Best Of Makeovers Bundle Part 88

While Charlene wasn't totally convinced that her mother enjoyed the whole RV thing, she kept her doubts to herself and wished her mother well. Personally, Charlene could never just up and leave everything, heart attack or not.

She liked waking up every morning in the same bed, in the same house, in the same town. She liked going to her office. She liked the drive to College Station three times a week for her lecture during the semester. She liked seeing the same faces day in and day out. Sure, she was a little tired of coming home to an empty house, but that problem would be resolved just as soon as Stewart came to his senses.

If he came to his senses.

The thought lingered in Charlene's mind as she set the books on her nightstand and peeled off her clothes. A few minutes later, she headed into the bathroom for her nightly facial scrub.

Leaning over the sink, she studied her reflection in the mirror.

No zits.

Yet.

But her fall from grace had only happened an hour ago. She had no doubt she would wake up with a face full. And so she not only scrubbed her face extra hard for the next five minutes, but she slathered on a heavy-duty zinc ointment afterward. It wasn't the most attractive way to sleep, but then she didn't actually have anyone to impress.

Not that she would have avoided the ointment just to impress her significant other. Stewart liked her for her, not what she looked like. Only a man like Mason McGraw would be turned off by a face covered with zinc. The superficial jerk.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the dresser mirror as she climbed into bed. Okay, so maybe she wouldn't blame him. She was a far cry from the daring divas he'd dated during high school. No wonder he'd never bothered to notice her. Yikes, from the look of her, she was surprised he hadn't run the other way.

Stewart, on the other hand, was just the opposite. He wasn't the least bit swayed by a woman's beauty or lack thereof. In fact, he hated women who primped and prettied just to catch a man's attention. He also hated the flirting and the flaunting. Bottom line, he hated the daring diva and everything she stood for.

He preferred a woman with inner beauty.

A woman with brains.

A woman who could appreciate a book ent.i.tled How to Can Your Own Vegetables.

"How To Ride 'Em Like a Rodeo Queen. Now there's a thoughtful gift."

Marge's words echoed in Charlene's head and she couldn't help herself. She headed downstairs to the small study where she kept her computer. A few minutes later, she clicked on her Internet Explorer and went to her favorite online bookstore. She typed in the outrageous t.i.tle and hit Search, and nearly fell off her chair when the site found a match.

Marge had been right. There really was such a book. Before she could stop herself, she hit the Add To Cart b.u.t.ton and went to Check-out. Not that she was interested in riding anyone like a rodeo queen. She just wanted to see the outrageous book for herself.

Now if there'd been a text on how to turn herself into a bonafide daring diva, or at least a convincing one, she would not only have purchased it, but had it s.h.i.+pped overnight.

If she could turn herself into the exact type of woman Stewart detested-on the outside-then maybe, just maybe, she could prove her theory.

Regardless of the way she looked, she would still be the same person inside. If he was still attracted to her, it would be because he saw beneath the surface to the real woman beneath. The personality.

If?

There was no if about it. It was all a matter of when and she could prove it.

Forget a how-to book. Charlene had been writing course synopses for her college students for years. With the right resources, she could formulate her own step-by-step plan to turn herself into a daring diva.

When Stewart returned from his conference and witnessed the new Charlene, he would still want her and, thereby, reaffirm her belief that it was a meeting of the minds that forged a solid, lasting relations.h.i.+p between two people.

She toyed with the idea as she shut off the lights and crawled into bed. She could make a convincing transformation on the outside if she put her mind to it. She could flaunt and flirt and wear her skirts up to there and her blouses down to here. She could.

But it wasn't the good doctor she flaunted and flirted with when she closed her eyes.

It was Mason McGraw.

And like he always did in her fantasies, he flirted back with her.

And told her how beautiful she was.

And how smart.

And how irresistible.

Fat chance as far as reality was concerned, but this was her fantasy where anything was possible.

Where even a hottie diva magnet like Mason could fall for a Plain Jane groupie like Charlene.

"HERE'S YOUR COFFEE." Marge met Charlene at the door early the next morning. But instead of handing her the mail, she tucked a strand of Charlene's hair behind her ear and swatted at some invisible fuzz on Charlene's pink blazer.

"What are you doing?"

"Making sure you're ready. Hurry up and drink." She motioned to the coffee cup. "You need all the pep you can get."

"What are you talking about?"

"There's a surprise waiting for you in your office." Marge smiled. "Think fantasy. Your hottest, wildest fantasy."

"The Patricks changed their mind?"

"Girl, you need to re-evaluate your priorities. I'm talking about a man." When Charlene started to open her mouth, Marge shook her head. "Stewart doesn't qualify. I'm still not convinced he's one hundred percent heteros.e.xual."

"How about Walter Cronkite?"

Marge shook her head. "You're hopeless. Not a s.e.xy bone in your body."

"I don't know about that." The deep, husky voice slid into Charlene's ears and she turned to see Mason standing in the doorway to her office.

"I...How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough to know that you like Walter Cronkite and Stanley isn't exactly in the running for any machismo contests."

"His name is Stewart."

"Ha! The only contest he might win would be for giving the most boring Christmas gifts," Marge added, joining in. "He bought her a book. A boring, non-s.e.xual book." Mason grinned and Charlene frowned.

"Don't you have work to do?" Charlene told Marge as she gripped her coffee mug and walked toward Mason. He stepped aside while she preceded him into the office.

Once she'd settled behind her desk, with several feet of wood and s.p.a.ce between them, she drew a deep breath. "What brings you here?"

"I need some therapy." At her raised eyebrow, he added, "I, personally, don't need the therapy. It's my great-aunt and-uncle. They argue constantly and it's driving me crazy."

"Where are they?"

"I dropped them at the diner for breakfast. I wanted a few minutes to talk to you before I brought them over."

"I see. So they don't realize there's even a problem."

"Oh, they know there's a problem, all right. I told them so this morning, right before I informed them that we were coming to talk to you. But they're each blaming the other."

"Blame aversion. That's normal. Neither wants to own up to the responsibility that they're harming their marriage." Charlene jotted down a few notes, eager to do something other than stare at Mason and think about how good he looked in his jeans and blue T-s.h.i.+rt, his dark hair still damp from a shower.

"So can you help?"

"Will they agree to cooperate with me?"

"Once I tell them that they cooperate or I'm sending them to live with their oldest daughter, Connie. She's been itching to check them into a retirement center for years."

"That sounds really manipulative."

"It's effective." He shrugged. "I wouldn't really do it, though. They were there for my grandfather when he needed them and I owe them for that. But they don't know that."

"I'm sorry about your grandfather."

He lowered his gaze. "He was in a lot of pain. He's at peace now."

"I'm sorry about your parents, too."

He glanced up. "That was a long time ago."

"I know. I just never had the chance to tell you back when we were kids."

He stared at her as if trying to figure her out. "Thanks," he finally said. "So can you help my aunt and uncle?" he asked again.

She nodded. "If they both agree to go along with the recommended therapy."

"How long do you think it will take?" Mason raked a hand through his hair. "I'm not getting any sleep."

"It depends. First I'll have to administer personality tests to determine if they're even compatible."

"They're obviously compatible. They've been married over sixty years."

"I realize that, but some people spend their entire lives with the wrong person. Despite the length of their marriage, they might not fit together."

He eyed her, a knowing glint in his gaze. "Sugar, they've got eight kids. I'd say they fit."

The word sugar echoed in her head and sent a rush of heat to every major erogenous zone.

Charlene stiffened and tried to tamp down her fierce response. "That's physically," she told him. "I'm talking about an emotional fit. That's much more important than s.e.x. There are couples the world over who are happy together and they never have s.e.x. What they have is a deeper connection."

"I'd like to see you prove that."

Me, too.

The thought rooted in her head and an idea struck.

A stupid, far-out, ridiculous idea that she quickly dismissed.

But then Mason grinned at her and her thought process short-circuited and d.a.m.ned if the crazy idea didn't find its way back in. And this time it seemed positively brilliant.

She stared at Mason with his s.e.xy grin and bedroom eyes and his history of pretty, empty-headed conquests. If anyone was an expert on the subject of daring divas, it was Mason. If anyone could turn her into that exact type of woman, the kind Stewart totally despised, it was Mason.

If anyone could help her prove her theory to the women in town and, most of all, to herself, it was Mason.

Her hands trembled at the prospect and she licked her suddenly dry lips. Her nerves went on high alert and a warning blared in her head.

Are you crazy? This is your fantasy man, of all people. You can't just come out and proposition him.

Then again, it wasn't as if she was going to act on the l.u.s.t raging inside of her and ask him for s.e.x.

She only wanted his advice.

Yeah? And I've got some beachfront property smack dab in the middle of Kansas that you might be interested in.

"So how much is this going to cost me?" he asked her.

Charlene shushed her raging hormones and focused on the practicality of the matter. She needed him. He needed her. Completely nons.e.xually, of course.

Of course.

She smiled. "What do you say we take it out in trade?"

5.

"IT'S A LOT BIGGER than I thought it would be."

Charlene's surprised voice echoed in Mason's head as he killed the truck engine and stared through the winds.h.i.+eld at the legendary building that sat just off the highway headed toward Austin.

About a hundred years ago, the place had been nothing more than a two-story tin barn. Fifty years ago, its owner, a farmer by the name of Herman West, had spruced it up with a coat of red paint, installed a jukebox and opened up shop serving homemade moons.h.i.+ne. His daughters-all ten of them-had done the serving and Wild West had been born.

Wild West was no longer a family affair. The girls had aged and others had been hired to take their place and the jukebox had been replaced with a live disc jockey. But Herman was still the driving force. Still standing behind the bar every night and serving up his famous moons.h.i.+ne-his whiskey recipe had been patented and was now bottled and distributed in all fifty states.

"I should have expected it to be this big," Charlene's soft voice slid past his thoughts again and made his heart do a double thump. "It is rumored to be the largest men's club in Texas."

"I don't know if that still holds true." Mason eyed the legendary motto painted in giant white letters on the side of the building. Beer, Babes and Barbecue! "But it's definitely the oldest."