Page 29 of Zane

There was one other thing to do to celebrate the new her. And that required a glass of Cabernet.

As soon as she attended to that, she marched upstairs, her steps militant, and went straight to her bedroom closet. Flinging the barn doors open, she started leafing through the suits with one hand, the other holding the wine.

"Okay," she muttered. She felt the sickness increasing. "Good Lord. Why are there so many varieties of gray? Ash gray, stone gray, stormy cloud gray, gray-blue- Okay, you're staying."

By the time she had gone through the neat-as-a-pin suits, she was feeling the exhaustion and depression. It was as if they had all been made by the same hands, buttoned up to the neck and of the same sensible length.

She found a teal blue pantsuit hidden at the back and decided it had merit. But most everything in her closet was so boring she was starting to fall asleep, even the ones she wore to functions. Plopping down on the padded bench, she surveyed the mountain of clothes on the floor. She had dragged them from their hangers, and the place looked like it had been struck by a volcano.

Her shoes were salvageable because she loved her some footwear. So they were staying. She felt the clutch in her stomach again at the thought of spending hundreds of dollars replacing a perfectly good wardrobe, just because she was on a tear.

What on earth was she thinking? Had she gone quite mad? What was she trying to prove? Yes, she had money. Aside from her salary, she had inherited a sum of money from her grandmother, and the money had never been touched. It was just there gathering interest in the bank.

She had no mortgage to pay because her home was paid for. She had no children to think about expenses. But what if something happened to her? A bout of sickness could easily wipe out an entire savings. She had seen it happen to people before. What on earth was she thinking? And what was she going to do with all these clothes?

She could box them up and take them to Goodwill. Taking another gulp of the wine, she stared at the mess she had made.

She was not one to make a mess. Even as a child, her room had been as neat as a pin. It had to be. Growing up with her parents, she had had to be careful about everything. It had been drummed into her head that a messy space was a sign of a scattered brain or some such nonsense.

She had barely been allowed toys. It had always been books, books, and more books. Not that she minded feeding her mind; she enjoyed reading and learning new things.

But she had never been given a choice. Lifting her chin, she firmed her shoulders. No. She shook her head. She was taking control of her life for the first time. She was going to do things to please herself. She was free and clear to make those choices. No longer was she going to allow anyone that power over her.

If she wanted to have a whole new wardrobe, no one was going to tell her otherwise. If she wanted to put some auburn streaks in her hair, she was jolly well going to.

Pressing a hand to her stomach, she rose shakily and stood in front of the mirror, staring at her hair. Slowly, she lifted a hand and tugged at the thick strand falling over her brow and thought, Oh God! She was going to color her hair. Feeling sick all over again, she finished the wine.

Chapter 8

The district attorney's office was in a building as old as time itself. The building had been preserved and maintained over the years, but in spite of the necessary renovations, the additions, the roof being replaced due to the ravages of a very mean and ugly storm, it stood graceful and strangely dignified, like an old woman past her prime.

Kara wasn't thinking about that, nor was she mindful of the bracing fall air and the trees waving in the stiff breeze. She had spent most of last night going through her clothing, discarding and deciding what was worth keeping.

Today, she marched inside, nodded to several employees, and ignored the appreciative looks from the males, not stopping until she turned toward the left at the long, narrow hallway that led to Abigail's office. Her assistant was absent, no doubt making a coffee run or out on an errand.

Good, Kara thought in relief. She needed a few minutes alone with her friend.

Knocking on the door, she pushed it open when she was ordered to enter and saw Abigail behind her big, scarred desk surrounded by case files.

She looked up briefly before leafing through a file. "Good, you're here. I just need-"

She looked up again and blinked, eyes roving over the snug-fitting teal blue cashmere dress and supple black leather boots.

"Well." Amusement and admiration coated her voice as she leaned back in her creaky leather chair. "Someone has seen the light."

"And it's about to get brighter." Kara pressed a hand on her jittery stomach and sat. "I need your help."

"Of course you do." Shifting, Abigail leaned on the desk and clasped her hands. "Precisely how?"

"I took most of my clothing to Goodwill. Some to a thrift store on Main Street."

"I see." With pursed lips, Abigail studied the older woman. "And?"

"I need an entire new wardrobe. A makeover." She lifted a hand to her hair. "Highlights, red tints and a trim, nothing too drastic. And a facial, pedi and mani. The works."

Abigail's eyes gleamed. "What brought this on?"

"William proposed last night at dinner with my mother there."