She could understand why he didn't want to be in Redbud Trails. She didn't make a practice of listening to the gossip in town—with the notable exceptions of when Anna and Lila had been dating their respective beaus—but she could see how the lies told about him could follow him around. In her mind, it made perfect sense that Weston didn't want to live in the shadows of the past.
She just hoped her heart could learn to understand that, too.
* * *
Evening was falling as Weston rubbed at the ache between his eyes, pushing back from the kitchen table where he'd been reviewing a contract for one of his clients. His brain was wiped and the legalese started to read like a foreign language.
He felt a little like a teenager, stuck inside too long doing homework.
Not that he'd spent all that much time on his homework when he'd actually been a teenager. He'd been busy with an after-school job that helped keep food on the table—and the mortgage paid. His little spare time had been spent with Eve.
But thinking about Eve didn't do him any good. He'd heard that she'd moved to Texas and married some guy. Probably had a passel of kids by now.
Some folks in town—like Ezra—seemed to want to remember the mistakes Weston had made in the past, but there were plenty of people—like Maddox Michaels and Melody—who judged him for the man he was now.
Thinking of Melody made those memories of Eve hazy. Almost thin enough to blow away in a good strong Oklahoma wind.
Melody was something.
When she'd kissed him... She'd obviously been untutored in the art of kissing, but her lips had been a powerful force anyway.
He wanted to do it all over again.
Three days had passed since he'd tucked her into her coupe and bussed her cheek good night. Three nights of waking up from dreams of those kisses. Three mornings watching for her to run past the house. Three mornings of disappointment when she never showed.
He hadn't called. Didn't know if he should. Although some of the younger folks in town accepted him, his reputation could definitely taint her, and he didn't want her store to suffer because of his selfish need to see her again.
But he was about to wave the white flag, because he missed her.
"You should text her."
He jumped at the unexpected voice. He turned his back on the barn out the window he'd been staring out without really seeing to find Chase and Claire behind him. Claire held a pair of bowls and spoons while Chase pulled a tub of ice cream from the freezer.
He started to protest that they couldn't possibly know what he was thinking about, but Claire interrupted. "I think she'd like it if you did. Every time the shop phone rang today, she jumped about a mile. She even fumbled the greeting once."
He scratched the back of his neck, which had suddenly warmed. "You don't think folks would give her a hard time if they saw us together?"
"It's none of their business," Chase growled.
True, but they were quiet in the next moment, and Weston wondered if the girls were thinking the same thing he was, that whether or not it was their business wouldn't stop tongues from wagging.
Something dangerous glinted in Chase's eyes. "If there's not really a curse on our family, you should prove it. Go after her. Make her fall in love with you."
There was just one of the rubs. He didn't know if he could. He hadn't been enough for Eve. Nor for any of his girlfriends since.
Maybe he was cursed.
Except he didn't believe in superstitions. He knew Whose he was. He knew he was loved by the One that really mattered. But that didn't guarantee he'd find someone on earth to love him.
* * *
Melody had responded to Weston's cryptic text with a tentative yes, even though she'd questioned whether his suggestion was wise.
Now, two days later, she wore a long, flowing skirt beneath her coat as she waited for him to pick her up after the store closed.
Tiny snowflakes fell—enough to be beautiful, but not enough to create any road hazards—and his headlights cut through the semi-darkness, making her squint as he pulled the truck into the alley behind the store.
It was a little weird that he'd wanted to pick her up out here.
She started to step off the curb, but he'd already cracked his door and called out, "Wait!"
She froze, one hand against the door.
He rounded the truck and came toward her, his hand closing over hers on the cool metal. "I always open doors."
For women in general, or for his dates?
Before she could speak the question, he was behind her. He pulled the door open, and she backed up to give it room to swing by. But Weston didn't back up, and she was suddenly so close. She didn't move. Standing near him like that, the open door on one side, him on the other, with the light snow falling on their heads...it was a magical moment. An intimate moment.
The shops were deserted this time of night, and the alley was dark and empty, except for the two of them.
She turned toward him and opened her mouth, but before she could speak, he inhaled, nostrils flaring. She watched his eyes sweep down the length of her. His hand slid around her waist, and he pulled her in for a scorching kiss.
When he pulled away—before she was ready, despite the cold wind and snowflakes swirling around them, he tucked her into the cab of the truck with a tiny kiss on the tip of her nose. He was pulling out of the alley and was halfway down Main Street before her wits returned.
"If you meant that you always open the door for your dates, you should know this isn't a date."
He threw a sideways glance at her. "Oh, it's a date. You register for that marathon yet?"
Frustration—and more than a little joy—swirled up through her. "No. And I don't date guys who've seen my scar."
The nearest side of his lips quirked, but he didn't smile. "You mean, like you don't kiss guys who've seen your scar?"
Heat climbed her neck and into her face. "I don't make a habit of kissing anyone at all. Just you."
That glance slid her way again, but this time without any hint of humor. "No kidding?"
* * *
Weston knew he was treading on precarious ground as Melody bit her lip, that adorable blush lingering on her cheeks beneath her dark cherry-red locks. He'd been surprised to find her hair color had changed. Not just her bangs this time. The color was cute on her.
He turned toward Weatherford and the surprise he had planned for her.
He'd been her first kiss? She didn't admit it outright, but her silence was confirmation enough.
He'd thought she was out of practice, but would have never guessed that.
"You wanna tell me why?"
She sighed, leaning her cheek on her hand. Her elbow was propped in the window. "Not particularly." Her opposite hand came up to press against her collarbone.
"Why does the scar bother you so much? It's hardly noticeable."
She frowned, and he fought the urge to take back the words and let her off the hook. Maybe it wasn't typical first-date conversation, but then, she'd already seen some of the darker parts of his family drama.
"It's not like something you'd get from bull riding or sky diving or bike racing," she warned.
Somehow, without really thinking about it, his hand crept across the seat and connected with hers. Their fingers threaded together naturally, and he was gratified when her next words emerged in a less halting manner.
"I had open heart surgery when I was three."
The softly-spoken words hit him square in the gut.
"I had a congenital heart defect, and the surgery repaired it."
He squeezed her hand, but he didn't speak. There was more, he could feel it.
"The doctors told my parents about the risks, of course, but maybe it didn't sink in. I don't know. Whatever the case, there were complications after the surgery. There was a blood clot, and they believe I had a small stroke."
She shook his hand, making him realize he'd been squeezing her too tightly. Imagining
the world without Melody in it wasn't something he wanted to do.
"But you're all right now," he said, wanting to believe the words. He needed them to be true.
"I'm fine. I've had more than enough doctor's appointments to confirm it. But because of those weeks spent in the hospital, the scare stuck with my parents. They...basically, they kept me encased in bubble wrap my entire childhood. They schooled me at home. I was never allowed to stay the night with a friend. I wasn't allowed to date."
She hesitated long enough that he glanced at her. Her face was shadowed, but with just the dim lights from the dash for illumination, he saw more that she didn't say. He could only guess what damage her parents' overprotectiveness had caused.
"And then I went to college. I was eighteen, and I'd chosen a state school. I made a stand and told my parents I was going to live in the dorms. My roommate was... she wasn't really wild, but at the time it seemed like she was."
The tension ticked up with every second of her silence. Finally, he said, "And...?"
She glanced at him, and he saw the shadows in her eyes.
"You went with her to the first wild party on campus?" he guessed. "Did some crazy things?"
She drew her hand out of his, and he felt the emptiness of her missing touch as he returned his hand to the steering wheel.
"I locked myself in my dorm for the first week. At first, I couldn't even make myself go to class. I think my roommate wished for a cooler friend. She wasn't trying to be funny when she told me to see a therapist, but her words sparked something in me. I called the campus shrink, and she helped me start working through some issues."
She stared out the passenger window. "I didn't fail that semester after all, even though I had to make up some homework from those first classes I missed."
He could relate to the young woman Melody had been. "College was an adjustment for me, too. Maybe I didn't have it as rough as you did, but being from a small town where everybody knew your business, then transitioning into that big school...it wasn't easy."
He glanced at her again. Was it his imagination, or was she blushing more fiercely now?
"When I got to O State," he said, "I was in the faceless crowd. There was a part of me that liked the anonymity. But another part felt a little lost."
He hadn't meant to share that with her, but there it was.
Thankfully, they arrived at their destination.
She squinted through the windshield, through the snow that had thickened somewhat but was still not enough to cause them trouble on the way home. "Ballroom dancing?"
He popped open his door and ducked into the snow and wind, rounded the truck, and opened her door. She was still peering up at the sign on the building.
He hoped he'd guessed right. "It's gotta be on the list, right?"
8
Melody stepped out of the falling snow and into a warm foyer. Music played. A waltz, maybe.
Glancing around, she took in the colorful paintings hanging on the walls. The foyer was small and opened up into a large, echoing parquet wood floor surrounded by mirrors. The dance floor was well-lit, while the foyer where they stood was lit only by a lamp in the corner.
From across the room, a man stood alone and watched as a couple twirled around the floor, perfectly in sync with each other and the music. Melody recognized some of the movements from her favorite TV show, Dancing with the Stars.
"There's no way I can do that," she muttered.
She hadn't really meant for Weston to hear, but he winked. "How will you know until you try?"
"You haven't seen my klutzy side," she muttered to his back as he moved further into the studio.
The man who'd been watching the dancing couple crossed the room to meet them. "Hello hello."
Before she knew what was happening, the other couple had vacated the floor, and she and Weston were standing under the bright lights with their instructor nearby.
Weston's hands rested loosely at her waist, and both of hers were on his shoulders.
The instructor shook his head. "This is all wrong. You're too tall for her," he told Weston.
Her cheeks burned. Didn't that mean she was too short?
The instructor tapped on Weston's arm. "The hold is all wrong."
"Feels right to me," Weston said, looking down on her with an intensity that that only made her blush more.
The instructor huffed. "Maybe for a goodnight kiss, but not for ballroom dancing." He turned to her. "Did you bring any other shoes?"
She shook her head, looking down at her feet. She'd worn ballet flats. She rarely wore even a slight heel.
"That's all right, we've got some extra heels. Size seven?" When she nodded, he disappeared into a room off the corner of the ballroom.
She and Weston traipsed to a small bench along the wall, and she sat down. Their instructor was back before she'd gotten comfortable. He handed her a pair of sparkling sandals with high heels. He then walked off, saying something about restarting the music.
She let the heels dangle from her fingers. She'd never worn heels like that before.
She was aware of Weston's perusal from where he stood several feet away, hands in his pockets as she stared down the shoes.
They were only shoes. But it was more of what they represented.
And then suddenly he was kneeling before her, one warm hand on her ankle as he slipped off her ballet flat. "What are you so nervous about?"
"I might twist my ankle," she replied almost automatically, distracted to the nth degree by his hand on her ankle.
He waited, looking up at her with those bottomless blue eyes. Waiting.
"I might fall," she whispered, and she meant more than fall on her butt in the middle of an empty dance studio.
"I'll catch you," he said.
The moment lengthened between them, almost frozen in time.
Could she trust Weston? Everything inside her screamed yes!
She bent, putting them head to head as she slipped the heels on. She stood, he took her hand, and they joined the instructor on the dance floor. She tried to focus on the instructor as he explained what he wanted them to do, but her glance kept finding Weston's. And then they were moving around the ballroom on the instructor's count.
It wasn't elegant. The simple box step felt awkward at first, more so because she had to move backwards and follow Weston's leading. She had to trust his steps, trust that he wouldn't guide her into a wall or to one of the three support beams throughout the room.
It wasn't in her nature to rely so fully on someone else, not since she'd left home at eighteen.
Was it wrong that she liked it?
She kept her gaze on his face, responded to the small smile that curved his lips.
When their hour was over, she felt exhilarated. She let Weston tuck her into her coat and guide her to the front doors with a hand at her lower back.
"Aren't you glad you tried it?" he asked.
Before she could answer, a gust of wind dragged the door from his hands. Snow blew in over their feet, inciting her to shiver violently.
"Oh no," he muttered.
* * *
This was a disaster.
Weston clutched the steering wheel, leaning forward to peer through the snow-clumped windshield until his nose nearly pressed against the glass.
He fought the slick roads, sending up prayer after prayer for their safety, until he had to admit defeat.
After the sixth or seventh time his wheels had slid on black ice buried beneath the snow, he pulled to a stop beneath an overpass.
He beat one palm against the steering wheel and then looked over to see Melody unclench her white-knuckled grip on the passenger door.
She met his gaze squarely, one eyebrow raised. "I guess we're stuck?"
He pushed a hand through his hair. "I'm really sorry." More than she could know. He bit back an ugly word.
She'd wrapped her coat all the way around her and buttoned up tight when they'd emerged from the dance studio i
nto the falling snow. But she wasn't wearing gloves.
"You warm enough?"
He reached for the heater and turned it up.
"Warm enough. Don't we need to conserve fuel?"
He shook his head. He'd filled up before he'd picked up Melody, and he had an extra five-gallon tank in the back of the pickup that he'd filled up for the tractor. "We've got plenty. Hopefully this will blow on through, and we won't be stuck out here all night."
He'd cut the headlights. He followed her gaze to the circle of light surrounding a streetlamp in the distance, where they could see the snow still falling hard.
"The weatherman only called for a light dusting." He'd checked and double-checked before deciding to make the drive to Weatherford.
"He must've been wrong. It happens."
Yeah, but that didn't stop Weston from kicking himself for the mistake.
He grabbed his phone from the center console. "Do you mind if I call and check on the girls?"
"Of course not." She had her own phone in hand but she kept looking out the window. He was very aware of their close confines in the cab of the truck. Chase picked up.
"Hey. It snowing there?" he asked.
Her muffled, "It's Weston," must mean she'd told Claire, then her voice rang clear through the connection. "Like a blizzard. Please tell me you stayed in Weatherford."
"That would've been the smart thing to do," he said. "You got the TV on? What does the radar show?"
There was muffled movement through the line, then the sound of the TV in the background.
"Um..."
Okay, that didn't sound promising.
"It's a huge blob. It's going to be snowing for hours."
His chest tightened up.
He glanced over to Melody, who flashed her smartphone at him. The radar showed a huge cloud mass moving slowly over the western part of the state. Where had it come from?
"I want you and Claire to stay inside. I took care of the horses earlier, so there's no reason to go out to the barn. If the electricity goes off, just bundle up, okay? The sleeping bags are in the hall closet."
Heart of a Cowgirl Page 5
