Chapter Two #2
"No," I said honestly. "I see you as someone who stands by her principles. That's... admirable. But these folks likely vote the opposite way from you on everything, so tread carefully."
The fight drained from her posture. "Fine. I'll be nice to the conservative investors. I can practice reasonable restraint."
"Much appreciated." I tried not to imagine the potential tornado of disaster barreling toward us. "Shower's down the hall if you want to clean up. I'll find you something to wear until we get to Laverne's."
She nodded and headed for the door. As she passed, her shoulder brushed mine. My fingers twitched with the impulse to reach for her.
"Heath?" She paused in the doorway, glancing back. "Thanks. For breakfast, I mean."
I managed a nod, not trusting my voice. When she disappeared down the hall, I released a breath and pressed a hand against the counter to steady myself.
Seven days of pretending she was mine, knowing she wasn't. This wasn't just going to be the longest week of my life—it might be the death of me.
***
An hour later, I parked outside Fringe Benefits. The pink storefront stood out among Bitter Root's weathered buildings like a flamingo in a cattle pen. A cold November wind had picked up, rustling the few remaining leaves on the pecan trees lining Main Street.
"You're sure this Laverne person can help?" Honey asked, eyeing the window display of mannequin heads sporting hairstyles that hadn't been fashionable since the first Bush administration.
"Laverne knows her business," I said, hoping I was right. Her taste ran toward the flashier side of country fashion, but the Vickerys might appreciate that.
The bell jingled as we entered. Perm solution and hairspray hit us like a wall, and I fought the urge to back right out again. Laverne sat behind the reception counter, flipping through a celebrity magazine.
"Well, butter my biscuit and call me breakfast!" she exclaimed, tossing the magazine aside. "Heath McGraw in my shop? Has hell frozen solid?"
"Morning, Ma’am," I said, removing my hat.
Laverne Tidwell barely cleared five feet but took up twice the space with her ample girth.
Her bleached-blonde hair was teased into a perfect helmet that didn't move as she hustled forward, her leopard-print blouse tucked into jeans with rhinestones down the sides.
She wore enough jewelry to sink a small boat, and her acrylic nails were painted a shocking pink that matched her lipstick.
Her sharp eyes zeroed in on Honey. "And who is this?"
"Honey March," I said, placing a hand at the small of Honey's back. "My girlfriend."
Laverne's penciled eyebrows shot skyward. "Girlfriend?" She stretched the word to about six syllables. "Heath McGraw has a girlfriend and didn't tell me? I'm more shocked than a possum at a rattlesnake roundup!"
"We've been keeping it quiet," I explained, sticking to our script.
"Mmm-hmm," Laverne hummed, assessing Honey like she was sizing up a heifer at auction. "And what brings y'all to my humble establishment?"
"Honey needs..." I fumbled for a tactful way to put it.
"A makeover," Honey supplied with a tight smile. "Apparently I don't look like I belong on a ranch."
"Well, sugar, you sure don't," Laverne said, snapping her gum. She circled Honey, taking in everything from her borrowed clothes to her erect posture. "No offense, darlin', but you look like a city slicker playing dress-up in her boyfriend's hand-me-downs."
Honey's smile strained further. "Can you help or not?"
"Can I help?" Laverne pressed a hand to her chest. "Child, I can turn a sow's ear into a silk purse blindfolded with one hand tied behind my back. The question is: are you ready?"
I swallowed hard. "The Vickerys are visiting today. They're potential investors, and—"
"Say no more," Laverne interrupted, her expression turning serious. "Earl and Dottie Vickery are Texas royalty. If you want them impressed, your girl needs to look the part."
"That's what I was thinking," I agreed.
Honey shot me a glare hot enough to brand cattle.
“Now don't you worry,” Laverne said, giving me a reassuring pat. “I'll have her done up right – leave her with me for the day."
"What am I, a kindergartner on the first day of school?" Honey protested. "You can't just drop me off like—"
"Heath, you go on and handle your business," Laverne interrupted, already taking Honey by the arm. "Come back around four—make that five—and I promise you won't recognize her."
"That's what I'm afraid of," Honey muttered.
I hesitated, suddenly unsure about this plan. "You sure about this?"
Honey released a dramatic sigh. "Go. Ride a horse or swing a lasso or whatever cowboys do in the morning. I'll survive."
"There's a boutique in back," Laverne explained, leading Honey toward a beaded curtain. "We'll find you proper clothes first, then tackle that hair. When's the last time you had a deep conditioning treatment, sugar-plum? Those ends are drier than a cowboy's canteen after a cattle drive."
As they disappeared through the curtain, I heard Honey say, "If you try to put in anything bedazzled, I swear to God..."
Laverne's cackle followed me out the door and all the way to my truck.
***
I spent the next few hours checking on the breeding pens, discussing feeding schedules with Jake and Miguel, and repairing a section of fence that had come loose in last night's rain.
I took extra time with my prize tom, Thomas Jefferson, who seemed agitated after his brief bird-napping.
The old boy had sired most of my best stock—turkeys with the broad breasts the market wanted but who could still mate naturally, unlike the factory farm varieties with chests so oversized they couldn't reproduce without human intervention.
The whole time, my mind kept wandering back to Honey sitting in Laverne's shop, probably being tortured with hot rollers and makeup brushes. The thought almost made me smile.
When I returned to Fringe Benefits later that afternoon, Laverne was flipping through a bridal magazine with a satisfied smirk.
"Right on time," she said, clapping her hands together with a look of glee. "Your girl's in back under my magic chair. Just wait till you see her. She's magazine-worthy now compared to that plain-Jane style that wasn't doing a thing for her bone structure."
I frowned at her description but held my tongue. "How'd it go?"
"Well, she drew the line at acrylic nails," Laverne sighed. "Thank heaven she at least let me color. But otherwise, she took to the backcombing like a duck to water."
That didn't sound like the Honey I'd left here this morning. I felt a twinge of concern.
"Laverne?" a voice called from the back. "Is he here? Because if you're just talking to yourself again, I'm going to need more reading material. I've gone through everything back here. Twice."
"He's here, sugar!" Laverne called back. "Come on out and show him the new you!"
There was a rustling behind the beaded curtain, and then Honey stepped out.
My mouth went dry, and for a second I forgot how to breathe.
She wore jeans tight enough to count as a second skin, with rhinestones running down both sides.
Her boots—also rhinestone-studded—added three inches to her height.
The western shirt was deep green like pine needles, with pearl snap buttons and—God help me—fringe across the chest. Her hair had been highlighted with caramel streaks and teased into a style that defied both gravity and reason.
The makeup was just as extreme—bright crimson lipstick, heavy eyeliner, and enough mascara to make her look like a startled raccoon.
"Well?" she asked, spreading her arms. "Do I pass for a rancher's girlfriend now?"
Words failed me. She looked nothing like herself. She looked like—
"You look like you stepped off a CMT music video," I blurted, immediately regretting it when her expression dimmed.
"Is that supposed to be a compliment?" Laverne asked, eyebrows raised.
"Um," I managed weakly.
Laverne's hand flew to her chest in offense. "Well, I think she looks adorable. The higher the hair, the closer to heaven, you know!"
Honey examined herself in the mirror. She touched her hair cautiously. "How much hairspray is in this?"
"Enough to violate several EPA regulations," Laverne declared proudly. "That style will outlast a twister."
I finally found my voice again. "Thank you, Laverne. You've... really transformed her."
Laverne grinned, missing my diplomatic tone entirely. "Right? Oh, and don't worry about the bags. They're all stacked up by the register—enough to outfit her for a month!"
"Bags?" I blinked at the mountain of shopping bags. "All of these?"
"Every last one!" Laverne nodded. "We hit every boutique in Bitter Root this afternoon! She just looked so cute in everything, we couldn't help but get it all! More is always better, right? Plus, she'll need options for your holiday events."
The sound of fingers tapping on a screen drew my attention as a tall, willowy teenager I recognized as Laverne’s daughter appeared from the back room, phone already raised.
"Perfect timing! This is gold for the blog," May announced, positioning herself for the best angle as she snapped a selfie before continuing.
"Mom's makeover magic deserves the Bitter Tea spotlight.
'From City Chic to Country Queen' — what do you think?
Or maybe 'Bitter Root's Hottest New Couple Makes Their Debut'? "
She bounced on her toes with barely contained excitement. “Stand together, please! This is going to get so many clicks. The lighting's better this way.
"Hope you don't mind, but I ran her through Whataburger for lunch," Laverne said, patting her ample stomach.
"Got myself a double patty with double cheese and all the fixin's plus onion rings.
This one over here just had lettuce on a plain bun and a diet soda.
Can you imagine? No wonder she's so skinny! "