No Time for Lullabies (The No Brides Club Book 2)

by Sydney Logan

  This is a big mistake.

  She would be spending an entire week with her parents—two people she never wanted to disappoint, and yet she did, time and time again. Funerals were never fun, but Trish’s would be particularly tough because she was so young and there was a baby involved. Now there was the situation with the lawyer, who for some reason requested her presence at the reading of the will.

  As if that wasn’t enough to keep her tossing and turning, there was one last, lingering thought that had settled in the back of her mind that she could no longer ignore.

  Will I see him?

  Melody had been lucky so far. Somehow, she’d managed to avoid him during her sporadic trips back to Meadow Creek. Running into Brody Myers would be a grim reminder of her past—one she’d desperately tried to forget. She’d put six hundred miles and more than ten years between them, hoping time and distance would cloud the memories.

  She had a feeling there would be no avoiding him this time.

  Chapter 2

  “You’re here!”

  Walking up the porch steps, Melody braced herself for her mom’s bone-crushing hug.

  “I’m here. Finally.”

  Her flight had been delayed. Twice. Then, the car rental company lost her reservation. Once she finally hit the road, the thirty-minute drive from the airport to Meadow Creek took an hour, thanks to the torrential downpour that welcomed her home. The nerve-wracking drive didn’t help the knot of anxiety that had taken up permanent residence in her stomach.

  Sharon Mitchell grabbed her daughter’s arm and dragged her into the house.

  “John, get her suitcases!”

  Melody waved at her dad as he dutifully made his way toward the car.

  “How was the trip?” Sharon asked. “I bet it was just awful. This crazy spring weather. You can never predict it. Dinner’s almost ready. Are you hungry? You’re too skinny, Melody. Don’t they have food in New York City?”

  Melody sat down at the table while her mother continued firing questions at warp speed. She didn’t get the chance to answer any of them, but that was typical. Melody was used to the interrogation. It was her punishment for not coming home enough.

  While Sharon accused her daughter of being skin and bones, Melody took the opportunity to glance around the kitchen. The faded yellow wallpaper remained, along with her dad’s collection of Civil War shot glasses. The antique table that belonged to her grandma still wobbled a bit, and the rooster clock still hung proudly above the sink. The room smelled like fresh bread, and while Melody wished they’d update the wallpaper, she couldn’t deny the soothing familiarity of her parents’ house.

  “Melody, it’s a shame it takes a funeral to bring you home.”

  Almost soothing.

  Her mom handed her an apple. Melody mumbled her thanks and took a bite just as her father walked into the kitchen with her bags and guitar case.

  “I’ll just take these to your room, Sweet Pea.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  “You packed a lot for just the weekend,” Sharon said.

  “I was thinking of staying the week.”

  Her mom blinked. “Really?”

  “If that’s okay.”

  It was more than okay, if the joy in her mother’s eyes was any indication. Melody felt another wave of guilt twist like a knife in her heart.

  She crunched on her apple while her mom filled her in on the town gossip. It was all pretty dull. The high school gym was being renovated, and there was a new pediatrician in town. When the subject changed to Trish’s death, Melody finally asked about the letter from the lawyer.

  “That is odd,” Sharon said with a frown. “All she owned was that old house of her mom’s. It’s had some renovations and she considered selling it, but she just couldn’t part with it. Plus, she knew Macy would love the big back yard someday.”

  “Macy?”

  “Her daughter.”

  Melody nodded. “It’s just so weird. Trish and I hadn’t spoken since graduation. I can’t imagine why I need to be at the reading of the will.”

  Sharon sighed heavily. “Is it wrong to admit that I’m glad you girls were polar opposites in school? Trish would’ve been a terrible influence on you. God rest her soul.”

  It was true. Despite being first cousins, the girls couldn’t have been more different. Melody had been the straight-laced honor student with the same boyfriend throughout high school. Trish was the wild child, dating anything with a pulse and dabbling in drugs and booze. With so little in common, they rarely interacted. They were friendly when forced, but otherwise had nothing to do with each other.

  “I called Mr. Tucker on my way into town,” Melody said. “My appointment’s right after the funeral. He seemed surprised that I was eager to see him so soon, but I really just want to get it over with.”

  Melody noticed her mom had grown unusually quiet, and she felt terrible for being so selfish. She’d been so preoccupied with her own worries that she’d completely ignored the fact that her mom had just lost a niece.

  “Mom, I’m really sorry about Trish.”

  Sharon smiled sadly. “She had grown up so much. Being a mother does that . . .”

  Her voice trailed off, and Melody bowed her head slightly. She knew her mom didn’t mean to make her feel bad, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

  Sharon quickly cleared her throat. “Sorry. Anyway . . . Trish was really trying to make a good life for Macy. I don’t know what’s going to happen to that baby.”

  “What about Macy’s father?”

  “His name’s Dillon. He skipped town right after she had the baby. We know he’s not dead because he’s been arrested a few times, so we see his name in the paper. Total deadbeat.” Sharon shook her head. “Anyway . . . Trish had really tried to get her life together. She worked during the day and got her college degree online. The car accident was just horrific. They say she fell asleep behind the wheel. Thank goodness the baby was with the sitter.”

  Sharon abruptly stood and headed to the sink just as Melody’s dad came downstairs. Noticing his wife’s quiet tears, he walked over and slipped his arms around her, holding her close.

  For the millionth time, Melody wondered how it would feel to have that kind of love.

  You did have it.

  She closed her eyes, pushing away that unwelcome thought.

  “You okay, Sweet Pea?” John asked his daughter.

  She forced a smile. “I’m fine, Dad.”

  Sharon quickly wiped away her tears and rummaged through the cabinets. “I’ll just grab some plates. Dinner’s warming in the oven. Turkey casserole from the Johnsons. Such sweet neighbors we have. We’re sure to have plenty of food after the service, too.”

  Melody bit back a groan. She hadn’t even considered having to be sociable. Naturally, the kind-hearted people of Meadow Creek would stop by to pay their respects.

  She immediately dismissed that selfish thought and offered to help. Her mom placed the steaming casserole on the table, and once they were seated, John said a quick prayer before they dug in.

  “I heard your song on the radio yesterday,” John said in between bites.

  “Oh, yeah? Which one?”

  “The song you wrote for that girl. You know, the one from that TV show.”

  “Carrie Underwood?”

  “That’s her. Strong set of pipes.”

  “Yeah, she’s incredible.”

  “I still think you should write something for Kenny and Dolly.”

  Sharon nodded enthusiastically. The Mitchells were big fans of Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton. They’d even danced to Islands in the Stream at their wedding reception.

  “Kenny and Dolly aren’t really recording duets anymore.”

  He seemed completely stunned by this information. “Why not?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Well, you should ask them.”

  Melody grinned. “I’ll do that, Dad.”

  That was another thing about h
er parents. They assumed Melody was on a first-name basis with everyone in the music business.

  “How’s things at the mill, Dad?”

  “Business is good.”

  “Your dad’s actually thinking about retiring,” Sharon said.

  Melody couldn’t remember a time when her dad didn’t work for Meadow Creek Lumber. He’d started out in the strip mill right out of high school and worked his way up to foreman by the time she was ten years old. Growing up, Melody spent so much time at the lumber yard that she knew the layout better than most of the employees. Sure, there were some dangerous areas that were strictly off limits, but the mill was massive, and she and Brody had discovered some secluded spots when they were kids—spots that came in very handy as they grew into hormonal teenagers.

  Their first kiss had been at the lumber yard.

  And our second. And our third.

  “Melody, are you okay? You look a little flushed.”

  Melody shook her head. “I’m fine, Mom. Just a little tired, I think.”

  After dinner, the three of them cleared the table. Melody and her mom carried the plates to the dishwasher while John announced he was going to watch the news.

  “I see some things never change,” Melody mumbled as she watched her dad make a mad dash for the living room.

  “Your father hasn’t washed a dish since the late 80s, and the only reason he did then was because I was still in the hospital after giving birth to you.”

  Melody laughed.

  “That’s a nice sound. It’s good to have you home.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  “But you’re nervous, and I don’t think it’s just the meeting with Trish’s lawyer that’s making you that way.”

  Her mom could always read her like a book. Sure, she was nervous. It had been more than a decade since Melody had seen him. More than ten years since she’d broken his heart. For a minute, she allowed herself to imagine the possibility that Brody didn’t live in Meadow Creek anymore. He always wanted to preach. Maybe he was the pastor of some church in a nearby town. Maybe he was running his grandpa’s farm. Perhaps he was even married now—happy and content with the houseful of kids he’d always craved.

  Or, maybe he’s preparing for tomorrow’s funeral service.

  Melody’s mouth went dry.

  “Mom, can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure.”

  “What’s the chance I’ll make it an entire week in Meadow Creek without running into Brody Myers?”

  Sharon offered her daughter a sad smile, and with that, Melody had her answer.

  * * *

  “You’re where?” Kinsley screeched through the phone.

  “You heard me.”

  “You’re in Kentucky. At a funeral?”

  “Yep.”

  “I thought you weren’t going.”

  “Claire sort of guilted me into it.”

  “You should fire her.”

  Melody laughed nervously as she watched people file into the chapel. Thankfully, it wasn’t the church she’d grown up in, so at least she wouldn’t have to deal with those memories. This church was small and non-denominational. Still, dread filled her, so Melody decided to sit in the rental car until the very last minute and call her best friend for moral support.

  “How long will you be gone?” Kinsley asked.

  “I took the week.” If I can stand it that long.

  “We’ll miss you Thursday night.”

  Melody would miss them, too. Their weekly No Brides Club meetings were the highlight of her week. Thursdays were the only nights she forced herself to leave the office at a decent hour and enjoy an evening out with her best friends.

  “I’ll be back in the city late Friday. Maybe we could do brunch Saturday?”

  “Sounds great. I’ll tell the girls.” Kinsley paused for a moment before continuing. “Mel, are you okay? You sound . . . I don’t know. Nervous?”

  With a sigh, Melody gazed out the window. The parking lot was really filling up.

  “I’m just getting ready to face a lot of people I haven’t had to face in a long time.”

  “You mean him? Will he be there?”

  Naturally, the girls knew all about Brody Myers.

  “I don’t know, Kins. Probably.”

  “Have you seen him?”

  “No. I’m still in the car.”

  “Melody Mitchell, you are a strong, independent woman. Why are you hiding in your car?”

  “I’m not hiding,” she grumbled. “Just . . . procrastinating.”

  “Well, stop it. Get out of that car, stand up straight, and walk into that chapel like you own the place.”

  Melody grinned. That kind of confidence was what made Kinsley one of Manhattan’s most successful real estate brokers. Most days, Melody had that strength, too. She could walk into a room full of music execs and recording artists and have them eating out of the palm of her hand. Compared to that, this little church was nothing.

  That’s what she told herself, anyway.

  “Okay, I’m going in. Talk soon.”

  After setting her phone to silent, Melody tossed it into her bag and climbed out of the car.

  * * *

  The little chapel was filled with people. In truth, there were probably only a couple dozen people inside, but the tiny church was packed with kind-hearted neighbors and friends of the family. Melody sat in the first pew, nervously picking at the little balls of lint that were visible on her black skirt. Nobody would notice them, but it gave her something to focus on besides the long white casket. At least it was closed, which was a definite blessing if the stories she’d heard about the accident were true.

  Her mom and dad took turns standing at the coffin, shaking hands and accepting hugs from Trish’s friends and coworkers. Melody recognized some of her old classmates, and she even talked to a few of them when courtesy dictated it, but otherwise, her eyes remained on the casket. Or on her skirt.

  Then it happened.

  It had been ten years, but she could still sense whenever he walked into the room. There was no reason to look up. No need to confirm her worst fears. Not when she could feel his gaze burning into her skin.

  But she was weak. She was always weak when it came to him.

  Melody mentally counted to twenty before taking a long, calming breath and lifting her eyes toward the altar.

  Brody Myers was standing there, dressed in a black suit and skinny tie. He was still broad-shouldered and tan. Growing up, he was forever tan, thanks to working on his family’s farm. He looked a little older now, a little leaner, and just as handsome as ever. His arms were wrapped around Melody’s mom while her dad patted him on the back. Her parents had always loved him, and her heart felt a little lighter, thankful that she hadn’t destroyed their relationship, too.

  She swallowed anxiously and prayed for her pulse to calm.

  Please don’t be the preacher. Please don’t be the preacher.

  On cue, an unfamiliar, black-robed man walked up to the casket, offering her dad a handshake and giving her mother a hug. Brody greeted him, too, before he headed down the aisle and toward a pew in the back of the chapel.

  Melody breathed a selfish sigh of relief.

  A few moments later, her parents joined her in the first row. She didn’t dare watch Brody take his seat, but she knew he was there, and she knew he was watching her.

  The minister welcomed everyone. He then read Trish’s obituary, recited a passage from Psalms, and said a few words about her short life. He asked the congregation to pray for the family she left behind, and especially for her infant daughter. One of Trish’s co-workers gave a eulogy, and the woman she described wasn’t the Trish that Melody remembered at all. She used words like “responsible,” “friendly,” and “devoted” to describe her cousin.

  I guess it’s true. Trish really had turned her life around.

  That just made the entire situation even more tragic.

  The choir sang, and after a moment
of prayer, the service came to an end. Knowing this was her chance to flee, Melody leaned close to her mom.

  “I’m going to get some air.”

  Melody leapt to her feet. Rushing down the aisle and through the side exit doors, she hoped to make a quick and invisible escape.

  Instead, she stepped out into the sunlit garden and walked right into the broad chest of Brody Myers.

  “Always running, aren’t you, Mel?”

  His deep voice washed over her, wrapping her in warmth. They simply stared at each other, his bright blue eyes locked with her green. A thousand memories flooded her mind, making her legs buckle beneath her. The only reason she didn’t fall was because his arms were wrapped around her.

  “Careful,” Brody said gently, holding her a little tighter against him. “Sit down before you fall and break your neck.”

  Brody led her to one of the garden’s wooden benches. Once they were settled, Melody stared at her hands in her lap. She had no idea what to say, so she decided to start with a joke.

  “I’m not as clumsy as I used to be, you know.”

  “No, I wouldn’t know.”

  “And I wasn’t running.”

  “You’re lying.”

  It was so them . . . avoiding their problems and calling each other on their crap.

  “Brody, I don’t want to fight with you . . . especially here.”

  He sighed deeply. “Sorry, you’re right. This isn’t the place.”

  She nodded gratefully.

  “How are you, Melody?”

  He rarely called her Melody. It was always Mel. Or Green Eyes. His voice was polite. Detached. She hated it, but she knew she deserved it.

  “I’m fine. Just needed some air.”

  “I meant how are you, in general.”

  “Oh. I’m good . . . in general. What about you?”

  “Can’t complain.”

  With a sigh, she gazed at the blue skies above them.

  “I’ll be better tomorrow,” she said.

  “I’m really sorry about Trish.”

  “Thanks. Me, too.”

  An awkward silence filled the air, and Brody fidgeted on the bench.