The Good Mum

Ashley smiled reassuringly at her. “You did well.” Honestly, if she owned a salon—her dream business—she would never terrorize her employees. She would be pleasant to them all the time.

Sighing, she ran over her conversation with Aidan again in her mind. “Kylie, he asked if I’d noticed a change in his grandmother. Do you know what he meant by that?”

“Um...” With a bewildered look, Kylie turned to the computer screen that showed their bookings. Ashley gazed over her shoulder.

“Vivian Sharpe!” Ashley exclaimed, reading the entry in the computer. “Aidan’s grandmother is Vivian Sharpe?”

“Who’s that?” Kylie asked.

Only one of the richest and most influential people in Boston. Ashley groaned. In her more naive days, she’d once attempted to meet Vivian through Brandon and her sister—but the elderly woman had gone to great lengths to keep to her private entourage.

Vivian Sharpe—and her grandson Aidan—were on a whole other rarified level from Ashley. Vivian sat on the board of directors at Wellness Hospital. She had a particular interest in running the Sunshine Club, the cancer charity that Brandon volunteered for. Even worse, she owned the New England Captains, the professional baseball team where Ashley’s brother-in-law used to play, until he was traded to San Francisco. Brandon was over the moon about the Captains.

“Do you know this lady?” Kylie asked.

Ashley sighed. “Not really. I know of her, but that’s about it.”

Ashley communicated with the Sunshine Club office only through intermediaries—usually Susan Vanderbilt, a public relations manager at the hospital. Ashley hadn’t understood the etiquette at first, and she’d actually dared to approach Vivian once early on, at a fancy hospital Christmas party that Brandon had been invited to attend. Vivian had barely deigned to speak to her. Ashley’s sister had told her not to feel bad—that the elderly philanthropist kept herself aloof from most people, but Ashley had sensed there was more to it than that.

It had seemed personal to her.

Truth was the woman seemed not to approve of her, and that had hit Ashley in her most vulnerable spot—the worry and shame that she was in over her head with Brandon, that she wasn’t doing a good enough job at being his mom.

Just great. She felt like weeping, but now wasn’t the time or place. Her job and maybe Brandon’s place in his new world were at stake. She wished she could call her sister—ask her if she knew a Dr. Aidan from her time working at Wellness Hospital. Was there anything about him—any commonalities that she might use to appeal to him?

Ashley took out her phone. But her sister didn’t live in Boston anymore. She was three time zones away, in San Francisco, and anyway, she was likely in surgery, administering anesthesia.

She could do this. She’d made it this far, hadn’t she?

On a whim, Ashley opened up the web browser and typed in an internet search for Doctor’s Aid, Boston and Aidan. She found her answer on the first hit.

Dr. Aidan Lowe, that was his name. There was a photo of him—his hair neater, his skin less tanned—posed beside a regal, beautiful, confident-looking woman. Dr. Fleur Sanborne. In the caption she was described not as his wife, not as a fiancée, but as his partner.

Life partner, judging by the body language. He obviously adored her.

Ashley clicked on the article. “Friendly Fire Destroys Doctor’s Aid Clinic—Hub Doctor Killed.”

Hub was the unique word that the local headline writers used for “city of Boston.” Ashley froze reading it, barely able to breathe. Her hands shaking, she could only skim bits of phrases from the newspaper article, dated last October.

Dr. Aidan Lowe, an orthopedic surgeon of this city, escaped injury during an attack that firebombed a volunteer clinic in the war-torn region of southern Afghanistan...

Dr. Fleur Sanborne, also of this city, the chief medical adviser to Doctor’s Aid, International, died this morning after succumbing to her injuries...

Gasping, Ashley put down her phone. This was horrible! No wonder poor Dr. Lowe—Aidan, he’d asked her to call him—had seemed traumatized. It had nothing to do with her, and everything to do with what he’d been through in Afghanistan.

Trembling, she shook her head. She couldn’t even imagine losing someone close to her. And she’d been so worried about a haircut?

She tucked her phone away in her pocket. “I need to go outside,” she told Kylie. “I’ll be right back.”

Kylie glanced up from her own phone. “What’s going on?”

“I’m not sure yet. I’ll keep you posted, though.”

“All right.” Kylie glanced nervously toward Ilana’s private treatment room. “I’ll cover for you,” she whispered.

Ashley smiled at her. “Thanks. I’ll return the favor someday.”

On the way outside, she stopped by the beverage cart in the consultation area and grabbed a bottled water. On second thought, she grabbed two bottles, even though it wasn’t protocol. She had no idea what she was going to do. She was in too much of a rush, racing the clock, to be nervous about it.

Outside, the balmy air was welcome, and she sucked in great breaths of it. Early September in Boston was the best time of year to be in the city. Crowds of people—college students and tourists and suited financial types—wandered down the sidewalks flanking the wide boulevards lined with trees and flowering bushes. To the right was the small historic church she passed each day on her walk to Brandon’s school, but she very much doubted that Aidan had sought refuge there. He seemed angry and disoriented, wanting to leave rather than receive comfort. She didn’t know much about leaving—she’d never quite been able to find the courage to pick up and do that—but Ashley knew everything about giving comfort. It was the story of her life, and at the moment, this was the only gift she could think of to offer him.

She walked straight ahead and found Aidan sitting on a bench in the midst of a small courtyard-size garden where she’d noticed office workers gathering to eat their midday lunches. At the moment, most of the benches were deserted. The tended garden plots they faced were beautiful, yellow roses and purple flowering lavender plants scented the air. In the middle of the courtyard was a multitiered fountain that streamed soothing plumes of water.

Aidan, however, faced a completely dead plot, with spaded-up earth as desolate as a grave.

She felt sorry for him. Carefully, she headed over to his bench. The cold water bottles were sweating in her palms, and he glanced up at her as she sat.

She had no idea what to say or even how to begin talking to him. But now that she saw him in person, deeply grieving, she decided to just speak from her heart, and see where things went from there.

* * *

AIDAN STARED AT the pale, auburn-haired waif who’d had the nerve to follow him outside. “You tracked me down here for a haircut?” he said, incredulous.

“No.” She smiled brightly at him. “I’m not giving you a haircut today. I’m just bringing some water while we wait.” She handed him a cold water bottle—which he really was dying for—and he gladly accepted it.

In spite of himself he laughed. It seemed that this Ashley woman was good at surprising him.

She smiled wistfully and cracked open her own water bottle, then took a long drink. Sighing, she pressed her hand to her lips. “Don’t tell anyone I just did that,” she confided. “Staff aren’t supposed to drink the Evians and Perriers. That’s protocol.”

“That doesn’t seem fair.”

“Maybe. But life isn’t always fair, as they say.” She fiddled with the label on her bottle, her eyes lowered to his. “I heard you just came back from overseas,” she said softly. In the sunlight her hazel eyes were even more spectacular than he’d noticed. Speckles of copper and green. She had a faint—very faint—smattering of freckles, too. “I’m sure it must be an adjustment for you.”

“Did you talk to my grandmother?” he asked.

“No.” She smiled winsomely. “I haven’t even seen her yet. I...don’t keep up with the news as much as I should, so I’m sorry I didn’t realize who you were right away. I certainly wouldn’t have babbled on about my son like that if I’d known.”

“You still want your kid to be a doctor?” he couldn’t help saying bitterly.

But she didn’t take it wrong. She just smiled gently, as if understanding his anger at his situation and excusing him for it. “It’s not about me,” she said. “If he wants to be a doctor, then it’s my job to help him through his schooling so he can get there.”

He glanced sideways at her. “Are you married?” he asked bluntly.

“No,” she murmured.

“Divorced?” he asked again, even though he knew it was over the line. Knew he was pushing it with his rudeness.

A small smile came to her lips, as if divorce was, for her, a silly thought. “No,” she said.

“Widowed?” He had to ask—he was curious now.

She shook her head, but she had a flush to her cheeks this time. The color just heightened the fact that she was pretty. It didn’t matter at all to him that she was a single mother, and he might have told her so, if he didn’t think it would embarrass her to hear it.

He opened the water bottle she’d brought him. It was good stuff; he’d been drinking boiled bracken tea for so long in the camp they’d set up that it felt good to have fresh, cold, bubbly water slide down his parched throat.

He couldn’t stop drinking. He finished it greedily.

Then he sat and stared at the label on his bottle. He hadn’t exactly chosen his situation in life, either, even before Fleur’s death. She’d been the driver of the whirlwind, and he had tagged along for the adventure.

In the end, nothing had been what he wanted.

Maybe he and Ashley were in sort of the same boat.

“I never expected this to happen with Fleur,” he found himself muttering aloud.

“Losing someone I love would be my worst fear,” Ashley agreed.

He squinted at her, the harsh sunlight in his eyes. “You worry about your son, don’t you?”

“All the time,” she confessed.

She was being honest with him. He got the sense that she wasn’t being manipulative as he’d feared. He hated manipulative people. And it really did impress him that she cared so much about her boy.

Aidan wasn’t usually sentimental. In fact, at Wellness Hospital, he’d been known as somewhat gruff. He knew what others said of him, and it didn’t bother him. Usually.

He sighed. “Yeah, okay. I’ll go back to the salon with you. I’ll talk to the owner and make sure you don’t get in trouble, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Actually, I have another suggestion. You see, Aidan, I’m really good at washing hair.” She gave him such a sweet smile that he didn’t know how he could refuse her. “And this salon has a nice men’s shampoo. You could face the world feeling cleaned up and relaxed. You could close your eyes and for fifteen minutes, forget about everyone else in there, including me.”

He just stared at her.

“No one will bother you, Aidan. I promise.”

It sounded appealing, actually. He was tired. He didn’t want to go out to lunch with his grandmother right now, but he’d committed himself.

He stood. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but okay. Just so you keep your job, so your kid’s all right and you don’t have to worry about him,” he clarified.

She smiled at him. “Thank you. But I really am very good at what I do. I’ll take good care of you in there. You’ll see.”

* * *

ASHLEY DID ENJOY taking care of other people. It was what she loved best. And Aidan was a doctor, someone who was doing something important with his life. In her opinion, he deserved to be treated well for it.

Upstairs in the salon, she led him down the narrow aisle to her station in the back. Her six new colleagues subtly or not so subtly turned their clients’ chairs in order to be able to observe the rugged man who walked before them. His presence in their salon caused a stir, but she hoped he didn’t realize it.

She looked over her shoulder and met his gaze. He kept his eyes trained only on her.

The trick was to do only as much as he was comfortable with while still doing a good enough job to please Ilana. At Ashley’s old job, she’d cut men’s hair all the time, so the simple task shouldn’t be a problem. Usually she spritzed their short hair with a water bottle, then clipped it. But Aidan’s situation was different.

Once at her chair in the far corner, she draped a blue plastic cape over him.

He glanced at the cape, then at her.

Smiling gently at him, she turned his chair so that he was facing away from the mirror and couldn’t see himself or her. Without him realizing she was scrutinizing him, she touched his hair between her thumb and fingers. The texture was curly. Gorgeous hair, in her opinion, but he’d been washing it with a bar of soap, it appeared. He needed a deep-conditioning treatment, but that would have to wait for another day.

“I’m going to lower the back of the chair now,” she said softly.

He gave her a boyish smile that unnerved her. Especially since the rest of him was so manly. Strong, developed arms and shoulders that made his muscles strain against the thin cotton material of his shirt when she dipped the chair back. His top two buttons were open, and dark wisps of hair peeked through. His neck was wide, with a sexy Adam’s apple. His chin was strong. He had a faint shadow of a beard. This was a man who could shave in the morning and have that shadow by afternoon. His brows were dark, too, and it gave him a serious expression, except when he smiled.

When he smiled, he was an angel.

Her hands stilled, cupping the back of his head. She’d been lowering him toward the sink and his eyes were open wide, watching her. Contrasting with the tan of his skin and the black of his brows, his eyes were arresting. Clear whites, with irises so deep and seeing, the color of rich chocolate.

She had to get a grip on herself.

“I can give you a choice,” she murmured, glancing away. “We have two shampoos. Neither of them smells girlie, as my son would say.”

“Give me whichever one he likes.” He smiled again, with those arresting eyes crinkling at the corners. “How old is Brandon?”

“Twelve. Almost thirteen.” Her hand shook—she felt nervous all of a sudden. “His voice is starting to change.”

Aidan chuckled. “Tough days ahead. I remember those.”

She inhaled. She’d promised to help him relax, and she was the one who needed to concentrate. Turning on the water, she tested it on her wrist. The salon was warm, so she calibrated the temperature of the spray so it was slightly cooler than normal. Carefully, with one hand shielding his eyes and ears from the spray, she wet his hair.

His eyes drifted closed.

She opened the bottle of moisturizing shampoo she’d chosen for him. The smell was fantastic. With her fingertips, she massaged his scalp, working up a lather.

He sighed. As the moments passed, layers of concern and worry seemed to be dropping from his face.

She couldn’t help studying him. From his soft smile and calm breathing, he seemed to be enjoying her ministrations. And giving him pleasure made her feel good, too. It danced along the edge of feeling slightly sexual. A humming in her chest. Slight tingling in the juncture of her legs. She only touched his scalp, and in the presence of other people, so it was a safe feeling.

She could even fantasize a bit without any repercussions. She had no doubt that after today, she would never see him again. Their worlds simply never crossed.

His eyes were still closed. No one came near their space. Just a few short moments together in a bubble with a handsome, presumably decent man. No worries. Not about her son, her job, her insecurities.

Shampooing his hair was a harmless pleasure.

But she couldn’t prolong it anymore. With regret, she tested the water again, then rinsed the suds. Sifted through his curls in the swirling water, her fingers tangled in him.

She lifted his chair and patted his wet hair with a fluffy towel. Then shaped his damp curls with her fingers so he could return to the world again. Time to say goodbye. He opened his eyes.

She’d barely had time to think of an appropriate farewell when she suddenly realized Ilana was standing beside her chair.

“Oh!” Ashley exclaimed.

“Dr. Lowe’s grandmother is waiting for him out front,” Ilana said in a businesslike tone.

“Thank you. I...believe we’re finished here,” Ashley said, rattled by her employer’s sudden presence.

Ilana peered critically at Aidan’s wet hair. He just stared back at her, as if challenging her assumptions.

“How is my grandmother doing?” Aidan asked Ilana, in a deep tone that rumbled.

“She’s wonderful, as always.” Ilana smiled at him, then turned to look at Ashley, brow raised again, as if to ask why Aidan hadn’t received a haircut.

Aidan stood, and Ashley took off the blue plastic cape.

“Ashley is great,” Aidan said quietly to Ilana. “My grandmother will be happy to hear about my shampoo. Definitely the best salon experience I’ve ever had.”

He met her gaze, and Ashley smiled at him, though she was sure she was likely Aidan’s only salon experience. Ilana seemed mollified, however. Her serious expression toward Ashley cracked, the look replaced by a slight—very slight—smile.

Ashley exhaled. Whew, she thought. I did it. Crisis over.

But instead of just leaving with Ilana, as she’d expected, Aidan instead faced her shelves and reached out his hand.

The photo of Brandon! Mild alarm coursed through her as Aidan lifted the photo of her son, studying him.

“You didn’t tell me he went to St. Bartholomew’s School,” Aidan remarked.

“How do you know that?” she asked nervously.

“The blue blazer,” he explained. “The yellow patch.”

Her heart was hammering. His observation brought to mind the outing to buy the blazer, two weeks earlier, when her sister had turned to Ashley and murmured, “He asked me about his father. What do you want me to say to him?” And Ashley had handled it. She always handled it—his biological father was deceased, after all, as was her own—but still it rattled her.

None of this had anything to do with Aidan, though—he had nothing to do with her son’s paternity, or her personal anxiety.

Aidan was looking at her quizzically, with unspoken questions she couldn’t answer, so she just took the photo from him and quietly replaced it on her shelf. “Is there a problem?” she murmured.

“No.” But his gaze looked faraway. Everything about his body language screamed, “Yes! It’s a problem.” She didn’t know what to make of it, but the back of her neck tingled.

As Ilana led Aidan off to his grandmother—to Vivian Sharpe—Ashley could only wonder if she’d missed something important.

And worry, as she always did.

* * *

AIDAN SHOULD HAVE realized St. Bartholomew’s School was so close—only two blocks away from the hair salon. From the windows he could see the distinctive spire of the small chapel, the tiny patch of greenery that was their courtyard in the city.

Likely, that’s why Ashley had chosen to work here. She’d told him her life revolved around her son, and he believed her. It made him marvel to think of it. Such a foreign concept to the Sharpe-Lowe family.

He turned back for a moment, watching her reflection move across the windowpane. He could watch her all day. He felt calm and languid after her attentions. The dust of the desert had been washed down that golden sink of hers. It had felt nice to have her fingers sift through his hair. She was nothing like Fleur. Nothing. If two women could have completely opposite personalities, it was them.

He paid the young receptionist, then approached his grandmother, who was sitting on a sofa in the waiting area. She had a fancy black cane by her side—an antique, it looked like. That was new to him, Gram using a cane. When he’d gotten off the plane and met her at the town car, it had bothered him to see it because he preferred to think of her as forever strong. But now he couldn’t help wondering—had she deliberately maneuvered him into meeting Ashley today?

Aidan had gone to St. Bartholomew’s School as a boy, too. It was a tiny, elite school with exceedingly high expectations. He knew how difficult a place it could be.

Ashley didn’t seem to understand that as well as he did. That was only natural.

You could help her, a voice inside said.

He closed his eyes. Nope, he said to the voice. His life was too complicated and messed up as it was. His interest was the last thing Ashley needed as she tried to make a better life for her son. If that was at all in his grandmother’s mind, then she could just forget it.

It was too bad, he reflected, on his way out the door and down the stairs. He liked Ashley. Liked her basic kindness.

And he really, really liked the way she’d given him that sexy shampoo.

CHAPTER TWO

ASHLEY THOUGHT ABOUT Aidan long after he left. Long after two more clients—a cut and color and then a set—had come and gone.

She couldn’t shake the sense that she’d made a mistake in getting too personal with him. She really didn’t know him that well, and what if there were repercussions? He’d recognized Brandon’s school jacket, and that had unnerved her.

Her hands shaking, she stepped around Jordan, the young intern who was busily sweeping hair from Ashley’s workspace.

“Thanks,” she said to Jordan. Maybe if she distracted herself from thinking about Aidan by helping someone else, she’d be okay. “Are you a student?” she asked Jordan.

Jordan flipped her long straight hair over one shoulder and smiled boldly at Ashley. Nothing shy about her. “I graduate in June. I’m hoping Ilana hires me after I pass my state exams.”

“That’s great.” Ashley hesitated a beat. “I’ll help, if you want. I know someone who sat on the state board for years and years.”

“No, thanks. I’m good,” Jordan said. “Thanks anyway.”

“Sure.” Ashley nodded, hiding her disappointment and gathering up her purse. She was finished for the day and had no reason to stay longer, other than to try to alleviate the general feeling of uneasiness that she wanted to shake.

“You’ll get used to working here,” Sandie, the stylist who’d worked at the chair next to Ashley, murmured in her ear, causing Ashley to jump. “You just have to get past Ilana’s probationary period, and then it’ll get better.”

“It’s not easy starting over someplace new,” Ashley admitted.

“You’re very brave,” Sandie said. “I saw you earlier with Dr. Lowe.”

Had she? And what was brave about washing his hair? “He didn’t want a haircut,” she explained. “I did what I could.”

“Well, you were a hit. I overheard what he said to Ilana. You impressed him, Ashley. He’ll probably come back to you as a regular client now.”

Ashley froze. She hadn’t even considered that could happen. That was...that was...

“How did you get this job, anyway?” Sandie asked her curiously. “Because Ilana is...particular. Turnover is high at Perceptions, but the stylists who stay—well, we have a good reputation. The pay is great, and the customers are loyal.”

Ashley sat reeling, still absorbing the information. “I won an industry award last March,” she said, “for styling the models’ hair at the Museum of Art’s Pompeii exhibition party.”

“That’s great! But how would a hair stylist get involved with the Pompeii exhibition party?” Sandie asked.

“Through my younger sister.” Ashley smiled to herself. “She got me involved with the museum a few years ago. She has a big interest in archaeology.” Lisbeth, besides being a doctor, was also a history nerd. A big, lovable history nerd. “I learned to style hair for the Roman period using pictures my sister showed me. The women back then wore really intricate braids and headpieces. It was interesting. Some of the museum members commissioned period costumes for the party, and I designed the hairpieces for their outfits.”