The Marriage Charm (Bliss County 2) (10 page)

Spence drove down the post-hole digger and winced as the reverberations rocketed up his arms. They could use some rain, no doubt about it.

That was the only thing in this life he was certain about at the moment.

Shirtless and panting, he wiped a bandanna across his forehead and grabbed a drink of water. Harley sat in the blowing grass, head down on his paws, and watched him work while Reb grazed.

He’d be more than content to work away at a chore that wasn’t the most pleasant in the world, since he was out of doors, it was a nice day and all of that was good, but...

His interesting morning was now like a burr under his saddle.

Melody had turned him down. No date for dinner, nothing.

Really?

She hadn’t turned him down for sex, though. She’d been on board for that, and he couldn’t deny that her response to every touch, every whisper, had been even better than he remembered, but he also couldn’t deny that when he’d called her, there’d been a distance between them.

It was possible that he deserved it, but he was damned if he could figure out why.

He slammed the post-hole digger into the ground. “She’s going to run like a spooked mule deer, isn’t she?”

Neither Harley nor Reb made a sound, but they did look up in unison. There was sympathy in their eyes, and that made him feel somewhat better but solved none of his problems. Reb came closer and snorted softly as he nudged his shoulder. He stroked the horse’s nose. Huskily, he reassured him, “It’s going to be okay. I need to find a balance and so does she. Once upon a time, I disappointed her, but I still stand by that decision.”

The single best thing about talking to a horse and dog—as long as no one else overheard and slapped an insane sticker on your medical record—was that they just listened.

“She was too young.” He swept his hair back with a gloved hand, probably leaving a streak of dirt behind. He needed a shower anyway after a job like this, so that point was moot. “Give me a break.”

They did. That might be why they got along so well.

His phone rang. It was a miracle that he had reception at all, and he pulled it from his pocket and tugged off a glove so he could answer it. Junie said, “Howdy, boss.”

“You’re calling me on a Sunday. What’s going on?”

“The good news or the bad news?”

“Junie, give it to me straight.”

“Thought you might like to know Estes ticketed the speeder you called in. Reckless driving. Thirty over the limit when he hit the outskirts of town. The kicker is that the driver was Judge Randolph’s kid, so Estes didn’t arrest him, although he could have. He’s all nervous now, Estes is, second-guessing himself. Not the kid’s first ticket.”

A new headache he didn’t really need. “Thanks for the heads-up,” he said with a sigh. “I expect I’ll get a call, though Randolph would be the first one to hit the driver with what he calls ‘the full weight of the law.’ Tell Estes I’ll handle it.”

“I expect you’re right about the call. You recovered from the wedding yet?”

“I’m fine.” He wasn’t exactly thrilled at the question. Had he been so obviously rattled by the whole best man routine? He liked to think he was pretty even-keeled and that he kept his feelings to himself. But then again, they’d known each other a long time.

“I’m glad,” she said cheerfully. “By the way, after this weekend shift, I’m off tomorrow. See you Tuesday.”

“See you then.” He pushed a button and shoved the phone back into his pocket, wishing it was the Old West, when a man could find some space from his problems, not walk around with cell phones that could reach him anywhere. However, he was sensible enough to know that was an illusion. Problems were non-negotiable and they existed no matter what.

Problem one on
his
horizon: a very sexy blonde. The judge limped in a distant second.

Three more fence posts to go. Good. He wanted to go back to the house so tired he’d just sit on the porch and watch the sunset before he fell into bed.

His only consolation was that he had two pieces of cheesecake to eat.

CHAPTER SIX

W
AS IT EMBARRASSING
to duck behind a display of turnips in the produce aisle?

Melody was going to guess the answer to that one was a hands-down yes.

But there she was, lurking in turnip land just because she caught a glimpse of a tall, dark-haired man whose profile was so achingly familiar she would swear it was indelibly etched in her brain. Had she been thinking about anything but him since the morning after the wedding?

Um, no. The commissioned piece was going nowhere fast.

Spence looked over the tomatoes, haphazardly picked absolutely the wrong one in her opinion and moved on down to the lettuce. He didn’t show much judgment there, either, tossing a bag of prewashed greens into his basket.

It had been nearly a week now, and she was still trying to sort things out.

Just her luck, when she straightened and tried to slink away, he turned at exactly the right moment and spotted her.

Brazen it out, you big yellow-bellied coward
.

She said, “Oh, hi. Grocery shopping?”

That was brilliant.

His mouth twitched. “Nope. Looking for a used car. You?”

“I needed some...” She refused to say turnips, even though they were handy. Instead, in her sheer genius mode, she chose, “...stuff.”

That was when she decided that if there was an award for world’s lamest person, she’d have a statue to set on the mantel next to the cats. Good job.

His blue eyes held such a look of amusement that she felt a flush move up her neck and into her cheeks. He said conversationally, “Luckily for you, they do have
stuff
here.”

It was time to regain at least some of her composure. Melody squared her shoulders. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“We live in the same town.”

“I’m aware of that,” she muttered. He sounded so infuriatingly reasonable. She grabbed a produce bag and tossed in a few turnips, just for show. Her grandmother used to mash them with butter and some lemon pepper, and they were quite tasty. She could probably use the fiber, right?

“You look good.” There was a subtle sensual edge to the compliment.

So did he in his usual worn jeans and denim shirt. He always seemed in need of a haircut, but he managed to pull it off. She felt grateful that she’d taken the time to put on a sundress and some strappy sandals—no heels—before she ventured out in public.

“See you around.” He turned abruptly and walked away.

Left with her plebeian veggies, she watched him move. He had the long-legged gait of a true cowboy, and his wide shoulders drew the eye. He tipped his hat at an elderly lady as he passed, and Melody could only describe the woman’s reaction as simpering, although she’d never quite understood the definition of that word before.

Enough
.

She needed cat food—no forgiveness there if she ran short—and she picked up some chicken breasts and spinach for a salad, and then on a whim, chose two nice steaks. For what special occasion, she wasn’t sure.

Keeping her options open?

She couldn’t deny that she’d been thinking about Spence a lot and was considering asking him over for dinner instead of going out, but her mind wasn’t made up. There was that fork in the road, and she was trying to figure out which path was the best choice. Where was Robert Frost when you needed him?

The road less traveled.

Second Chance Lane. Almost no traffic. Plenty of parking.

She went through the checkout and then straight home. It felt downright unbelievable when she passed Spence’s truck on the main thoroughfare. As if nature, fate, the powers that be, whoever or whatever was in control of the universe, were all conspiring against her.

Gritting her teeth, she walked through the front door, unloaded her groceries under the unwinking scrutiny of the triumvirate, as Bex called them, and then sat down at her worktable.

That was a good sketch of Spence, if she did say so herself. A wasted effort, but it had settled her mind at the time, and that was worth it right there. Determined, she worked on the design for the commissioned piece, complete with the amethysts, fire opals and freshwater pearls and turquoise, ending up with a fair idea of where she was going, although she was still dissatisfied with the details.

The knock on the door that interrupted her proved to be a teenage boy from the local flower shop with a charming bouquet and no card. She rushed off to get him a tip then surveyed the selection of blooms as he drove off in a rattletrap car.

Daffodils, interspersed with ferny greens.

Spence.

That demolished her concentration, sent it into oblivion with no hope of return.

They were exquisitely beautiful, and she clipped the stems and put them in a vase her aunt had given her as a graduation present, a lovely piece she admired for its symmetry of form, with graceful curves and a frosted etching of a garden on one side. She carefully placed it on her desk.

If she had a better handle on what he wanted, exactly, she wouldn’t have sat there and stared at them abstractedly for more than an hour.

Was he...courting her, to put it in old-fashioned terms?

No. Two kisses, and she’d melted into his arms. His bed. Spence Hogan didn’t
court
women; they came to him. Even married women flirted with him; she’d seen it firsthand, though she tried to stay indifferent to his personal life. For all she knew, he took them up on it, but to be fair, she hadn’t ever heard
that
about him.

The flowers seemed to stare back, though, petals furled gracefully, green stems upright.

“What’s he got in mind?” she asked them, thinking out loud. “All theories are welcome.”

They didn’t answer. Neither did the cats.

To complete her glamorous evening, she ate some leftover pizza and watched the evening news—nothing good there—then toddled off to fall into bed.

Alone.

But she dreamed...deeply.

Of Spence, and it wasn’t all sunshine and roses. Her general unrest was evident in the landscape of her dreams, and when she got up in the morning, she was unreasonably annoyed with him. They’d been walking through a meadow, and he was always two steps ahead of her. And he had an umbrella while she was walking in the rain. The dream-Spence wasn’t at all gallant, but she had to admit lack of courtesy was not one of his many failings, so she wasn’t sure where that came from. Her psychology diploma must have gotten lost in the mail somewhere.

What did that mean?

She sleepily drank her coffee and pondered the convoluted workings of the human brain when it was set loose without a bit and bridle in the guise of rest.

Maybe, based on the elusive symbolism of her dream, he was just hard to understand.

He’d sent her flowers. Why had he done that? And how did she feel about it? And the biggest question of all—could she ever trust him again?

*

I
T WAS AS
though he couldn’t please anyone the entire week.

Spence punched up his computer screen, irritated by just about everything. The situation with Judge Randolph had turned out better than he’d feared—that had ended up being the highlight of the past few days. Although he was still surprised by it, the man hadn’t asked for a single favor when it came to the charges, thanking him gruffly for not hauling his son in, but not contesting the ticket.

In typical Randolph fashion, he’d stated plainly that his son was a pain in the ass right now, and he was going to take away his expensive car.

Spence couldn’t agree more. Save the hardworking taxpayers money by freeing up jail space and teach the kid a lesson without involving the courts. Perfect.

But otherwise, he couldn’t jump up and down with joy.

Melody hadn’t called. There was nothing from the Nolan camp but silence, and he had a bad feeling that wasn’t going to change. Junie was out sick with some sort of virus, so he was scrambling to find someone to cover for her, and of all things, his mother had sent him a letter. Or a card. Addressed to General Delivery, Mustang Creek, Wyoming.

His mother. The same woman who’d dumped him on his aunt’s doorstep?

He hadn’t even opened the envelope. It had been delivered to the police station, so she must have looked him up on the internet and found out where he worked and what he did.

His decision was to not make a decision at the moment. He had enough on his mind.

*

W
HEN
T
RIPP’S CALL
came, he was knee-deep in neglected paperwork and could have passed for the grouchy creature on that TV show for children, the Muppet who lived in a trash can. He answered the phone with one exasperated word. “What?”

Tripp said with relaxed amusement, “I expected a warmer response. Like remotely friendly. I’d ask how it’s going, but I’m not sure I want the answer.”

“It’s going.” Spence shut down the screen. He’d been at it for twelve hours, anyway. “Where are you?”

“On a white sand beach.”

“I hate your guts.”

Tripp laughed. “You should. We’re having a great week. But we’re both looking forward to getting back to Mustang Creek. Hadleigh says hi, by the way.”

“Glad you’re having a good time.” It was asinine to do it, but he asked, anyway. Tripp had called him, so maybe... “Has she talked to Melody by any chance?”

“That’s an interesting question. Just about an hour or so ago, in fact. Uh, why?”

“I was kinda wondering if my name was mentioned.” His phone might be ringing off the hook, but it certainly wasn’t Melody on the other end. His mood wouldn’t be so black if she’d just call him, dammit. Even if it was merely to say thank you for the flowers. Despite the absence of a card, she had to know they were from him.

Tripp took a moment to respond. “Here’s the thing, Spence. You have to tell your wife everything. That’s the pact you make. If you want to tell me why you’re asking about Melody, Hadleigh’s going to find out, too. Because if I ask her if Mel mentioned your name,
she’
s going to ask
me
why I want to know. Fair warning.”