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“My roots are starting to grow out, and I need someone to help me touch them up.”
“I can do that,” Missy said, her eyes shining. “I wouldloveto do that.” She grinned at Jill. “The party is on December eleventh.”
“I’ll put it on my calendar.” Jill smiled back at her and took another bite of her favorite ice cream. She looked around at the large room that hosted the kitchen, dining table, and living room. With everyone here and all the decorations, Jill thought this house was starting to feel more like the ranch she’d first come to years ago.
Laughter, life, and love filled the air, and while she didn’t have all of those things in her life at the moment, she still clung to the hope that she would one day.
The music played a popular Christmas tune, and all the cowboys started singing at the top of their lungs.
“Oh, boy,” Emma said, but Jill loved it. She loved the energy and the noise. Maybe she didn’t think Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer was all that exciting, but she liked that they could have good, simple fun without arguments.
Thanksgiving had been a nightmare for Jill—she and her sister had gotten into a fight. Big surprise. Haven just “couldn’t fathom” why anyone with blonde hair would dye theirs black. Mama had come to Jill’s defense, and the argument hadn’t died until Daddy said Haven wouldn’t be able to come back to the house if she couldn’t be nice.
Jill was grateful for her parents, and that they finally saw Haven for who she really was. She wasn’t happy that Haven blamed her for the arguments or that she felt picked on. Jill had wanted to tell her,Welcome to the last thirty years of my life, but she’d said nothing.
She yearned for good, for clean, for simple, and the cowboys singing a Christmas song was exactly that.
Someone came into the living room from the foyer, and Jill turned toward the movement. Her heart froze, right there in her chest. Her eyes widened. She lost the ability to hold things, as first her spoon dropped to the floor, and then her bowl of peanut butter cookie dough ice cream.
Slate Sanders stood there, Axle at his side, and the man was the stuff of Jill’s dreams. Black leather jacket. Black cowboy hat. Dark-wash jeans. Tall, broad, and brooding—and looking directly at her despite the chaos around them.
His mouth moved, but she couldn’t hear him above the now-obnoxious singing. The song ended, and Slate yelled, “…your hair is black,” into the resulting silence.
His voice drew everyone’s attention, and a literal uproar happened from the ice-cream-intoxicated men in the kitchen. Ted led the charge toward Slate, and he got swept up in hugs and handshakes that separated him from Jill, who still hadn’t moved.
Hannah appeared in front of her with a washcloth. “Go on,” she said, looking up. “He’s obviously here for you.”
“What do I say to him?” Jill asked, suddenly scared and desperate for help.
“Honey,” Emma said. She’d sat up at some point, and she leaned toward Jill. “You’ve already said everything that needs to be said. You just let him talk.”
Jill swallowed, her lips sticky from the ice cream. She licked them and nodded. “Okay. I can do that.” She got to her feet, realizing she wore a casual pair of cotton pants with wide legs and a T-shirt with a pear on the front of it. No shoes.
She ran her fingers through her hair, mussing it up slightly. Then she searched for Slate. The sea of people in the West Wing parted, leaving a clear path for Jill to get to Slate.
He took the first step, and Jill’s heart started beating like a big bass drum.
