And the best way she knew—the direction her friends had been not-very-subtly shoving her—was to start at the last place she remembered truly being herself.
In the arena.
“If you don’t mind,” she said to Grace, “I’d like to come to the saddle club and rope with you next week.”
Grace blinked, considered Melanie’s request, then said, “Donetta Jones is in charge of memberships. I’ve got her number in my phone.”
“Thanks.”
Grace’s reaction was underwhelming, but Melanie supposed she hadn’t earned any better. And Grace’s muted response was probably part of what made her good at her job—an athletic trainer had to be unflappable in the face of everything from dire injuries to asshole coaches. And someone who might be about to upheave on her floorboards.
“I should ask her about a sponsorship. It would be a good opportunity for the Bull Dancer to make some friends.” Both the bar and the man. And on the subject of friends… “Do you know Laura?”
The pickup swerved slightly. Grace steadied the wheel before she answered, her tone clipped. “We’ve met a few times.”
Interesting. Melanie announced she wanted to start roping again and Grace didn’t even shrug, but mention Laura’s name and she damn near drove in the ditch. How could the two of them possibly be connected, except through Wyatt? But why, when Grace didn’t seem to be a part of his life outside of the bullfighting school?
Or was that only since Melanie had arrived?
“She seems very…” Melanie searched for and failed to find a proper adjective. “She’s beautiful.”
Grace’s fingers flexed on the steering wheel. “She and Wyatt aren’t a thing.”
“I know.” Melanie shrugged at Grace’s surprised look. “She was wearing a ring. Wyatt doesn’t poach on other men’s turf.”
“Other women. She has a wife.”
Well. That put Wyatt’s comment about his family’s intolerance into a whole different context. And why wasn’t Grace surprised to hear that she’d met Laura? Wyatt must have told her. The knowledge gave Melanie that odd, creeping sensation she’d felt at his condo, as if everyone else was playing a secret game behind her back. “He didn’t seem thrilled to see her.”
Or, more precisely, for her to see Melanie.
Grace used the excuse of passing a truck loaded with what looked like potatoes to delay answering. When she was safely back in the driving lane, she pursed her lips, obviously unhappy about this turn in the conversation. After all the time Melanie had spent lately with Wyatt, reading Grace was like being handed a Dick and Jane book. If she were a better person, she’d let the poor girl off the hook, but since they’d already established that she wasn’t, she let the silence stretch to the point of discomfort.
Finally, Grace huffed out a breath. “She’s the reason he got in the habit of rescuing people. She needs it on a regular basis.”
“They’ve known each a long time?”
“Forever.”
They must have grown up together, in the same social circle, steeped in the same unbending values. Delicate, lovely Laura would have been in dire need of a champion when she came out of the closet, and Wyatt would have leapt to her rescue.
Defying his family in the process.
And then he’d left. But not alone, Melanie guessed. “How did she end up in Portland?”
“Wyatt—” Grace cut herself short and clamped her lips together. “You’ll have to ask him.”
Yes, she would. This was a story he’d never shared, even with Joe…but he’d told Grace. It made no sense. Grace was smart, and nice enough, and determined. And Wyatt had said he admired her more than anyone except…
Uh-uh. Not thinking about that or Melanie would drive herself crazy with all the questions she’d promised not to ask.
But she couldn’t help asking herself, why Grace? She was twenty-three years old, fresh out of college, and to Melanie’s knowledge the most exceptional thing she’d ever done was move across the country to start her career. Not easy, but people did it all the time, without a Wyatt to smooth their path. What was so remarkable about her?
Only one of the dozens of questions tumbling around inside her head.
“Are we there yet?” she asked instead.
“Yes.”
Grace veered onto the exit to a town that consisted of a gas station and convenience store, a fertilizer warehouse, and a row of sun-bleached houses, all backed up against the side of yet another wide draw. Just beyond, Melanie spotted the cluster of pickups and horse trailers around the rodeo arena. Her pulse bumped, the result of years of conditioning, and she had to remind her body that this wasn’t her rodeo.
Her adrenaline glands muttered a few profanities and throttled down, sulking. We never get to have any fun anymore.
Soon, she promised.
Grace parked but didn’t immediately turn off the ignition, bracing both hands to scowl out the windshield. “Laura isn’t the only one. Wyatt lets everybody take advantage of him.”
Wyatt? Melanie nearly snorted. He who could manipulate any situation to…
No. Not his advantage. Melanie could tick off one example after another of how he’d maneuvered people into doing what he wanted, but in every case it had been for someone else’s benefit.
And just like when he was fighting bulls, he wouldn’t hesitate to jump in even if it meant he might suffer collateral damage.
“You, of all people, should be able to relate.” The eyes Grace turned on Melanie burned with uncharacteristic intensity. “Laura is his Hank. He’s spent his whole life either trying to save her or cleaning up after her, as if it’s his fault both of their parents were assholes and she has zero common sense. He can’t help himself any more than you can.”
She kept glaring as if she expected an answer, so Melanie said, “I see.”
“Good. Because you have no idea how much you could hurt him, and he won’t stop you.” Grace shut off the pickup and bailed out.
Melanie sat, stunned, replaying every detail of the previous night in painful detail. She’d walked into that bar fully intending to pick a fight with Wyatt. Give herself a chance to hiss and spit and curse, knowing he’d let her, pushing back just enough so she could really flex her muscles. But she knew all too well exactly what buttons to push, and she’d failed to consider that Wyatt might also have some anger simmering under that cool surface.
But so what? He was a man, and he was Wyatt the Invincible. Why not use him? What problems could he have that compared with hers?
Melanie tipped her head back against the seat and groaned. She was such an asshole.
Chapter 32
Wyatt was slouched in an Adirondack chair on the deck of his cabin, utterly failing to appreciate the startling beauty of Wallowa Lake and the surrounding peaks, when his phone chirped with an incoming text. His heart leapt and jerked like a dog on a chain when he saw it was from Melanie.
Hey, Chuck. I didn’t mean to run you completely out of town. You okay?
He blinked, shook his head, then read it again. Run him out? By the time he’d landed in Joseph, he’d convinced himself that she’d already be packed and making a beeline for Texas. And asking if he was okay? That was supposed to be his line. She must mean it to be ironic, but the subtext escaped him so he decided to just play along until he got a better feel for her mood. I hate that name. And I’m fine. He hesitated, then added, Did you get my email?
He tipped his head back to watch a hawk circle high over the trees while he waited for the answer.
Yes. The deviousness of your mind never fails to awe me.
She was in awe. Was that good? After the way she’d left him last night, she seemed pretty damn relaxed. Or more likely, that was how she wanted him to think she was feeling. It’s all good. I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be? The joy of texting. Any emotional context cou
ld be easily removed. And compared to coming face-to-face at practice tomorrow with three sets of curious eyes watching every move, the least uncomfortable way to reestablish contact.
She would know. Between her family and her job, this was a woman who’d navigated more than her share of potentially awkward moments. And yes, it smarted to realize he was just another oops to be smoothed over, but she was making an effort to get them back on normal footing. Since it was more than he’d dared hope for, he’d quit whining and be grateful.
That’s it? he prompted when she didn’t elaborate.
I’m still trying to decide whether to kick you or hug your neck. I might have to do both.
He choked out a laugh. He’d take either as long as she’d stuck around to administer them. I get that a lot.
I have no doubt. There was a pause, then his phone chirped again. Do I also have you to thank for the pictures that were sent to Michael’s boss?
No. I assume that was Tori, by way of Pratimi. At the urging of the Ladies’ Club. Tori’s sister-in-law was the same computer-savvy friend Melanie had referred to when she’d threatened to spam Michael’s email contacts. Too bad the poor slob hadn’t known the kind of people she associated with, or he would have steered clear.
And Melanie would never have come to Oregon. Now there was a bittersweet pill.
Have you taken any other steps on my behalf that I should know about?
He debated confessing that he’d sicced Gil on Leachman, but technically, Wyatt wasn’t the one taking steps, and if Violet or Tori hadn’t told her yet, they probably hadn’t found anything. Yet. Leachman might be smart enough to keep his hands clean until the dust settled from Melanie’s bombshell, but he was too conceited to deny his baser needs for long.
I left the rest up to the Earnest mafia, Wyatt replied. And he needed to change the subject before she pried more out of him, so he asked, Did Grace catch you?
Unfortunately for me. I thought I’d seen the last of the mare from hell when Shawnee pawned her off. Now I’m eating a lousy rodeo dog in Podunk, Washington.
Alarm bells trilled in Wyatt’s head, and it took three tries to punch in: You went with Grace?
Don’t worry—no girl talk. She still thinks you’re unsoiled.
He snorted, started to type, then on a whim hit Dial instead. He needed to hear if she was really as fine as she was pretending to be.
“Hello?” She sounded wary. He heard the rodeo announcer in the background, then a burst of rock music.
“You really are at the rodeo. I thought you hated watching other people rope.”
“Hate is a strong word. And Violet talks too much.”
Actually, it had been Miz Iris fretting about how Melanie was straying too far from her roots. “You’re avoiding the question.”
“That wasn’t a question; it was a misstatement, which I refuted. And you avoided first. Are you okay? We got pretty rough, and you bullfighters are kinda fragile, what with all the bionic parts.”
“I’m fine.” And damned if he wasn’t, at least for the length of this surreal conversation.
She paused, a listening silence. “Is that a boat I hear?”
“Yes.” He watched a water-skier carve a long, graceful turn across the turquoise water. “I flew up to Joseph to spend the day at my cabin.”
“Which is lakeside, of course.”
“Of course. I make a killing renting it out in July and August, when I’m too busy with rodeos to lounge around on the deck.”
“Figures. There’s always a business angle with you.”
“Not always.”
“About that.” Her tone went abruptly serious. “Last night…I took advantage of you. And I’m sorry.”
He scowled at the wake that slapped against his dock, twenty steep wooden steps below where he sat. “I made the first move.”
“Did you? Or did I make you think it was your idea?”
“You did not…” And then he sat bolt upright in his Adirondack chair. “You sold me?”
“Right down the river. Or up the stairs, as the case may be.” She blew a ripe raspberry into the phone. “And I am a total hypocrite. I’ve been cursing Michael for exploiting me without a second thought. Then I turned around and did the same thing to you.”
Wyatt’s mind spun backward, hour by hour, minute by minute, to the moment she’d sauntered into the bar. The red shoes. The lipstick. The dress—with only the flowers in red because all scarlet would have tipped her hand.
She’d painted the picture he’d expected to see, and he’d interpreted every brushstroke exactly as she’d intended. Rowdy was just the not-so-sharp stick she’d used as a prod, even more effective because she’d made Wyatt work at getting her to himself.
Replaying it now, he could appreciate how deftly she’d scripted their argument. The bitter reference to the bullshit women had to put up with in the workplace, the slut-shaming they had to tolerate, a jab at his white male privilege—she’d nailed every one of his guilt buttons with laser precision. It was manipulative and devious…
And he couldn’t have done it better himself.
“Am I fired?” she asked.
There was a note in her voice that went beyond resignation, making all of his protective instincts jump to attention. “Not if you tell me what’s wrong…beyond the obvious.”
He listened to more background noise—cheering, a buzzer—one of the roughstock events in progress. Finally she said, “I woke up today.”
And…
He waited, then realized she’d meant it as a complete sentence. Oh. Damn. He’d experienced a few less-than-joyful moments of enlightenment, and even though he knew it was a good thing in the long run…
“Ouch,” he said.
“Yeah. Imagine, if you will, looking at yourself and seeing your mother.”
Holy hell. That would be a nightmare. Then he winced. “Do I have to replace a mirror in the apartment?”
She laughed. “I don’t take my anger out on what I assume is irreplaceable antique furniture.”
“Good to know.” He settled more comfortably in his chair. “So now you owe me.”
The note of caution returned. “What kind of payment are we talking about?”
“Information. I’ve met your father. Tell me about your mother.”
“Oh.” She took a moment to compose her answer. “Short version? My dad wanted to be a world champion tie-down roper. My mother wanted to be the woman behind the world champion. I came toddling along a year after they got married, which wasn’t exactly the plan, but I took to the rodeo road like a happy little duck to water, so it was all good.”
“Mmm. I’ve seen the pictures.” Had several of them saved in an encrypted file on his laptop, in fact.
“What can I say? I was adorable.” He could hear her cheeky grin. “I grew up in the living quarters of a horse trailer rolling from one end of the country to the other. Mama was a road warrior, pulling the all-nighters so Daddy could sleep, hauling his horse to California while he flew off to South Dakota.”
“That doesn’t sound like a self-centered person.”
“Only because you were never there if, God forbid, Daddy accepted a trophy or did an interview without giving all the credit to his amazing wife.”
“Ah. Now it makes sense.”
“Yeah. It was definitely all about her.” She heaved an audible sigh. “I guess I wasn’t much better. That summer after the fire, I cried when he said he wasn’t entering the Fourth of July run. No trick riders waving sparklers? No racing from Cody to Red Lodge to Livingston, trying to make ’em all? It was like they canceled Christmas. And Ma…well, she’d hitched her wagon to a star and ended up parked in the Panhandle instead.”
“And she wasn’t into being a ranch wife.”
“To put it mildly. The day Daddy sold his good horse to buy a
tractor, Violet swears they could hear the screaming clear down at their place.”
Melanie took an audible slurp from her Coke, the rodeo clown’s voice tinny through the phone. Wyatt grimaced at a mother-in-law joke so old it’d probably been told at the Pendleton Roundup back when the cowboys hauled their horses in on the train. Honestly. With all of the Internet at their disposal, was it that hard to come up with new material?
“I’m surprised your mother didn’t follow the horse out the door,” Wyatt said.
“And do what? She had no job skills other than being a rodeo wife—and those openings are reserved for hot, young things, not women pushing thirty and dragging a kid along. She hung in there, hoping Daddy would change his mind and hit the road again, but Grandad’s health went downhill so fast…and then came Hank. Ma decided if she ever wanted to do anything but cook, wipe snotty noses, and stare at the ass end of a herd of cows—her words—she’d have to get an education.”
A worthy goal, but… “Why broadcasting?”
“She decided to be a star in her own right. Radio, TV, one of those women who interview the cowboys on the rodeo telecasts…”
According to Miz Iris, the minute Hank was old enough to eat solid food their mother had enrolled in classes at the community college, followed by a series of jobs in larger, neighboring towns with low pay and long, unpredictable hours, leaving her son to be raised by a series of babysitters…and Melanie.
“And in the meantime, you decided to be a roper.”
“It was either that or the chute help. Daddy was practicing every day, training horses to make extra money. I got tired of pushing calves and tripping the gate so I started roping in self-defense. Since I was good at it, he decided to use me as an advertisement. He took me to all the junior and high school rodeos, and I can’t tell you how many times we came home without whatever I was riding that weekend. I learned pretty fast not to get attached.”
Fearless in Texas Page 23