The next morning, Rachel awoke to find herself wrapped in Hank’s embrace and her head resting on his broad shoulder. His eyes were closed and his even breathing told her he was still asleep.
She fit so perfectly against him that she didn’t want to move, but she could see her cell phone on the coffee table and knew the alarm was set to go off any moment.
Moving very slowly, she extricated herself from his arms, instantly missing his warmth. She tucked the flannel blanket around him, then saw Georgie, now awake and alert, sniffing at the empty plate on the coffee table that had contained the pierogis.
“Hang on,” she whispered to the dog. “I’ll get you some food in a minute.”
Rachel grabbed her phone and switched off the alarm, then a moment later, an unfamiliar number popped onto the screen and her ringtone began to play the upbeat lyrics of “It’s a Good Day” by Perry Como.
“Wow,” Hank said, stretching his arms and shoulders. “That song is way too peppy this early in the morning. I’d need about three cups of strong black coffee before I could listen to that.”
She laughed as she sent the call to voicemail. “Are you always this grumpy in the morning?”
“Yes.”
Rising from the sofa, she picked up the blanket and began to fold it. Then her phone rang again, belting out more Perry Como. “Who in the world is calling me this early?”
Hank sat up quickly, instantly alert. “You don’t recognize the number?”
“No. And I sent the first one to voicemail.” Her finger hovered over the screen. “Should I answer it?”
“Go ahead,” he urged. “And put it on speaker.”
Taking a deep breath, Rachel tapped the speaker button before answering the call. “Hello?”
“Hello, is this Dr. Rachel Grant?” asked a woman on the other end of the line.
“Yes, it is. May I ask who’s calling?”
“This is Midge Berman. You may know my good friend, Edith Cummings. She raves about your Lonely Hearts group.”
“Oh,” Rachel said, taking a moment to make the connection. This was Jonathan Kasper’s sister-in-law. She’d never met Midge, but she’d read her daily column and enjoyed the woman’s wit. “Yes, Ms. Berman, what can I do for you?”
She saw Hank relax and lean back against the sofa, closing his eyes once more. He was still shirtless and more than a little distracting. Then Rachel realized she’d missed part of the conversation.
“I’m sorry,” Rachel interrupted. “What did you say?”
“That you must call me Midge and you absolutely must come on my TV show.”
“Pine City People?” Rachel asked, certain there must be a mistake. “Why would you want me on the show?”
“Because we highlight the citizens of the best town in Texas. And you’re certainly worth highlighting.”
Rachel hesitated, thrown completely off guard. “May I ask how you selected me?”
“Actually, my brother-in-law, Jon Kasper, recommended you. He’d been a patient at the Craig Clinic for years for his claustrophobia, but after only a few sessions with you, he’s completely cured.”
“Well, as I’m sure you know,” Rachel began slowly, “I can’t discuss who may or may not be a patient of mine. But I’m always happy to hear about people who’ve overcome obstacles for a happier life.”
“Spoken like a true professional,” Midge declared. “Now, you’ll need to be here by three o’clock this afternoon. That should give you plenty of time in hair and makeup. And…”
“Wait, you’re talking about today?”
“Yes, we had a sudden cancellation, but I believe this is perfect timing. Now you can tell the audience about your group’s plan to boycott Valentine’s Day.”
Rachel glanced at Hank, who looked amused by the conversation. “It’s not an official boycott; it’s just a type of personal coping mechanism.”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’d like to talk about.”
The last thing Rachel wanted to do was appear on television. “I’m sorry, but today just won’t work for me. My schedule is pretty full.”
“May I ask what time you have your last appointment?”
“Three o’clock.”
“Oh, then that’s perfect. Jon told me his appointment is at three and he’s very excited to see you on the show, so I’ll tell him to cancel.”
“What? You can’t do that.”
“In fact,” Marge continued, “he told me that a man actually assaulted him in your office at his last appointment. Of course, he’s not usually the litigious type, but if he heard you were uncooperative about being on my show, I’m not sure what he might do…”
Rachel almost dropped the phone at Midge’s not-so-subtle extortion attempt. She looked over at Hank, who was holding a contented Georgie in his lap.
“Okay,” she agreed, feeling she didn’t have much choice. The last thing she wanted to do was tell her clinic partners that they might get sued. “I guess I will be on your show today.”
“Wonderful! I’m sure my audience will love you. See you at three o’clock sharp. Bye, dear.”
“Bye,” Rachel said as the call ended.
“I take it that wasn’t your stalker?”
“No,” she said briskly. “But I think I’ve just been blackmailed.”
That afternoon, Rachel sat in the green room on the set of Pine City People, her hands clenched around each arm of the chair. A charcuterie board of various cheeses and smoked meats sat on a table, along with some fresh cut fruit, but Rachel couldn’t eat a bite.
She could not go out there.
It wasn’t nerves. Pine City People was simply a late-afternoon talk show that featured local citizens, a cooking segment, and an informational piece by the Jolly Greengrocer on the fruit of the month. She’d presented at enough mental health seminars and conferences to be confident in her speaking abilities.
It wasn’t doubts about the interview either. She had a file full of information and studies about holiday depression and ways to alleviate it. Techniques that could really help people. She’d also written a short speech outlining why some people, including members of her Lonely Hearts group, might want to boycott Valentine’s Day.
There was only one reason she couldn’t go on live television. And that reason was her hair.
Her really big hair.
Justine, the show’s hairdresser, had moussed and back-combed and spritzed her thick red hair until it took on a life of its own. At five nine, she’d always been aware of her height, preferring to wear flats so she didn’t tower over other people. But her shoes hardly mattered with four inches of hair sticking up on her head. She looked like an Amazon prom queen.
No one would take her seriously with this hair.
A harried assistant stuck his head in the door. “Five minutes to air, Dr. Grant.”
“Wait,” she cried before he could disappear among all the cameras and cables and chaos. “What’s your name?”
“Devon,” he said, scanning his clipboard. He was head shorter than Rachel with a wiry build and dark stringy hair. And his head never stopped moving as he evaluated everything around him.
“I can’t go out there, Devon.”
The young man looked up, his eyes wide behind his thick glasses. “That is not an option, Dr. Grant. You have to go on.” He checked his watch. “In four minutes and twenty-five seconds.”
“I can’t go on looking like this,” she said, standing up so he could see the full effect. She’d have to duck under doorways with this hair.
His myopic gaze flicked over her from head to toe. Then he shrugged. “The dress is a little dated, but I’ve seen worse.”
“It’s not my dress,” she cried, feeling more self-conscious than ever as she smoothed down the skirt. “It’s my hair. Look at it!”
He walked into the room, circling her as he stared at her hair. “Wow,” he said with a grimace. “That’s some head of hair. Justine must be on her mousse kick again. We had to take away her stash last year.”
She breathed a sigh of relief that he finally understood her dilemma. “Well, I obviously can’t go on looking like this. Can you reschedule me for tomorrow or sometime next week?”
Devon shook his head. “No way. You have to go on today, Dr. Grant. You’re on the schedule and the schedule is sacred around here. This is television. We have to meticulously account for every second.” He glanced at his watch again. “And you’ve only got two minutes and five seconds until showtime.”
“You can give my time slot to the Jolly Greengrocer,” she said a little desperately. “He can give an in-depth report on the fruit of the month. What is it this month?”
“The tomato,” he said, as if reciting it by rote. “Sometimes called the love apple back in pioneer days. Once thought poisonous, today it is used in a variety of condiments around the world. The tomato is a versatile, meaty fruit that people often mistake for a vegetable.”
“See,” she said excitedly. “There’s plenty to learn about the tomato. You could probably do an entire show on it.”
“We did,” he replied. “Two weeks ago. It was the Jolly Greengrocer’s big finale. He’s a goner. And so is the cooking lady. The show’s got a whole new format since Midge took over—dealing with hot topics and issues that affect the good citizens of Pine City.”
Stifling a groan, Rachel closed her eyes. After today’s show, the hottest topic in town would be what she had hidden in her hair. “I can’t believe this is happening to me.”
“Wait,” he said, moving in a step. “Let me see if I can fix it.” He put the palm of his hand on top of her hair and pushed down. Hard. Then he lifted his hand and stepped back to look at the results.
“Is it better?” she asked hopefully.
“Well…” He cleared his throat. “You know, the audience really doesn’t pay that much attention to hair once the show starts. Just smile a lot. You’ve got a very pretty smile. Then they’ll focus on your face instead of”—he pointed to the top of her head—“that.”
“Audience?” she echoed, looking frantically around the room for a mirror. “What
audience?
“That’s new to the show, too. We’ve got a whole new look. Live audience. New set design. It’s all very state-of-the art. Midge demands the best of everything.”
Rachel steadied herself by taking deep, calming breaths. Maybe she did have a case of television jitters after all. This was just a local show. The audience probably consisted of a high school civics class on a field trip.
“You’re on in forty-five seconds,” Devon announced, propelling her toward the stage door. “Look on the bright side, Dr. Grant. Sometimes unusual hairstyles start a trend. You could be a real Pine City trendsetter.”
Somehow Rachel doubted the women of Pine City would be running to the beauty shop to request Hurricane Hair. She followed Devon in the shadows until they reached the edge of the set.
It looked smaller than she’d imagined, with two overstuffed armchairs on a raised circular dais. The audience sat around the dais on wooden bleachers, five rows high, and buzzed with excitement.
Rachel stood motionless as Devon clipped a cordless microphone onto the collar of her dress. Music suddenly blared out of the big speaker next to her, making her jump.
The show had begun.
“Good afternoon, Pine City!” Midge shouted as took the stage. Sporting an aqua-blue pantsuit that matched her eyes, the sixty-one-year-old looked smart and stylish. “I’m Midge Berman and I want to welcome you to the best show in town!”
Neon applause signs flashed above the stage, and the audience responded enthusiastically. Midge smiled and clasped her hands together in appreciation.
Midge had every reason to smile, Rachel thought to herself as her palms began to sweat. Her silver-gray hair looked normal. Even attractive, arranged in a cute pixie cut. Justine and her magic mousse obviously hadn’t been anywhere near her.
“With Valentine’s Day coming up next week, we’ve decided to make the topic of this show, Valentine’s Day—Love it or Leave it. And I’d like everyone to give a warm welcome to one of the best therapists in Pine City, Dr. Rachel Grant!”
“You’re on!” Devon exclaimed amid the spattering of applause.
Surprised by Devon’s gentle shove, Rachel stumbled onto the stage. Still, she forced herself to smile as she headed toward her chair, all too aware of the hot, bright lights and the camera lenses pointed in her direction. She silently reassured herself that this fiasco would soon be over.
And it might not be so bad. She could discuss some of the common myths about love and happiness. There were probably many people watching today’s show who had mixed feelings about February the fourteeth. Maybe some members of the audience felt the same way as her group members.
Maybe they were already making snide comments about her hair.
“We’re so happy to have you on the show today, Dr. Grant,” Midge said, motioning her toward the guest chair.
“Thank you for the opportunity,” Rachel replied as they both sat down. Her voice sounded tinny to her ears. Settling into her chair, she began to relax a little, until she caught a glimpse of herself in the monitor. To her horror, her hair looked even bigger on television.
Midge folded her hands in her lap, more serious now as she settled into the interview. “Tell us, Dr. Grant, do you hate men?”
Rachel blinked back her surprise. “No, not at all.”
The audience applauded and Midge clapped along with them. “When I heard about your Lonely Hearts group boycotting Valentine’s Day, I wasn’t sure what to think. Can you explain it to us?”
“Of course,” Rachel said, trying to mentally summon the information she’d memorized earlier. “Valentine’s Day is a time for romance, and it’s become very commercialized. They sell cards and heart-shaped candy boxes. And a florist told me once that it’s her most profitable day of the year.”
Midge looked confused. “And that’s…bad?”
“Not at all. I’m very much in favor of romance. And of love. It’s very important in our society. But when we blow that importance out of proportion, it can become difficult for people who are alone or depressed. They often feel like something’s wrong with them.” Rachel looked out at the audience. “What I try to impart to the members of the Lonely Hearts group is that if you love yourself first, happiness usually follows.”
Midge nodded thoughtfully. “So this boycott of yours isn’t personal? Or a result of a romance gone sour?”
Panic suddenly gripped her that Midge knew about Russell. But knew what? That he had abandoned her for an African dung beetle?
“No, of course it’s not personal,” Rachel replied. “And it’s not my boycott.” Perspiration began to run down her brow. “It’s simply about people having the choice to celebrate or not celebrate Valentine’s Day. And to know that either decision is just fine.”
“Thank you, Dr. Grant,” Midge said, turning back to the camera. “Let’s see what our audience members have to say about this very interesting issue.”
Rachel breathed a silent sigh of relief that the interview part was over. Then she saw Devon holding a microphone up to a blond teenage girl.
“I think Valentine’s Day is way cool,” the girl said. “And maybe the doctor lady wouldn’t have so much trouble finding a boyfriend if she did something different with her hair. No offense, you’re probably very pretty but that hair has to go.”
The audience applauded as Devon shoved the microphone in front of a middle-aged man wearing a Hooters T-shirt. “I like the hair. And she’s got a great-looking body, too. I don’t think she’d have any trouble finding a date for Valentine’s Day.”
Rachel’s head began to throb. How soon until they went to commercial? Then maybe she could make a quick and dignified escape from this circus.
Midge winked at Rachel. “The folks in Pine City have strong opinions. And the voice in my earpiece is telling me we have a live caller with a question. Caller, go ahead.”
“I’ve got a Valentine’s message for Rachel,” said a weirdly distorted male voice. “Roses are red, corpses are blue. Keep watch, my love, I’m coming for you.”
Rachel froze as stunned gasps sounded from the audience. She couldn’t believe her stalker had just threatened to kill her on live television. “Who is this?” she asked, but her question was followed by a loud click.
“Oh, that’s horrible,” Midge murmured under her breath. Then she rallied and turned to Rachel. “I believe that caller may have been one of those people you were talking about. Someone who sounds disturbed…highly disturbed by Valentine’s Day or some other serious issue. Do you have a response, Dr. Grant?”
Still shocked by what had just happened, Rachel automatically opened the file on her lap. “Midge, did you know statistics show that calls to mental health hotlines triple during the week before Valentine’s Day? We need to remind people that they don’t have to surrender to all the hype. That it’s okay not to be in a relationship. And most important of all, that love is not a requirement for happiness.”
“Well said,” Marge exclaimed, leading the audience in applause. “It’s clear now that this boycott isn’t a personal vendetta of yours.”
Rachel nodded, still functioning on auto-pilot after that call. “Of course not. I’m a romantic at heart. I love to read romance novels and watch a good love story on television.”
“But what about romance in real life?”
“I’m all for it,” she replied. “I enjoy dating.” She knew Gina and Molly might disagree that assessment after the blind dates she’d bailed on. But she wasn’t about to dissect her love life on live television. “And I certainly enjoy the company of men.”
Midge smiled. “Actually, a little birdie told me you’ve just started dating a handsome veterinarian.”
“Oh,” Rachel said, aware of whispers in the studio audience. “Yes, I am. His name is Dr. Hank Holden.”
“Then we have a surprise for you,” Midge announced, beaming into the camera. “Come on out, Dr. Holden!”
Rachel’s mouth dropped open as Hank walked out of the wings carrying a bouquet of purple calla lilies.
He walked right up to her, looking impeccably handsome in a western style gray suit and matching cowboy hat.
“Surprise,” he said with a wry smile. Then his gaze flicked up somewhere above her eyebrows. “What happened to your hair?”