Tight-Fittin' Jeans. Mary Baxter Lynn
smile flirted with her lips as thoughts of Bridget resurfaced. It had been only a little over a year since she and Bridget had had that conversation about how low both their lives had sunk.
Of course, Bridget’s hadn’t, not really, since she was from a wealthy family here in Houston, with money of her own, to boot. Tiffany, on the other hand, had nothing to fall back on—no family and no money.
That was why she couldn’t waltz into Hazel’s office and tell her what she could do with her antiquated ideas and this job.
“Yo.”
Tiffany, unaware that her privacy had been invaded, jumped, then whipped around. The intruder was Gretchen Wheeler, one of the salesclerks.
“Sorry,” Gretchen said. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You didn’t. What’s up?”
Gretchen made a face. “Hazel’s dander.”
“Great.”
“She wants to see you.”
“What else is new?” Tiffany’s mouth curved downward. “I get out of her sight for five minutes and she goes berserk.”
Gretchen gave her a sympathetic look, though she appeared uncomfortable at being the go-between who bore the unhappy message.
“Thanks,” Tiffany finally said, letting Gretchen off the hook. “I’ll see you later.”
Gretchen nodded, then left. Tiffany stood for a moment, contemplating walking into Hazel’s office and telling her what she could do with both her demands and the job; then the phone rang.
Thinking it was the witch adding insult to injury, Tiffany grabbed the receiver and said a curt “Yes.”
“Whoa! Down, girl.”
Tiffany threw back her head and laughed, having recognized the voice right off. “Why, Jeremiah Davis, fancy you calling me.” Then her voice sobered and her stomach lurched, as it dawned on her that something was amiss. First off, Jeremiah was calling, instead of Bridget, and second, it was in the middle of the day. “I take it this isn’t a social call.”
“You’re right.”
Her stomach gave another lurch, and at the same time fear clogged her throat; she couldn’t utter a word. Something must have happened to Bridget or Jeremiah’s six-year-old daughter, Taylor, from his first marriage.
As if Jeremiah had picked up on her fear, he went on, “ices Bridget. She’s been injured in a car accident, but she’s going to be okay.”
Tiffany picked up on the desperate ring to his voice, but she didn’t acknowledge it. “Thank God,” she whispered, sitting down before her knees could give way under her. “Was she alone?”
“Yeah. She slammed into a school bus, which caused damage to her spine and legs.”
“How much damage?” Tiffany hated asking that question, but she had no choice. She might as well know the good, the bad and the ugly now as later.
“She’s partially paralyzed, though the doctor says it’s not permanent.”
“What can I do to help?”
Jeremiah hemmed and hawed, then finally said, “I was wondering if it’s possible for you to take some vacation time and baby-sit Taylor. I can’t leave Bridget, and my aunt’s not able to keep Taylor. She’s had a slight stroke, and...” He hesitated. “I wouldn’t ask, but—”
“I’d be insulted if you hadn’t.” And Tiffany meant it, even though she didn’t have any vacation time left. Maybe all wasn’t lost Maybe this unexpected twist of events was the answer to her problem.
She could resign, then look for another job when she returned from Utah. Although her savings account was far from what she wanted it to be, it wasn’t all that shabby. If she had to, she could dip into that, then replace what she’d used.
“Tiffany?”
“I’m on my way.”
With that, she replaced the receiver, then listened as her heart banged against her rib cage. Even though she was concerned for her friend, she suddenly felt like a prisoner who had just been released from death row.
“Yes, yes, yes!”
She left her office and headed straight for Hazel’s, a bounce in her steps.
Two
Tiffany stood in the small hospital room in Hurricane, where Bridget had been taken following the accident, though Tiffany had yet to talk to her. A lab tech was in the process of drawing blood from Bridget’s arm.
Unable to watch the procedure, Tiffany kept her eyes averted. Needles gave her the willies, especially when they were used to penetrate the skin.
She had contemplated going to the ranch first and dumping her bags. But in her eagerness to see for herself that her friend was not critical, she had rented a car at the airport and come straight here.
Jeremiah had insisted on meeting her flight, but she’d insisted otherwise, pointing out that he needn’t be concerned about her, that he had enough on his plate at the moment. As if he’d realized she was as headstrong as his wife, he’d let out a sigh and given in.
Now, as Tiffany continued to wait, she peered out the window into a park, serene and breathtakingly lovely with cotton wood, pecan and mulberry trees galore. She had forgotten just how beautiful this part of the country was, even in July. When she stepped outside at the airport, she had felt the incredible heat, but it wasn’t that humid, cloying heat that was so much a part of southeast Texas.
Yet she wouldn’t trade Texas for Utah, not in this lifetime, anyway. She had to smile, still unable to comprehend how her socialite friend, Bridget, had managed to adapt so well. Tiffany sighed out loud. She guessed love had brought about that miracle.
Thank God she was immune from that bug biting her, especially if it meant she had to remain in these parts. Tiffany made a face. Oh, Hurricane, which was a fairly nice-size town, was all right. In fact, compared to Pennington, where Bridget and Jeremiah lived, it was a thriving metropolis. Still, there was nothing in either place for her except her dear friend.
Living in the woods, off the land, was not for her. As soon as she had fulfilled her loving obligation, she would be gone, back to the bright lights.
“Tiff, you made it.”
At the sound of Bridget’s voice, Tiffany swung around. She didn’t move, though, until the nurse and lab tech had left. Then she made her way toward the bed. But at the sight of her friend’s pinched features, Tiffany’s forthcoming smile didn’t materialize. Under close scrutiny, Bridget seemed a mere shadow of her former self.
Tiffany. hadn’t seen Bridget since she married Jeremiah, which was a year ago now. Bridget’s short red hair had been vibrant, and her brown eyes had been alive with fire and humor. Both had diminished to a shocking degree.
A chill darted through Tiffany. Had Jeremiah glossed over the situation? Was Bridget’s condition much worse than he’d let on? Tiffany knew that he loved his wife more than life itself and couldn’t contemplate the thought of her being less than whole. Perhaps that thought alone accounted for his inability to face facts.
Tiffany, forcing a smile, stepped closer to the bed. Despite Bridget’s obvious attempt to reciprocate the smile, her mouth was pinched with pain.
“Hi, sweetie,” Tiffany said, leaning closer and brushing Bridget’s warm cheek with her lips.
Bridget grabbed her friend’s hand, tears filling her eyes. “I’m so glad you’re here. I was afraid you couldn’t come. Or wouldn’t.”
“Hogwash,” Tiffany responded in a low voice, all the while fighting back her own tears. If she gave in and boo-hooed the way she wanted