Читать книгу Abby, Get Your Groom! - Victoria Pade - Страница 7

Chapter One

“I can’t get married looking like this!”

Dylan Camden heard his sister’s lament as he went into the kitchen of his grandmother’s home. He was coming from an apology lunch he hoped would gain him a few more good-grace points with his family. He had fences to mend and he was trying to act on every opportunity to do that.

But the minute he set eyes on his sister he couldn’t help laughing before he caught himself and agreed with her. “You’re right, that is not good hair.”

It looked like a rats’ nest with bows.

Lindie and Georgianna Camden—the grandmother they all called GiGi—turned at the sound of his voice.

“And this is the third try!” Lindie said. “Three different stylists from three different Camden Superstores salons. No wonder revenues in most of them are down if this is their quality of work!”

“I think I might have a solution that will kill two birds with one stone,” GiGi said. “You know about the visit from the prison chaplain—”

It had come as a surprise to everyone three days ago when a chaplain from the state penitentiary had shown up at GiGi’s house in the heart of Denver’s Cherry Creek. He’d come a long way with a request.

In the final week of longtime inmate Gus Glassman’s life, Glassman had asked that the chaplain track down a lockbox of his belongings to be given to the daughter he’d abandoned twenty-eight years ago when he was incarcerated.

The incident that had caused the man to be imprisoned was something GiGi had read about in the recently discovered journals of her late father-in-law, the founder of the Camden fortune, H.J. Camden.

During their lives, H.J., his son Hank—who was GiGi’s late husband—and GiGi and Hank’s sons, Mitchum and Howard, had all been suspected of heavy-handed, unscrupulous business practices. Rumors and accusations had flown about ruthlessness, deceit, and callous, cold-blooded and unprincipled practices.

Nothing had ever been proven. And because GiGi and her ten grandchildren had never met with anything but loving care and kindness from the men, it hadn’t been difficult to deny what had seemed like only false accusations.

Then H.J.’s journals were discovered, proving that all the accusations were true.

As a result, the current Camdens were trying to quietly seek out those who were wronged in the past—or their descendants—and atone in some way that wasn’t disloyal to the men they’d all loved, and also didn’t open the gates to unfounded lawsuits.

Gus Glassman had been sent to the Colorado State Penitentiary for manslaughter when he—working as an enforcer for the Camdens—had gone too far while giving a beating to a factory supervisor who was trying to form a union. The beating was given on H.J.’s orders. GiGi had explored the possibility of making amends to the family of the man who had died, but he’d left no descendants so she’d moved on to other incidents.

But the prison chaplain had relayed information that there was another person caught in the fallout of Glassman’s deadly errand. An innocent whose existence was unknown until Gus Glassman revealed it to the prison chaplain.

Gus Glassman had left behind a then-two-year-old daughter.

When GiGi heard that, she’d assured the chaplain that she would find the lockbox and Gus Glassman’s daughter and take care of everything.

“I didn’t want this to wait any longer so I’ve been looking into it since the minute I said goodbye to the chaplain,” GiGi went on, “and you aren’t going to believe it, Lindie—she’s a stylist for that salon, Beauty By Design. The one that Vonni said a lot of her brides are using instead of Camdens.”

“The one that advertises their special-occasion team?”

The seventy-five-year-old matriarch nodded. “The hairdresser who manages the shop and does the special occasion events is Abby Crane—”

“Gus Glassman’s daughter,” Dylan contributed. His cousin Cade had just told him over lunch—after Dylan’s profuse apologies to Cade and Cade’s wife, Nati. “But you can’t be thinking that Lindie could find a way to make amends to her in the middle of this sprint to her wedding!”

“What I was thinking,” GiGi said to him with that putting-him-in-his-place tone that he recognized well, “is that if we could get this group to do the wedding, the girls might all get their hair done the way they want and in the process we’d be establishing contact with Abby Crane.”

Mellowing her tone, GiGi included Lindie again as she went on. “According to the chaplain, Gus Glassman made sure his daughter wouldn’t know who her father was, or anything about where she came from. All he left her with was a blanket and a note saying her name was Abby. But I have learned that she grew up in foster care, moved around from home to home—”

“No telling how happy or unhappy that might have left her,” Dylan interjected. “She could be a pretty tough cookie. So let me do it. That’s why I came by—Cade told me about what you’d found out. And I should be who does this project.”

“You want your hair, makeup and nails done for the wedding?” Lindie goaded him.

“I could start with a haircut to get my foot in the door so I can tell her who she is,” he suggested.

“But we also need someone to do wedding hair,” GiGi reasoned. “That’s two birds with one stone.”

“And I’m in charge of security for the wedding—and security for everything leading up to it—and trying to keep the circus that’s developed around this to a minimum,” Dylan reminded her. The task was a natural fit for him, given his usual position as head of all Camden business security.

Lindie had met her fiancé, Sawyer Huffman, only a little over a month ago when GiGi had sent her on her own make-amends mission.

But Sawyer Huffman had made a career out of mounting very public opposition to every Camden Superstore being opened in the country. So when word had leaked that these two adversaries were coming together—coupled with the fact that any Camden major life event drew the media—it had caused a flurry of attention that was complicating the already problematical planning of a big wedding in a month’s time. A month’s time when they’d begun. Now the wedding was just over a week away.

“In order to have people outside of Camden Superstores doing anything with this wedding I need to find out if this woman can be discreet,” Dylan reasoned. “I need to check out the salon to see if you girls can go in and get what you need done without photographers taking everyone’s pictures through the windows—”

“And you do need a haircut before the wedding,” GiGi commented.

“So give me this make-amends mission and I can start with a haircut. That’ll get me in the door. Then I can approach Abby Crane about doing the wedding and to tell her that I know who she is. After twenty-eight years this shouldn’t wait any longer. It has to be one of the worst things we’ve learned about what was done in the past,” Dylan finished.

Both Lindie and GiGi sobered noticeably. It was clear to see they agreed.

“So let me take care of it,” Dylan reiterated.

For a moment neither Lindie nor GiGi said anything.

Dylan wasn’t sure whether that was due to the weight of what had happened twenty-eight years ago, or because no one in the family particularly trusted him these days.

Then, with some levity to her skepticism, Lindie said, “You’re going to be the one to set up a hair-and-makeup trial for me and my bridesmaids?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“And you know that if we don’t like what Abby does, we won’t hire her, either, and that’s going to make the other part a lot harder.”

“I’m up for any challenge,” he claimed.

“The first one will probably be scheduling your own haircut in a busy salon on short notice,” Lindie said. “Let alone getting them to fit in a test run and an entire wedding party in just over a week.”

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” he assured them.

Lindie looked to GiGi, who put Dylan under the kind of scrutiny she’d used on them when they were kids trying to bargain themselves out of punishment.

When Dylan didn’t waver she seemed to give in without much enthusiasm and said, “Well, give it all a try and let’s see how you do.”

“And make it fast!” Lindie added, before she said she had to run and left Dylan alone with his grandmother.

Who returned to staring at him.

“Lunch went all right?” GiGi asked after they heard the front door close behind his sister.

“I think so. Nati wasn’t really warm and fuzzy toward me, but she said she accepted my apology.”

“And Cade?”

“We’re okay. Nati had to be somewhere so she left right after lunch. Once she had, Cade said he was cutting me a little more slack than she was because we’re family and he thought I’d had the wool pulled over my eyes. But that I should have known better...”

A sentiment that seemed prevalent among his entire family. “I agreed and by the time I paid the check things were more like always between us. He even said he’d work on softening up Nati a little more.” Dylan paused, then said, “What about Jonah?”

Jonah was Nati’s grandfather, and the high school sweetheart GiGi had reconnected with and married several months ago.

“He told you that his granddaughter would never have been unkind to Lara,” GiGi said with enough of an edge to her voice to make Dylan aware that she was still slightly miffed at him.

“I know, I know,” he said. “But—I can only say it for the hundredth time—Lara was convincing, and I...blindly took her side...” Because he’d been in love with her.

“Jonah will be all right,” GiGi admitted then. “He’s forgiving—or how would he and I be together now?”

Because one of those long-ago Camden misdeeds had been done to him and his family.

“I can only say how sorry I am,” Dylan repeated what he’d said more times than he could count.

“And we all see that you’re trying to make things right again—that’s important,” GiGi said, the caring tone of a grandmother creeping into her voice to let him know that while she might not have appreciated what had happened to their family at the hands of his former fiancée, she still loved him. “It’s just going to take time. We’ve never had that kind of thing go on among our own. We’re used to battling what comes at us from the outside, but from the inside?”

“I know,” Dylan repeated, willing now to accept the truth he’d denied. And to do whatever it took to get things back to where they were pre-Lara. To get himself back to where he was before he’d become the black sheep. And to make his own amends to his family.

GiGi patted his cheek gently, comfortingly. “You made a mistake, Dylan, but it’ll all come out in the wash.”

He nodded, hoping that was true. That he’d only rocked the boat.

That he hadn’t knocked an irreparable hole in the side of it.

And that maybe doing one of these atonement-projects on behalf of them all would help.

* * *

Great hair. Great-looking guy... Abby Crane thought as she saw the man being led to her station on that Friday afternoon, the first week of October.

She was in the break room, wolfing down a late lunch between appointments. But she could see into the salon through the latticed partition that separated the two spaces.

After situating the superhunk, her best friend, China Watson—who was filling in for their receptionist today—joined Abby.

“That is not Betty Grove,” Abby said.

Betty Grove, her scheduled appointment, was ninety and there certainly wouldn’t be any mistaking her for the lean, muscular, broad-shouldered, six-foot-three man with the full head of lush, espresso-brown hair.

He wore it short on the sides, longer and in controlled disarray on top. And that was only the beginning of his appeal.

The guy had a squarish, angular, very masculine face with a sharp jawline and a just-prominent-enough chin. He had a slightly long but well-shaped nose, and lips that weren’t too full or too thin lurking amid some very sexy stubble that told her he probably had to shave twice a day if he wanted to keep that altogether hella-handsome face perfectly smooth.

But unless he was going to do damage to some lucky girl’s face when he kissed her, Abby thought, he shouldn’t bother with a second shave because the stubble gave him an air of simmering sensuality and an irresistible bad-boy appeal.

“He’s something, isn’t he?” China said, as if she knew exactly what Abby was thinking. “He called for an appointment with you about forty-five minutes ago and he wanted in so bad he was offering to pay double if I’d work him in any way I could—”

“So you bumped Betty? Hasn’t she had enough disappointments this week with her granddaughter calling off the wedding she paid for?”

“No, I didn’t bump Betty. I put Mr. Beautiful on hold because I was going to come and see if you wanted to stay late. But just then Betty called to say she couldn’t make it today—I guess Janette is a basket case from calling off the wedding and Betty doesn’t want to leave her. Anyway, I got back on the phone with this guy, told him if he could make it here in twenty minutes he could have the appointment and there he is.”

“He really did want in today. But I’m not seeing any reason for it to be an emergency,” Abby observed, still studying him from the distance.

“His name is Dylan Camden—one of those Camdens, do you think?”

Abby shrugged. “I don’t know. But if he is, why would Mr. Richie Rich be here? Or asking for me?”

“Word of mouth, Ab! You’re good, and it’s even getting around in elevated circles. So go show him your stuff!” China finished, her tone loaded with innuendo as she nudged Abby with her shoulder.

“You show him your stuff,” Abby countered jokingly.

“He does not need makeup. But if I was the one he was so bent on seeing today, I’d show him plenty—look at him!”

Abby just shook her head at her friend.

“Are you going right out or should I keep him company?” China asked then.

“I’m going out. Just let me wash lunch off my hands.”

“I’ll ask him if he wants coffee or something...” China suggested, heading back the way she’d come as Abby got up from the table, threw away the paper plate she’d used and went into the employee’s bathroom.

As she washed her hands she glanced in the mirror above the sink to make sure she looked okay.

But not because of the hot guy waiting for her.

Appearance was her line of work so she always wanted to look her best. It just seemed like a smart business practice.

Her own hair was dark, dark brown, too. And thick and curly. The long hair fell in spiraling curls that she parted slightly off-center and let fall to just below her shoulders. It made for a pretty full mass that she worked to keep from ever looking fried or frazzled or brittle.

Wearing it that long and full was something she hadn’t been allowed to do growing up. When she was a little girl, the foster homes she’d been in had said it was too much trouble and shorn her like a sheep. But even when she’d gotten old enough to comb it herself the length and mass had still been an issue—one home had said it clogged the drain, another that it used up too much shampoo and conditioner. One set of foster parents had seen it as some kind of sign of wildness and degeneracy. But all of them had come to the same conclusion—keep it short.

She’d hated that. So now that she was an adult and on her own, she wore it exactly how she wanted it—long.

The good thing about it was that it was so thick it didn’t go limp, even on Fridays like today, when she was booked solid. A few scrunches after her hands were dry and it had new life.

She just thought it accentuated her features better than when it was short. It provided a frame to her not-very-large face with its high cheekbones and fair skin.

To China’s sorrow as a makeup consultant, Abby didn’t wear much of it. Every day she applied only a little blush and a light dusting of brown eye shadow to go along with some mascara so that her almost-black eyes could compete with all the hair.

She thought her nose was a bit pointy, but at least it was straight, and she had just-full-enough lips that really only needed a little gloss.

She freshened that gloss now, before brushing cracker crumbs off of the black smock that protected her clothes and hid the body that was curvy but compact.

Then she popped a mint into her mouth and went back out to the salon, taking note that the oh-so-handsome guy in her chair wasn’t looking at himself in the mirror he was facing. Instead, he was glancing around at the shop.

It told her something about the person and the level of vanity she was dealing with. Her impression of this guy was that he took those good looks in stride. She liked that.

“Hi, I’m Abby,” she introduced herself when she reached her station.

“I know. Abby Crane—you’re who I needed to see today,” the hunk responded. “I’m Dylan Camden.”

Abby went to stand in front of the chair to get a full forward view of him.

Wow, those eyes...she thought as she got close enough to see their color—vibrant, deep ultramarine blue. She’d never seen eyes a shade of blue that intense.

“Camden...like the stores? Or is that just a coincidence?” she asked, making conversation to break the ice.

“Not a coincidence,” he answered.

So he was a Superstore Camden...

Why had a bigwig like that suddenly been so eager to get in to see her in her small, north Denver salon?

“How did you hear about us?” she asked out of curiosity.

“You. It’s you I heard about,” he amended. “First from my sister-in-law Vonni. She runs the wedding departments in our stores and she knows your work for special occasions. She’s been finding that a lot of her brides and wedding parties are hiring you instead of using the salons in the Superstores.”

“We like to go the extra mile for big events,” Abby said, rather than bad-mouthing his salons.

“And you head that team.”

“I do,” she confirmed.

“Well, I’m here to talk to you about that, along with my own hair cut. My sister is getting married in about a week and she’s in a bind when it comes to the whole hair thing—”

“And you’re thinking we could do it? In ‘about a week?’”

“I know it’s ridiculously short notice and that you’re in high demand, so what I’m asking is a big deal. But I’m willing to do all I can to make it work.”

He knew that she was in high demand? There was something about the way he said it that made it sound like he thought he was some kind of authority on her.

But how could that be?

“Did you talk to China about all this when you called?” she fished.

“No, just about the haircut.”

“But you know about my scheduling?”

“I know a few things about you. Things you can’t know about yourself—”

“Such as?” Abby challenged him, suspicious.

“Such as, I know that when you were two years old you were left sleeping in the emergency department’s waiting room of Denver General Hospital with nothing but a blanket and a note pinned to you that said your name was Abby.”

How—why—would he know that? It wasn’t as if she readily or easily opened up to anyone—clients, friends, dates, anyone. And she’d never met this man before. Plus he was a Camden. Why would someone from a family like that know those kinds of details about her?

“You get off on reading twenty-eight year old newspaper articles?” she asked.

“No, we...uh...had a different source. One closer than a newspaper article.” His eyes met hers steadily. “But that’s better talked about privately so I thought maybe we could set up a time to meet later, too—”

“Okay, what is this?” Abby demanded firmly, switching to the tough-girl tone she’d sometimes needed to use in rough foster homes.

He held up his hands, palms out. “Exactly what I’ve told you—I’m here for a haircut and to talk to you about my sister’s wedding.”

“And about something that you want me to meet you for later?”

“Because it’s better talked about in private,” he repeated, his voice quieter than hers had been.

China appeared from nowhere just then and Abby knew her friend had been lurking close enough to hear at least a portion of what had been said. China had probably only been hanging around to ogle the guy, but now any indication of admiration was gone. In its place was I’ve-got-your-back mode. China had also been a foster child and it was a pattern the two of them had developed when they’d become friends.

But even though Abby wasn’t sure what was going on here, she didn’t think it was anything she couldn’t handle so she told China, “It’s okay.”

The tall, very blonde China looked from Abby to the man in her chair through narrowed hazel eyes that were always dramatically lined and shadowed.

To the client, China said, “If there’s something fishy with you—”

“There isn’t,” he claimed, digging his wallet out of his back pocket. “Look, I am who I say I am.” He handed Abby his driver’s license and a business card. “And I’m honestly here with only the best intentions.”

Abby looked over the license and card, then let China see them, too. When they were both finished with them he retrieved his license but left the card with Abby.

“Keep that. It has all my numbers on it—business and personal. I was going to leave it with you anyway so you could reach me after this.”

Abby looked at China, who looked back at Abby, both of them confused but still suspicious.

Then China stepped out of Abby’s station and seemed to disappear, though Abby had no doubt her friend would stay nearby.

“So, what’s going on?” she demanded then.

“Right now, a haircut and talk about my sister’s wedding,” he said as if he were narrowing it down for the moment.

Abby was half tempted to refuse both and send him packing.

But she knew that if Sheila—the owner of two shops who left the managing of this one to Abby—heard that Abby’d had the opportunity to do the wedding of anyone as prominent as a Camden and refused, there would be hell to pay. It would likely cost her her job. So she had to at least hear him out.

“A haircut and talk about your sister’s wedding,” she reiterated.

“For now, here. And then maybe we can set up something for later so I can tell you the rest. Somewhere neutral, where you feel completely safe and can just listen to what I have to say.”

Abby glared at him, again adopting her tough-girl attitude.

But once more she thought of how much she’d be risking if she didn’t accept the business he was offering, so she signaled her shampoo boy to come and lead Dylan Camden to the sinks. She stayed where she was, watching from there and wondering what was up with this guy.

When he’d first confirmed his connection to the Camden Superstores, she’d wondered if he was there to offer her a job. She’d heard that the Camden salons were really slipping these days and it wouldn’t be the first time someone had come in to steal her away from Sheila under the guise of having her do their hair.

But then he’d brought up the hospital. And he did seem to know things...

It was stupid. Totally stupid, and it hadn’t happened in years and years and she hated herself for lapsing into some old childhood dream. But a stranger coming out of nowhere, knowing something about her past, saying he had more to tell her, provoked the old fantasy just the same.

The fantasy of someone appearing in her life unexpectedly to tell her she’d been misplaced by loving parents who had finally found her and wanted to whisk her away to somewhere she belonged. To a family she belonged to.

It was far-fetched. She knew it. And Dylan Camden was only a few years older than her own thirty so he certainly wasn’t one of her long-lost parents.

But what if...

What if he was coming to tell her he was her brother? They both did have dark hair.

No, she decided. Dark hair was too common for her to draw conclusions just from that. And she certainly didn’t have the signature blue eyes the Camdens were known for—the Camden Blue Eyes, the papers called them. They were even more striking in person than she’d expected.

But the Camdens were a big-deal family with a huge number of associates and connections. There were countless ways the Camdens could have known her parents. Could she be the daughter of a socialite friend who had had her when she was very young and ultimately given her away to avoid humiliation and embarrassment?

Pie in the sky, she told herself.

Pipe dreams.

Dumb.

But what if Dylan Camden really did know something—anything—about her background?

It wouldn’t take much to know something she didn’t. And just in case...

It was insanely far-fetched.

But even so, the longer she thought about it, the more she knew that she was going to agree to meet with him.

In order to find out if he really did have even a morsel of information about who she was.