her key ring from her right hand to her left, she lifted the bag from the knob, slipped it over her hand and onto her wrist, then put the key ring back in her right hand and inserted a key into the lock. Once inside, she closed and locked the door from within, then headed for the kitchenette/ lounge, one of two rooms in the beauty shop that were off limits to the customers, the other being the crowded storeroom. After dropping her key chain in her purse and depositing her purse and the plastic bag on the small dining table, she went about her Wednesday morning routine—making a fresh pot of coffee, checking the air-conditioning temperature and resetting it for the day, then unlocking the front door and removing the CLOSED sign. While the coffee brewed, she took a diet cola from the small, compact fridge, snapped the pop-up lid and took a deep swallow of the sweet liquid. In the winter, she drank coffee, but not in the summer. She preferred to get her caffeine from colas when the temperatures rose to about eighty. But she knew that Amy Simms expected fresh brewed coffee to be waiting for her when she arrived.
As Abby sat down in one of the comfy vinyl chairs and took another sip of cola, she eyed the plastic sack on the table. She reached over, grabbed it, placed it in her lap, and then opened it. There were two items inside—a small square envelope and a larger manila envelope. She removed the small envelope first. Her name graced the front, printed in large black letters—abby. She opened the envelope, slipped the one-page note out and unfolded it.
I worship you from afar, my beautiful Abby
A nervous tickle fluttered in her belly. How sweet. Did she have a secret admirer? It wasn’t unreasonable to assume that she did, was it? Ron Hensley wasn’t the only man in town interested in her. Guys flirted with her all the time. A few had even propositioned her since Ricky Wayne’s unit had been deployed to the Middle East. And doing her best to be the faithful wife, she had turned down every one of them—everybody except Ron.
She read the note again and wondered who had written it. Definitely someone with a romantic flair. After dropping the note and envelope back into the bag, she pulled the larger envelope out and ripped off one end. When she turned the envelope upside down and shook it several times, a single sheet floated out. She grabbed it before it hit the floor, then turned the blank side over and gasped when she saw the sketch on the other side. An ink sketch of her. A talented artist had captured everything about her, from the slight crook in her nose to the sultry way she smiled. Whoever had created the sketch was someone who knew her, had observed her, even studied her.
A gentle wave of apprehension washed over Abby, making her extremely curious about the author of the note—the artist. Her feminine instincts told her that this guy was no ordinary redneck good old boy, so that narrowed down the field considerably here in Adams County.
Abby folded the sketch and stuffed it and the ripped manila envelope back in the white plastic sack; then she opened her purse and put the sack inside, shoving it to the bottom of her large carryall shoulder bag. She took another sip of cola, then checked the wall clock. Eight-twenty-seven. Amy should be here any minute. Abby removed a lavender nylon work jacket from the pile of clean, protective shirts/ jackets, snapped it from midchest to just below her waist, and then picked up her cola and headed out into the shop to her workstation.
The telephone rang. Abby jumped.
Get hold of yourself. It’s just the telephone. Don’t let your imagination go haywire. Just because the unexpected note and sketch unnerved you as much as it flattered you, that’s no reason to be so nervous.
“Kut and Kurl. Abby speaking.”
“Hello, Abby.”
She didn’t recognize the voice and thought it sounded odd. “Hello. How may I help you?”
“Did you get my note?” The deep, muted baritone voice asked.
Abby’s heartbeat went wild. “Yes, I did. And the sketch, too.”
“Did you like the sketch?”
“Yes, it’s wonderful. You’re very talented.”
“Thank you, but I had the perfect subject.”
A man who knows the right thing to say.
“Who are you?” Abby asked.
“I’m your secret admirer.”
Abby giggled. “I figured that out. But why? If you’re interested, then you should make yourself known. Stop by the shop today around six and introduce yourself. Or do I already know you?”
“I will reveal my identity to you when the time is right. But for now … think about me and about what I long to do—touch you, whisper love sonnets in your ear, fulfill your every fantasy.”
Abby’s mouth gaped wide. She’d never had a man talk to her this way—romantically seductive. Guys usually talked dirty to her, told her they wanted to fuck her in no uncertain terms, but this guy—her secret admirer—was good. Hell, he was great. She’d be thinking about him all day.
“I wish I knew who you were,” she said.
“You will, very soon, my beautiful Abby.”
The dial tone hummed in her ear. Sighing, she returned the receiver to the base. Standing there daydreaming about her fantasy lover, she didn’t hear Amy Simms enter the shop. When Amy called her name, Abby jumped as if she’d been shot.
“What’s wrong?” Amy asked. “You’re awfully jumpy.”
“Sorry. Nothing’s wrong. I was just thinking about a very special man.”
“Ricky Wayne, no doubt. You must miss him something awful. I know if my Jerry Dale was off a world away fighting in some horrible war, I’d be half out of my mind.”
“Hmm … I do miss Ricky Wayne.”
But there is no law that says I have to be miserable while he’s away. And if I can keep his mama from finding out about my affair with Ron, maybe I can juggle having two lovers at the same time.
Bernie sat on the side of her parents’ backyard pool, Kevin at her side, both of them drinking her mom’s delicious raspberry tea and absorbing the last rays of the early evening sunlight. Here in northeastern Alabama in July, it didn’t get good and dark until nearly eight-thirty, and it was just now six-thirty.
She remembered when her folks had put in the pool; it was the summer she’d turned eight and Robyn was a babe of barely four. She’d grown up swimming like a fish, getting brown as gingerbread in the summer, and she and Robyn being the envy of the other kids in the neighborhood. Almost every year, her mother had given her and Robyn a joint swim party for their birthdays. Bernie’s was May thirtieth and Robyn’s was June fifth.
“My dad’s got a date tonight,” Kevin said, his gaze fixed on his feet submerged in the water on the shallow end of the pool. “It’s not with your sister, Robyn. It’s with that woman deputy, Holly Burcham.”
“Yes, I know. Holly’s a lot of fun. Jim should have a good time.” A real good time. Holly had never met a man she didn’t like and she had a thing for her fellow officers. She’d been through just about all the single guys in the department and a few married ones, too. Lucky for Holly, none of the married men’s wives had complained. Either they didn’t know or had chosen to look the other way.
More than once, Bernie had wondered if she’d been able to just look the other way when Ryan had been unfaithful, would they still be married? Would they have a child or two by now? But there was no point in wasting time wondering about what might have been. She wasn’t the type to forgive and forget infidelity. She took marriage vows seriously and expected her husband to do the same. As for having children, that might not ever happen for her even if she did remarry one of these days. She’d had two miscarriages and the doctors couldn’t promise her that if she got pregnant again she could carry a baby to full-term.
“Bernie?”
“Huh?”
“I