Caleb's Bride. Wendy Warren

nerve sizzle.

      “Remember the first time you cut my hair?” he asked, his voice softer than it needed to be given that there was no one else in the shop to overhear them. “You’d been practicing on your brothers. You made them sit through three haircuts each before you agreed to work on me. And then you only did it because they took off like rockets the second they saw you coming.”

      “Well,” she said, wanting like crazy to back up a couple of steps, but refusing to divulge how nervous he really did make her. “I thought I should practice on family first.”

      Though she hadn’t thought of it in ages, the day he mentioned popped vividly to mind. She could picture the way he’d leaned against her mother’s kitchen counter, drinking lemonade and eating shortbread while her brothers squirmed and complained about the dishtowels around their necks and their fear that Gabby might scalp them. Having just turned fifteen, but seeming years older, Cal had stood silently, observing, until finally she’d run out of siblings. Then he’d pushed away from the counter and announced, “My turn.”

      Now those strange, translucent eyes of his narrowed slightly, and she realized she might have hurt his feelings by suggesting he wasn’t “family.” Throughout his teens, he’d practically lived at the Coombses’ farm, hanging out with her brothers and being as helpful to her parents as one of their own children. Maybe more. Her mother had lived to feed him, because unlike her own sometimes picky kids, Cal had always eaten two helpings of everything.

      Only Cal and Gabby had never quite bridged the gap between friend and family.

      “We’re not kids anymore,” he said. “I think we can both handle a haircut. Don’t you?”

      Challenge filled his expression.

      No. Absolutely not. I am a sissy.

      “Of course.”

      Cal’s eyes flickered with what Gabby suspected was amusement. Swallowing the last of her reticence, she nodded toward one of the two old-fashioned barber chairs. “Have a seat. You’ll probably want to take off that fancy suit jacket, though. You can hang it on the coat tree by the front desk. I’ve got to go in back to get a cape.”

      He nodded. “Sounds good.”

      Leaving him, Gabby headed to the rear of the shop and the laundry bag she’d brought with her this morning. Extracting a clean stack of neatly folded capes and a pile of white washcloths, she moved with the sureness of someone who had performed this task literally thousands of times. Inside, however, she felt like grape jelly.

      How could she casually cut his hair after what had happened the last time they were together?

      Detouring into a small restroom with a single overhead lightbulb, Gabby yanked the cord that illuminated the room.

      She winced as she peered into the mirror. The red curls she typically bundled into a ponytail at the nape of her neck looked like a nuclear blast in Technicolor. Escaped tendrils provided fallout all around her head.

      Setting aside the capes and towels, she quickly reassembled the ‘do, scraping her feral hair into something more managed. She didn’t need to look attractive for him. But she would like to exude confidence and self-possession, two qualities that had been in short supply fifteen years ago. Digging a tube of lip balm from her front pocket, she swiped it over her dry lips.

      There was a whole river of white water under the bridges she and Cal had burned, and frankly she hated to churn it up, especially now. On the brink of personal change, she wanted to feel confident and bold—not to be reminded of one of the most awkward moments in her entire life.

      It’s been fifteen years, Gabby.

      To Cal, what had happened the last summer after their senior year in high school was probably nothing more than a dim recollection. Maybe an anecdote. He was a guy, after all. He’d walked away from Honeyford, from her family and from his best friends that year. One sexually inexperienced young woman desperate to discover what she was missing in life was unlikely to hold a place in his long-term memory.

      The fact was that with a father, three brothers and a grandpa who owned a barbershop, Gabby had considered herself fairly comfortable around men (the ones she wasn’t hoping to marry). But Cal Wells, with his silent stares and inscrutable expressions, had always been the exception. Cal had thrown her off-kilter and…that one evening, anyway…excited her.

      Hardening her gray eyes at the mirror, she made her reflection a solemn promise. “That was then, this is now. The old Gabby may have been a fuzzy caterpillar, but the new and improved Gabrielle Coombs is a butterfly, graceful and free.

      “If he can act as if nothing happened, so can you.” Gabby gave herself a smile. Shoulders back, chin high, she collected her capes and towels and returned to the front of the shop.

      Cal stood a couple of feet from her front desk, his suit jacket off, his hands in his trouser pockets. A sober, contemplative expression furrowed his brow as he studied a photo of her grandfather.

      “He always liked you,” Gabby offered, knowing it was true. Max had considered Caleb Wells an old soul. “He said you had integrity.”

      Slowly, Cal turned his head. Something that looked like pain flashed through his eyes. “I liked him, too.”

      Crossing to the leather-cushioned barber chair, Gabby waited for Cal to follow. His serious expression was beginning to border on grim. The thoughts that hid behind his eyes seemed particularly alive and active now, even more so than when he’d first walked through the door.

      For a moment she wondered if he’d changed his mind about the haircut, but then he moved, seating himself and patiently allowing her to adjust a paper collar and white towel around the neck of his dress shirt.

      In their senior year of high school, Gabby’s best friend, Lesley, who had started dating her oldest brother, Eric, by that time, had claimed that Cal possessed “mystique.” Also, that he had lips made for kissing. Gabby, who, tragically, had yet to experience her first kiss at that point, could only wonder.

      Lesley should see his lips now.

      Matured, Cal’s features looked as if a master sculptor had carved them in a burst of love for the human race. His lips had clearly defined peaks, their fullness perfect for photographing and…other things. Lesley had married Eric shortly after college, eventually providing two adorable nieces for Gabby to spoil, but she was still willing to discuss a man’s kissing potential…for Gabby’s sake.

      Best friends, sisters-in-law and confidants, she and Les had shared a lot of info with each other over the years, but not even Lesley knew that the kissing potential of Cal’s lips was no longer a mystery to Gabby.

      “Something wrong?”

      “Huh?” she answered stupidly, jerking to attention and watching the very lips she was pondering rise slightly—right side only, as usual.

      His translucent eyes narrowed. “You seem…ruffled, Gabby. Something bothering you?”

      “No. I’m not ruffled. Just deciding what to do with your hair. How much do you want off?”

      “Enough so that I won’t need another trim for at least a month. I’m heading into a busy time. Afraid I may not get to a barber again for a while.”

      “Okay.” Flipping open a cape, she settled it around him. Treat him like any other client. “So, Cal, what brings you back to—”

      “How’ve you been, Gabby?”

      They spoke over each other.

      Clipping the ends of the cape together, Gabby reached for a comb and spray bottle of water and forced herself to smile. “Me first.”

      “All right.”

      “What brings you back to Honeyford? No, no, wait. First why don’t you tell me where you’ve been all these years?”

      “Chicago,” he answered,