Chapter 8

8

ALY

T he first week with Linc went smoother than I could have imagined. After that first day, I didn't see him often. He took his breaks in the barn with the other drivers. He didn't need to stop into Porter's office either, so my work wasn't interrupted. I thought about what he had said when he had been sitting on the couch. "I was shot."

I had been approached by a recruiter too. In high school, the Army had set up a table outside the cafeteria and talked to anyone who showed the slightest bit of interest. They told me all about visiting different countries, had given me literature that I had taken home to consider. Ultimately, I chickened out. I knew a lot of the jobs were administrative and that I could learn all kinds of marketable job skills, but I didn't want to go to war.

It wasn't that I couldn't imagine what Linc had been through. The problem was that I could imagine it. No matter how well trained you were, getting shot was traumatic. It must have been a nightmare, and my heart went out to him.

I was beginning to re-evaluate my previous assumptions. Maybe Linc hadn't been mysterious or sullen in high school. Maybe he had just been a kid. Nobody knew who they were back then. Maybe he was just confused like the rest of us.

I tried not to look for him when I pulled into the parking lot in the morning. I tried to pretend that I wasn't hoping to run into him down at the barn. I tried not to feel disappointed when I made it all the way to the main house without a glimpse of his masculine frame. It was just as well. We didn't seem to be compatible. It was always a struggle to keep the conversation going the few times we had attempted it.

Thursday night, I had dinner with Porter and Gina, and Linc had been the only topic of conversation. We dispensed with the righteousness of keeping our opinions to ourselves and allowed the night to sink up to its eyeballs in gossip.

"He hasn't been by to see you?" I asked.

Gina shook her head. "He hasn't even met Seth."

"I don't think he knew Seth's name," I shared.

She sighed. "It's sad."

"It's not your fault," Porter reminded her.

"He was in a lot of pain on Monday," I said.

"I saw it." Porter nodded. "I think he's doing well though. He's getting along with the other drivers."

"How?" I wondered. "He doesn't say much."

Porter shook his head. "Some people don't."

I tried not to let it get to me, but it was difficult. I wanted him to open up to me. I wanted to catch a glimpse of all the turmoil I knew was churning right below the surface. He seemed like such a deep person, and I just wanted to get to know him.

The one dinner aside, I knew I had to keep my mouth shut. It wouldn't do for anyone else at work to know what I thought of Linc. I certainly didn't want to feature in any gossip myself. So, I kept my head down and did my own work. If I did happen to run into him on the lot or in the house, I would play it cool. Until then, it wasn't any of my business how he spent his days.

When the week was over, I felt like I needed a little pick-me-up. I considered calling Mary Beth but decided against it. Mary Beth was a good friend, but she wouldn't hesitate to tell anyone else my secrets. As long as I wasn't pining after someone tall, dark, and handsome, she was a safe dinner date. But now, all bets were off. She would take one look at me and pry the truth from my lips. No, it would be better to find some other way to entertain myself.

I considered going to the Lucky Lady, the local bar and grill that had live bands on the weekends. I didn't feel like going alone though and it had been a while since I had pampered myself. Instead of cutting loose, I decided to get my hair done.

I drove straight from work to the hair salon on Main Street. The Wood Rose Salon was owned by Lindsey White, wife of the police detective Jason White. Despite the fact that she must have been privy to the best gossip in town, she was friendly and never spread any rumors. The salon was full when I arrived, and I had to wait.

I checked in at the desk. Lindsey was working on Jennifer Taylor, the receptionist at the Methodist church, while another stylist was working on Michael Downing, whose sister Melissa had been two grades above me in school.

The waiting area was full of men and women eager to spruce themselves up before the night's festivities. I was seventh in line and settled in to wait. Sally Dyson eyed me from behind her People magazine before giving up the charade and poking me in the knee.

"I heard Lincoln Matthews is working at the lumberyard," she said.

I nodded without engaging.

"I heard he was injured," Sally continued.

"Yes," I said, determined not to be drawn in.

"Mary Beth saw him." Sally smiled conspiratorially, even though there were two people between us and the entire salon was listening. "She said he was hot."

"I wouldn't know," I responded.

The two stylists worked their way patiently through the crowd, giving each customer their full attention. It was approaching seven by the time my turn came around.

"How late are you open?" I asked, sitting down in Lindsey's chair.

"Eight on Friday and Saturday nights," Lindsey said.

"Must make for a long day."

She shrugged. "We don't open until noon."

"You certainly have a lot of business." I stared at my image in the mirror as she circled my neck with a plastic drop cloth.

"We've been fortunate," she smiled. "Now, what can I do for you?"

"I just want a trim," I answered. "Make me look nice."

"Is there a particular someone you want to look nice for?" She was too savvy to be fooled.

I blushed. "No."

She spritzed my locks with water. "If you want to talk, I'm a vault."

"Thanks," I said with a sigh. There was only one person left in the waiting area, and it wasn't Sally Dyson. There was music playing so that no one could hear our conversation. The flood gates opened and I poured all my misgivings into a rambling confession. "It's Lincoln. Ever since he came back to town, I've been all tied up in knots."

"He's the topic of more than one woman's speculation," Lindsey agreed.

"I thought you said you were a vault," I complained.

"I am." She winked. "I won't tell you who was talking about him, but I don't think I'm breaking any confidences by saying that people are talking."

"He's very attractive," I said. "He's got this mystery about him. I wonder if he's thinking all these deep thoughts or if he's just shy. He doesn't say much."

"Looks like you may get a chance to find out," Lindsey said cryptically.

"What?" I asked.

She pointed at the mirror with her comb, and I caught sight of the door opening behind me. As if we had conjured him up by saying his name too many times, Lincoln walked in. He stepped up to Tammy's desk and gave his name. Lindsey deliberately swiveled my chair so that he could see who it was she was working on.

I found myself staring right at him, wearing that ridiculous nylon gown. His face went from passive to interested in a heartbeat, causing my blood to quicken. I smiled back. Outside of work, it didn't seem so difficult to make conversation.

"Hey, Aly," he said.

"Hi, Linc," I answered.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, as if the answer weren't obvious.

"Haircut," I said. "You?"

He ran a hand across his head, the hair having sprouted just barely past regulation buzz cut. "I can't decide if I want to keep it short."

"I think it looks nice," I said.

"It feels hot," he answered.

"You could try something less military," Lindsey suggested. "Like a four on top, two on the sides."

Lincoln looked at me as if my opinion meant something. I tried to imagine him with a styled haircut and failed. I couldn't see him with anything other than a shaved head. As it was now, his hair was still shorter than most people's.

Lincoln read hesitation in my eyes and smiled. "I think I'll go for a buzz."

"You could try something more stylish," I offered.

"But it wouldn't suit me," he answered, having identified my concern correctly.

"It would make you look different," I answered diplomatically.

"I don't want anything too fancy," he decided.

Lindsey nodded her head. "How's work?"

"It's fine." He hung around the middle of the room, not moving to the waiting area but not crowding me.

I couldn't think of anything to say, and since Lindsey still had her fingers in my hair, I let the conversational ball drop. Lincoln looked down at the floor awkwardly. Now was the time that he should move away, and we could pretend that our attempt at friendly banter had been successful. He didn't retreat though. Instead, he stepped closer.

"Your hair looks really nice," he said softly as Lindsey finished the cut.

I blushed and smiled. "Thank you."

I vacated the seat and went to the register to pay. Lincoln sat down in the chair I had been in and I lingered. "How's your leg?"

"Better each day." He adjusted himself until he was comfortable, allowing Lindsey to drape the protective gown around him. "That first day was hard. And Tuesday was hard. Today wasn't so bad."

"I'm glad." I smiled.

Lindsey looked conflicted. She wanted to get started on Lincoln's haircut with the ultimate goal of getting home to see her family. But she couldn't get in the way of our conversation. I took pity on her and ended the encounter.

"It was really nice to see you," I said.

"You as well," he replied.

I backed away toward the door, not wanting to break eye contact until I accidentally bumped into the magazine table. Feeling like a fool, I cursed under my breath. He laughed and I blushed before turning and hurrying away.

Smooth, Aly. Real smooth.