Kim Mckade - That Kind Of Girl

“I haunt you?”

“Damn right, you do. How could you not, standing there, looking at me like that? Yesterday it was all I could do to keep from throwing you down on the porch and taking you right there. And you want us both to just forget about it. Forget about it and be friends. And I guess that’s what we’ll have to do. Because any fool knows you don’t save something for thirty years, just to blow it on some bum passing through town. That’s the kind of thing that has to wait for Mr. Right. And we both know that’s not me.”

The bell over the door dinged as Colt pushed through it. Frank’s Barbershop still looked much the same as it had when Colt had gotten haircuts here as a boy, but it sure didn’t smell the same. Ever since Barbara Foust married that boat salesman and moved to Houston—closing down Aloma’s only beauty shop—Frank had been doing double haircare duty for the citizens of Aloma county. Or—as Frank liked to put it with a wink and a grin, as if he were saying something risqué—unisex styling.

Now, the small building was divided clearly. The men’s haircuts were done on the left side, with a red-and-white barber pole and fishing-and-hunting magazines beside the waiting area. On the other side, Hollywood lights surrounded the mirror, and pictures of pouting models’ faces lined the walls, giving examples of the latest hair fashions from New York and Paris. The old familiar smells of hair tonic and aftershave were now overpowered by the ammonia-laden odors of permanent waves and peroxide bleach.

Toby Haskell was just sitting down—on the men’s side, of course—for his monthly trim, when Colt walked in.

“Hey, Hoss!” he called as he saw Colt. “I haven’t seen you for a few days. I was afraid you’d taken off already. Corinne will skin me if I don’t bring you over for dinner before you go.”

Colt nodded. “Be happy to.”

“How about Sunday night? Frank, you be careful back there.” Toby twisted in his chair and looked back at the barber. “Don’t be cutting off anything I might need.”

“Turn around and quit telling me how to do my job,” Frank said congenially. He palmed the top of Toby’s head and faced it forward for him. “How much do you want off?”

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