Линда Миллер – The Marriage Charm (страница 5)

“Hey, you okay?” he’d asked, as if he actually cared about the answer.

When she nodded, Tripp said, “I adjusted your chain. It was really loose.”

Will added, “The last time I wrecked like that, I’m pretty sure I cried, too. Don’t feel like a baby or anything.”

Then they went back to their basketball game.

That was it.

But both Hadleigh and Bex were impressed. Normally, in their experience, the boys didn’t even notice their existence.

Outwardly, nothing had changed after that day. Will and Tripp tolerated Hadleigh and her two sidekicks with benign indifference, and Spence followed their lead.

Hadleigh, Bex and Melody, on the other hand, shared a secret new awareness that nothing would ever be quite the same. They giggled and whispered among themselves, trying to unravel the mystery of this new fascination, but years passed before they finally succeeded.

Now, after all these years, Hadleigh and Tripp were deeply in love, the forever kind, and as of that very afternoon, joined in holy wedlock.

Coincidence? Probably not, Melody mused with a sense of philosophical awareness—undoubtedly brought on by the events of the day—as she took a sip of the beer some cowboy had bought her. She really believed this wedding was the culmination of something that had started when they were just kids.

The fairy-tale aspects of their shared history might have fostered legends if Bex and Will had grown up and fallen for each other, like Hadleigh and Tripp, but Will had been killed in Afghanistan and, while Bex had dated a lot, especially in college, she’d never met The One.

As for Melody and Spence, they’d had a summer fling once upon a time before she realized he wasn’t interested in permanence, and she’d been starry-eyed with dreams of a future together—a cozy house, children and all the rest. In the end, though, she’d made a complete fool of herself by blurting out a marriage proposal, one perfect night in July, with the last of the Independence Day fireworks still dribbling from the sky. And she would never forget—God knew, she’d tried—the expression on Spence’s face as he prepared his answer.

Instead of flashing that patented grin of his, instead of saying “yes, let’s do it,” the way Melody had expected him to, Spence had given her a figurative pat on the head and then, very gently, explained that he wasn’t ready to make that kind of commitment, and neither was she. She wasn’t even through college yet, Spence had reminded her, wounding her with kindness.

It had taken her years to recover. She took another sip of tepid beer as she grimly remembered that night.

Yes, he’d claimed, when she’d tearfully demanded whether he loved her, he did care for her, very much as a matter of fact. And that was one more reason he wasn’t going to be the one to derail her career, maybe even her whole life, before she’d had a chance to go places, figure things out, decide what she really wanted.

Before Melody’s personal universe disappeared into a black hole, she and Spence had spent virtually every spare moment together. Gradually, they’d grown closer and then closer still, until they’d finally made love, sweet and slow, under a star-spangled sky the first time, and in every private place they could find after that.

Oh, yes. Melody had loved Spencer Hogan with all that she had and all that she was.

Silly girl. She’d actually believed he loved her right back.

Until the breakup, of course. Spence had immediately consoled himself with Junie McFarlane, and Melody had moped around the house until it was time to go back to college in late August. There she was like a sleepwalker, distracted and depressed. Aware that things had to change, she’d switched her major from pre-law to fine arts, since she’d always loved shape and texture and color, and when that didn’t help, she hid out in the dorm, skipping classes and meals, rarely sleeping through the night.

Melody’s mother was beside herself with worry. After years of widowhood, she’d just remarried and was planning a move to Casper. Realizing she was causing distress to someone she loved—even knowing that she was keeping her mother from enjoying her newfound happiness—couldn’t cure the blues, apparently.

Left to her own devices, she would surely have crashed and burned.

Fortunately for her, however, Bex and Hadleigh had refused to let her self-destruct. They’d improvised an amateur intervention, the two of them, confronting Melody in the cramped little room the three of them shared all through college. Melody had balked at first, demanding that they leave her alone, but they were as stubborn as she was and simply wouldn’t give up.

They’d badgered her all one Saturday, until she would’ve agreed to practically anything just to get five minutes of peace and quiet. Knowing they’d finally cracked her armor, they’d pestered her to get out of the pajamas she’d been wearing for days on end, take a hot shower and put on her favorite outfit.

After that, Hadleigh and Bex had dragged Melody out of the dorm and off campus, winding up at the nearest mall, in one of those snip-and-dash salons, where a very gay guy with a pink Mohawk and a disturbing number of body piercings ordered her into a chair and proceeded to trim and fluff and spray her unkempt hair until she looked almost like her old self again.

Miraculous as it seemed, that was only the beginning of the Save Melody from Herself campaign.

Next, Hadleigh and Bex had declared that they were starving, and all three of them trooped over to the food court, with its plethora of unhealthy dining choices, and agreed, after some discussion, to share orders of yakisoba, chicken teriyaki and egg rolls.

Then, since the multiscreen theater was right there, and they’d all been fortified by a hot meal, they decided to take in a movie or two.

In the end, the total was three—two chick flicks and an apocalyptic action film.

The next day, she’d gone back to class, and for weeks afterward, Bex and Hadleigh had helped her catch up on the work she’d let slide.

Remembering all that in mere moments, Melody smiled to herself, there at the grubby table in the Moose Jaw Tavern, despite her aching feet and admittedly bad attitude.

The whole experience was ancient history now, she reflected, still watching Spence, still unable to stop watching him, as he made his way across the sawdust floor, pausing here and there to exchange a friendly word or a handshake with somebody or to laugh at some joke.

He approached the bar, spoke to the man behind it, but came away without a drink. Spence rarely indulged in alcohol; he’d told her once that it smoothed away the rough edges a little too well, whatever that meant.

At last, and with enormous effort, Melody finally managed to tear her eyes away from him, her face burning at the difficulty, and when she shifted her gaze in the opposite direction, it was to catch Bex grinning in that knowing way best friends have.

Melody grimaced at her.

Bex, unruffled as usual, laughed and shook her head, rising when yet another cowboy asked her to dance.

“Don’t be surprised if I’m not here when you get back,” Melody yelled over the music.

“Suit yourself,” Bex yelled back, good-natured to the end.

Melody was beginning to feel like a real wallflower, which was a stretch, considering how often she’d been invited to dance since she and Bex had arrived an hour or so before. After a few polite refusals, the invitations had stopped coming, and that had been okay with her and with her screaming feet.

She’d had, as her grandfather liked to say, all the fun she could stand.

Time to vamoose.

The waitress had been running a tab, and Melody wanted to pay her share, so she elbowed her way through to the cash register at the far end of the bar, searching her little yellow purse—part of the bridesmaids’ outfit—for her credit card.

She settled up and then limped toward the door, propped open to admit the summer breezes, and scanned the demolition derby in the parking lot for her car.

It was blocked in on all sides.

“Oh, hell,” she muttered, faced with two equally unappealing choices—go back inside the Moose Jaw, hunt down the bar owner and convince him to find the patrons responsible for the dilemma and get them to move their vehicles—or she could walk home.

“Is there a problem?” The voice, all too familiar, took her off guard.

She turned her head and, sure enough, Spence was standing there, watching her, his face in shadow and his expression, therefore, unreadable. Well, not completely. Was that a grin just barely tugging at one corner of his mouth?

“Yes,” Melody said stiffly. “There is a problem.” She sucked in a breath and continued in a rush of words. “In fact, there are several problems. First of all, I want to go home, and I can’t because my car is literally surrounded. Furthermore, my feet are killing me—”

Melody put on the brakes, stopped talking.

Spence, frowning as he listened, surveyed the lot full of rigs that might have been parked by half-trained baboons, and sighed. She was unprepared for the impact of his blue eyes when he looked back at her face then slid a leisurely glance down the length of her body to her shoes, which weren’t suitable for walking through gravel, let alone making the long hike home. The grin he’d probably been trying to suppress broke loose at last.