You're Still the One. Debbi Rawlins

      “Wait.” Jamie held up a hand. “We’re going to have the works—manicure, pedicure, coiffing…and streaks. How about purple this year?”

      “You’re crazy,” Rachel said, shaking her head. “Have you ever been to The Cut and Curl?”

      “No.” She grinned. “And this is the best part—after, we’ll go to the Watering Hole for shots and beer. Who knows? There may be someone new in town and you’ll get laid.”

      “Keep it down,” Rachel said, when Jamie’s voice rose with her enthusiasm.

      Jamie clamped a hand over her mouth, and giggling like schoolgirls, they both swung glances toward the door.

      “Come on,” Jamie said, gesturing excitedly. “Get up. Get ready while I help your mom and Hilda with breakfast.”

      It was seven-thirty. Marge’s Diner and the hardware store were the only things open in Blackfoot Falls. But Rachel didn’t care. She was feeling much better. She grabbed her laptop and ran upstairs. Maybe today would end up being special after all.

      “DEAR GOD, I HOPE THOSE things aren’t alive.” Jamie stood with her hand on the doorknob, staring at the trio of wigs on foam mannequin heads in The Cut and Curl window display.

      Rachel bumped her from behind to get her moving. “Keep it up and you’ll be the topic of conversation at every dinner table tonight.”

      “Please.” Jamie snorted. “That was so last week when I arrived with the moving truck.”

      “Do not underestimate these women,” Rachel whispered, and pushed harder.

      Jamie was forced to either open the door or smash her nose against the glass. Still it didn’t stop her from glancing over her shoulder and murmuring, “You know they’re all dissecting me five ways to Sunday, worried I’m not good enough for Cole.”

      She wouldn’t argue that one. People around here were proprietary about their hometown boys as a rule, but the McAllister brothers, Cole in particular, were the cream that rose to the top.

      They both stepped inside, a slight whiff of perm solution making Rachel consider turning around. Naturally, Sally, the owner, and her cousin Roxy—the only other beautician in the shop—had already spotted them outside. So had the two customers sitting under the dryers, one of them being Ruth Wilson, a popular teacher now retired. Rachel almost didn’t recognize Mrs. Perkins until she poked her head out from under the noisy plastic bubble.

      “Happy birthday, Rachel,” she said. “I ran into your mama at the Food Mart buying ingredients for your cake yesterday.”

      “Thank you, Mrs. Perkins.” No such thing as a surprise party in Blackfoot Falls. If anyone ever pulled off such a feat, it would be one for the record books.

      Looking pleased that she’d been the first to acknowledge Rachel’s birthday, Libby Perkins waited for everyone else to follow suit, then ducked back under the dryer.

      Jamie was trying to control a smile and not gawk at the dated magazine cutouts on the pink walls as she stepped up to the counter where Sally leaned a plump hip.

      Rachel remembered something. “Do not ask for a pedicure,” she told Jamie low enough not to be overheard.

      Sally stopped blowing on her red glossy nails. “What can I do for you young ladies?”

      Jamie hesitated, then frowned at Rachel. “Seriously?”

      “Trust me.”

      Sally’s fake brows lifted in question. They’d been plucked clean and penciled back in to match her big blond hair. The ’do was really something. Each year she seemed to tease the crown a bit higher—probably her version of a facelift—and poor Jamie, since laying eyes on her up close, seemed to be having trouble breaking contact.

      Rachel bit back a grin. “I’d like a shampoo and blow-out, a manicure, too, if you have time.”

      “Sure, we do.” Sally gave Jamie the once-over. “What about your friend?”

      “Same for me.” Jamie smiled, and subtly nudged Rachel. “And streaks. Just one for me, blue if you have it. Rachel?”

      Sally straightened, a twinkle lighting her eyes. “You want a streak in your hair, Rachel?”

      “Oh, why not? What color choices do you have? Purple would be good.”

      Roxy moved in next to Sally, her eyes wide under her mousy brown bangs. “Your mama’s gonna have a cow.”

      “Guess what?” Rachel leaned over the counter. Excitement shining in their faces, anxious for any tidbit, both women met her halfway. “I’m twenty-six years old.”

      Sally drew back with a humph. “You saying you don’t listen to your mama anymore?”

      “Nope.” Rachel smiled. “I’m saying she hasn’t told me what to do in a long time.”

      Clearly disappointed, Roxy shuffled back to her workstation. Anyone who knew her could pick out which spot was hers by the Elvis photos outlining the wall mirror. He’d passed away before she was born, but she’d been in love with him since the eighth grade.

      “Give me a minute to get ready for you.” Sally hustled toward the back station with the turquoise shampoo bowl.

      Rachel knew the wait would be a bit longer so Sally’s nails could dry. She turned her back on the shop so only Jamie could hear her. “The place looks old-fashioned but Sally isn’t a bad stylist. She keeps up on trends. Even tried jazzing up the place to keep the younger women from going to Kalispell for their haircuts, but the older clientele complained.”

      “Where do you get yours cut?”

      Rachel smiled wryly. “Kalispell.”

      “Okay, next time you go…”

      “Yep, I’ll let you know.”

      Jamie picked up a hairstyle magazine left on the counter and flipped through it. “So what’s the deal about not asking for a pedicure?”

      “I doubt Sally is set up for it. Around here goats and horses have their hooves trimmed, and women cut their own toenails.”

      “This is sad. I don’t know when you’re kidding anymore.”

      “Sometimes it’s an adjustment for me, too. I lived in Dallas for over six years, remember.”

      Jamie sighed. “Then I guess I shouldn’t ask for a Brazilian either.”

      Rachel laughed loudly enough that Sally and Roxy both sent her curious looks. Sally waved them back to her station, and before Rachel took the lead, she murmured to Jamie, “I dare you.”

      “I’m not worried. They’ll be too busy talking about you and your purple streak, Miss Goody Two-Shoes.”

      “Oh, they’ll be whispering all right…about what a horrible influence you are on me.”

      This time Jamie burst out laughing. “I’m screwed either way.”

      Sally motioned for Rachel to sit in her chair. “You ladies are in mighty fine moods. You just wait till you’re looking down the barrel of forty-six and see how chipper you are.” She shook out a plastic pink cape and draped it over Rachel.

      “What would you know about that?” Rachel lifted her hair so Sally could tie the strings. “You can’t be a day over thirty yourself.”

      Sally chuckled. She’d been telling people she was thirty-nine for so long, her age had remained a true mystery. But forty-six sounded about right.

      Rolling her eyes, Jamie sank onto Roxy’s chair and was sheathed with her own plastic cape.

      “You two serious about putting in streaks?” Sally asked.

      In unison they assured her they