"He didn't do whatever everyone thinks he did," Claire said softly. "Mom spilled the beans once when she was...out of it."
High. Melody read between the lines.
Whatever had chased him out of town, he'd been innocent. She'd guessed as much. Hoped as much.
She still wanted to know what it was. Anna hadn't been specific when she'd warned Melody off.
And prying it out of the twins wouldn't be cool. Especially if he ever found out.
She could ask him straight out, but tonight, it felt as if they'd forged a tentative friendship. She couldn't risk ruining that, not when things had begun to get interesting.
5
A week had passed since the bridesmaid's dress selection, and Melody was ringing up a late afternoon customer after an exhausting hour-long sales session with a persnickety woman when her cell buzzed in her pocket.
She didn't make a habit of answering her personal phone during business hours, but when it rang a second time only minutes later, she dug it out of the pocket of her skinny jeans.
The number wasn't programmed into her phone, but it was a local area code. She answered it.
"It's Weston. Are you busy?"
"Kind of. What's up?" And how did you get my number?
She glanced at the cart bearing a load of skirts and blouses from the new stock that had arrived yesterday. Then to the pile of inventory reports—showing four discrepancies now—and the accounts payable that she also needed to reconcile tonight.
She'd planned to play back video from the surveillance cameras after she closed the store for the day. Maybe she could see who was walking off with her merchandise.
"Something's going on with the girls. Claire—I think it was Claire—called me, and she was sobbing into the phone. Have you heard from her?"
"I haven't." Today was one of Claire's days off. Melody hadn't seen either of the girls, but neither had she expected to. Things had gone relatively smoothly so far with Claire working part time.
Weston sighed. "I'm in the city, about to walk into a meeting that I can't miss. Could you go check on them?"
She hesitated.
"I wouldn't ask, but..."
But maybe he had no one else. She couldn't help remembering Anna's warning. "They're at home?"
"Yeah, I got that much out of her."
"Nothing else?"
"It was something about a boy. I didn't understand it all—look, I've gotta go. Thanks, Mel."
She stared at her phone after he'd ended the call. Obviously, he trusted her enough to ask her to check on the girls. But why?
Or was she really the only person in town that would help? No, that didn't make sense. At the party, he'd been friendly with several of the guys.
Maybe it was because she understood Claire more than he did.
She glanced at the clock again. She had an hour to go until closing time, but if there was drama involving a boy, she'd better get to the bottom of it.
She texted Claire that Weston had called and that she was picking up Chinese food and would be there soon.
Boy trouble called for nothing less.
An hour and a half later, after making the drive to Weatherford and back, she knocked on the door of their farmhouse.
When Claire opened the door, she was dry-eyed.
It was Chase, sitting on the sofa with an empty box and numerous crumpled tissues around her.
"I brought comfort food," Melody offered, holding up the plastic bag.
Chase took one look at her and burst into tears all over again.
* * *
Weston walked into the house just after eight to find three hysterical females sitting around the small nook table in the kitchen.
They had a spread of cardboard Chinese cartons open on the table—no plates—and Claire waved a pair of chopsticks wildly while Chase and Melody cackled with laughter.
Claire seemed fine.
And then he noticed Chase's red-rimmed eyes. What was going on? Between the two girls, Chase was normally more private with her emotions. What had upset her?
But he knew better than to rush in and demand answers.
"Y'all look like you're having fun," he said.
He receive an assortment of greetings, from Melody's soft "hello," to Claire's chopstick wave and Chase's nod.
He plucked a half-full container of lo mein from the center of the table before he could get his hand swatted and retreated to lean against the counter near the kitchen sink. He pulled a fork from the drawer and dug in.
Where had the food come from? There wasn't a Chinese restaurant in tiny Redbud Trails. His gaze snagged on Melody, and when she caught him looking, he raised his eyebrows at her.
She wrinkled her nose and tuned back in to the girls' conversation, but pink crept into her cheeks.
It made him want to steal her away, just for himself.
"Then she dumps her entire tray of meatloaf and mashed potatoes on his lap."
"You could try that, but I bet you'd get detention." Melody pushed a carton away, as if she'd overdone it.
He felt a moment of relief. At least it wasn't one of his sister's who'd dumped food on some poor unsuspecting guy.
"What's going on?" he asked, deciding it was better to brave an emotional storm than stay in the dark.
Chase's lips trembled, and she clamped them together.
Claire put a hand on her shoulder. "Principal Warren changed the policy for the school dance. No freshmen are allowed to attend, even if an upperclassmen invites you."
That was the tragedy that had his normally-stoic sister in tears?
His cluelessness must've shown in his expression, because Chase burst out, "Everyone was talking about us at lunch. Saying that the rule got changed because of us."
He still wasn't tracking. "Because of you two, specifically?"
Just because rumors were flying didn't make them true. And he well knew how high school drama could unfold at the speed of light.
And then Claire's mention of Principal Warren broke through the jumble of his thoughts. Ezra Warren.
The policy hadn't been changed because of the twins. It was because of him. Because Ezra Warren still held a grudge.
It was just crazy enough to be true.
Chase sniffed, and Melody shook her head when he opened his mouth. He wasn't even sure what he would've said.
"I think the best way to get over it is a makeover," Melody said. "You might feel more confident—"
"Yeah, right." Chase glowered at her.
Melody fished in what must be her purse, which had been hanging off the chair behind her. She came up with a small pad of paper and a pencil and started sketching so fast, his eyes couldn't follow the lines on the page.
"How was your meeting?" Claire asked him.
"Fine." He didn't let his attention waver from Melody, but he saw Claire make a face at him in his peripheral vision.
Expectation—or maybe it was anticipation—hung in the room, everyone waiting to see how Chase would react to whatever Melody was sketching.
"I'm not into all the girly-girl frills like you and Claire," Chase said, but her eyes were glued to Melody's paper.
"You don't have to be." Melody swept her pencil across the paper and then flipped the pad around for the twins' perusal. He found himself stepping closer to see.
Chase gasped softly. Melody had drawn a girl with more than a passing resemblance to Chase in a pair of jeans that even he would recognize as trendy and a T-shirt that hugged the slender curves he tried really hard not to think about teenage boys thinking about. Some kind of chunky bracelet made the outfit more feminine than it should've been, especially with the ballet flats Melody had sketched.
"That's perfect for you," Claire said even as Chase shoved the notebook back toward Melody.
But not before he'd seen the flare of interest in her eyes.
"I can't afford anything like that, and even if I could, it doesn't matter." Chase shoved back from the table, her chair legs scr
aping against the floor.
Something else was going on. He could read his sisters pretty well by now, and the look they shared said it all.
"C'mon, Chase, you're being silly," Claire murmured.
"Don't say it," Chase said, pointing a shaking finger at her sister. "Look at Weston."
What? How was he involved? He'd just walked in.
Claire shot an apologetic glance at him and kept talking. "Just because Weston is unlucky in love—"
Chase started to say something, but Claire cut her off. "And mom. Just because the two of them have been unlucky in love doesn't mean our family is cursed."
"I'm not..." He shut up when Chase gave him a scathing glance.
"Eve. Do I need to say more than that?" The name hit him squarely in the gut, but not with the power it had once had over him. And Chase wasn't done. "Or what about the dozens of girlfriends since?"
Okay, now his face was getting hot. "There haven't been that many."
Movement from the corner of the room showed Melody reaching for her purse. Smart woman. The twins could go on for hours, and this wasn't her problem.
"Melody, wait!" Claire turned.
"Oh, just let her go home," Chase fumed. "It's not like she would help me if she knew what I'd done."
And suddenly, what he'd thought was a normal teenage drama-slash-spat was something more serious.
"What do you mean?" Melody put her purse on the chair she'd just vacated.
He set the now-empty carton on the counter, heart pounding. "I think you'd better explain, young lady."
But Melody's small hand on his forearm stalled him from stepping into Chase's personal space, his first instinct.
"It was you? Stealing from the store?" Melody asked.
What?
Claire gasped. "Why would you do that?"
Chase's face turned bright red. "Because."
"Because you wanted to get me fired?" Now Claire advanced on her sister, a dangerous look in her eyes. "What if Melody had thought it was me?"
A glance at Melody revealed a slightly guilt-ridden look, which she quickly blanked.
"I wanted to be pretty too!" Chase's outburst made all three of them freeze in place.
And then her face crumpled, and she bolted from the room.
What had just happened here?
He stood rooted in place, feeling helpless and frustrated and a whole mix of things.
Claire started to chase after her sister, but Melody reached out for her. "Let me go."
He put both hands on top of his head, his elbows stretching toward the ceiling. "I don't understand what just happened here."
"She likes Jeremy," Claire answered, as if that explained the whole thing.
It didn't.
6
Weston had just stepped off the porch and was making his way toward the barn when he heard giggles emerge from the cracked window.
The boulder in his gut dissipated slightly. Thank God Melody had been understanding about the theft. If she'd wanted, she could've pressed charges, and then where would the family be?
Melody constantly surprised him. She'd taken the girls' drama in stride and barely reacted to Chase's revelation.
Meanwhile, he felt like he was treading water in the middle of the ocean with no lifeboat in sight. In a hurricane.
He'd allowed the distance to grow between himself and the twins. After everything that had happened with Eve, it was easier to cut ties to Redbud Trails.
And now they were growing up, abandoned by their mother and facing peer pressure and boy trouble, and he was woefully ill-equipped to deal with all of it.
He blew off some of his frustration mucking stalls for Ben's two mares. The gentle ladies had been severely neglected, but now they were putting on pounds they'd lost, building back muscle. In a few months, they'd be ready to go to new families, ones who would treat them right.
Or he and the girls could keep them.
The thought brought him up short as he bucked the wheelbarrow of manure into the compost pile out back.
He wasn't planning to stay in Redbud Trails long term.
He had a life back in Oklahoma City. A good life. A sweet condo, season tickets to the Thunder, plenty of friends to hang out with.
But the twins were here. Even after Mom got out of rehab, could he trust that she'd stay clean? The fact that he hadn't known in the first place that she was hooked on pain meds still upset him. He needed to make sure the twins were safe, and he couldn't do that adequately from the city.
And then there was Melody.
He didn't know her all that well, and he wanted to know more.
Footsteps crunching in the dry grass outside drew his attention toward the open barn door.
She as walking across the grass toward the barn as if his thoughts had conjured her. He shucked his gloves, ran one hand through his hair, and headed toward her.
* * *
Weston met Melody just outside the barn, beneath the flickering light from the nearby post. His jean jacket was open over his T-shirt, which clung to the flat planes of his stomach.
He ran one hand through his hair, muscles in his arm pressing against the material of his jacket.
Lines creased around his face mouth. "I owe you for not pressing charges."
A gust of wind fluffed her scarf, and she quickly pressed it against her sternum.
"She returned the things she'd taken."
"Still. Let me take you out this weekend."
Tempting. Especially in the face of what she now knew. But she couldn't forget his expression when his eyes had locked on her scar that bright morning. "I don't date out of obligation."
Something sparked deep in his eyes.
"You didn't get Eve Warren pregnant."
Surprise flashed across his face, and then a frown flattened his lips. "I don't make a habit of talking about past mistakes."
Not exactly an answer. And apparently, he considered Eve a mistake. "Did you love her?"
He stepped closer to her, and the spark in his eyes changed to something more dangerous. Dangerous but not menacing.
She stood tall. Well, as tall as someone her height could stand.
"You want to get personal, let's talk about this." He flipped the ends of her scarf over her shoulder, revealing the scar.
He touched the very tip of his finger to her collarbone, just next to the ugly reminder.
She moved to tuck her scarf back down, knocking his hand aside.
"I don't make a habit of talking about it." Her words came out in a whisper.
"It's a shame." His voice had lowered too, maybe because he was so close. Either he'd edged closer, or she had. Only inches separated him. "Looks like a badge of courage to me."
And then he closed the distance between them, his hand moving up to cup her cheek, his fingers tunneling into the hair behind her ear.
She hadn't been expecting it, and it took a moment to register the shock of his lips, cool from being outdoors, as they met hers.
She pressed one hand against his chest and moved back slightly, surprised to find herself breathing nearly as hard as she did when she ran.
"I don't want you to kiss me because you feel sorry for me."
She hadn't pushed back far enough, because his breath was warm on her lips when he answered. "I don't."
He tugged her close again, his hand warm at her waist.
She met his kiss this time, tilting her head to change the angle and—oh! His lips slanted across hers, and heat flowed up from her toes and flushed all through her body.
She pulled back a second time.
Wobbled a little, so it was a good thing his arm had come fully around her waist now.
She had an up close and personal view when his lips stretched in a smile.
"I don't want you to kiss me because of obligation," she said.
"All right."
She saw the words form on his lips almost even before he spoke them.
She might be fixated. "Oka
y."
And this time, she rose on her tiptoes and instigated the kiss.
7
The next morning, Melody stood in the kitchen of her little bungalow after her run. Sweat soaked the sweatshirt she wore over her tank top and running pants—she definitely wasn't going to show anyone else her scar—and she carefully stretched out her legs, holding on to the counter for balance. Her half-drunk green smoothie rested on the counter next to her open laptop.
She couldn't stop thinking about Weston and the kisses they'd shared.
Her first kiss, and it had been amazing. She wasn't sure anyone else's could compare.
And Weston was going to leave. The girls were sure of it.
It wasn't that far of a commute to the city, but with her long hours minding the store and his career, what kind of a long-distance relationship could they have?
When she wasn't focused on the best part of the evening—he'd kissed her!—the mystery about Eve dogged her. She knew she shouldn't, but she grabbed her laptop, set it on the kitchen counter, and fired it up while she waited for her coffee to brew.
She clicked off the marathon registration site that came up first on her Internet browser. She'd almost clicked Register last night in a fit of madness before her courage had failed. Now she navigated to Google and typed Weston Moore and Oklahoma City into the browser.
He had a lot of hits.
Investment broker hits it big with local restaurant.
Oklahoma City's one hundred most eligible bachelors.
Weston Moore signs top-dollar deal.
The headlines went on and on.
He wasn't the failure a few spiteful folks in town had made him out to be. He might've left town under a cloud of suspicion—though she now believed those accusations had been fabricated—but he'd made something of himself.
He was the kind of man who returned to a place who'd scorned him to protect and take care of his sisters.
She saw so much more in him than what the folks in town believed him to be.
And she might be falling for him.
But what kind of future could they have?
Heart of a Cowgirl Page 4
