The Good Mum

“Did you talk to my grandmother?” he asked.

“No.” She smiled winsomely. “I haven’t even seen her yet. I...don’t keep up with the news as much as I should, so I’m sorry I didn’t realize who you were right away. I certainly wouldn’t have babbled on about my son like that if I’d known.”

“You still want your kid to be a doctor?” he couldn’t help saying bitterly.

But she didn’t take it wrong. She just smiled gently, as if understanding his anger at his situation and excusing him for it. “It’s not about me,” she said. “If he wants to be a doctor, then it’s my job to help him through his schooling so he can get there.”

He glanced sideways at her. “Are you married?” he asked bluntly.

“No,” she murmured.

“Divorced?” he asked again, even though he knew it was over the line. Knew he was pushing it with his rudeness.

A small smile came to her lips, as if divorce was, for her, a silly thought. “No,” she said.

“Widowed?” He had to ask—he was curious now.

She shook her head, but she had a flush to her cheeks this time. The color just heightened the fact that she was pretty. It didn’t matter at all to him that she was a single mother, and he might have told her so, if he didn’t think it would embarrass her to hear it.

He opened the water bottle she’d brought him. It was good stuff; he’d been drinking boiled bracken tea for so long in the camp they’d set up that it felt good to have fresh, cold, bubbly water slide down his parched throat.

He couldn’t stop drinking. He finished it greedily.

Then he sat and stared at the label on his bottle. He hadn’t exactly chosen his situation in life, either, even before Fleur’s death. She’d been the driver of the whirlwind, and he had tagged along for the adventure.

In the end, nothing had been what he wanted.

Maybe he and Ashley were in sort of the same boat.

“I never expected this to happen with Fleur,” he found himself muttering aloud.

“Losing someone I love would be my worst fear,” Ashley agreed.

He squinted at her, the harsh sunlight in his eyes. “You worry about your son, don’t you?”

“All the time,” she confessed.

She was being honest with him. He got the sense that she wasn’t being manipulative as he’d feared. He hated manipulative people. And it really did impress him that she cared so much about her boy.

Aidan wasn’t usually sentimental. In fact, at Wellness Hospital, he’d been known as somewhat gruff. He knew what others said of him, and it didn’t bother him. Usually.

He sighed. “Yeah, okay. I’ll go back to the salon with you. I’ll talk to the owner and make sure you don’t get in trouble, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Actually, I have another suggestion. You see, Aidan, I’m really good at washing hair.” She gave him such a sweet smile that he didn’t know how he could refuse her. “And this salon has a nice men’s shampoo. You could face the world feeling cleaned up and relaxed. You could close your eyes and for fifteen minutes, forget about everyone else in there, including me.”

He just stared at her.

“No one will bother you, Aidan. I promise.”

It sounded appealing, actually. He was tired. He didn’t want to go out to lunch with his grandmother right now, but he’d committed himself.

He stood. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but okay. Just so you keep your job, so your kid’s all right and you don’t have to worry about him,” he clarified.

She smiled at him. “Thank you. But I really am very good at what I do. I’ll take good care of you in there. You’ll see.”

* * *

ASHLEY DID ENJOY taking care of other people. It was what she loved best. And Aidan was a doctor, someone who was doing something important with his life. In her opinion, he deserved to be treated well for it.

Upstairs in the salon, she led him down the narrow aisle to her station in the back. Her six new colleagues subtly or not so subtly turned their clients’ chairs in order to be able to observe the rugged man who walked before them. His presence in their salon caused a stir, but she hoped he didn’t realize it.

She looked over her shoulder and met his gaze. He kept his eyes trained only on her.

The trick was to do only as much as he was comfortable with while still doing a good enough job to please Ilana. At Ashley’s old job, she’d cut men’s hair all the time, so the simple task shouldn’t be a problem. Usually she spritzed their short hair with a water bottle, then clipped it. But Aidan’s situation was different.

Once at her chair in the far corner, she draped a blue plastic cape over him.

He glanced at the cape, then at her.

Smiling gently at him, she turned his chair so that he was facing away from the mirror and couldn’t see himself or her. Without him realizing she was scrutinizing him, she touched his hair between her thumb and fingers. The texture was curly. Gorgeous hair, in her opinion, but he’d been washing it with a bar of soap, it appeared. He needed a deep-conditioning treatment, but that would have to wait for another day.

“I’m going to lower the back of the chair now,” she said softly.

He gave her a boyish smile that unnerved her. Especially since the rest of him was so manly. Strong, developed arms and shoulders that made his muscles strain against the thin cotton material of his shirt when she dipped the chair back. His top two buttons were open, and dark wisps of hair peeked through. His neck was wide, with a sexy Adam’s apple. His chin was strong. He had a faint shadow of a beard. This was a man who could shave in the morning and have that shadow by afternoon. His brows were dark, too, and it gave him a serious expression, except when he smiled.

When he smiled, he was an angel.

Her hands stilled, cupping the back of his head. She’d been lowering him toward the sink and his eyes were open wide, watching her. Contrasting with the tan of his skin and the black of his brows, his eyes were arresting. Clear whites, with irises so deep and seeing, the color of rich chocolate.

She had to get a grip on herself.

“I can give you a choice,” she murmured, glancing away. “We have two shampoos. Neither of them smells girlie, as my son would say.”

“Give me whichever one he likes.” He smiled again, with those arresting eyes crinkling at the corners. “How old is Brandon?”

“Twelve. Almost thirteen.” Her hand shook—she felt nervous all of a sudden. “His voice is starting to change.”

Aidan chuckled. “Tough days ahead. I remember those.”

She inhaled. She’d promised to help him relax, and she was the one who needed to concentrate. Turning on the water, she tested it on her wrist. The salon was warm, so she calibrated the temperature of the spray so it was slightly cooler than normal. Carefully, with one hand shielding his eyes and ears from the spray, she wet his hair.

His eyes drifted closed.

She opened the bottle of moisturizing shampoo she’d chosen for him. The smell was fantastic. With her fingertips, she massaged his scalp, working up a lather.

He sighed. As the moments passed, layers of concern and worry seemed to be dropping from his face.

She couldn’t help studying him. From his soft smile and calm breathing, he seemed to be enjoying her ministrations. And giving him pleasure made her feel good, too. It danced along the edge of feeling slightly sexual. A humming in her chest. Slight tingling in the juncture of her legs. She only touched his scalp, and in the presence of other people, so it was a safe feeling.