Butterfly Summer

Ethan captured shot after shot, bobbing and weaving to avoid the hands that plucked, swabbed, rubbed, combed, buffed, squeezed, folded and painted the new Heather over the old.

Watching the transformation through the lenses of his cameras proved to be a supremely satisfying exercise, and he found his enthusiasm mounting with contemplation of the finished product. He’d wanted to see Heather take some pride in her appearance for the past six months, which was just about the length of time he’d been with Nashville Living.

Jobs didn’t usually last this long for Ethan. He liked to keep moving. That was part of the reason he’d chosen a career in photography. He could take his pick of assignments, moving on whenever the mood struck. He didn’t have the foggiest idea why he’d stuck around Davis Landing this long.

Even coupled with the shabbier neighborhood of Hickory Mills by a pair of bridges spanning the Cumberland River, the graceful old community couldn’t have comprised more than thirty or forty thousand people. Although Nashville was “just around the bend,” as the locals stated it, living was pretty slow and easy in Davis Landing. Many nights Ethan did nothing more than park in front of the tube, but he figured this experience was worth at least six months of cooling his heels in Tennessee.

From day one he’d wondered why this Hamilton daughter had chosen to hide her gentle beauty beneath boring hair and baggy flounced prints, allowing her delicate features to fade into the background. Her sisters had definitely learned to flaunt their looks. Well, okay, the little flirt Melissa flaunted, almost desperately so; Amy, on the other hand, projected, wearing her self-confidence like a mantle.

As attractive as each was in her own way, though, Ethan saw that Heather was the real beauty of the family. She just didn’t seem to realize it.

He couldn’t remember ever seeing her wear so much as a touch of lipstick, and while her medium brown hair was sleek and healthy looking, she never seemed to do anything with it. Letting it hang straight from that excruciatingly precise center part just made her slender face look longer and more narrow than it really was. He was liking the shaggy bangs and long, tapered layers that were taking shape now much better.

While Fox painted highlights into Heather’s newly cut hair, Sheryl started trying foundation colors against her skin and Gayla commandeered her impossibly narrow feet, trying shoes on them until she found a size that would work, at least for the purposes of the photo shoot. Next Gayla laid out an array of clothing and accessories, while Sheryl polished Heather’s nails and Fox stuffed all those folded strips of tin foil beneath the soft hood of a portable hair dryer in order to speed the processing of the color. All the while, the makeover team discussed makeup, hairstyles and clothes.

Their limited selections—after all, they’d come prepared for a different model—dictated some of their choices. Ellen dictated others—until she received a call on her cell phone and stepped out into the hallway to take it. Knowing what shots they’d tentatively chosen, Ethan felt justified in making a few suggestions in her absence.

“That clingy red job would look great against that midnight blue light on stage.”

Sheryl held a cherry red lipstick next to Heather’s creamy ivory skin. “Works for me.” She looked up at Fox for his verdict.

“We’re not going orange, so the red ought to do.”

“Oh, I—I don’t wear red well,” Heather objected. “It just sort of overpowers me.”

Sheryl lifted a pierced eyebrow, declaring, “Well, sugar, you’re going to overpower it today.”

Ethan managed to hide his grin behind the camera, saying, “What about those skinny black jeans and that little turquoise leather jacket with the red boots? We could park her on a bale of hay.”

“The boots are too big,” Gayla said somberly.

“She doesn’t have to dance in them,” Ethan pointed out. “She just has to keep them on long enough to get her picture taken. It’d be a great theme shot.”

“Please God, don’t let them say the cowboy hat,” Heather muttered, which had Ethan chuckling.

“Are we doing exteriors?” Sheryl wanted to know.

Ethan dropped the camera that he held in his hands. “We talked about it, but I’m not sure. I’ll go ask Ellen.”

He stepped out into the hall, only to find it empty. That wasn’t like Ellen. Usually she wanted to personally oversee every stroke of the mascara wand and click of the shutter. Shrugging, he ducked back into the dressing room.

“Guess we play this one by ear.”

Sheryl gave him a disgusted look. “Are we doing exterior shots or not?”

Ethan glanced at a pair of white cuffed shorts and a filmy, lace-edged top that Gayla was holding up and figured, Why not?

“Yeah. Yeah, we are.” He took one more look at that slinky red dress and made another decision. “Normally we’d start with the casual exterior shots, move into the foyer and then finish up on stage with that red number, but with our time running out, we’re going to have to reverse that. Can you handle it?”

Sheryl dove into her makeup kit. “I’ll use a neutral brown shadow and cream lipstick so it wipes off easy.”

“How much longer?” Ethan asked, checking his watch.

Fox glanced at his timer. “Give us twenty-five minutes.”

“And not a minute more,” Ethan warned. “I’m going to get set up.”

He grabbed a pair of tripods, a reflector and a small electric fan before taking off for the auditorium at a dead run. His light meter was in his pocket. Thank goodness the Opry had state-of-the-art lighting.

He was still playing with the set when Sheryl ran onto stage. Flinging out an arm she cried, “Ta-da!”

Ethan looked around in time to see Fox and Gayla hauling Heather out of the wings and into the light. For a long minute all he could do was stare and hope his mouth wasn’t hanging open.

The long strapless gown fit as though it had been handmade for her. The organza train of the slender skirt pooled gracefully around stiletto heels that he knew were too big but nevertheless elongated the slim leg revealed by a side slit. Crystals graced her delicate throat and wrist and dangled from her dainty earlobes, working in concert with the gleaming hair piled on top of her head and wisping about her face to call attention to the graceful length of her neck. Rich auburn highlights and sable eye shadow had turned her light-brown eyes into enormous amber orbs, while vivid red lipstick plumped and defined a lush mouth beneath that pert, classical nose.

Right at the base of her neck, almost at her collarbone, was a small pinkish brown mark that she kept covering almost absently with her hand. A rose tattoo? he wondered, but no, Heather was not the sort to have that done. Strolling closer, he saw that it was a birthmark, irregular in shape, completely unique. Utterly fascinating.

He’d known she was pretty, suspected that she could be beautiful in a soft, delicate fashion. He’d had no idea that she could be stunning, breathtaking even.

“Talk about hiding your light under a bushel!”

He didn’t realize he’d said it aloud until Heather gusted a nervous laugh.

“That’s what my mom always says,” she admitted shyly, hunching her shoulders and shifting nervously.

Fox, who was busy trying to tweak the froth on top of her head into perfection, scolded her. “Keep still or I’ll be putting this up again!”

Ethan glowered at him. Didn’t the jerk realize who he was talking to? This wasn’t any plain Jane off the street. This was Heather, a Hamilton and, as it happened, the boss.

“Get out of my shot, Fox,” he ordered, turning his attention to the camera fixed to the nearest tripod. “Now listen up, boss lady. I want you to do exactly as I say. When I tell you to walk, I want you to put one foot directly in front of the other. Long, fluid strides. And keep your hands down unless I tell you otherwise. Okay?”

Heather nodded. She’d been around photo shoots often enough to know the drill, so he wasn’t worried. He set the shutter speed and palmed the switch.

“Walk forward. Look up. Way up. Stop. Half turn. Look at me!”

Click after click, he shot two rolls in rapid succession, moving from one camera to the other, directing her actions and catching the poses that took away his breath.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he muttered to himself, “a star is born.”

He couldn’t have been happier for her. He liked women too much not to relish seeing such a sweet-natured one as Heather Hamilton come into her own in such spectacular fashion. She was never going to be the same after this. She couldn’t possibly be.

She could scrub off the makeup and give back the clothes, but once she saw the before and after photos, she could never again believe herself to be the insipid, mousy sister that she’d pretended to be. She’d have to acknowledge what a beauty she truly was.

She still probably wouldn’t give him the time of day, though.

It was a depressing thought, but of all the single women in the office, Heather alone had never exhibited so much as a passing interest in Ethan. In fact, despite Melissa’s blatantly flirtatious manner, Ethan figured that he was not considered good enough for a Hamilton.

As an army brat whose parents had fought their way from posting to posting and finally to a divorce, he hadn’t expected anything else, which was all the more reason to take satisfaction in being part of Heather’s transformation, so far as he was concerned. No matter where he went after this, he suspected he’d have a hard time finding more enjoyable work or greater satisfaction in it.

Chapter Three

“It’s not like Ellen to take off from a shoot without a word,” Heather said, sliding her sunglasses into place and looking out across the parking lot. “I hope she’s okay.”

“Ellen’s the sort who can take care of herself,” Ethan observed. “But you’re right. She usually micromanages every detail of a shoot. Have you tried her cell?”

“No answer.”

He shrugged unconcernedly. “Well, then I guess I have to beg a ride. Hope you’ve got room for my gear.”

“No problem.”

“I knew I should have brought my car,” he muttered.

It was company policy for employees on the same assignment to share a vehicle. Why compensate two for mileage when one car could take them both where they needed to go? Apparently Ellen had insisted on driving her car for some reason. Fox, Sheryl and Gayla had already departed, but all of them were freelancers and none lived in Davis Landing anyway.

Heather helped Ethan drag his considerable gear to her car, still feeling a little embarrassed by the whole makeover thing. Once she’d finally gotten a look at herself in a mirror, she’d been wearing her own dress again, so only her head looked as if it belonged to somebody else. She wasn’t quite certain that it didn’t. The effect had been startling, to be sure.

The dress itself suddenly seemed too large, and she wondered why she’d taken to wearing the wrong size. She didn’t think she’d lost more than ten pounds since college and that had pretty much been due to a natural change of eating habits as she’d gotten older. Somehow she hadn’t adapted as she ought to have.

The hair was the biggest difference, though it had not, as she’d feared, all been chopped off. In fact, the back layer was only three or four inches shorter than before, and oddly enough, the other layers—which graduated from her shoulders to the bottoms of her ears, the tops of her cheekbones and mideye before finally ending with short, feathery bangs—actually made it seem as if she had more hair rather than less. The color was what surprised her most, however.

It had never occurred to her that she might make an attractive redhead. Yet, the auburn tones looked perfectly natural. Fox claimed that was due to the painting technique that he had used, resulting in the “expert integration” of her natural mousy brown with the richer reds.

The makeup seemed heavy-handed to her, and Heather wished she’d had time to remove, or at least lighten, it before they’d had to vacate the premises. She had no intention of recreating this look on a daily basis, of course. It wasn’t as if she was going to have her picture shot every day, after all, let alone published! Nevertheless, it wouldn’t hurt to buy a new lipstick and maybe even some eye shadow.

After seeing how she could look with a little—all right, a lot—of effort she was a little embarrassed by how lazy she’d become with her appearance. It had been a long time since she’d bothered with makeup or even plucking her eyebrows.

In some ways, the results of the makeover had shocked her, and yet she couldn’t deny the pleasure that she felt at realizing she wasn’t quite as hopeless as she’d imagined, especially when those dimples of Ethan’s cut grooves in his cheeks every time he looked at her.

They had almost reached her car when Ethan asked, “So, was it as bad as you feared it would be?”

She glanced up at him, her arms full of tripod and folded reflector. “Let’s just say it was strange being on the other side of the camera.”

“In case you’re wondering, Fox isn’t usually that rude to models.”

Heather sent him a slightly amused look. “I realized that, and in case you’re wondering, I didn’t see any reason to object. I was a reluctant subject at best, and sometimes as boss it’s more important to bring the shoot in under deadline than throw your weight around.” When he stopped dead in his tracks, she had to stop, too, and turn to face him. “What? You don’t agree?”

He blinked as if seeing something he hadn’t seen before. “I guess I just never thought of it that way. I mean, throwing around their weight is what bosses do. Usually. Which is why I’ve always preferred to be a lowly wiseacre.”

She sent him a skeptical look. They both knew he enjoyed a reputation as a first-rate photographer.

“I just prefer to make sure that the job gets done when it’s supposed to get done,” she told him. “And I don’t think of you as a wiseacre.”

“No?”

She gave her head a slight shake and hitched the tripod higher in her arms.

“I think of you as an artist with a well-developed sense of humor.”

“I like your version best,” he told her. Grinning widely, he repositioned his own burdens and started forward again. “Any chance we’re getting close to your car?”

“The blue Saab on the right up there.” She followed him, feeling the heat rise in steamy waves from the pavement.

“Aero,” he said, naming the model of her car. “Sweet. I’d like to tool around town in a racy little Saab, but I have to drive an SUV because I have so much gear to haul. Not all of our sites are as well lit as this one, you know.”

She placed her load on the ground and opened the hatch back, saying, “My brothers all voted for the SUV or the wagon, but my sisters thought I ought to get the convertible.”

He shook his head and started loading his gear. “Naw, this is you, I think. Quality, high-performance but sensible.”

She laughed because those were exactly her own thoughts on the matter. He straightened abruptly, almost as if she’d taken a sudden swing at him.

“What?”

“I’m just still getting used to the new you,” he said, grinning again. “This new look is going to cause some waves back at the office. You mark my words.”

A hand rose to touch her hair self-consciously. She could only hope that she didn’t look as strange as she felt.

Ducking her head, she hurried around to slide behind the driver’s wheel, leaving Ethan to carefully stow away his gear. She dug her phone out of her purse, deciding that it might be a good time to check in with her parents, and dialed the hospital.

Nora told her that, owing to the severity of her father’s condition, the doctors were urging Wallace to consider transferring to the hospital in Nashville right away, but he wanted to remain close to the family—and the business—as long as possible. Once they started preparing Wallace for the bone marrow transplant, however, he would be in sterile seclusion, his immune system so compromised that the slightest infection could kill him.

Heather ended the call and bowed her head, the phone still clutched in her hands.

Oh, Lord, I just keep coming to You with this, but he’s so very ill and You are a God of miraculous power. Please heal my father. Please let us find that perfect bone marrow donor, and please help my mom and all the rest of us through this.

The passenger door opened and Ethan dropped down into the seat. Heather sat up a little straighter, stashing her phone in a convenient recess in the dash.

“Something wrong?”

Surprised that he could so easily read her mood, she let a second or two pass before saying, “I just talked to my mom at the hospital.”

“How is your dad doing?”

Heather sighed and started the car to get the air conditioner going. “His condition is serious enough to keep me on my knees, I can tell you.”

Ethan cocked his head. “On your knees? Is that a Tennesseeism I’m not familiar with yet?”

She stared at him, thinking that the meaning would surely click in place for him momentarily, but then she realized that his confusion was entirely genuine. Faith was such a part of Heather’s life that she sometimes forgot that it held little or no place in the lives of others.

“I just meant that I’ve been spending a lot of time in prayer over this,” she explained gently.

The light finally dawned. “Ah. Well, that makes perfect sense. For you.”

“But not for you?”

He shrugged. “I guess I just don’t know much about that sort of thing.”

“But surely you’ve been to church.”

“Couple times, you know, for weddings and such.”

How sad, Heather thought, but she smiled and said, “Maybe you’d like to visit my church sometime? Northside Community. It’s across the river in Hickory Mills. I really love it there. Quite a few singles our age attend.”

“I don’t know about that ‘our age’ thing,” he teased. “I figure I’m a good bit older than you.”

She let the church issue drop and backed the car out of the space, saying, “I don’t believe that. I’m twenty-seven, by the way. Called your bluff, didn’t I?”

Grinning as wide as his face, he nodded. “You sure did, but I win anyway. I’m thirty-two.”

“Five years is nothing,” she said flippantly. “At least, that’s what my baby sister always claims.”

He laughed at that, and conversation maintained a lighthearted tone from there on out.

She noted that he seemed at ease with her behind the wheel, which fit with his laid-back attitude. As a result, she didn’t feel as uncomfortable as she might have with him in the passenger seat. Tim, Amy and her dad, for instance, always made her nervous when they rode with her, but Chris, Jeremy and her mom never did. Neither did Lissa, but for an entirely different reason. She’d been hauling Melissa around since she’d first received her license, just as her older siblings had done for her.

Heather wondered again what her baby sister had gotten up to and when she was going to put in an appearance. As much as Melissa tried to avoid the unpleasant aspects of life, she would never forgive herself if she was off gallivanting around when something happened to their dad.

It was useless to worry about her, though, or even to be angry with her. Melissa would just bat those big, doelike eyes, flash a cheeky grin and throw her arms around your neck in a hug of such exuberance and affection that you’d forgive her anything.

When they reached the office, Heather dropped off Ethan and his equipment at his midsize SUV in the graveled lot across the street, Mill Road, where Hamilton Media employees parked. Then she drove around and took her assigned space at the front of the building on Main. By the time she’d gotten out of the car and reached the curb, Ethan had jogged up next to her, having stowed everything in his customized SUV, except for the trio of cameras, which he carried by the straps in one hand.

They walked along the sidewalk to the revolving door at the front of the Hamilton Building. Ethan started it moving, then stepped back to let Heather go first. On the drive up from Nashville, she’d almost forgotten her changed looks, but as she stepped into the lobby, Mr. Gordon rose to his feet and lifted a stalling hand.

“Do you have an appointment, Mi—” The question died on his lips as Heather drew closer. He tilted his head, looking like a quizzical owl behind his overlarge glasses. “Miss Heather?”

She fingered her new hairstyle self-consciously and kept going. “I, um, had to step in as the makeover subject.”

Both of the Gordons were staring at her open-mouthed as she punched the elevator button for herself. Fortunately, the door slid open immediately.

Ethan quickly joined her. He waggled an eyebrow at the Gordons as the door slid closed on them, then dropped a knowing look on Heather.

“Waves,” he whispered, rolling his free hand in an up-and-down motion. “Huge, crashing waves.”

Whether that was good or bad, Heather still couldn’t say, but she fortified herself with a deep breath as the elevator drew to a halt. When the door slid open, Ethan stepped out first. Heather, in fact, was seriously considering going right back down and taking herself home to a hot shower, hoping it would be her old self who emerged from the steam.

She never got the chance.

Ethan reached inside the elevator, took her by the arm and insistently tugged her out into the reception area. Then he just stood there, clasping his cameras behind his back while the receptionist smiled in greeting, glanced at Heather, dismissed her, did a quick double take and dropped the pen in her hand.

“Waves,” he said again quietly, taking Heather by the arm once more and swinging her around, propelling her in the direction of her office. “Great big rolling waves.”

He made a sound like a wave crashing against the seashore. Heather couldn’t suppress a smile, even as she cringed at the attention she was bound to receive from everyone she met today.

The receptionist must have gotten on the phone at once, because people began popping up out of their cubicles. As she passed her coworkers, Heather heard various comments, most of them sotto voce.

“Whoa.”

“Wow!”

“I’ve gotta get my hair done.”

Even, “That can’t be who I think it is.”

Ethan grinned as if all the attention was for him.

When they reached Brenda’s desk, Heather’s usually loquacious assistant slowly rose from her chair. Jaw dropping as she confirmed for herself that it was Heather standing before her, Brenda bobbled the water bottle from which she’d been drinking, splattering her blouse before she got it back under control.

Ethan announced in a ringing tone, “Heather had to substitute for the makeover candidate, and I think it might well be our best one so far.” Heather gulped, still uncertain whether to be pleased or embarrassed.

Amy was walking by just then, a clipboard and pen in hand. Hearing Heather’s name, she paused. Her eyes went wide as she took in the change that had come over her sister.

“Did I hear you say that Heather was this month’s makeover subject?” she asked Ethan.

“See for yourself.”

Amy let the clipboard drop, declaring, “Ellen’s outdone herself!”

“Uh, actually,” Heather muttered, “Ellen wasn’t there. I— I thought she might’ve come back here.”

Amy shook her head, eyes still wide, and muttered absently, “I was just looking for her. Nobody’s seen her.”

“Oh. Well, she’ll probably be in later,” Heather surmised uncomfortably. “I’d like her to know that we at least got the shoot finished before our time ran out.”

“I’d like her to know that the shots are spectacular,” Ethan put in, lifting the trio of cameras that he still carried. “And I’ll soon have the pictures to prove it.” With that he slanted Heather an I-told-you-so look and sauntered away.

“Will you look at you?” Amy declared. “You’re gorgeous!”