The Marriage Charm (Bliss County 2) (14 page)

All three burst out laughing.

Tripp and Spence chose that moment to walk back in the door, crowded by the romping dogs, so there was another traffic jam in the doorway, and the wary look on their faces caused another fit of merriment.

“What’s so funny?” Tripp was the one to ask, his tone cautious. “Please tell me it has nothing to do with me.” He glanced over at Spence. “Us.”

Melody was too busy wiping tears of laughter from her eyes to answer. It was Bex who said on a hiccup, “Not you, us. So relax. Private joke. How soon should we put the potatoes in the oven?”

“The coals will be ready pretty soon. Whenever you want.”

Melody got up to take care of it, sliding the dish onto the rack. “It just needs to heat through.”

Tripp turned to Spence. “Tell me that’s the potato thing with the cheese.”

Spence took the plate of steaks out of the refrigerator with the ease of someone who’d been in the house many times before. “That’s what I hear.”

“Score.” Tripp seemed genuinely delighted.

Spence turned around. “Hope to.”

Melody flushed at that laconic reply; she couldn’t help it since he was looking at her. The warmth spread upward from her neck and cheeks, even though she tried to fight it. Both Bex and Hadleigh were also staring at her now. She’d bet even the dogs were gazing in her direction.

“The three of us are going to bring our wine out to the deck while you all cook,” Hadleigh finally said. “It’s such a nice night.”

“Good idea if we can get these goofs out of here again.” Spence pointed at Harley with a stern finger. “You sit until the ladies go outside. Spill one drop of their wine, and you’ll be in disgrace for the rest of the evening.”

All three dogs sat swishing their tails. There was power behind that tone and at least Mel, Bex and Hadleigh were able to safely exit the kitchen. There was a pretty copper-topped table with several comfortable chairs near the grill, and the view, of course, was the star of the show. Rugged peaks and vistas of pasture with horses and grazing cattle, the grass waving gently in the continuous wind that was as much a part of the landscape as the mountains and the winding rivers.

No sooner had they settled down than another car pulled up, tires crunching on the gravel. Hadleigh took a sip of wine and rested her elbows on the table. “That would be Tate Calder. His boys heard the dogs would all be here, and we had a few extra steaks, so we invited them, too. They’ve just moved here from Kirkland, Washington, and the kids love the animals. Hope you don’t mind. Tate’s wife died a few years back and...well...he’s really nice.”

And, Melody thought, taking a sip from her glass, he was really a hottie. Wavy chestnut hair, dark eyes and a memorable flyboy kind of smile. He was maybe early thirties, young for a single dad, good-looking and successful by all accounts. Ex-pilot like Tripp, who had—from what Hadleigh had briefly explained—decided he had to chuck it all because he couldn’t be gone for days at a time with a six-and an eight-year-old to raise alone. He was thinking of starting up a business, or so Hadleigh had mentioned, and had already bought some land; for the moment he was renting in town as he figured out exactly what he wanted to do. Tripp had sold him on Mustang Creek as the quintessential small town, a great place for kids, so he’d left the Seattle area for a place that was affordable and where he knew at least one friendly face.

Maybe that would expand to two. There was some matchmaking going on.

Not for her, thank goodness. Spence was hard enough to handle without male competition. Since the whole world seemed to know about his dinner invitation, no way would Hadleigh try to set her up with someone else.

Bex had better watch out.

She was in the crosshairs of a conspiracy.

*

T
WO NOISY BOYS,
three rambunctious dogs, a gorgeous sunset, and Spence was sure that the three beautiful women on the back porch were plotting against the men.

Call it a hunch. An educated guess.

Tate Calder was still an innocent when it came to the women of Mustang Creek, but hey, it was every man for himself.

Dinner had been delicious. Tripp knew how to grill a steak, not to mention skewers of onions, mushrooms and zucchini. Melody had outdone herself with the potatoes, and Bex’s fruit salad was legendary. Spence had been told she wouldn’t part with the dressing recipe for anything, but he suspected Melody and Hadleigh would coax it out of her one day.

Now they were just sitting around the back porch, enjoying the encroaching twilight, doing what men and women always seemed to do—divide up into separate gender gatherings. None of the guys had much of a clue about quilting, exercise studios or jewelry design, which seemed to be the ongoing conversation at the other table, but ranching
, that
they knew about.

“How’s the new foal doing?” Spence asked Tripp, picking up his iced tea. The other two men were drinking beer, but no way was the chief of police going to drive even a short distance with any alcohol in his system. When he had the occasional drink, and that wasn’t often, it was strictly at home.

“He’s a beauty.” Tripp ran his fingers through his hair. “I was up half the night with Starburst when she dropped him, but it was worth it. He’s in the north barn. You should take a look.”

“Love to,” Spence responded, meaning it. “Maybe I can persuade Melody to walk out there with me. It’s a nice evening.”

Tripp raised his brows.

Tate said, “I’m sure the boys would love it, too, if I can round them up. Did we ever have that much energy? Jeez.”

Spence laughed, but it was with a tinge of pain when he thought about Will. “Hadleigh’s grandmother used to call us—her brother and me—The Whirlwinds. So I think the answer is yes. They should sleep well tonight. So will Harley. Just watch him. He’s getting tuckered. I predict that within the next few throws of that ball, he’s going pull his usual stunt and hide it so he can take a siesta.”

On cue, his beloved mutt followed his usual protocol and caught the ball midair and then, instead of galloping back to continue the game, disappeared around the corner of the house.

Muggles had long since given up the game and was snoozing at Hadleigh’s feet, but Ridley and the boys looked disappointed. Not for long, though, since Ridley improvised by finding a handy stick in the grass.

Problem solved.

Spence, Tate and Tripp all burst out laughing.

“Let me guess, dirty joke?” Melody walked past with an empty wineglass. “Does anyone need anything? I’m headed inside to put this away.”

Spence saw an opening and went for it, jumping to his feet. “I’ll help you.”

She frowned. “I think I can put a glass in the dishwasher all by myself.”

“I was wondering if you’d like to walk over to the barn to see the colt that was born last night.”

She gave him the same suspicious look she’d given him before he’d kissed her the morning after the wedding.

Before he’d taken her straight to bed.

If the sound he’d just heard was Tripp Galloway stifling a laugh at the pause before her answer, he’d punch his best friend in the nose at a later date. He smiled at Melody with what he hoped she’d interpret as an innocent invitation and casually slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

Innocent, he was not.

Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the beautiful night, but she acquiesced in the end. “A walk might be nice. Those potatoes alone probably contained my daily ration of calories.”

If they didn’t have a riveted audience, he would’ve pointed out that he wouldn’t change a thing about her body—it was the truth—but everyone except the dogs and the boys seemed tuned in.

Bex swept by and plucked the glass out of Melody’s hand. “I’ll take this. I need to visit the little girl’s room, anyway. Go for your walk.”

Thank you, Bex!

Spence motioned toward the barn. “Shall we?”

He didn’t make the mistake of offering his arm because her cool demeanor told him she’d snub the gesture, but he’d been tempted. He watched a lot of old Westerns. Maybe he needed to curb that habit.

As they walked down the porch steps, he remarked, “I love this time of night when the sky goes indigo and the stars are just coming out. There really is nothing like it.”

Melody gazed up. “I know.”

The air smelled sweet, like summer. Her hair moved in the breeze, and he knew it would feel like silk under his fingers, so he had to fight off the urge to reach out and catch a strand.

The barn was a weathered structure but well-maintained. That familiar smell, which included the earthy scent of manure, was clean and poignant, and it reminded him of everything he loved about living in Nowhere, Wyoming.

Reminded him that he wanted to raise a family right here, in Bliss County—with the lovely woman at his side.

His boots crunched gravel. At least she was wearing sensible shoes this evening.

Sensible.
That had been part of the problem. When she’d proposed to him nine years ago, Melody hadn’t been all that sensible. Sweet and smart and sexy as hell, but so unworldly he’d had to step in, and while he wasn’t an oracle or anything, he’d known rushing into a marriage was a bad idea. It hadn’t worked out for Tripp, either, who was divorced from his first wife.

The new arrival, awkward and long-legged, was in the second stall with Tripp’s prize mare, a coal-black beauty named Starburst for the striking shape of the white patch between her ears. She nickered softly as they approached. Spence stroked her nose and admired the little guy, a tiny replica of his sire, a stallion owned by a friend of theirs who’d won a number of ribbons at the state fair and then showed well all across the country.

Spence’s voice was soft as he talked to the horse. “You did good, mama.”

Melody peered into the stall. “Yes, she did. He’s darling.”

Privately Spence doubted any male of any species wanted to be described as
darling
, but kept that to himself. They weren’t arguing at the moment, so that was something.

The truce didn’t last long.

He managed to put his foot in it by joking, “How were the turnips, by the way?”

Her eyes narrowed a fraction as she turned to face him. “I happen to like turnips. They were delicious.”

Thus started what he would ruefully label The Great Turnip Fight.

“Oh, come on, you were trying to duck out of sight. Afraid you can’t resist my infamous charm?”

He said it in a teasing tone, but she sure didn’t take it that way. In truth, he’d found the incident amusing, but it had stung a little, too, that she wanted to avoid him so much she’d lurked behind a bin of root vegetables.

Melody’s hands went to her hips, and she raised her chin. “You know, you are so full of yourself, Spencer Hogan. That must be why you keep condoms in your nightstand. Just in case.”

Whoa,
that
was the problem?

Very reasonably, at least he thought so, he countered, “I had them there. I don’t necessarily
keep
them there. But they came in handy, didn’t they?”

At that moment, judging by the look of fury that swept across her features, he decided he should give a seminar called
How Not to Court a Woman: The Wrong Thing to Say at the Wrong Time
.

“How often do they come in handy?”

That question was about as dangerous as a rattler with its tail shaking. “I don’t keep a log or anything.”

Okay, he was sinking into a black hole of bad judgment, but she’d put him on the defensive. It only got worse as he tried to climb out of it. “I meant it isn’t like I could just come up with a number.”

Idiot. Imbecile. Dolt.

“Probably because you can’t count that high.” The anger in her voice came through loud and clear.

“Thirty-six.”

CHAPTER TEN

H
AD HE REALLY
just said that?

Melody whirled around, figured the pitchfork propped against the barn wall was a little too drastic, and scooped up a fistful of straw and flung it at Spence. It was a satisfying moment. He’d taken off his hat for dinner, and flying bits caught in his dark hair and sprayed his red shirt.

“Okay, that was badly phrased,” he admitted, brushing at his clothes and shaking his head. “I swear to God I’m not
trying
to make you mad.”

A small rational voice told her that
she
was the one who’d fallen willingly into his arms once he’d asked for that kiss, but it was drowned out by the much louder voice reminding her that Mustang Creek’s sexiest bachelor hadn’t even had to sweet-talk her into his bedroom. She was a damn fool to believe he was sniffing around for anything more than sex.

Great sex, but still...

She bent over and grabbed another round of ammunition and said through gritted teeth, “Yet you make it seem so effortless. You’ve slept with thirty-six women?”

He ducked, but again her aim was pretty accurate. The fact that he was laughing now didn’t help. “Mel, look at me. I didn’t mean to imply that I find it handy to keep condoms by my bed. I meant I’m responsible enough—because I’m thirty-six years old!—that I wouldn’t have unprotected sex with you or any other woman unless we’d discussed it beforehand.”

Or any other woman?
Nope, that
really
didn’t help the situation. He deserved another faceful of straw. Like a truckload. She couldn’t scoop up that much and heave it, but threw as much as two hands and some real determination could manage.

What she needed to do was acknowledge that she was jealous of all the women who’d breezed through his life, jealous of Junie no matter what Bex thought about that rumor—and she was scared stiff she’d get seriously involved with him again.

Or that she already was.

“Dammit,” he finally snapped, warding off another straw attack. “I get that you’re mad at me. I just don’t get why.” He moved then, so quickly she couldn’t dodge out of the way, catching her by the arms and tumbling her backward until she lost her balance and they were suddenly lying in the pile of sweet-smelling straw. He was on top, his mouth mere inches from hers. “Now we’re talkin’,” he said huskily. “This is
much
better.”