What Phoebe Wants

My stomach clenched and I locked my jaw, freezing my face into what I hoped was an indifferent expression. I shouldn’t have been surprised, considering that they were going to have a baby, but the information hit me like a punch. “Oh, hon.” Darla put her hand on my shoulder. “You didn’t really want him back, did you?”

I shook my head so hard little drops of color spattered across the front of Darla’s smock. “No. Never.” I didn’t want him back. But Steve marrying someone else was the final evidence that a chapter in my life was over. He was moving on, but what was I doing? I lived in the same house, held the same job, did the same things and I was still alone.

“Come on over here to the shampoo bowl.” Darla nudged me toward the back of the shop. “If you like, I do a pretty good rendition of ‘I’m Gonna Wash That Man Right Out of My Hair.”’

A bit of a smile broke through my gloom. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

She patted my shoulder. “You’ll feel better once you see the new you. I guarantee a certain younger man is going to be hot for you once he sees you in red.”

“It’s been a long time since anyone was even lukewarm,” I said. “I don’t see why Jeff should be any different.”

“But you want him to be, don’t you?” She put her face close to mine, staring into my eyes. “Don’t lie, Phoebe Elaine Frame.”

I shrugged. “Sure, I’d be flattered if some gorgeous young stud thought I was all that. But it’s not going to happen.”

“It could.”

“Even if it does, I don’t think it would be smart to get involved with him.”

She turned on the water and tested the temperature against her wrist. “Who said anything about smart? What you want at this point in your life is fun. You haven’t had nearly enough of that lately. Sounds like young Jeff could be just the ticket.”

One way or round trip? I wondered as warm water cascaded over my scalp. Or did it really matter? If I was only going along for a pleasure cruise, did it really matter where it took me or how long it lasted?

4

I HAD A HARD TIME KEEPING my eyes on the road on the way home that evening. I kept tilting my head to look in the rear-view mirror at the stranger who stared back at me. Oh, she had the eyes, mouth and nose I was used to seeing when I looked at my reflection, but she also had a gorgeous head of shiny, copper-colored hair. I smiled every time I saw this “other” me. Suddenly, my eyes were bluer, my skin looked creamier. And all because of a change in hair color. “Who would have thought?” I murmured, and forced my gaze back to the road. I couldn’t wait to show off my new look at work tomorrow. What would Jeff say?

I smiled, imagining his reaction. I was still smiling when an ominous clunk sounded from beneath the hood, followed by a horrifying grinding noise. I put on my blinker and steered onto the shoulder. The grinding grew louder and I shut off the engine and stared out the front windshield. A bitter odor wafted up through the air-conditioning vents.

A string of choice curses fought to climb up my throat, but what came out of my mouth was “OhGodohGodohGod.” I bailed out of the car and hurried to pop the hood. The acrid odor was stronger. Was it my imagination, or did the whole engine appear to be leaning to one side?

I backed away, eyeing the car warily. The urge to kick something was strong, but I’m superstitious about cars. I think they can sense when you’re upset with them, and mechanical failure is their chief way to get back at you.

Yeah, I know people say cars can’t think, but who says they don’t have intuition? The minute you begin to hate one, they know it and will make your life miserable.

I stomped to the shoulder and looked out at the traffic flying past. Someone would stop soon and maybe they’d have a phone I could use to call a wrecker.

A pickup sped by so close its tires slung gravel at me. A chorus of catcalls and whistles sailed toward me.

Cars honked. Men whistled. One made an obscene gesture. Another man yelled that he was in love with me. Women looked the other way. Some even changed lanes so they wouldn’t have to drive on my side of the road. But no one stopped.

So much for chivalry or Good Samaritans. I searched the shoulder for a good-size rock. The next idiot who made a rude suggestion was going to get it in the windshield.

I’d found what I thought was a good weapon when a black pickup slowed and pulled in behind me. “Thank God,” I said, walking toward the truck. “I thought no one was going to st—”

The door opened and a pair of long legs in tan slacks emerged, followed by a pair of broad shoulders and strong arms. I swallowed and grinned weakly. “Hello, Jeff. Imagine meeting you here.”

He took a long time looking at me, his gaze traveling from the tips of my pink-painted toenails to the top of my coppery hair. “I like it,” he said at last. “Very sexy.”

I wasn’t sure if he meant my new hair color or me in general, but I didn’t dare ask. “What do you know about cars?”

“A little.”

I followed him around to my upraised hood. He looked at it for a moment, then leaned in and wiggled something. Then he slammed the hood. “Broken motor mount,” he said.

“Is that expensive to fix?” Who was I kidding? Everything about cars is expensive to fix.

“Shouldn’t be too bad. How long have you had the car?”

“I just got it yesterday.”

“Then it should be under some kind of dealer warranty. I’d take it back to where you bought it.” He slipped a phone from his shirt pocket. “We’ll call a wrecker to tow it to the dealer.”

“Won’t they be closed?” It was almost seven.

“If it is, the wrecker driver can leave it in the yard and you can stop by tomorrow to arrange everything.” He punched in a number. “What’s the name of the dealer?”

“Easy Motors. Over on Alameda.”

He made a face, then spoke to someone on the line. “Ben? This is Jeff Fischer. I’ve got a friend here who has a Mustang with a broken motor mount. Can you tow it for her to an Easy Motors, over on Alameda?”

He gave the driver directions, then disconnected. “He’ll be here in ten minutes.”

“Thanks.” Now that the car was taken care of, it felt awkward standing here with him. Cars raced past, stirring up dust that blew back at us in a hot wind.

He took my arm and steered me toward his truck. “Let’s wait inside.”

The truck was clean and relatively new. It smelled of leather and Jeff’s cologne. I sat on the edge of the seat, next to the door and found myself imagining what it would feel like to lie back in that cool leather seat, with Jeff slowly undressing me….

See what kind of trouble hormones will get you into? I crossed my arms and my legs and wondered if Jeff would think I was strange if I asked him to turn up the air conditioner. The air in that cab was definitely too warm.

“So, Red.” He turned toward me, grinning. “Did I ever tell you I have a thing for redheads?”

My heart pounded. “Uh…what kind of thing?”

He slid his hand along the back of the seat, toward me. “I think they’re very…exciting.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not an exciting person.” But I was definitely getting excited. I squeezed my legs together and tucked my hair behind my ears. “So, did you finish installing the transcription system?”

His grin never faltered. “Don’t think you’re going to get rid of me that easily. I’m under contract to stick around and teach you how to use the new software.”

I swallowed hard, imagining hours spent in my little cubicle with Mr. Testosterone. “I’ve been a transcriptionist for years. What’s to learn?”

His eyes darkened and his voice lowered. “Oh, I’m betting I could teach you a lot.”

He moved a little closer. I couldn’t decide whether to scream or throw myself at him. Throwing myself at him was definitely winning out when a horn sounded behind us and a purple-and-black wrecker pulled alongside.

We climbed out of the truck and met the wrecker driver beside my car. He was a whip-thin man with long gray hair pulled back in a ponytail, his denim work shirt rolled up to reveal arms corded with muscle. “Hey, Jeff. How’s your old man?”