “I never go home with men I’ve just met,” she told him and pushed until he took a step backward.

“What are you doing tomorrow night?” he asked.

Delaney shook her head and opened her car’s door. “You’re a nice guy, but I’m not interested in seeing anyone right now.”

As she drove away, she looked into her rearview mirror at Steve’s retreating back. At first she’d been flattered by the attention he’d paid her, but as the night had progressed, she’d become more uneasy. A lot of maturing happened in seven years. Matching furniture became as important as a killer stereo, and somewhere along the way, the phrase “party till you puke” lost its appeal. But even if she’d been seriously tempted to use Steve’s body for her own pleasure, Nick had ruined it for her. He ruined it by just being at the party. She was much too aware of him, and there was just too much history between them for her to ignore him completely. Even when she did manage to forget him for a few moments, she’d suddenly feel his gaze, like hot irresistible tractor beams pulling at her. But when she’d looked at him, he was never looking back.

Delaney turned up the long driveway and pressed the garage door opener on the dash. And even if Nick hadn’t been there, and Steve hadn’t been young, she doubted she would have gone home with him. She was twenty-nine, lived with her mother, and was too paranoid to enjoy a one-nighter.

After she parked next to Henry and Gwen’s matching Cadillacs, she headed into the house through the door off the kitchen. A bug light and several citronella candles cast a dim glow on the porch out back, illuminating Gwen and the back of a man’s head. It wasn’t until Delaney walked outside that she recognized Henry’s lawyer, Max Harrison. She hadn’t seen Max since the day he’d read Henry’s will. She was surprised to see him now.

“It’s good to see you,” he said, standing as she approached. “How do you like living in Truly again?”

It sucks, she thought as she sat in a wrought-iron chair across the matching table from her mother. “It takes some getting used to.”

“Did you enjoy your party?” Gwen asked.

“Yes,” she answered truthfully. She’d met some nice people, and despite Nick Allegrezza, she’d enjoyed herself.

“Your mother was just telling me you’ve been busy training Henry’s dogs.” Max took his seat once again, and his smile seemed genuine. “Maybe you’ve found a new career.”

“Actually, I like my old career,” she said. Ever since her conversation with Louie, she’d been thinking about the vacant building downtown. She hadn’t wanted to discuss her ideas with her mother until she was sure she could pull it off, but the person she needed to talk to most just happened to be sitting across the table, and her mother would find out sooner or later anyway. “Who owns the building next to Allegrezza Construction?” she asked Max. “It’s a thin two-story with a hair salon on the bottom floor.”

“I believe Henry left that block of property at First and Main to you. Why?”

“I want to reopen the salon.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” her mother said. “There are a lot of other things you can do.”

Delaney ignored her. “How do I go about doing it?”

“To get started, you’ll need a small business loan. The previous owner is dead, so you’ll need to contact the attorney representing her heirs to determine the value of the salon,” he began. When he was finished half an hour later, Delaney knew exactly what she had to do. First thing Monday, she’d pay a visit to the bank holding her money in trust and apply for a loan. As far as she could see, there was only one drawback to her plan. The salon was located next to Nick’s construction company. “Can I raise the rent on the building next door?” Maybe she could force him out.

“Not until the current lease expires.”

“When is that?”

“Another year I believe.”

“Damn.”

“Please don’t swear,” her mother admonished while she reached across the table and placed her hand on top of Delaney’s. “If you want to open a little business, why don’t you think about a gift shop?”

“I don’t want to open a gift shop.”

“You could open up in time to sell Christmas Spode.”

“I don’t want to sell Spode.”

“I think it’s a wonderful idea.”

“Then you do it. I’m a hairstylist, and I want to reopen the salon downtown.”

Gwen sat back in her chair. “You’re just doing this to spite me.”

She wasn’t, but she’d lived with her mother long enough to know that if she argued, she’d end up looking childish. Sometimes talking to Gwen was like wrestling with flypaper. The more you fought to get free, the more you got stuck.

It took Delaney a little over three months to secure her loan and get the salon ready to open for business. While she waited, she did an unscientific study of the downtown business district, with emphasis on the number of customers who walked into Helen’s Hair Hut. With legal pad and pen in hand, she parked in alleys and spied on her childhood nemesis, Helen Markham. When Lisa wasn’t working or busy with wedding plans, Delaney had her report any activity she might notice as well. Delaney charted demographic statistics and visually gathered bad perm versus good perm data. She even went so far as concocting a phony English accent in case Helen recognized her when she called to ask what her competition charged for a color retouch. But it wasn’t until she found herself digging through Helen’s Dumpster one night to check out what kinds of cheap products Helen used that several thoughts struck her at the same time. As she’d stood there, up to her thighs in garbage, her foot sinking into a container of spoiled cottage cheese, she realized she’d gone a little overboard with her investigation. She also realized that the success of the salon had as much to do with fulfilling a dream as it did with kicking Helen to-the curb. She’d been away for ten years, only to come back and fall into the same patterns. However, this time she wasn’t going to lose anything to Helen.

By the end of the unscientific study, she could see that Helen did a thriving business, but Delaney wasn’t worried. She’d seen Helen’s hair. She could steal her old rival’s clients-no problem.

Once the loan went through, Delaney put away her legal pad and got busy on the shop itself. A grimy layer of dust covered everything, from the cash register to the perming rods. Everything had to be scrubbed down and sterilized. She pored over the previous owner’s books, but the numbers didn’t match the inventory. Either Gloria had been completely inept, or someone had come in after her death and stolen cases of hair products. Not that Delaney minded the theft all that much since she didn’t have to pay Gloria’s heirs for the missing supplies, and everything in the shop was at least three years behind the current trends anyway. Still, it left her a little uneasy to think that someone might have access to the salon. In her mind, the prime suspect was of course Helen. Helen was a thief from way back, and who else would have use for things like cotton strips, shampoo towels, and wig pins?

Delaney had been assured that she had the only key to the front and rear entrances, as well as the only key to the apartment above. She wasn’t convinced and called the sole locksmith in town, who promised he’d be out in a week. But she was living in Truly, where a week could sometimes mean a month depending on hunting season.

Nine days before she opened for business, she had the old name scraped from the front window, and the words the cutting edge applied in gold. She had new products sitting in the storage room and new black lacquer chairs in the reception area. The hardwood floors were refinished and the walls painted a bright white. She hung up trade show posters and had the old mirrors replaced with bigger ones. When she was finished she was very pleased and very proud. It wasn’t her dream salon. It wasn’t chrome and marble and filled with the best stylists, but she’d accomplished a lot in a short amount of time.

She introduced herself to the owner of Bernard’s Deli on the corner and the T-shirt shop next door. And on a day when she didn’t see Nick’s Jeep parked in the lot out back, she marched into Allegrezza construction and introduced herself to his secretary, Hilda, and office manager, Ann Marie.

Two nights before she opened, she gave a small party at the salon. She invited Lisa and Gwen and all of her mother’s friends. She sent invitations to business owners in the area. She excluded Allegrezza Construction but had an invitation hand delivered to Helen’s Hair Hut. For two hours her salon was packed with people eating her strawberries and drinking her champagne, but Helen didn’t show.

Gwen did, but after half an hour she’d made up a dumb excuse about having a cold and left. It was just one more expression of her mother’s disapproval. But Delaney had stopped living for her mother’s approval a long time ago. She knew she would never get it anyway.

That next day, Delaney moved into the apartment above the salon. She hired a few men with trucks to haul her furniture from the storage unit to the small one-bedroom. Gwen predicted Delaney would be back in no time, but Delaney knew she wouldn’t.

From a small common parking lot behind the salon, a set of old wooden stairs climbed the back of the building to the emerald green door of her new home. The apartment was run-down and needed linoleum, new curtains, and a decent stove post-Brady Bunch era. Delaney loved it. She loved the window seats in the small living room and bedroom. She loved the old clawfoot bathtub, and the huge arching window that looked down on Main. She’d certainly lived in nicer apartments, and the shabby little place couldn’t begin to compete with the luxuries of her mother’s house. But maybe that’s why she loved it most of all. The things in it belonged to her. She hadn’t even realized how much she missed having her stuff around until her own dishes filled the cupboards. She slept in her own wrought-iron bed and sat on her own cream linen sofa, with the zebra print pillows, to watch her own television. The black coffee and end tables belonged to her, as well as the pedestal table in the small dining area at the far left of the living room. The dining room and kitchen were separated by a half wall, and a person could see most of the apartment all at once. Not that there was a lot to see.

Delaney unpacked what she considered her business clothes and hung them in her closet. She bought a few groceries, a clear plastic shower curtain with big red hearts on it, and two braided rugs for the worn patches on the kitchen floor.

Now all she needed was a phone and a few new locks.

Three days after she opened for business, she had her phone, but she was still waiting for those locks. She was waiting for the stampede of customers, too.

Delaney sat her first customer in the salon chair and took the towel from her head. “Are you sure you want finger waves, Mrs. Van Damme?” She hadn’t done finger waves since beauty school. Not only had it been four years, but a whole head of finger waves was a pain in the backside.

“Yep. Just like I always get ‘em. Last time I went to that shop around the corner,” she said, referring to Helen’s Hair Hut. “But she didn’t do a very good job. She made it look like I had worms laying on my head. I haven’t had a decent hairdo since Gloria passed on.”

Delaney shrugged out of her short vinyl jacket, then shoved her arms through a green smock. The smock covered her raspberry Lycra shirt and vinyl skirt, leaving her knees and shinny black boots exposed. She thought of her old job at Valentina in Scottsdale and of her clients who knew a little something about fashion and trends. She reached for her shaping comb and began to remove the tangles from the old woman’s nape. She’d found some waving lotion in the storage room, left there by the former owner. Normally, she wouldn’t have agreed to style Mrs. Van Damme’s hair, especially after the woman had bartered the price down to ten dollars. Delaney’s intuitive talent lay in her ability to see nature’s flaws and fix them with cut and color. The right cut could make noses look smaller, eyes bigger, and chins stronger.

But she was desperate. No one wanted to pay more than ten dollars for anything. In the three days she’d been open, Mrs. Van Damme was the only person who hadn’t taken one look at her prices and turned and run out. Of course, the woman could barely walk.

“If you do a good wave, I’ll recommend you to my friends, but they won’t pay more than I do.”

Oh goody, she thought, a whole year of frugal old ladies. A whole year of tight roller curls and back combing. “Do you part your hair on the right, Mrs. Van Damme?”

“On the left. And since you have your fingers in my hair, you can call me Wannetta.”

“How long have you worn your hair this way, Wannetta?”

“Oh, for about forty years. Every since my late husband told me I looked like Mae West.”

Delaney seriously doubted Wannetta had ever looked anything like Mae West. “Maybe it’s time for a change,” she suggested and snapped on a pair of rubber gloves like a surgeon.

“Nope. I like to stick with what works.”

Delaney snipped off the tip of the bottle, then applied the lotion to the right side of the woman’s head and began to shape the waves with her fingers and comb. It took her several tries to get the first ridge perfect so that she could move on to the second and third. While she worked, Wannetta chatted nonstop.

“My good friend Dortha Miles lives in one of those retirement villages in Boise. She really likes it. Food’s good she says. I’ve thought about moving to one of those villages myself. Ever since my husband, Leroy, passed on last year.” She paused to slip her bony hand from beneath the cape and scratch her nose.

“How’d your husband die?” Delaney asked as she formed a ridge with her comb.

“Fell off the roof and landed on his head. I don’t know how many times I told that old fool not to climb up there. But he never listened to me, and look where he is now. He just had to get up there and fiddle with that TV antenna, so certain he could get channel two. Now I’m alone, and if it weren’t for my worthless grandson, Ronnie, who can’t keep a job and is always borrowing money, maybe I could afford to move into one of those retirement villages with Dortha. Only I’m not certain I would anyway being that her daughter is a”-she paused and lowered her voice-“lesbian. I tend to think that sort of thing is genetic. Now, I’m not saying Dortha is a”-again she paused and whispered the next word-“lesbian, but she always did have a tendency toward very short hair, and she wore comfortable shoes even before her arches fell. And I’d hate to live with someone and discover something like that. I’d be afraid to take a shower, and I’d be afraid she’d run around the apartment naked. Or maybe she’d try to get a peek at me when I’m naked.”

The mental picture that flashed through Delaney’s head was frightening, and she had to bite her cheek to keep from laughing. The conversation moved from Wannetta’s fear of naked lesbians to the other disturbing worries in her life. “After that house out near Cow Creek was robbed last year,” she said, “I had to start locking my doors. Never had to do that before. But I live alone now, and I can’t be too careful I guess. Are you married?” she asked, peering at Delaney through the wall of mirrors in front of her.

Delaney was getting sick of that question. “I haven’t found the right man yet.”

“I have a grandson, Ronnie.”

“No, thanks.”

“Hmm. Do you live alone?”

“Yes, I do,” Delaney answered as she finished the last ridge. “I live right upstairs.”

“Up there?” Wannetta pointed toward the ceiling.

“Yep.”

“How come, when your mamma has such a nice place?”

There were a million reasons. She’d hardly spoken to her mother since she’d moved out, and she couldn’t say she was all that upset about it. “I like living alone,” she answered and formed a row of tiny curls across the woman’s forehead.

“Well, you just watch out for those crazy Basque Allegrezza boys next door. I dated a sheepherder once. They have mighty funny ways.”

Delaney bit her cheek again. Before she’d opened the shop, running into Nick had been a concern of hers, but although she’d seen his Jeep in the common lot behind the two buildings, and their back doors where only a few feet apart, she hadn’t actually seen him. According to Lisa, she hadn’t seen much of Louie lately, either. Allegrezza Construction was working overtime to complete several big jobs before the first snow, which could come as early as the beginning of November.

When Delaney was finished, Mrs. Van Damme was still old and wrinkled and looked nothing like Mae West. “What do you think?” she asked and handed the woman an oval mirror.

“Hmm. Turn me.”

Delaney turned the chair so Wannetta could see the back of her head.

“Looks good, but I’m going to take off fifty cents for those little curls in the front. I never said I’d pay for extra curls.”

Delaney frowned and removed the neck strip and silver plastic cape.

“You give a senior citizen discount don’t you? Helen isn’t as good as you, but she gives a discount to seniors.”

At this rate, she was going to be out of business in no time. As soon as Mrs. Van Damme left, Delaney locked up and put away her green smock. She reached for her vinyl jacket and headed out the back. Just as she stepped outside and turned to shut the door behind her, a dusty black Jeep rolled to a stop in the slot reserved for Allegrezza Construction. She looked over her shoulder and almost dropped her keys.

Nick cut the Jeep’s engine and stuck his head out the window. “Hey, wild thing, where you headed dressed like a hooker?”

Slowly she turned and shoved her arms into her jacket. “I am not dressed like a hooker.”

As he got out of the four-wheel drive, he looked her over. His gaze started at her boots and worked upward. A lazy smile curved his lips. “Looks like somebody had a real good time wrapping you up in electrical tape.”

She pulled her hair from the back of her collar and subjected him to the same scrutiny he’d just given her. His hair was slicked back in a ponytail, and the arms had been hacked out of his blue work shirt. His jeans were worn almost white in places and his boots were dusty. “Did you get that tattoo in prison?” she asked, pointing to the wreath of thorns circling his bare biceps.

His smile flat lined and he didn’t answer.

Delaney couldn’t remember a time when she’d gotten the best of Nick. He’d always been quicker and meaner. But that had been in the past with the old Delaney. The new Delaney stuck her nose in the air and pressed her luck. “What were you in the slammer for, exposing yourself in public?”

“Strangling a smart-ass redhead who used to be blond.” He took several steps toward her and stopped close enough to touch. “It was worth it.”

Delaney looked up at him and smiled. “Did you bend over and pick up the soap?” She expected his anger. She expected him to say something cruel. Something to make her wish she’d run the second she’d seen his Jeep, but he didn’t.

He rocked back on his heels and grinned. “That was a good one,” he said, then he laughed, and it was the deep confident laughter of a man who knew with certainty that no one would think to question his sexual preference.

She couldn’t remember a time when she’d ever heard his laughter that it hadn’t been directed at her. Like the time her mother had made her dress up like a Smurf for the Halloween parade, and Nick and his hoodlum buddies had howled with laughter.

This Nick was disarming. “Sounds like we’re both going to be in Louie’s wedding.”

“Yeah, who would have thought my best friend would end up with crazy Louie Allegrezza.”

His chuckle was deep and genuine. “How’s business?” he asked and really threw her off balance.

“Okay,” she answered. The last time he’d been pleasant to her, she’d let him strip her naked while he’d remained fully clothed. “All I need is a few new locks and some deadbolts.”

“Why? Did someone try to break in?”

“I’m not sure.” She lowered her gaze to the folded papers sticking out of his breast pocket, anywhere but his tractor-beam eyes. “I was given only one key to the business and there have to be more somewhere. I called the locksmith, but he hasn’t made it over yet.”

Nick reached for the door handle by Delaney’s waist and jiggled it. His wrist brushed her hip. “He probably won’t. Jerry is a damn good locksmith when he works, but he works just enough to pay his rent and buy booze. You won’t see him until he runs out of Black Velvet.”

“That’s just great.” She looked down at the toes of her shiny boots. “Has your business ever been broken into?”

“Nope, but I have steel doors and deadbolts.”

“Maybe I’ll just do it myself,” she said, thinking out loud. How hard could it be? All she needed was a screwdriver and maybe a drill.

This time when he laughed, it was definitely at her. “I’ll send over a subcontractor in the next few days.”

Delaney looked up at him then. Up past his chin, his full sensuous mouth, and cool gaze. She didn’t trust him. His offer was too nice. “Why would you do that for me?”

“Suspicious?”

“Very.”

He shrugged. “A person could easily crawl through the vents from one building to the other.”

“I knew your offer wasn’t made out of the kindness of your heart.”

He leaned forward and planted his hands on the wall beside her head. “You know me so well.”

His big body blocked the sunlight, but she refused to feel intimidated. “What’s it going to cost me?”

A wicked smile lit his eyes. “Whatcha got?”

Okay, she refused to show him that he intimidated her. She lifted her chin a little. “Twenty bucks?”

“Not enough.”

Trapped within his arms, she could hardly breathe. A thin slice of air separated her mouth from his. He was so close she could smell the scent of shaving cream still clinging to his skin. She had to turn her face away. “Forty?” she asked, her voice all squeaky and breathless.

“Uh-uh.” He touched his index finger to her cheek and brought her gaze back to his. “I don’t want your money.”

“What do you want?”

His eyes moved to her mouth and she thought he would kiss her. “I’ll think of something,” he said and pushed away from the wall.

Delaney took a deep breath and watched him disappear into the building next door. She was afraid to think of what that something might be.

The next day at work, she made a sign offering free nail polish with a weave or color. No takers, but she did spray Mrs. Vaughn’s gray hair into the shape of a helmet. Laverne Vaughn had taught grade school in Truly until she’d been forced to retire in the late seventies.

Evidently, Wannetta had been true to her word. She told her friends about Delaney. Mrs. Vaughn paid ten dollars, wanted her senior citizen discount, and demanded a free bottle of polish. Delaney took the sign down.

Friday she shampooed and styled another of Wannetta’s friends, and Saturday, Mrs. Stokesberry dropped off two wigs to be cleaned. One white for everyday wear, the other black for special occasions. She picked them up three hours later, and insisted on placing the white wig on her own head.

“You give a senior citizen discount, right?” she asked as she pulled at the hair about her ears.

“Yes.” Delaney sighed, wondering why she was putting up with so much crap from so many people. Her mother, the gray-haired ladies, and Nick. Especially Nick. The answer came to her like the ringing of her cash register. Three million dollars. She could put up with a lot for three million big ones.

As soon as the woman left, Delaney closed the salon early and went to visit her friends Duke and Dolores. The dogs trembled with excitement as they licked her cheeks. At last, friendly faces. She rested her forehead on Duke’s neck and tried not to cry. She failed, just as she was failing with the salon. She hated finger waves and spraying hair into domes. She really hated washing and styling wigs. Most of all, she hated not doing what she loved. And what Delaney loved was making ordinary women look extraordinary. She loved the sound of blow-dryers, the tempo of rapid snipping, and the smell of dyes and perming solutions. She’d loved her life before she’d come back to Truly for Henry’s funeral. She’d had friends and a job she loved.

Seven months and fifteen days, she told herself. Seven months and then she could move anywhere she wanted. She rose to her feet and reached for the dogs’ leashes.

Half an hour later, she returned from walking the dogs and put them back in their pen. She was just about to open her car door when Gwen stepped outside.

“Can you stay for dinner?” her mother asked, wrapping a beige angora sweater around her shoulders.

“No.”

“I’m sorry I had to leave your party early.”

Delaney fished her keys from her pocket. Usually she bit her tongue and held it all inside, but she wasn’t in the mood. “No, I don’t think you are.”

“Of course I am. Why would you say such a thing to me?”

She looked at her mother, at her blue eyes and blond hair cut in a classic bob. “I don’t know,” she answered, deciding to back down from an argument she would lose anyway. “I’ve had a crappy day. I’ll come to dinner tomorrow night if you want.”

“I have plans for tomorrow night.”

“Monday then,” Delaney said as she slid into her car. She waved good-bye, and as soon as she’d returned to her apartment, she called Lisa. “Are you free tonight?” she asked when her friend picked up. “I need a drink, maybe two.”

“Louie’s working late, so I can meet you for a while.”

“Why don’t we meet at Hennesey’s? A blues band is playing there later tonight.”

“Okay, but I’ll probably leave before they start.”

Delaney was a little disappointed, but she was used to being alone. After she hung up the telephone, she took a shower then dressed in a green belly sweater and a pair of jeans. She fluffed her hair, applied her makeup, and put on her Doc Marten’s and leather jacket to walk the three blocks to Hennesey’s. By the time she arrived, it was six-thirty and the bar was filled with the after-work crowd.

Hennesey’s was a fair-sized bar, with the top level looking down on the lower. The tables on both levels were crowded together, and a portable stage had been set up on the large dance floor. For now, the lights inside the bar blazed and the dance floor was empty. Later, that would all change.

Delaney took a table near the end of the bar and was on her first beer when Lisa arrived. She took one look at her friend and raised a finger from her glass and pointed at Lisa’s ponytail. “You should let me cut your hair.”

“No way.” Lisa ordered a Miller Lite, then turned her attention back to Delaney. “Remember what you did to Brigit?”

“Brigit who?”

“The doll my Great-grandmother Stolfus gave me. You cut off her long gold ringlets and made her look like Cyndi Lauper. I’ve been traumatized ever since.”

“I promise you won’t look like Cyndi Lauper. I’ll even do it for free.”

“I’ll think about it.” Lisa’s beer arrived and she paid the waitress. “I ordered the bridesmaid dresses today. When they get here you’ll have to come to my house for a final fitting.”

“Am I going to look like a tour guide on a Southern plantation?”

“No. The dresses are a wine-colored stretch velvet. Just a real simple A line so you don’t draw attention away from the bride.”

Delaney took a sip of beer and smiled. “I couldn’t do that anyway, but you really should think about letting me do your hair for the big day. It’ll be fun.”

“Maybe I’ll let you do a braid or something.” Lisa took a drink. “I booked the caterer for the wedding dinner.”

When the subject of Lisa’s wedding was exhausted, conversation turned to Delaney’s business.

“How is your salon doing these days?”

“Crappy. I had one customer, Mrs. Stokesberry. She dropped off her wig, and I shampooed it like it was a roadkill poodle.”

“Cool job.”

“Tell me about it.”

Lisa took a drink then said, “I don’t want to make you feel worse, but I drove by Helen’s Hair Hut today. She looked fairly busy.”

Delaney frowned into her beer. “I’ve got to do something to steal her business.”

“Do a giveaway. People love to get something for nothing.”

She’d tried that already with the fingernail polish. “I need to advertise,” she said, silently contemplating her options.

“Maybe you should do a little show or something at Sophie’s school. Cut some hair, get some of those girls looking good. Then all the other girls will want you to cut their hair, too.”

“And their mothers will have to keep bringing them back.” Delaney sipped her beer, and thought about the possibilities.

“Don’t look now, but Wes and Scooter Finley just walked in.” Lisa raised her hand to the side of her face as a shield. “Don’t make eye contact or they’ll come over.”

Delaney shielded her face also, but looked through her fingers. “They’re just as ugly as I remember.”

“Just as stupid, too.”

Delaney had graduated with the Finley brothers. They weren’t twins, just repeat offenders. Wes and Scooter were two shades darker than albino with spooky pale eyes. “Do they still think they’re chick magnets?”

Lisa nodded. “Go figure.” When the Finley threat had passed, Lisa lowered her hand and pointed toward two men standing at the bar. “What do you think, boxers or briefs?”

Delaney took one look at their shirts with the big red Chevron logo, their Achy Breaky hair, and said, “Briefs. White. Fruit of the Loom.”

“What about the guy third from the end?”

The man was tall, rail thin, with perfectly layered hair. The yellow sweater tied around his neck told Delaney he was either new in town or a man of great courage. Only a very brave man would walk the streets of Truly with a sweater of any color, let alone yellow, tied around his neck. “Thong, I think. He’s very daring.” Delaney took a drink of her beer and turned her attention to the door.

“Cotton or silk?”

“Silk. Now it’s your turn.”

The two women turned and stared at the door, waiting for their next victim to walk through. He entered less than a minute later, looking as good as Delaney remembered. Tommy Markham’s brown hair still curled about his ears and neck. He was still lean rather than beefy, and when his gaze landed on Delaney, his smile was still as charming as a wayward boy’s. The kind of smile that could make a woman forgive him almost anything.

“You’re driving my wife crazy. You know that don’t you?” he said as he approached their table.

Delaney looked up into Tommy’s blue eyes and placed an innocent hand on her chest. “Me?” There had been a time when the sight of his long lashes had made her heart flutter. She couldn’t help the smile curving her mouth, but her heart was just fine. “What have I done?”

“You moved back.”

Good, she thought. Helen had spent their whole childhood needling Delaney, driving her crazy.

Turnabout was certainly fair play. “So, where is the old ball and chain anyway?”

He laughed and sat in the chair next to her. “She and the kids went to a wedding in Challis. They’ll be back tomorrow sometime.”

“Why didn’t you go?” Lisa asked him.

“I have to work in the morning.”

Delaney looked across the table at her friend, who was doing the “he’s married” signal with her eyes. Delaney grinned. Lisa had nothing to worry about. She didn’t sleep with married men-ever. But Helen wouldn’t know that. Let her worry.

Nick hung up the telephone and rolled his chair backward. The fluorescent lighting hummed overhead, and a smiled played across his lips as he looked out the plate glass window. The sun had set and his own reflection stared back at him. Everything was coming together. He had three contractors jumping to invest venture capital with him, and he was in the process of talking to several lenders.

He tossed his pencil onto the desk in front of him, then ran his fingers through the side of his hair. Half the town of Truly was going to shit bricks when they learned of his plans for Silver Creek. The other half was going to love it.

When he and Louie had decided to move the company to Truly, they’d known the older residents of the town would resist development and growth of any kind. But like Henry, those people were dying off and being replaced by a whole influx of yuppies. Depending on whom you listened to, the Allegrezza boys were either businessmen or land rapers. They were loved or hated. But then, they always had been.

He stood and stretched his arms over his head. The specifications for a nine-hole golf course and the blueprints for fifty-four two-thousand-square-foot condominiums lay before him. Even with a conservative projected budget, Allegrezza Construction stood to make a fortune. And that was just the first stage of development. The second stage was bound to make even more money, with million-dollar houses built within spitting distance of the green. Now all Nick needed was clear deed to the forty acres Henry had bequeathed him. In June he’d have it.

Nick smiled into the empty office. He’d made his first million building everything from starter houses to lavish homes in Boise, but a guy could always use spare cash.

He grabbed his bomber’s jacket off the coat tree and headed out the back. After he finished with his plans for Silver Creek, he would think about what he wanted to build at Angel Beach. Or maybe he wouldn’t build on it at all. He paused long enough to switch off the lights before locking the door behind him. His Harley Fat Boy sat in the space next to Delaney’s Miata. He glanced up at her apartment, and the green door illuminated by a weak light. What a hole.

He could understand why she’d want to move from her mother’s house. He couldn’t be around Gwen for three seconds without wanting to choke her. But what he didn’t understand was why Delaney had chosen to move into such a dump. He knew Henry’s will provided her with a monthly income, and he knew she could afford a better place. It wouldn’t take much for a man to kick the damn door off the hinges.

When he got the time, he still planned to replace the locks on her shop. But Delaney herself wasn’t his problem. Where she lived or what she chose to wear didn’t concern him. If she wanted to live in a little hole and wear a strip of vinyl that barely covered her ass, that was her problem. He didn’t give a damn. He was sure he wouldn’t give her more than a passing thought if she weren’t living practically on top of him.

Swinging one leg over the Harley, he righted the bike. If he’d seen any other woman in that skimpy vinyl crap, he would have appreciated the hell out of it, but not Delaney. Seeing her shrink-wrapped tighter than a deli snack had made him itch to peel back the plastic and take a bite. He’d gone from zero to hard in about three seconds.

He kicked the stand up with the heel of his boot and pressed the ignition button. The v-twin engine roared to life, shattered the still night air, and vibrated his thighs. Getting hard for a woman he wasn’t planning on taking to bed didn’t bother him. Getting hard over that particular woman did.

He gunned the bike and shot down the alley, barely slowing as he turned onto First. He felt restless and was home only long enough to take a shower. The silence set him on edge, and he didn’t know why. He needed a diversion, a distraction, and he ended up at Hennesey’s with a beer in his hand and Lonna Howell in his lap.

His table looked out onto the dance floor, pitched in darkness and filled with slow shifting bodies, moving to the sensual rhythm and languid blues flowing from five-foot speakers. Slivers of light shone on the band and several rows of track lighting illuminated the front of the bar. But mostly the tavern was as dark as sin so a person could get away with sinful things.

Nick didn’t have any particular sin planned, but the night was still young and Lonna was more than willing.