Savannah shed her sweater, settled atop the toilet seat and made a pocket with the towel Jenny pinned around her neck to catch the clippings.
“Should we do medium length first or go for broke?”
She looked up at Jenny’s blue-black hair. It was cropped short with jagged ends trailing slightly down her neck. Equally jagged bangs and sides all pointed to large, doelike brown eyes. If she could look half as good as her friend with this same style, she’d be happy.
“Just like yours.”
“You’re sure about this?” Jenny tested the shears with a couple of quick snips in midair.
“Just hurry up. Do it.” Savannah closed her eyes and held the towel out around her.
A half hour later, her butt numb from the hard plastic lid, and her arms aching from catching all the hair, she blew air at a stray lock that itched her nose. “When can I see?”
Jenny unpinned the towel and carefully removed it. “Hold your horses. I’m a long way from finished.” She slipped on disposable plastic gloves and went to work with the pointy-nosed bottle of dye. “We can pack during the twenty-five minutes this goop is on your head.”
She finished in a flurry, then removed the gloves and fanned her face. “Gadzooks! You look worse than that stuff smells.” She chuckled and grabbed her friend’s hand, tugging her back toward the bedroom. “Okay, let’s pack...and no peeking.” Savannah started to turn toward the mirror, but Jenny nudged her forward and shut the bathroom door behind them. “Now, about these clothes you’re taking—”
“What’s wrong with my clothes?”
“They look like you.”
“I can’t afford a whole new wardrobe—”
“No, but you could take a few of my things.”
“They’re a size too small!”
“Exactly. What’s the last thing Ryder would expect the old Savannah to wear?”
She looked at her bulky sweaters and oversize flannel shirts flung on the bed. She liked clothes loose and comfortable. She never felt secure showing off her more-than-ample bust, which to her own eyes seemed disproportionate to the rest of her trimmer self. “You can’t possibly mean for me—”
“To wear tight tank tops or form-fitting blouses? Yep. Trust me. It’s just what you need.”
When Jenny left the room, no doubt to retrieve her sexier clothes, Savannah looked down at the open yearbook and turned to Ryder’s photo, her heart beating erratically once again.
Was disguising herself the right thing to do? True, she didn’t want him to know who she was till the time was right... if that day ever came. First, she wanted to study the man he’d become, to see if he was anything like the fantasy she’d lived with for so long. And she wanted him to get to know her again, too, without his feeling some sense of obligation to be kind to an old friend. Anything less than honest feelings would be a waste of time.
Honest. What a dichotomy. She hated being dishonest with Ryder, yet she saw no other way of learning the truth.
She focused on his photo again and remembered the other thing that worried her. National Locators had found where he lived and told her about the job opening at the ranch. They’d also said he wasn’t married. But what if he was involved with someone? After all of this, what would she do?
She closed the book with a resounding thud. She didn’t want to think about it. She had enough on her mind, least of which was the ridiculous job she’d be applying for once she found the ranch.
Jenny rushed back into the room, a smile from ear to ear and clothes draped across both extended arms.
Savannah laughed and accepted the offering. “Okay, I’ll take a few of your things. Maybe I’ll even use them.”
They continued emptying drawers and the closet, filling another suitcase with underwear, nightshirts and shoes, while Savannah continued fretting about the week ahead. “Jenny, do you really think I can pull off this cook job? I’ve never been anything but a secretary at Detroit Tire.”
“The one and same warehouse that laid you off with a couple of hundred others. Don’t you think that was another sign this was meant to be?”
That had seemed rather fortuitous. She never liked that job, anyway, and had recently sent out résumés. “Still, you’re the one who cooks for a living. I’m the one who nukes and does carryout.”
“You got about a dozen basic meals down pat, and there’s lots more in that cookbook I gave you. If you get in a jam, I’m only a phone call away.” She looked at her watch. “Time to hit the shower. Close your eyes.”
Savannah stripped with her back to the mirror while the water warmed. When she stepped inside, she lowered her head under the spray and watched dark brown water swirl around the drain at her feet. Another ball of anxiety gripped her stomach. Of all the hare-brained ideas she’d had over the years, this one had to take the cake. She lathered quickly and rinsed. A new persona, a new part of the country she’d never seen, and a job she knew little about. With a groan, she shut off the water and stepped out.
Jenny stood waiting—blow dryer in one hand, brush in the other, and the ever-present look of caring in those big brown eyes. God, how she’d miss this woman. Tears blurred her vision, and she blotted them away as she dried herself and tied the bath sheet into a large knot at one side.
“All right,” she said on a sigh. She shot Jenny a dubious glance, then did her best to sound lighthearted. “I’m ready. Work your magic.”
With the heavy scent of coconut mousse filling the air and every available surface cluttered with makeup, Jenny ran to the next room and back, getting what she said was the perfect outfit to finish the picture. Playing along, Savannah shrugged into a too-small rust-colored tank top, tucked it into a tight fitting pair of cutoffs and spun toward the mirror for the long-awaited unveiling.
“Oh...my...God.” She fell back a step, not recognizing the image in front of her. “I look like a totally shameless slut!”
Jenny looked at their reflections and shook her head back and forth. “Uh-uh.” Finally, she turned her friend around, gripped her by the shoulders and spoke sternly. “Savannah Elizabeth Smith...you look drop-dead gorgeous.”
Savannah puffed out her cheeks, exhaled a loud breath and stole another peek over her shoulder. “Isn’t it a little on the trashy side?”
“Sure, but you’re going to Montana, remember?” Jenny laughed at her own joke, then stepped back and admired her work. “Cowboys like their women a little on the trashy side. Hell, there’s even a song that says so.”
Savannah rolled her eyes and chuckled nervously. “Yeah, I think I heard it a while back.”
“Then relax, girlfriend. Everything’s going to work out just the way you want it.” Jenny pulled her into a tight embrace and laughed over her shoulder. “Yep,” she said, thumping Savannah’s back and rocking her side to side. “Ryder Malone won’t know what hit him.”
One
Dawn broke over the familiar pair of snow-crested mountains to the east, bringing Ryder Malone to a rolling stop on his favorite promontory. He cut the ignition to his pickup, opened the door and stepped outside, the pungent, clean scent of sage filling his nostrils.
Spring in Montana. A time for hope, new beginnings. The cynic in him said he was crazy to think anything different would happen this year, that something or someone would fill the hole in his soul he’d almost learned to live with. He’d survived another winter. It was as simple as that.
Still, coming home to live under the same roof with the man he blamed for his dour disposition,