While wearing one of those insanely sexy shirts.
She squeezed her eyes shut, but it didn’t help. She could still see every detail of the extremely well-developed muscles in his chest and shoulders. Holy Toledo, he had an amazing set of shoulders. His prissy button-downs and polo shirts did not do them justice, unlike the sweaty second skin he’d been wearing this morning. Now she had a permanent impression of Wyatt’s nipples on her gray matter and a whole new appreciation for wet T-shirt contests.
She growled in frustration and tried to reroute her thoughts. “Does Wyatt have any other friends or family out here?”
“Well…I assume you’ve seen Grace?”
“Yes. It’s awkward, but we’re managing.” She lifted her foot to scrub dirt from under her toenails—her running shoes were full of the stuff—and once again wondered about Grace. She’d smiled when she offered Melanie an ice pack for the bruise on her shoulder. Then, almost as if she’d caught herself, she’d abruptly turned away. Her initial hostility was to be expected, but why would she consciously resist being too friendly?
“Did Joe ever meet anyone from the dark and mysterious days of Wyatt’s past?” Melanie asked.
Violet paused, thinking. “Once. They were working…hmm. Molalla? St. Paul? One of those rodeos in that part of Oregon. A woman came to watch him. She stuck in Joe’s mind because she was—his words—so gorgeous he couldn’t even speak in whole sentences when Wyatt introduced them. He told Joe she was just an old friend who lived in Portland, and Joe got the distinct impression there were no benefits.”
“Did Joe ever see her again?”
“Not after Wyatt married the stripper.”
“What?” Melanie sat up so abruptly that water sloshed onto the floor.
“I told you about her,” Violet said.
“You’ve mentioned his ex-wife.” And that the union had been short and not very sweet. “You did not tell me she was a stripper.”
“Oh. Well, we’ve never talked much about Wyatt. I thought you preferred it that way.” When Melanie didn’t jump to fill the pause, Violet made an exasperated noise. “We’re not blind, Mel. It was obvious from day one that there were serious sparks between the two of you.”
“And you never said anything?”
“It was just as obvious that both of you wanted to ignore it. And to be honest…we were sort of relieved.”
Relieved? Ouch. Joe didn’t want her dating his best friend? As usual, she reached for sarcasm to cover the sting. “What, you didn’t want to be the BFFs who married BFFs and fantasized about how our kids could marry each other when they grow up?”
“Thank you for making my point. You can’t even talk about him without turning into the Queen of Snark, let alone to him. And the minute you walk into the room, he goes all smug and arrogant and…gah!” Violet spit it out like a piece of black licorice. “I hate when he gets like that, and the way you’ve been…”
“I’ve been what?” Melanie demanded.
Violet was silent for a few beats, then heaved a reluctant sigh. “Remember that day Joe’s flight from Denver was delayed, and I borrowed a corner of your office to catch up on my emails while I waited? It was…wow. The last time I saw that much passive aggression in one place was your parent’s twentieth wedding anniversary party.”
“Yeah. The Leech brings it to a whole new level.”
There was another long, weighty pause. Finally, quietly, Violet said, “I wasn’t talking about him.”
Melanie’s chin nearly bounced off her chest. “Are you accusing me of turning into my mother?”
Whoever said a picture was worth a thousand words had never encountered one of Violet’s strategic silences.
“I am not that bad.” Melanie had to muster every ounce of control to keep from shrieking, You take that back, my so-called friend.
“Yet…but do you really want to risk it?” Violet persisted. “Is your career worth giving up everything, Mel? Your roping, your family, time at the ranch…your friends?”
There was hurt beneath Violet’s words. An echo of dinners canceled, lunch dates broken, all the birthday parties, science fairs, and school plays Melanie had missed.
For what?
Violet’s tone softened. “I realize that’s the price you pay for success, especially as a woman, but I can’t imagine that being enough of a life for you. Deep down, I think you know it, or you wouldn’t have blown up every bridge in sight on your way out.”
Melanie settled back into the water and gave a bitter laugh. “Joe’s not the only one who’s been talking to Wyatt.”
“Why? Is that what he told you, too?”
Melanie glared at the phone. “Just because you agree doesn’t make you right.”
“It also doesn’t make us wrong. At least take it into consideration while you’re figuring out what to do next. And don’t take it out on Wyatt. In fact, while you’re out there, maybe the two of you could learn how to have a conversation without sniping at each other. It used to be entertaining. Now it’s mostly just mean.”
Melanie dipped her chin into the water and stared at her toes, trying to imagine having a normal, noncombative conversation with Wyatt. Just two people not attempting to draw blood. Though if she was honest, it was usually her taking the shots and Wyatt deflecting them—but he did have a killer backhand return.
“Tell me about the stripper,” she blurted out.
“Gabrielle.” The tension drained out of Violet’s voice as she dived for the conversational escape hatch. “That was her real name. She went by Desiree onstage. One of the sponsors at Reno took Wyatt and Joe to the place she worked and paid for girls to hang with them. Turned out she was dancing her way to a master’s degree in psychology. She and Wyatt ended up arguing nature versus nurture for two hours, and she went home with him that night.”
Something disturbingly close to envy twinged in Melanie’s chest. “Not your average buckle bunny.”
“God, no. Joe said she was scary smart. And smoking hot, of course.”
Of course. Melanie’s gaze drifted downward, and she crossed her arms over her own not-so-spectacular chest. “So they hooked up during the Reno rodeo…”
“And stayed in touch afterward. It’s not that far from Pendleton to Reno, you know. You should take a road trip to Lake Tahoe while you’re out there.”
“Focus, Violet.”
“Sorry. I’m not used to having a conversation for more than three minutes without being interrupted.”
“Where are the critters?”
“Delon has Beni this week, and Rosie is down for the count. Cole came over and rolled around on the floor with her for an hour after dinner. She calls him her bubba bear.”
Aw. Now that was adorable, imagining big, stoic Cole Jacobs putting himself at the mercy of Violet’s rambunctious toddler. “That’s great. Now, about how Wyatt acquired an ex-wife?”
“Right. One morning she called, seriously freaked out. She’d picked up a stalker at the club, and she’d come home from work and found a bunch of roses on her doorstep with, um, photos. Of stuff no woman wants to see, no matter what men think. She grabbed a few things, went to a friend’s house, and called Wyatt.”
“And he swooped in and saved the day.”
“Literally. He jumped in his plane and flew down to get her. She’d finished school and was applying to doctoral programs, so she moved into his condo. About a month later, Wyatt informed Joe that they were married.”
“Wow. That was…fast.” And very uncalculated. Or so it appeared. Which made it very un-Wyatt-like. “Why the rush?”
“Believe me, after the divorce Wyatt spent a lot of time wondering the same thing. Out loud. Until Joe was ready to strangle him.”
“What was his excuse?”
“Which one? He’d just turned thirty. Had his first major injury earlier that year.
He was feeling his mortality. It was an early mid-life crisis. Finally Joe told him, ‘Maybe you were just tired of being alone. And she was super hot.’” Violet giggled. “But at least Wyatt quit yammering on about it.”
Melanie picked up a bar of soap that smelled like fresh spring rain and rubbed it between her hands. “They should’ve been a good match.”
“You’d think.” Violet’s voice was muffled by what sounded suspiciously like cookie crumbs. “When they fought, Joe said it was like listening to Dr. Phil and Oprah throw down.”
Melanie scrubbed a lily-white washcloth across the back of her neck. It came away brown with grime from getting rolled around in the dirt by the bitch squad. There was so much grit in her hair that it would turn the water the same color when she washed it. “What did they fight about?”
“Everything.” Violet’s eye roll was audible. “Politics, religion, whether Freud was the worst thing that ever happened to mental health care, how many nuggets it takes to make a meal truly happy—you name it. Plus she was extremely independent…to the point that she refused to let him pay off her student loans. Not taking care of her drove him insane. He couldn’t resist trying to help, and she did not want to be accepted into the doctoral program at the University of Oregon because Wyatt had made a few calls.”
“He did that?” Melanie tossed aside the washcloth in disgust. “Geezus. He’s supposed to be a student of human nature, and he didn’t get that she would want to be admitted on her own merit?”
“Which is exactly what she said. And he said those things are always political, and she needed to learn to use whatever advantage she could get. She disagreed…loudly. It got so bad that she started packing. Wyatt talked her into giving it one last chance. He rented a cabin on Lake Pend Oreille—gorgeous scenery, secluded, romantic…” Violet gave an amused huff. “They didn’t even make it to the lake. They started bickering, he pulled over at a rest area, and when he got out, she drove off and left him there.”
Melanie sucked in a horrified breath. “In the Camaro?”
“I know. It’s amazing he didn’t have her arrested. Joe went and picked him up, and by the time they got back to Pendleton, the only thing she’d left at the condo was the car. She didn’t even try to fleece him in the divorce. She just wanted out as fast as possible.”
“Damn. That smarts.”
“Yeah.” They were both silent for a few moments. Then Violet said, “Joe said she could be a lot of fun when she wasn’t frothing at the mouth, but there was Wyatt and his pathological need to save the world, with a woman who was incapable of accepting help of any kind.” Violet hesitated, then added, “Actually, Joe says she was a lot like you.”
Ouch.
Been there, tried that, have the divorce papers to prove it. There wasn’t a chance in hell he was gonna give it another go—even if Melanie had been willing. So why did she have an insane urge to kick Gabrielle’s smokin’-hot ass?
“Hey, Mel? Did you drown in there?”
Melanie made a sour face. “Tempting…but no.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said…I’m not trying to be mean. I swear. I just don’t want to see you get hurt anymore.” Violet’s voice caught, and Melanie could picture the tears welling in her eyes. For a seriously tough woman, Violet always had been a crier. “I miss my best friend, Mel. While you’re doing all this soul-searching, could you try to track her down?”
Well, hell. Apparently Hank wasn’t the only missing person in the Brookman family.
“Fine,” she muttered. “But if you tell one person that I came to Oregon to find myself, you will pay.”
Chapter 16
When Wyatt strolled into the Bull Dancer on Thursday evening, there was a customer sitting at the bar. Which, in itself, wasn’t a complete shock. Tourists did occasionally wander in off the street. Wyatt got a vague impression of silver hair and a nylon sweat suit before his gaze caught on Melanie, who wore a high ponytail and an emerald-green racer-back tank top over calf-length leggings.
Tight. Black. Leggings.
Wyatt tore his gaze off her butt, which was planted on the stool next to the lone and—now that he managed to look past the leggings—familiar customer. Both were sipping tall glasses of ice water.
“Hey, boss man.” Louie grinned from where he leaned against the back bar, arms folded, either participating or shamelessly eavesdropping on the conversation. “We got us a packed house.”
Melanie swiveled on her stool and…smiled? His heart bumped up against his ribs at the unexpected warmth. “Wyatt! I was hoping you’d stop by. You know Mister Hadrich. We ran into each other on the river trail…which is lovely, by the way. He knows all kinds of interesting stories about this place.”
Her Texas twang was in full bloom, along with that smile, which she transferred to the old man. Wyatt’s heart plunked back into place. This wasn’t personal. This was Melanie in full PR mode. She wouldn’t sneer at him in front of a potential…what? Did she have any idea that the man she’d dragged in off the street was no harmless senior citizen?
Wyatt extended a hand. “Nice to see you again, Mister Hadrich.”
“Please. Just call me Gordon.” His fingers felt brittle, but his grip was strong.
“Join us.” With a subtle slant of her eyes, she indicated that Wyatt should take the seat on the other side of their guest. “Gordon has seen a lot of things come and go in this town. I’ve been picking his brain about what he thinks is missing.”
Beneath wiry white brows, Gordon’s eyes twinkled at Wyatt as he sat down. “Being a widower for the past nine years, I told her I wouldn’t mind if you brought back the original menu.”
Wyatt laughed, immediately charming as always. “City Hall informed me that they stopped issuing licenses for brothels back in the fifties.”
“I know.” Gordon sighed nostalgically. “But this place was something else until then. Especially for an eighteen-year-old ranch boy fresh in out of the hills.”
Melanie pressed a shocked palm to her chest. “Gordon! You didn’t tell me you were a client.”
“Only when I could afford it,” the old man said with a wink.
“What else do you miss?” Wyatt asked.
Gordon gave a slight, sad smile. “My wife, most of all. Did you ever meet her?”
“I did. She was a lovely lady.”
“From Tennessee. I miss that most of all, I think. Her voice.” The smile widened slightly as he patted Melanie’s arm. “Talking to this one…”
He stopped, pressing his lips together as if he couldn’t put the sentiment into words. Then he visibly shook off his melancholy and took a look around the bar. “There were plenty of Southern belles working here, back in the day. Can’t say how many of them were actually born in the next county, but the boys did love those accents. During World War II, when the airport was a training center for pilots, Madam Beverly brought in a cook—a widow from one of the local ranches. Every week she’d make a big Sunday dinner, the girls would dress like they were going to church, and all those homesick flyboys could eat for free.”
And come back on Friday to visit those same, sweet girls who’d been waved under their noses. But Wyatt wouldn’t spoil the old man’s fond memories by pointing out an inspired marketing scheme disguised as patriotism.
“Wow,” Melanie said. “That’s…brilliant.”
Gordon and Louie both burst out laughing.
“Not the sentimental type, I see.” Gordon gave her an approving nod. “Or a fool.”
Wyatt saw a flash of bitterness before Melanie ducked her head.
“I’ll give you the first one. The second…” She shrugged.
Gordon tilted his head, his still-canny gaze taking in her profile. After a moment, he gave a soft hmmff. “We’ve all been fools at one time or another. I tend to be more concerned about a person who makes a habit of it.”
Gordon tilted his water glass to clink it against hers. “That’s the best I’ve ever been able to do.”
She shot him a grateful smile, lifting her head and squaring her shoulders. “I am so glad I decided to go for a jog this afternoon. Can we do it again?”
“I would be honored. Give me a call. I don’t usually get out of the house until after nine in the morning.” He gestured to Louie. “If you’ll hand me one of those matchbooks…”
Louie reached into a small cardboard box beside the cash register and pulled out a pen and one of the matchbooks left behind by the previous owner.
Gordon grinned. “Been a long time since I wrote my number in one of these for a pretty girl.” He scribbled the digits and presented it to Melanie with a flourish. She clutched it to her heart and fluttered her lashes, drawing a chuckle from the old man, then tucked it into a concealed pocket on the side of her tank top. Gordon slid off his stool and paused to give the bar another once-over. “If you brought back the Sunday dinners, I might be persuaded to share my wife’s recipe for Southern-fried chicken.”
“I’ll put it on my list,” Melanie promised.
She and Wyatt both walked with him to the door, and stood just outside watching until he reached the end of the block and turned left onto the paved trail running the length of the dike that protected the downtown area from flooding of the Umatilla River. Melanie leaned against the brick wall and tilted her head back. Wyatt saw her eyes widen the instant she caught sight of the inscription on the building across the street.
Hadrich Blk 1902.
“Is that…?” she asked.
“Yep.” Wyatt allowed himself to enjoy her consternation. “They own that whole block. And the next one. Plus various other properties around town, and more farm and ranch acreage in Umatilla and Morrow counties than any other private entity.”
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