that girl is on her last chance at the Snip and Curl.”
“I think,” Kristin murmured, hiding a smile at the reverent tone RaeJean always used for the name of her shop, “that you were saying the same thing when I was in town for my daddy’s funeral going on two years ago.”
Her hands on her ample hips, RaeJean snorted. “Meant it then, and I mean it now.” Behind her, a timer buzzed, but she waved away the sound as if it were an annoying fly and fixed a stern eye on Kristin’s shoulder-length hair. “Now, what can I do for you? You need a cut? Some style?” She reached out and ran a hand through Kristen’s silky, straight strands that had defied a lifetime of effort to add curls, waves and even the tidiness of a smooth chignon. “A good perm and some color would brighten you right up. Need something more lively than just strawberry blond, I think.”
Cody’s eyes widened with obvious fascination as he came back in with a Coke and glanced between RaeJean’s bouffant, Technicolor Big Texas Hair, and Kristin’s own simple style.
“Um…not today. You’re really busy, and I need to run.” When RaeJean’s appraisal didn’t waiver, Kristin took a step back. “And I’m just a wash-and-wear sort of girl. Really.”
RaeJean cocked her head. “Was there something else? You need help out at that place of yours?” Her face brightened. “I’d be happy to give you some decorating advice. Curtains—wallpaper—you name it.”
Cody sidled next to Kristin and tugged anxiously on the back of her shirt, undoubtedly envisioning flamingos and ruffles at their rustic place in the country.
“I think we’re set on that score, but thanks for the offer.” Behind her, a silver bell tinkled over the door and someone stepped inside. Over her aunt’s shoulder, Kristin saw one of the customers impatiently drumming her fingernails on the arm of her dryer chair. “I do need to talk to you, though. I’ve tried and tried to reach Aunt Nora, but she doesn’t answer her phone, and I’m just afraid…” She glanced down at Cody. “Well, I just need to talk to her before she does anything…big.”
RaeJean nodded decisively, snagged Kristin’s arm and hauled her forward. “Family first, I always say. You two sit here for just a minute. I need to do a fast comb-out, turn off that dryer, and I’ll be back.” She smiled at the newcomer. “Ruth, just set yourself down and have a cup of coffee. You’re a mite early, anyway.”
RaeJean bustled away, checked each head of hair under a dryer, and scurried back to the woman sitting in one of the styling chairs.
Kristin hovered at the entryway for a moment.
“C’mon, Mom. Let’s go.” Cody begged. “The first football practice starts in an hour!”
“And it’s just on the edge of town. This won’t take long, I promise.” She gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, then smothered a sigh as she sank into one of the pink plastic chairs in the tiny waiting area. Cody stubbornly stood at the door, his lower lip jutting out and his hands jammed in his pockets.
The diminutive woman at the door strolled to the back of the shop and returned with two cups of coffee, handed one to Kristin and settled her thin frame into a chair in the corner. She tipped her head toward the ledge under the window facing the street. “There’s cream and sugar packets over there in the pink basket.”
“Thanks. Black is fine.”
The woman chuckled. “You might change your mind. RaeJeans’s coffee could eat rust off a truck, but leastways it’s hot.”
Kristen took in her pale skin and faded, silver-streaked blond hair. There was a sharp, observant glint in her eyes as she curved a bony hand around her coffee cup for a quick sip and studied Kristin over the rim. She seemed vaguely familiar, though Kristin couldn’t place her.
The woman cocked her head, as if she, too, were trying to remember, then she sat back in her chair with a satisfied smile. “I’m Ruth Holden. My husband is the rector at St. Mark’s Episcopal.” She pursed her lips. “I’ll bet you’ve come here for the land giveaway.”
Kristin laughed. “Good guess.”
“I’ve been on the Home Free Committee since last fall, and we’ve already had some nice young families move into the area I think I must’ve seen your photo in that first batch of applications. In fact, I’ll bet you’re—” she pursed her lips for a moment, apparently searching her memory “—Kristin and Cody Peters?”
She leaned forward and offered her hand. “My husband had a light stroke last spring and was hospitalized in Austin for several weeks, so I wasn’t at your interview.”
“I hope he’s doing well.”
“He’s a strong man, determined as can be. He was back in the pulpit within three weeks after coming home.” Ruth’s voice filled with pride. “For over forty years, nothing has mattered to him more than the moral welfare of his flock.”
Until her parent’s divorce, Kristin and her mother had gone to a little Methodist church out on Pecan Street, though her father had refused to attend anywhere. She vaguely remembered a childhood friend talking about her hellfire-and-brimstone Episcopal priest. “I’m sure the congregation is very lucky to have him,” she murmured.
“Indeed they are.” Settling back into her chair, Ruth took another sip of her coffee. “I want you to know how pleased the Committee is to see all of you young folks moving into town. Just this month, we brought in a husband and wife who are teachers, a young fellow with a new degree in nursing, and a family planning to raise goats and sheep on fifty acres west of town. You must be the physician’s assistant who’ll be running the local health clinic.”
Despite occasional visits to Homestead to see her father over the years, the easy familiarity of the small town still caught Kristin unawares. In Dallas and Austin, she’d barely known her neighbors, and people had rarely stopped to chat.
She nodded. “The land deal is a wonderful opportunity. We’re not actually both the Peters, though. Cody kept his father’s last name after my divorce, but last summer I finally decided to go back to my maiden name. Cantrell.”
“Divorced?” Ruth blinked, her mouth working. She visibly drew back into herself. “But I thought…”
“I’m sure it was clear on my application.”
Ruth brought her hand up to her mouth. “A-and you said Cantrell?”
“That’s right.” Kristin rose and caught Cody’s hand. “My dad was Nate Cantrell.”
Her brow furrowed, Ruth looked from the boy to Kristin. So it was happening again. That flash of recognition, the moment of prejudgment.
Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to come back here, after all.
“I should have recognized you,” Ruth said faintly.
“I was just ten when I left with my mom. When I came to see my dad, he was usually out working on one ranch or another, and we rarely ever made the long trip into town.”
“I see. It isn’t…I mean…” Her cheeks flushed pink. “It’s just…”
Mindful of Cody’s heightened interest in the conversation, Kristin gave his hand a quick squeeze. “I think we’d better get moving, Tiger, so we aren’t late for that practice. I’ll just try calling RaeJean later.”
At the door, she urged him outside, and then turned back toward the flustered woman. “I’m sorry if I’ve upset you.”
“No…I mean, yes…” The color in the older woman’s cheeks betrayed her struggle for tact.
“Whatever you may have thought about him, I do know my father had a good heart.” Kristin held the woman’s gaze. “I’m here because I’m good at what I do, this town needs me, and because I need a new start for my son. My last name should make no difference at all.”
Ruth’s