Timber Creek
Page 33

“We have a couple checking in tomorrow morning, so I thought I’d get the room ready now.”
“I thought they were staying in the Gold Rush room.”
“They are.”
“Those sheets are for the Pioneer Suite.”
“Oh. Sorry. But these are”—Hope glanced at the sheets then back at her—“they looked like they’d fit.”
“Go to the room. I’ll be right there.” When Hope left, she looked up at Eddie, who wore an aggravatingly amused expression. “I should help her.”
“It is really a disaster if the Pioneers use the Gold Rush sheets?”
“There’s a system, Eddie.”
“I can see.” He wandered to her bureau and began to nonchalantly poke at the stuff she kept there. She knew he was probably disappointed, but was that uncertainty she read on his face? Eddie Jessup, uncertain? “Can I buy you dinner?” he asked.
She paused, shook her head. “There’s no time.”
“Then I guess I’ll just have to be happy I got dessert.” Before she had a chance to respond, he added, “So when’s the next time we get to make out in your room?”
He picked up her pinecone, and instantly she said, “Please don’t touch that.”
“This?” He raised his brows, incredulous. “It’s just a pinecone. There are a thousand of them on the ground outside your front door.”
She nervously eyed it in his hands. “Please.”
“Hey, sorry.” His voice got tender, and he put it back down. “I didn’t know it was special.”
“I know, I’m sorry.” Now it was her turn to feel uncertain. “I didn’t mean to get weird on you. It’s just…my grandfather gave it to me when I was little. I know…heirloom pinecone. Probably sounds stupid, huh?”
But he remained serious. “Your dad’s dad?”
“No, Grandpa Jim on my mom’s side.”
“I remember him.”
That surprised her. “You do?”
“I pay attention, Laura.”
“Well, it’s not just a pinecone.” She came and shifted it to its proper place. “He used to burn them in the fireplace. Dad hated the smell.” She smirked. “Sometimes I think that’s why Grandpa did it. Anyway, he’d help me gather them. He had a special basket for me and everything.”
“That’s kind of adorable.”
It was, she supposed. More than that, it had always made her feel special. “It was just something we did, just him and me. He’d bake with Sorrow and play backgammon with BJ. But with me it was walks and pinecones. He’d take me out to the falls…I still go sometimes, when I’m feeling low. I always take a quick detour on the road back to the city. When I’m there, I feel connected, like he’s looking down on me and I’m not alone anymore.” She shrugged, a little abashed. “I always bring him a pinecone.”
She realized Eddie was looking at her funny. “What?”
He tucked his hand along her waist and slid it around her. “Just…you.”
“Just me what?” Had she said too much? She had to lean away to look up at him. “Am I being silly?”
“No, on the contrary. Sometimes you act all tough. But really I think you’re a lot softer than you let on. You’re kind of like that pinecone there,” he said, nuzzling her playfully. “Hard on the outside with the tender meat inside.”
She pulled away. “Tender meat? Um, ew.”
“Sure, nature girl. Didn’t your grandfather tell you on your walks?” He pointed to the pinecone. “You can eat those, you know.”
She thought about those petit fours she’d had with the Kidd sisters, and their talk of how the hard shell masked the sweetness inside. She’d been told the same thing twice now. Did she really act that tough? Might she really have a tender side? She guessed both were maybe true.
People always saw just one thing with her. Commenting on how rigid she was. How disciplined. How controlling. How thin or how fit. How this, how that. So how was it Eddie Jessup saw past all that? It was unsettling but comforting, too.
“You can really eat these?” She plucked the pinecone from her dresser, and even after all these years, the hard, sharp ridges poked her. “Wouldn’t you hurt yourself?”
“No, goof. Where do you think pine nuts come from?” He pointed to the tips. “If you’re ever stuck in the woods, find a pinecone.”
“How do you get the nuts out of there?”
“You can’t do it with your bare hands. I’ll show you sometime.” He carefully took it and put it back in its exact place. “You deny it, but I think you really are nature girl at heart.”
She almost said no. She wasn’t this secretly soft, nature person he was talking about, and there would be no next time besides.
But instead she heard herself say, “Yes. Show me.”
Twenty-five
Laura sat in the chair at Claire’s Cuts studying herself in the mirror. She and her sister had taken a break from the lodge for a little personal maintenance. It’d been Sorrow’s idea, and Laura had acted resistant, but really, she didn’t mind the idea of a little prettying up. She told herself it was just for her, that she liked looking good for herself.
It certainly had nothing to do with any Jessups.
“It’d be easy to brighten it up.” Claire ran her fingers through Laura’s freshly trimmed waves as they discussed adding some highlights. “Conceal the grays.”
“Conceal the whats?” She spun in the chair.
“Some grays.” Claire caught her eyes in the mirror. “Don’t worry, it’s just a few.”
She darted her eyes to Sorrow, seated in a neighboring chair. “Can you see them?”
“Yeah. No.” Her sister gave her an apologetic shrug. “Maybe.”
“Damn,” she whispered as she peered at herself in the mirror. “I can’t believe you found gray hair.”
“You should do it,” Sorrow said. “Why not?” She was in a neighboring chair where she was flipping through an old InStyle magazine. She shut it, looked at the cover, then opened it again. “Claire, this is two years old. It’s not even ‘in style’ anymore.”
“It’s the ‘Best Of’ issue and it has Carrie Underwood on the cover.”
Sorrow displayed the cover. “Hey, Laura, you can learn Ten Ways to Reduce Stress.”
She was still stuck on the gray hair sighting and shot back, “How come you don’t have any gray?”
“There’s not a lot,” the stylist said reassuringly.
“I didn’t even see it till she pointed it out.” Sorrow traded the InStyle for a more recent Us Weekly. “This is more like it.”
Claire riffled through her hair, bouncing it in her palms. “My advice? We take the highlights up a bit, but”—she put her hands on her shoulders to stress her point—“then you need to relax more. That’s the only thing that’ll stop the premature aging.”
She slouched in her chair, grumbling. “Premature aging.”
Sorrow held up a photo spread. “Hey, ladies, who wore it better?”
She only needed to give it a quick glance. “Easy. Kate Middleton. Duh. She’s always going to win that one.”
“That girl?” Claire tsked. “Too skinny.”
She glanced over again. “What did that other woman do to her eyes?” Then leaned in for a closer look. “Who is that, anyway?”
“Who knows anymore?” Sorrow flipped to another page. “So many of these people are just famous for being famous.”
The stylist steered Laura back upright. “Are we going to do this or not? I’ve got to pick up Abbie from swim team soon.”
“You think I should?” If she still lived in the city, she wouldn’t have thought twice about lightening her natural highlights. But now the prospect made her feel oddly self-conscious. “I’d feel kind of weird about strolling into the tavern with Marilyn Monroe hair.”
Sorrow rolled her eyes. “It’s not going to be Marilyn Monroe. You’re too thin for that, anyway. I’m the one who got the curves in the family.”
Laura’s mind flashed back to Eddie and his skilled hands. He seemed to like her curves just fine.
“Nobody will be able to tell,” Claire assured her. “You’ll just look…brighter.”
“And by that, she doesn’t mean smarter.” Sorrow smirked, not looking up from her magazine.
“Shut up.” She rolled up the ancient People magazine that was in her lap, reached over, and swatted her baby sister. “You’re the one sitting there reading old news about Brangelina.” She sat back up, all settled. “Okay, Claire. Do it.” She shot Sorrow an evil grin. “My sister will just have to wait for me.”
An hour later, Claire left to pick up her ninth-grader, and Laura sat there with dozens of tiny foil strips in her hair, Sorrow at her side.
Her sister was clearly engrossed in some article, but she wanted to talk. “What are you reading?”
Sorrow didn’t even look up. “My magazine.”
“I can see that. What is it?”
“Johnny Depp interview.” Sorrow held it closer, reading the fine print on the photo spread. “H-O-T hot.”
“He tries not to be,” Laura said, trying to make conversation. “You know, he tries to play it down. Living in France. Wearing all those hobo clothes.” She paused, but her sister wasn’t taking the bait. “But there’s no stopping the hawt.” Finally she just leaned over. “Can I see?”
Sorrow sighed and flopped the magazine onto her lap. “What is it?”
“What is what?” She gave Sorrow an innocent look. “I just wanted to see the Johnny Depp pictures.”