“Really?” popped out before she could stop it. “But why?”
“You’ve got grit, girl. Like a true Wyomingite.”
Harper couldn’t have been more floored. “Thank you, Susan. That’s the best compliment an outsider like me could ever hope to receive.”
She snorted. “Outsider? You’re part of this community whether you like it or not.”
“The truth is . . . I like it.”
“Good. So you’re joining the ranks of the rest of us who are too stubborn or too dumb to leave?”
“Yep. And I appreciate the job offer, but I’ll be working for Renner Jackson up at the Split Rock Ranch and Resort.”
“You don’t say? Well, good enough. Don’t be a stranger to the Buckeye.” Susan hustled out.
Harper stared after her for the longest time. She hadn’t misread Susan’s hostility over the last couple of years, yet the job offer and peace offering gave Harper a sense of closure.
The back door banged open and Bernice yelled, “Harper? I need your help for a sec.”
Outside, Bernice was digging in the trunk of her car. “Bernice?”
“Can you come here and check this out?”
“Ah. Sure.” She skirted the back end of the Chrysler Imperial.
“Do you think I need to get this spare tire pumped up? It’s lookin’ a little ratty.”
She peered into the trunk. The black blob, which probably had been a tire at some point, was totally deflated. “Uh. Yeah. Maybe Bob oughta take a look at that.” She turned to go, but Bernice snagged her arm.
“Between us? I think the man’s gone senile. The other day he made me a tuna fish sandwich and put Cool Whip in it instead of Miracle Whip. Cool Whip! Can you imagine?”
“That does sound gross.”
“And then he found these god-awful plaid parachute pants from the 1980s in his closet. He tried to put them on over his chubby butt and accused me of shrinking them in the wash when they didn’t fit! Of all the nerve. Never mind the man hasn’t weighed a hundred and thirty pounds since Ronald Reagan was president.”
What was she supposed to say? She started toward the door. But once again, Bernice stopped her.
“Did I ever tell you about the time my granny, who had Alzheimer’s, although we called it ‘old-timers’ back then, got up in the middle of a church service? She never did come back in and hear Reverend Billy Jack’s warning about the wages of sin. When we went outside, there was Granny, perched nekkid as a jaybird on the hood of my grandpa’s Impala. Grandpa tried to hustle her into the backseat and cover her with a horse blanket, but she insisted she didn’t know him. Told him to take his hands off her.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Come to find out, Granny believed she was Rita Hayworth and she was auditioning for a movie part. How bizarre is that?”
Harper wondered if Bernice had been inhaling exhaust fumes because this conversation was beyond bizarre. “Thanks for telling me, Bernice, but I heard the door chimes.” She managed to duck Bernice’s grabbing hands and sprinted into the shop, skidding to a stop when she heard, “Surprise!”
Ten of her regular ladies, who’d been pillars of support, a source of laughter, who’d given her a sense of belonging—even if she’d only recently realized it—stood by the windows grinning at her. They’d tied “good luck” balloons to her chair and set up a refreshment station at the counter, complete with a frosted cake—homemade, of course—and a pitcher of pink lemonade, plus they’d coordinated the fancy matching floral napkins with the paper plates and plastic cups. All the goodies Harper had never had at any birthday party. Or a party of any sort.
If she’d been floored by Susan Williams’s visit, this absolutely knocked her to her knees.
Cake was cut. Lemonade poured. She chatted and shed a tear when she opened Bernice’s parting gift—her very own elk antler coatrack.
As the party wound down, Maybelle stepped forward. “We’ll miss you, Harper, even when you won’t be going far. We wanted to let you know how much we appreciated having you here. You could’ve found work in Rawlins, making more money, working with a younger clientele, so we’re pleased as punch you’re now a permanent part of our town.”
“Thank you. Good Lord, you all are so sweet, I’m gonna bawl.”
When she started to cry, eleven ladies patted her arms, her back, her shoulders. Murmuring reassurances, soothing her, so Harper felt she was being held in the arms of the entire community.
How ironic that she’d been looking for a place to call home . . . when she’d already found it.
Chapter Twenty-four
One day later . . .
They’d cleared the first gate when Les tossed out, “I hear Harper is livin’ up at Renner Jackson’s compound.”
Bran hit the brakes so hard they both lurched into the dash. His head whipped toward Les. “What the hell did you just say?”
“That your temporary ‘hired hand’ ”—Les made quotes in the air that matched his sarcastic intonation—“is livin’ with Renner Jackson.”
Getting hooked with a bull’s horn couldn’t have ripped a bigger hole in his gut. “How the f**k do you know that?”
Les shrugged. “Heard it from Betty. Guess it ain’t a big deal. Ain’t like Harper’s hiding it neither.”
It was a big deal as far as Bran was concerned. He looked out the window and his hands tightened on the steering wheel in pure frustration.