My Stubborn Heart by Becky Wade

said. “I’ll be happy to take more of your money. There’s this Coach purse I’ve been wanting. . . .” The edges of her mouth lifted until she was grinning in outright challenge.
    â€œBetter plan on paying for the purse with your own money.”
    â€œI’d rather spend yours.”
    He glared.
    â€œBring it on,” she said.
    â€œI will.”
    â€œI’ll have to see it to believe it, mister.”
    He shook his head. The antique lover was a card shark who also liked trash talking? He moved to get into his truck, then paused, gripping the door handle. “Do you have any other abilities I should know about before I go and make a fool of myself again?”
    â€œI can play golf.”
    â€œSeriously?”
    She shrugged, as if to say, Try me and see. She didn’t look strong enough to drive the ball farther than fifty yards. But after tonight . . . well, he supposed it was possible.
    He climbed into his truck. “G’night.”
    â€œGood night, Matt.”
    He started the car, turned on the lights, and eased down the driveway. In his rearview mirror he could see Kate standing where he’d left her, shoulders hunched against the cold. Strange woman. It kept him off-balance, this ability she had to surprise him. The way she was still knee-deep in his business every time he turned around. How she looked at him without ever seeming frightened, without ever giving the indication that she was willing to back off and leave him alone.
    He wished she’d go inside and get out of the cold. She was small and the air must be cutting right through her. He kept watching her in the rearview mirror, but she still hadn’t moved. She just stood there in the dark, long hair blowing, until the bend in the road stole her from view.

chapter five
    Kate showed up for sleep that night and found sleep absent. She snuggled deeper under the covers and curled into a near-fetal position. She tried her yoga breathing techniques. She forced all her large muscle groups to relax. When none of that worked, she did what every Generation Xer does with the unanswered questions keeping them up at night.
    She Googled them.
    After clicking on her bedside lamp, she settled her laptop above the mound of her quilt-covered thighs. As if in greeting, it bathed her in green computer-screen light while it booted up.
    The longer she lived at Chapel Bluff, the less she used her computer. Email, the news and information online, and even her eBay sales kept waning and waning in importance and urgency.
    When Google’s web page popped up, she typed in Removing hair dye and hit Enter. Myriad results surfaced.
    The first subheading that caught her eye read Hair Color Gone Bad? That would, in Morty’s case, be an affirmative. Below that it stated Correct or remove it at home.
    Well, good. She’d actually thought that hair dye would be impossible to remove and that Morty was destined for an electric shaver.
    She followed links, studied various products, and read reviews. It appeared that bottles full of chemicals, a special brush, and rubber gloves were going to be involved.
    High cringe factor ensued when she envisioned herself using said products on Morty. She hardly knew the man. But since she’d sold out to him at the merest mention of the word spa , she was undoubtedly going to be the second person in the two-person job of removing his hair dye.
    She only hoped she could break the news to Morty that Velma hated his hair and then accomplish the necessary beauty treatments without fatally crushing his ego.
    Kate went back to Google’s main page, her fingertips hovering on the keys. An image of Matt as he’d looked earlier when she’d walked him to his car flashed into her thoughts, growing in size and focus until she could see every detail diamond-bright and clear. . . . The hard contour of his cheekbones. The moonlight that had caught and glittered in his