by Lori Wilde
“Shh, Auntie.” Natalie covered Nathan’s ears. “He’ll learn about the harsh side of life soon enough.”
“He’s five months old,” Great-Aunt Delia said. “He has no idea what we’re saying.”
“One day he will understand. It’s good to get into the habit of monitoring our tongues now.” Natalie kissed the top of her son’s head.
Great-Aunt Delia rolled her eyes and muttered, “First-time mothers.”
“Melody is going to save Cupid.” Her mother wore the same resolute expression she used all those years ago when she pushed Melody to win those beauty pageants.
“No pressure, right?” Melody gave a shaky laugh. “Just make it rain.”
“No one expects you to do that.” Junie Mae smiled. “You’ve made a wonderful start with the bake-off. We know you’ll keep coming up with inventive ways to bring tourists back to town even if this is the worst drought in the history of Jeff Davis County.”
“We believe in you,” Natalie reiterated. “You won a Clio, after all.”
They were hoisting her upon a pedestal. She glanced around the table and saw in their faces—well, except for Delia, who had been around long enough to grow skeptical of everything—that they all truly believed she was going to wave some kind of magic marketing wand and make a silk purse from a sow’s ear.
Oh crap, what had she gotten herself into?
“Cupid has been through tough times before and survived.” Junie Mae took knitting needles from her handbag and started in on a basket weave scarf. She knitted when she was worried. “With your help, Melody, we’ll come out of this with our heads held high.”
“What were some of those hard times?” Melody asked, desperate for anything that might light her creative spark.
“When tourism lagged in the forties because of the war, your grandmother Rose was the one who came up with the notion of using the letters that people were leaving in the cave at the foot of the Cupid stalagmite, and making a big mess by the way, to generate additional income for the town,” Junie Mae went on.
Melody leaned forward. “How did that come about?”
“Rose set up the mailbox in the botanical gardens and printed the Cupid letters in the greensheet, and asked local merchants to hand them out for free. You’ve got to remember that before that happened, the volunteers were posting the answers to the letters on a bulletin board outside the caverns. If you didn’t know about the legend and the letters, there was no way for you to find out beyond word of mouth. Once the letters went into the greensheet, they became entertainment and it brought additional customers into the stores looking for the greensheet.”
“So Grandma Rose was a forward thinker.”
“Once that happened, everything changed. Answering the letters went from a disorganized mess that no one was overseeing to actually bringing in money. Tourism doubled the first year. Tripled the year after that,” Junie Mae said. “Your family’s romantic legend about Cupid granting your love wish has mythological power.”
“Melody knows all this,” her mother said impatiently, took the letter from the envelope she’d been toying with, and slipped on her reading glasses. “I’ve told her the story a hundred times. Let’s get down to business.”
Yes, she’d heard the story before, but she’d never really thought about how her grandmother Rose had impacted the town. Now that she was attuned to anything and everything that could help her resurrect tourism, her ears pricked up.
Her mother cleared her throat and started reading the letter. “Dear Cupid …”
They went around the table, dividing up the letters to be answered by subject matter. Each woman had a preference for the types of letters they liked to answer. Natalie favored love at first sight and soul mate stories. Great-Aunt Delia offered advice to the widowed dipping into the dating pool again or those with long-term marriage problems, looking to recapture the spark. Because she was a CPA, Carol Ann answered the love letters with a financial twist. Lace took the unrequited love and stories of teenage first love, while Junie Mae responded on issues regarding divorce and blending stepfamilies. Normally, Zoey’s domain was friends-to-lovers relationships and forbidden liaisons, so it looked like Melody would be inheriting those topics.
Once they switched their attention from the drought to the letters, everyone relaxed. As she watched the women interact and tease one another, sharing inside jokes she missed out on because she was not a regular part of their community, she felt as if she was standing on top of one of the mountains that overlooked the town, spying on the group through a telescope—far away and out of touch.
She was from them, not of them. She’d changed too much. She was too different. They knew it and she knew it.
And it was a damn long, hard fall off that pedestal.
Chapter 10
ON Saturday morning, Luke was coming down the steps of the second-floor condo that he rented halfway up the mountain overlooking Cupid, when a white Corvette pulled into the parking lot. He stopped mid-stride, one foot on the top step, the other foot two steps below.
Only one person in town owned a white vintage Corvette.
The driver’s door opened and blond hair glinted like gold in the blistering afternoon sunlight. Long tanned legs swung out of the car and a pair of white kitten heels hit the sand-dusted asphalt. Graceful as a ballerina, she stood and shook that fall of gorgeous hair. She wore an ocean blue sundress with skinny little straps that revealed creamy shoulders and arms. The material of her dress rippled in the wind, blowing around shapely legs. She sported oversized dark sunglasses and looked like water—cool, fresh, and thirst quenching. A balmy oasis in the midst of a drought.
He sucked in a bamboozled breath and in a flash he was back in that New York City hotel room with her. It didn’t matter what she was wearing because in his mind’s eye that cool blue dress was pooling around her ankles and she was as naked as the day she was born.
Yes, he promised her that night in the city was a one-time thing, a red-hot fling not to be repeated, and he liked to think he was a man of his word, but in that moment, he knew it was not a promise he was going to be able to keep.
She raised her eyes and their gazes locked. The smile on her face froze, then wobbled and finally disappeared.
“Hey,” he said, doing his damnedest to appear casual, even though his stomach was pitching and rolling. “You looking for me?”
“No, I was not. I did not even know you were here. I came to see about renting a unit.”
“The rental office closes at noon on Saturday.”
“Oh. Well. I guess I’ll have to wait until Monday to get a look at the condo.” She turned back toward the car.
“Wait.” Luke sprinted down the remainder of the stairs.
She paused, fingers on the door handle, but she quickly released it. “Ow, hot.”
“You are in the desert.”
“I’d forgotten how quickly things heat up around here.” She licked her lips.
He remembered now why he’d purposefully avoided her every time she came back to Cupid for a visit and it was not just because she was a Fant. For over a decade he’d managed to keep a strong padlock on his “Melody” footlocker. He’d dated. A lot. A whole helluva lot, to be factual. He even had a reputation as something of a ladies’ man.
But it was all a sham.
He courted a whirlwind of women to keep from thinking about the one he really wanted, the one that got away, and he’d been damn successful at it. So successful he’d begun to believe he was Melody-proof. But that night at the Hilton had shown him how delusional he really was.
And now?
Seeing her looking juicy and succulently ripe in the dry, blistering dearth of their hometown torched any lingering illusion that he possessed self-control.
Memories assaulted him. She was fifteen, he was seventeen. The two of them, riding across the high plains on Maverick, the sorrel mustang he captured and tamed himself, Melody behind
him in the saddle, her arms latched around his waist, her legs flapping against his outer thighs, her breasts bouncing into his back as they galloped in the early morning light. A handful of times they’d ridden like that together—before that terrible Fourth of July—Melody slipping away from home to meet him in the mountains at dawn. They disobeyed their families, threw caution to the wind for the sheer joy of being with each other. Riding Maverick turned him on, but with Melody behind him, he never failed to get a rock-hard boner as that long blond hair of hers streamed behind them, a fetching flag of their teenage rebellion.
When the ride was over, she would pull a comb from her back pocket and he’d brush out the tangles for her, eradicating the evidence of their wild adventure, his fingers tingling as he unsnarled the silky strands, her breathing warm and quick. Hot lust always licked through him, seared low and painful in his belly while he ticked off the reasons why he could not do what he wanted so badly to do.
One: She was only fifteen.
Two: This teen beauty queen was destined for bigger things than Cupid, and his roots ran so deep in Trans-Pecos soil he knew there’d be no transplanting him.
Three: She was from Greenwood-Fant stock and he was a Nielson. Loving her was forbidden. Taboo. In his family it was the worst sin you could commit.
So why had he kept pushing? Kept sneaking off to meet her?
“I’ll see you at the Chamber of Commerce meeting on Tuesday,” Melody said, snapping him back to the present.
“I could show you my unit,” he blurted, and then realized how that sounded and cringed. The woman had the uncanny ability to turn him into a lust-addled idiot.
She lowered her lashes, gave him a half smile. “While I appreciate the generous offer, I think I’ll pass. I’ve already seen your impressive unit.”
His neck burned and it wasn’t just from the sun beating down, but he couldn’t let that comment pass unchallenged. “Too much for you, huh?” he quipped.
She snorted. “Are we really going there?”
“I’m sorry,” he backtracked, instantly contrite. “I didn’t mean to spin things in that direction and I’m desperately trying to reel it back in.”
“I think the fish already got away on that analogy, cowboy,” she said, her tone as parched as the desert stretching out around them. “In case you haven’t noticed, the water is all dried up.”
“I didn’t intend to sound like a major jackass. It’s just that you … I … um. What I mean is that whenever I’m around you, my brain goes into reverse and I can’t think straight.”
“So you’re blaming the Beavis and Butthead antics on me?”
“Yep. You’re so gorgeous you reduce me to a tongue-tied imbecile.”
“Sounds like a personal problem to me,” she said, but her eyes twinkled. She wasn’t mad.
“Can we start over?” he asked.
Slowly, she shook her head.
“C’mon, let me show you my condo. If you like it, I’ll put you in touch with the person who can get you squared away in a rental this afternoon and you won’t have to spend the weekend under your parents’ roof.”
She hesitated.
“I’m not trying any monkey business to lure you into my lair, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“It wasn’t. You’re not that obvious.”
“What is it then?”
She sized him up for a long moment. “If I move in here do you promise you’ll keep your distance?”
“If that’s what you really want,” he said smoothly. Don’t make more promises you can’t keep.
“It is.”
“All right. You have my word.”
“Okay then.” She waved a hand. “Lead on.”
He hurried up the steps ahead of her, fishing in his pocket for the keys. Halfway up, he stopped to make sure she was following him and caught her pushing her sunglasses up on her head so she could get a better look at his ass.
Gotcha. Ha! Her mouth said one thing, but her eyes said another.
Quickly, she glanced away, pretended to be studying the withered cactus planted along the walkway. “You know a drought is bad when prickly pears are dying.”
He reached the landing and waited for her to catch up. He could smell her scent, and his nose tingled. Ah, memories. He opened the door, pushed it wide, and stepped aside for her to enter.
The cleaning lady had been there that morning so the place sparkled and the aroma of pine lingered in the air. The small foyer melded into the living area. A brown leather couch and matching loveseat dominated the room and faced the big plate-glass window that looked out over the town below. Nondescript, floor-length beige curtains flanked the window. A Craig Johnson Longmire mystery lay open on the glass coffee table, page side down, and there was a small oak bookcase that ran along the back wall.
Melody moved about the room, inspecting everything, but Luke couldn’t take his eyes off her.
“The units—er, condos—come furnished,” he said.
“Even the books?”
“No, those are mine.”
“You read?”
“Don’t act so surprised.”
“In high school, you were more interested in chasing girls than in your studies.”
Yeah, he might have done his share of chasing, but he’d never caught the one he’d really wanted. “The kitchen is through here,” he said, showing her the way.
“What’s the total square footage?”
“Thirteen hundred.”
“A palace by New York standards.”
“Fridge,” he said, stating the obvious and draping his arm over the top of the appliance. “Oven. Dishwasher.”
“All the essentials.” She ran her hand over the backsplash behind the oven. “Love the subway tiles.”
His gut tightened. Damn. He was jealous of subway tiles.
“Two bedrooms,” he said, leading her from the kitchen to the first bedroom, which he used as a workout room. He’d taken down the bed, but left the dresser for storage and put in a treadmill and weights.
“Two en suite bathrooms. Granite countertops just like in the kitchen.” He shut the door and moved down the hall. “And here’s the master.”
She didn’t come into the room, just poked her head around the door frame.
“You can come on in,” he said. “I promise your virtue is safe with me.”
“Yeah, you said something along those lines in New York and look what happened.”
“Um, as I recall, you were the one who kissed me first.”
Her face flushed. “You’re right. My bad.”
“On the contrary, it was very good.” He lowered his voice. “I wanted more.”
“Luke.” She said his name in a way that sent the wrong kind of quiver through his body. “Don’t go there.”
“What do you mean?” He stalked toward her. “Why can’t we go there?”
“You know. My family. Your family—”
He stopped right in front of her. “Anything between us would set off a powder keg?”
She shrugged. “It has before.”
“We’re adults now.”
“It doesn’t erase the past.”
“Maybe if we were together it would heal the past. Ever thought about that?”
“Luke, it’s more than just our families. My stay here is temporary. I don’t belong in Cupid anymore. You do.”
“So you’re saying—”
“Having sex with you was a huge mistake and under no circumstances are we to repeat it.”
“I don’t consider it a mistake.”
“Well, I guess we’ll just have to agree to disagree.”
He stepped closer. Toe to toe. She stood her ground. Brave. Stubborn. He liked that about her. “Are you issuing me a challenge?”
She sucked in a deep breath. “On the contrary, I’m stating a fact.”
“You’re not just playing hard to get?”
“No. I am hard to get. In fact, for you, I�
�m impossible to get.”
“That’s not how I remember it,” he murmured. “Although we did have a lot to drink that night, my mind is pretty clear when it comes to you, Melly. I remember things being real nice and easy.”
Her earlobes turned bright pink and she tugged at the left one. “You caught me at a bad time. I had my guard down.”
“And now the ramparts have been raised.”
“Exactly.”
He lowered his head. Their noses were almost touching. “There’s no scaling those castle walls?”
“None whatsoever,” she declared staunchly, but her hands were trembling.
“Not even if I asked you to let your hair down, Rapunzel?” he whispered.
They stared at each other, the tension in the air between them as thick as a cheese wheel.
“Not even,” she whispered back.
“Okay then.” He nodded, readjusted his cowboy hat. “If that’s the way you want it.”
Her chin went down but her lips tipped up, and she nodded. “It’s what I want.”
“That’s all you had to say.” He held up both palms, took two steps backward, even though what he wanted most in the world was to scoop her into his arms and persuade those soft pink lips with a hard, demanding kiss.
She raised her arms, her palms above her shoulders as if she were being held hostage at gunpoint. “Strict hands-off policy.”
“The only way I’ll touch you again,” he drawled, and lowered his eyelids as he gave her his best woman-stunning stare, “is when you beg me to do so, and even then, I might be tempted to let you suffer, just to prove a point.”
“Oh, you’re full of bravado now, aren’t you, big man,” she countered in a saucy tone, and she waggled an index finger under his nose. “But I bet if I begged you to take me to bed right now, you wouldn’t be able to hold out for five minutes.”
“There’s an egg timer in the kitchen,” he said. “Wanna test me?”
He saw a flash of a grin before she tamped it down and immediately he wondered what he’d done wrong. Maybe he should stop beating around the bush and tell her that, hell no, he didn’t agree to her one-time-only fling. He wanted more and he was determined to have her.