by CF Frizzell
“Oh, you’re fine, eh, not disturbing anything,” Shay said, completely distracted. “I just came back to see if the guys finished. I had to leave around three o’clock and we’d only just started shingling the roof.”
“Any chance of getting inside?”
“Sorry, but I don’t have the keys.”
“That’s okay. I don’t really need to show that much detail anyway.” She waved the camera in a grand sweep from left to right. “This is what counts, showing the site work to date.”
Shay scrambled to be conversational, but her mind was swamped by Melissa’s image, neat in a tailored yellow blouse, snug jeans, and ankle-high Timberland boots. She swallowed. How deep is that closet of yours, pretty lady?
Melissa looked down as she tucked her tablet into the satchel, her hair flowing freely and shielding her face, and spoke from behind that fine veil. “You don’t mind if I walk the site, do you?” Not waiting or even looking up for Shay’s response, she started away and moved gingerly over the rough turf. Shay followed several steps behind.
“There really isn’t much else to see.”
“Call it professional curiosity,” Melissa said over her shoulder. “As you pointed out, it used to be so beautiful.”
“It’s a long way to the far side, you know. Eighteen acres across.”
“I don’t mind the walk. I need the exercise.”
Jesus, you’re very well exercised in my book. She glanced to the Subaru parked at the roadside. “It’ll be almost dark by the time—”
Melissa stopped and turned.
Shay jerked to a halt.
“You’d rather I didn’t look around?”
“Hell, I don’t care.” You can do anything you want, anything at all. “It’s just—”
“If it can be seen from the public way, it’s fair game.”
Shay shrugged. Where the gorgeous Melissa Baker was concerned, Shay didn’t give a damn about the rules, not even her own. The feisty attitude was fun, challenging, and shoved all her discretion under a pile of hormones.
“That so?”
“It is,” Melissa answered and walked on.
“Um, this really isn’t the ‘public way,’ though. I mean, if you have to walk eighteen acres across private property to see it, how is that within—”
“Okay, so I’m not on the road.” Melissa stopped again, but this time she offered a smirk. “Thought you didn’t care.”
“Well, I—”
“And daylight’s fading.”
Melissa turned away, and Shay gave up trying to not watch that sweet little ass. Horses, dirt, think of something, anything but what’s in front of you.
“Want a ride?” she blurted and heard Melissa chuckle.
“On that beast of yours? I appreciate the offer, but no thank you.”
“You’re not afraid, are you?”
“Exercise, remember?”
Shay let it go. It was hard to think, hard to maintain focus. And risky.
There was no further jibing from either of them.
Mel figured Shay had finally relented and dropped the subject. She wondered if Shay would follow her around the whole site like a puppy. She grinned, really not opposed to the idea, as she continued picking her way across the dirt. It stretched out for acres in all directions, back toward the road, where the rail fence used to run, beyond the property line ahead toward the Rohan River, where pine and spruce stood tall, and off to the east, where she had sat not long ago, on high ground now lost to the efforts of bulldozers.
Surrounded by surveyors’ orange-tipped stakes, Mel stood on the boundary, taken by the proximity, the fragility of the river. The tranquility struck her as well, the solitary feel of the place, and she longed to just sit and enjoy it. For as long as it lasts.
But the rumble of a motorcycle edged into her musing and, knowing her oneness with the setting was about to end, she sighed. The only consolation was that the sight of Slattery’s Shay Maguire was extremely enjoyable in its own right. Even in grubby T-shirt and jeans.
The Softail coasted silently to a stop at her side.
“It’ll be dark very soon,” Shay explained and swung a long leg over the seat.
Mel noticed everything about Shay as she bent and snatched a large flat rock from the dirt. The kelly green shirt stretched smoothly across her back, and the denim around her rear drew taut. The corded muscle in her arm strained as she tilted the heavy motorcycle and set the rock beneath its kickstand. When Shay stood, Mel hurriedly lifted her gaze. Shay’s eyes weren’t the rich emerald she remembered during that damn altercation with Angelo Sorvini. In this dimming light, they were deep and so dark they could swallow her whole.
Shay tossed a hand to the sky. “I’ve learned that Montana nights are pitch-black, and I’m not leaving you out here.”
“I beg your pardon, but I’ve been out in Montana nights since I was a little girl. Besides, I have all-wheel-drive and could’ve driven out here myself, if I’d wanted to.”
Shay stepped to within reach. “But somebody didn’t think about walking over acres of this junk in the pitch black.” She poked Mel’s shoulder lightly, then gestured toward the road. “And now look. You can hardly even see your car.”
Mel was taken aback by the touch, but the tingle at the precise spot of contact lingered pleasantly. She liked Shay’s assertiveness, her physicality. Before her nerves jangled so much they’d be noticed, Mel boldly poked back at Shay’s shoulder.
“Listen, wise guy. You haven’t been around here long enough to know what a Montana night is all about.”
Shay’s coy expression softened, and Mel’s insides softened right along with it. She returned a grin, despite the lump in her throat and the sudden wobble in her knees. She’s even more devastating up close.
“Not long, you’re right,” Shay conceded quietly, “but…” She looked up at the darkening sky and then down at her scuffed boots. Mel regarded her closely, the serious set of her mouth, the shadowy hollows along her jaw. The once short-cropped hair now was long enough to bend in the breeze. Shay shook her head slightly before looking up again, and Mel took a breath at the sensation of a large warm hand enclosing her heart.
“But?”
“But…you’re right. Montana nights are among the many things I’d love to know more about.”
As much as she knew she should, Mel couldn’t look away. She couldn’t afford to hear words like those, be swayed by flirtatious innuendo, even if they were from a chivalrous, remarkably handsome dyke. Do not go there. Mel mentally cursed her father and their “straight and narrow” contract that kept her ultimate dream out of reach.
“Well, you’re familiar with Slattery’s plan for changes in town?”
A shift of Shay’s jaw said she recognized the turn in the conversation.
“I gather this project is just one of Della’s?”
“She’s done quite a few things around Tomson, and no doubt she has more, but this is the biggest to date.”
“The most far-reaching.”
“You’ve got that right.”
“She is a whirlwind, I’ll give her that.”
Mel snickered. “I guess I wouldn’t mind so much if I knew they’d play by the rules—and if it didn’t promise to change the way of life here.”
“You have reason to worry?”
Saddened by the thought, Mel walked slowly toward the trees and river ahead. She still needed to get a handle on just how far they were from the boundary, from the river, but those notes in her head were a windswept mess now.
“Let’s just say it’s easy to pull the wool over the eyes of a town like Tomson. I haven’t lived here all my life, not like most of Tomson’s ranchers and farmers, but I have history here just like they do. Even if I didn’t have an obligation to cover town events, I’d still watch these guys like a hawk.”
“I think I’d try everything in my power to protect this land, too.”
Mel gave Shay a sympathetic glance. “Says she who colle
cts the Slattery paycheck.”
“It’s just that. A paycheck. It bugs the shit out of me, and sometimes I feel like a hypocrite.” She sighed heavily as they stopped beside a broad pine and looked down at the water. Its forty-foot swath flowed steadily along, shimmering over river rock in the twilight. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?” Shay asked.
Mel nodded, pleased by Shay’s immediate reaction. She watched as Shay unexpectedly took sideways steps down the embankment and splashed both hands in the frigid water. She cupped her hands in the rolling waves and drank. Second and third handfuls she rubbed into her face. The fourth, she dumped on her head and Mel laughed.
But she stopped abruptly when Shay pulled her T out of her jeans, bent forward slightly, and lifted the hem enough to dry her face. Mel seized the fleeting opportunity to appreciate a very well-defined midsection. Shay dropped her shirt and looked almost longingly at the river before scrabbling back up the banking. Running a hand through her hair, an act Mel found luxurious and quite seductive, Shay appeared to be searching for words.
“I don’t want to be a hypocrite,” she said, the earlier thought apparently still bothering her. “If I’m lucky, it won’t be for much longer.”
“You’re not a hypocrite. Don’t think like that. I’m sorry for teasing.” Shay’s discomfort ate at Mel, struck a familiar chord. “You’re job hunting?” She found herself dismayed at the prospect of Shay leaving town.
“More like business hunting. Between Slattery’s and Sonny’s garage, I’ve got plenty of work to hold me over until I can start something of my own.”
“What’s your background?”
“I’ve been into mechanics and construction all my life, so I’d love to fit in here, but I’m not sure Tomson offers much. I honestly don’t see how this town can afford to stay so small, old-fashioned forever. And that’s a shame.”
Mel weighed the words, Shay’s sincerity. Looking up at her, the sturdy profile against the rising moon, Mel she wished Shay had answers, a solution, would say something to make the world stop its dizzying spin. But things just weren’t that simple. There was no grand solution, no guarantees, and Shay was just a fanciful sidestep in this charge toward “progress.”
“Nobody wants the town to change, but nobody has moved a muscle to ensure progress comes in correctly, either.”
“We can only try our best for what matters. I think what you’re doing in the newspaper, you know, keeping everyone on their toes, is absolutely necessary.” Shay chortled at her own statement. “Some people disagree, I know, but I don’t. I think what you’re doing, hell, it takes guts, courage. You have a responsibility to see things are done right.”
Mel warmed at the encouragement. Some days she didn’t know if she had the guts, the courage to do her job correctly. Sometimes it felt like playing a fool’s game. And then other times, like now, she had faith in what she was doing. In herself. She wanted to throw her arms around Shay and hug her. Better give some thought as to why.
“That means a lot to me. Thank you,” she whispered, stunned to be holding back tears. She lowered her head before one slipped out and broadcast her frustration down her cheek.
She almost shivered at the feel of Shay’s fingers beneath her chin, tipping her face up.
Shay’s sultry voice rumbled into Mel’s bones. “I may not know much about Montana, but I know a good thing when I see it.”
Against her better judgment, Mel took the message and its tone to heart. Her spirit—damn, her body—welcomed the comfort of Shay so near. Her breath went short, and she retreated from Shay’s touch, her tenderness.
“I, ah, I should get to the office. Lots of work to catch up on.”
Shay put her hands in her pockets and turned with her. They walked in silence until they reached the Softail.
“Will you let me take you back to your car? On my beast?”
They eyed each other closely and Mel finally nodded. How wise is this?
Shay settled onto the seat and inched forward, offering an assist. Mel took firm hold of Shay’s expansive, calloused hand, ignored the warmth of their connection, and slipped into position against her back. Promptly, she set her satchel between them and dropped her hands onto her thighs. Plenty obvious I’m trying not to touch her. Might as well. At least, in this situation, it’s necessary.
When Shay started the bike, Mel set her palms on Shay’s waist and gently pressed as they rolled away. It was a rough ride and Shay kept her speed to a minimum, but it wasn’t slow enough. Mel wanted the ride to last. Much to the confusion of heart and mind, she relished the feeling of Shay’s hard body in her hands, between her thighs, and concentrated to avoid squeezing deeper. Having discovered an unexpected sensitivity and compassion in Shay Maguire, Mel acknowledged the comfort she gleaned from her company. Shay reached her like no one else. Ever. And a yearning for more rose, threatening her self-control and her common sense. I know there’s no way…
Shay pulled up behind the Subaru and walked her to her door. Mel tossed her satchel onto the passenger seat. This is awkward.
“Thanks for the lift.”
Shay gave a little gallant nod. “Any time.”
“And thank you for…tonight. For the company. I enjoyed this.”
“So did I, very much.”
Mel abruptly chuckled at herself and shook her head. “Why does this feel like—”
“I was thinking the same thing.” Shay leaned against the open door. “If it was a…a date, I’d try to kiss you good night.” Mel’s eyes widened and her blood heated. “But,” Shay quickly went on with a shrug, “it wasn’t, so I won’t.”
“Thank you, I think.”
Shay straightened off the door and stepped closer. “You know, we’ve never been officially introduced. Have we?” She took Mel’s hand gently. “Honored to make your acquaintance, miss. I’m Shay Maguire.”
Ridiculously enchanted, Mel squeezed Shay’s hand and hated to let go. “How do you do, Shay Maguire? I’m Melissa Baker. And truly, the pleasure is mine.”
Chapter Eight
Mel leaned against the end of the bar, adjusted her ball cap, and waved Misty to her.
“You told your houseguest I was gay, huh?”
“It sort of came out. No pun intended.”
“What am I supposed to do now? I know she knows. That was plenty obvious.”
“Just because you and Shay spent a lovely, quiet evening together, all alone, in the pasture, through a sunset, under a beautiful moon, holding hands…what makes you think that?”
“That’s what she told you?”
“Pretty much. Well, I did pry a little. Did she try something outrageous? Like try to kiss you?”
Mel felt her face warm. “No.”
“You’re lying! Oh, my God. She did.”
“No. She didn’t.”
Misty leaned on her hands. “But you wanted her to.”
Mel straightened her cap again. “What do you think?”
“I think yes.”
“Of course, yes. Well, at least if she’d tried, I could’ve told her I’m not on the market, not one of her dancing babes.”
“Uh-huh.”
“What the hell am I going to do now? She thinks we’re friends. Well, we are, kind of. I mean, she was sweet and sincere…understanding…”
“Not to mention smoking—”
“Yes, yes. Smoking hot. Abs of stone, great shoulders, all muscle…Jesus.”
Misty laughed. “Honey, you are in trouble.”
“Yeah, no shit.”
“Hold it. How do you know she has abs of stone?”
“I rode on her bike—just back to my car.” Misty nodded knowingly. “What? I was supposed to stomp off into the dark? And you have to hold on, okay?”
“Uh-huh. Stone, y’say?”
“Don’t look at me like that. Yes, she’s a mind-numbing turn-on, but—”
Misty raised a finger. “No ‘buts’ this time. Go for it. Shay is Coby’s best friend. They’re like two pe
as in a pod. What’s that tell you?”
Mel was shaking her head. “You know I can’t, Mist. You have no idea how much I’d lose. And the Chronicle’s reputation is so important, really critical now.” Straight and narrow.
“Mel. Let the Chronicle stand by itself. You’re allowed a personal life.”
No, I’m not.
“Everyone knows the Chronicle is me.”
“You know, Melissa Baker, for someone with such a sharp mind, sometimes you frustrate the hell out of me.”
“You? I frustrate the hell out of me.”
“Exactly my point. The Chronicle wants the best for Tomson, argues for the right kind of change. Well, hello. The same can be said for your heart.”
Knowing Misty was right, Mel looked away.
“The Chronicle won’t survive this kind of change.”
“The Chronicle.” Misty emphasized the word. “Eventually, it—you—won’t have much choice.”
“People will turn against it.”
“Some, yes, but by no means all. I’m sure.”
“Well, no, not all, but it won’t be the same, that’s for sure.”
As if she hadn’t paced enough that night after leaving Shay, hadn’t walked five laps along the early morning sidewalks, and thrown herself onto her bed at sunrise. Even Nana’s call for breakfast had generated nothing more than an inconsiderate grunt. What her evening with Shay had started now would take an army to stop.
Misty draped the towel over her shoulder. “Just once more and I’ll stop bugging you, all right?” Mel nodded and Misty tapped the bar. “Please listen. You, as the Chronicle, advocate tackling change head-on, regardless of how unpopular or costly that might be, because it’s in the town’s best interest.” She set her hand atop Mel’s. “As your friend, I’m asking you to think hard about this, Mel. Just whose best interest are we really talking about here?”
Mel fought back the tension in her shoulders, tried to accept Misty’s point, difficult as it was, hearing her own worries voiced aloud by someone else. Lost in thought, she slowly withdrew from the bar and rejoined Mike at their table.