by Lori Wilde
“And you’ll do anything to make a buck,” he declared.
She hissed in a breath through clenched teeth.
“Oh now, Luke,” Junie Mae said. “That’s just mean. Melody is only trying to help.”
“That’s okay, Junie Mae. He’s right. Making money is important to me. I’ve never made a secret of my desire to make something of myself,” she said.
“Meaning I didn’t make something of myself?” Luke’s voice was flint.
She shrugged, but her heart was slamming against her rib cage. “I didn’t say that.”
“There’s more to life than money,” he grumbled.
“Um.” Ricardo raised a hand. “I have five kids to feed and send to college. I’m all for making money.”
“I’m just spitballing here,” Melody said, backing down. She hadn’t meant to upset him, but the drought had everyone on edge. They had the same goal. She had to remember they were on the same side. They just had different ideas on how to achieve that goal. “I’m not married to the idea.”
Luke swung his head toward Ricardo. “There’s other ways to make money without digging up old hurts that are better off staying buried.”
“Like what?” Junie Mae ventured.
“A bachelor auction for one thing.”
Melody fake yawned and covered her mouth. “Why not throw in a Sadie Hawkins dance along with it? Yee haw.”
“Why, that sounds like a splendid idea,” Luke retorted, obviously still irritated with her. “A bachelor auction followed by a Sadie Hawkins dance.”
“It was a good idea in 1937 maybe,” Melody said.
“That’s the whole allure of our little hamlet,” Luke argued. “Cupid takes people back to a kinder, gentler time.”
“Well,” Junie Mae said. “Except for the feud. Nothing kind and gentle about that.”
“Precisely.” Luke nodded. “You should know this, Melody. You’re in marketing. When you’re trying to persuade someone to buy something you don’t list the product’s negative qualities.”
“Why don’t we take a vote on it?” she asked. “All for reenacting the—”
“We’re not reenacting the day your great-grandfather stood my great-grandmother up at the altar and slashed the first cut in a wound that’s lasted ninety years. That’s not up for negotiation.”
“Who died and made you king?” She narrowed her eyes. “Last time I read the town charter, the position of mayor wasn’t a dictatorship.”
“No, but I’m the one who’ll have to stay here and pick up the pieces from the fallout, while you flit back to New York once you get finished licking your wounds.”
He had her there. She would not be here long-term. If he was going to be this touchy about her suggestions, why had he asked her here in the first place? “Okay, that’s great, but we’ll need something more than a bachelor auction. Something that has appeal beyond our own small borders.”
“And it can’t be water-related,” Junie Mae reminded.
“You’re right.” Melody tapped an index finger against her chin. “We’ll have to play to our strengths. What do we have an abundance of that others might be interested in?”
“Sand,” Guy said. “We’ve got a ton of that, but who’d be interested in it, I have no idea.”
“The starriest night sky in the United States,” Walker added.
“All right. That’s something to work with. It’s not as Cupid specific as the legend and the family feud, but okay. Let’s brainstorm,” she encouraged. “What activities can we center around sand and stars?”
“VIP stargazing party at McDonald Observatory,” Ricardo suggested. “With celebrity guests. There is where Pierce could help. I could cater the event.”
Junie Mae waved. “I know, I know, what if it’s a masquerade stargazing event? People love dressing up. A night of mystery under the stars.”
“I like the way you think.” Melody noted the suggestions on her tablet.
“Now that the stars are taken care of, what could we do with the sand?” Pat asked.
“Ooh.” Melody snapped her fingers. “We could hold an all-terrain vehicle rally. Start with qualifying heats to bring in serious racers, but also have fun runs for the casual enthusiast.”
“We could have several categories. Dune buggies. Utility ATVs. Sport models. Side by sides.” Walker shifted in his seat.
“Yes.” Ricardo clapped. “We could have a youth division. One for seniors. A ladies-only ride.”
“What about various other competitions along with the races like load hauling or winch tug of war?” Pat proposed.
Melody grinned, loving how everyone had taken her idea and run with it. She looked to Luke. “What do you think?”
“I like it.” He nodded, a smile creeping back to his face. “We could also have team races in the side-by-side category. But there’s a kicker. The teams are selected by random lottery.”
Junie Mae cringed. “I smell trouble. What if a Fant or Greenwood gets picked to be on a team with a Nielson? That could be a disaster.”
“That’s the point of the random draw. To promote harmony in the community. We’ll make it a stipulation of entry. If anyone kicks a fuss up about it, they’ll be disqualified.”
“That’s aggressive,” Walker said.
“Yeah, well I’m aggressive about stamping out this stupid feud. Enough is enough.” He flicked his gaze to Melody. “Peace or else.”
“All right.” She shrugged. “If you’re willing to draw the line in the sand, let’s go for it. Random draw it is.”
“Get to it then.” Luke picked up his cowboy hat. “I’ve got another appointment. I’ll see you folks later.”
He sauntered past Melody, boots scraping against the wooden floors, his scent wafting over her in seductive waves. How did he manage to smell so darn good? Did he bathe in eau de manhood?
“Oh, and by the way.” He stopped at the door, turned back to address the room. “All board members are required to participate in the events in one capacity or another and that means you too, Melody. In any case, I’m going to be racing my new side by side.”
“Mayoral edict?” Melody arched an eyebrow.
“If that’s the way you want to put it, sure. Go ahead.” He settled his Stetson on his head. “We lead by example and it’s time we presented a unified front.”
Chapter 12
“MAYORAL edict, my fanny,” Melody huffed as she paced the small kitchen of her condo. Luke had hired her for her expert opinion and then blatantly ignored her marketing advice. What the hell was that all about? She was right about using the feud to boost tourism, and every bit of the marrow in her bones knew it.
On the counter sat a Lean Cuisine frozen entrée that she’d nuked for dinner, but hadn’t been able to eat because she was so irritated. Why had he hired her if he was going to tie her hands behind her back? The drought was a brutal enough enemy without Luke aligning himself against her.
Maybe he was miffed because she refused to continue their affair. Was he really that petty? The boy she’d once known was not, but this man? Never mind that she’d seen him naked and licked his body, she didn’t really know him all that well.
She pushed her hair off her forehead with her palm, picked up the plastic container, and took a bite of butternut squash ravioli. Mmm, pretty good.
Her cell phone rang. Tossing the dinner aside, she grabbed for it. Maybe it was Luke calling to apologize for being a giant horse’s ass.
But it was Teddy on the other end, not Luke. That was a surprise.
“Hello?” she answered.
“Lamb chop, how are you doing?”
“Still scraping my spirits up off the floor after our conversation this morning, but I’ll bounce back.”
“I know you will.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence. I’m a little shaky on that myself. I figure if I keep telling myself I’ll bounce back, then I will.”
“The old fake it till you make it.”<
br />
“Works pretty good, by and large. What’s up?”
“Listen, I felt so badly about having to pull the trapdoor on you, just wanted to call and make sure you were okay.”
“I appreciate it.”
“Did you need to talk about what happened at Tribalgate? It had to be pretty traumatic for you to pull up stakes and leave the city for the hinterlands of Southwest Texas.”
She took a deep breath and told him why she’d gotten fired.
“That was harsh.”
“You’re telling me.”
“I bet there’s more to the story than you were told. Probably office politics. You know you could have fought it. Gotten a lawyer. Those grounds for your dismissal sound flimsy to me.”
“I don’t want to work at a place that’s forced to keep me. They’d find ways to make my life miserable.”
“True that, but now you’re all the way and gone to Texas.”
“I know.” She paused. “Teddy?”
“Uh-huh?”
“Could I ask you a question?”
“Shoot.”
She told him about her idea for using the family feud to bring tourism back to Cupid. “What do you think about that idea? And please be honest.”
“I like it. Great marketing hook.”
“So do I. Not only because it has pathos, but because I think sweeping the feud under the rug is what’s kept it simmering beneath the surface all these years, ugly, dark, and ready to explode at a moment’s notice.”
“This is that lovely little town you were trying to get us to invest in?” He laughed. “Lamb chop, you are audacious.”
“It’s a good town. Full of good folks. Which is why this drought is breaking my heart. I’ve got to do something. They’re valiant people but they’re struggling. The problem is the mayor. The very guy who hired me to come down here and help them put together some kind of marketing plan to lure tourists back to the Davis Mountains. He’s standing in the way.” Briefly, she told him about Luke and the opposition he had to her plan.
“Is there a way to go behind his back and call attention to this feud in an indirect manner?” Teddy asked.
“Not really,” she mused.
“Didn’t you tell me something about letters to Cupid? Is there something you can use to—”
“Oh, Teddy!” she exclaimed. “You’re a genius.”
“I am?”
“Yes! Why didn’t I think of this before? I’ll write a letter to Cupid pretending to be a young girl whose love life is affected by the feud. The letters get printed in the local greensheet. If I can generate a little interest from that, I’ll have proof to back me up.”
“Get that stuff on social media if you can. Remember you have twenty-five thousand followers on Twitter. That shit’s gold.”
He was right.
“Is it too underhanded, do you think?” she worried.
“Maybe a little, but that’s the business. It’s a move that would make Tribalgate proud.”
“You’ve got a point.”
“Go for it. You know what they say.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s easier to get forgiveness than permission.”
AFTER HER CONVERSATION with Teddy, Melody was fired up, and convinced her plan—along with her strong following on social media—would generate the kind of buzz that would get noticed. First, she needed a special envelope, one that would be easy to spot at the committee meetings.
She left the condo and drove down the mountain into town. She parked at the Chamber of Commerce and strolled over to a small gift shop on Main Street that mostly sold cards, souvenirs, and knickknacks. The owner, Christy Hanson, was just closing up the shop when Melody arrived.
“Sure, come on in,” the woman said, ushering her inside. “I need every penny I can scrape together. Another month like this one and I’m not sure how much longer I can keep the doors open.”
“But you’ve been in this location since I was a little kid,” Melody protested.
“Drought’s eating me alive.” Christy clucked her tongue. “I’m thinking of selling everything and moving up to Fort Worth to live with my daughter, but who in the heck would buy me out?”
“Maybe it will rain soon,” Melody said because she had no idea what else to say. People like Christy were the reason why she’d decided to go behind Luke’s back. Maybe it was underhanded. Yes, okay, it was underhanded and he might be upset with her when he learned what she’d done, but the rewards outweighed the risks, and as Teddy pointed out, getting Luke’s forgiveness would be easier than getting him to approve of her plot.
She bought two boxes of red silk envelopes and matching stationery so the letter would stand out at the Cupid letter committee and she could easily snatch it out of the stack. Not because she needed two boxes, but because it was one small thing she could do for Christy. She thanked her and went to her cubbyhole office at the Chamber of Commerce and got down to work.
It took her numerous drafts to come up with a letter she thought struck the right note and when she looked up, she was surprised to see it was nine o’clock at night. She rubbed her eyes and read through the letter one last time.
Dear Cupid,
I’m in love! He’s my soul mate, my one true love. This should be a happy time, right? But here’s the deal. Our families hate each other. We’re talking bone-deep, Hatfields and McCoys hatred. My guy and I know we belong together, but there’s no way our kin will stand for it. We can’t quit each other, but neither can we fan the flames of a long-standing family feud. We feel as if we’re sitting on a powder keg with a lit fuse. One false move and we’ll be blown to bits. What should we do? Break up or destroy our families?
—Modern Day Juliet
Okay. She took a deep breath, and sealed the letter in the red silk envelope. She tucked the boxes of stationery in her desk drawer, left the Chamber of Commerce, and walked the half mile to the botanical gardens.
Once inside the gardens, Melody dropped the fictional letter into the white wooden box stenciled with “Letters to Cupid” in bold block font. The letterbox glowed like a congenial ghost in the pale moonlight. Beside the box was a posted sign detailing the letter-writing rules.
1.All letters should be submitted using a pseudonym.
2.Letters will be answered within one week.
3.Letters of a sexually graphic nature will not be published.
4.The letters are for entertainment purposes only.
5.The town of Cupid is not to be held responsible for what the letter writers do with the advice.
A spider of doubt crawled up the back of her neck. Her plan had better succeed.
If it didn’t, the Fant-Nielson feud might never end, although it might not matter anyway because the drought could destroy them all.
She cast a nervous glance back at the box, too late for second-guessing. It was done.
Except she saw that a corner of the red envelope protruded from the slit in the letterbox. Not too late. She could still grab hold of it, pull it out, rethink her plan, and see if she could find some other course of action that did not involve dishonesty.
Not too late, the corner of the envelope tempted. There’s still time to change your mind.
She rubbed her fingers together. What to do? Flick the letter deeper into the box or pluck it out, quit her job, and just walk away from Cupid? But see, here was the thing, even though she’d slid all the way down the rainbow back to where she started, she was not a quitter. Surrender simply was not in her DNA.
Was she really dithering?
The corner of the red envelope taunted, accusing her. She’d learned her lesson well from Michael Helmsly. Showmanship was the only thing that mattered. Put truth on the shelf behind a box of sodium bicarbonate and forget about it.
Doggedly, she thumped the corner of the envelope, sending it sinking out of sight into the depths of the letterbox.
There. Decision made.
Read
y to trek back to her car, she dusted her palms, and pivoted on her heel, only to be stopped in mid-step by a rustling noise. Her stomach flew up into her throat and the baling-wire sensation squeezed her chest. What was that?
The bushes shook.
Javelina?
Even though she’d grown up in this arid terrain, she’d never really felt part of it, nor had she, like the majority of Cupid’s citizens, grown shoulder-shruggingly accustomed to the wild javelina hogs that roamed the area. At heart, she was a city girl through and through. Give her smoggy traffic, bustling crowds, and even the occasional mugger, over desert drought, meddlesome family members, and unpredictable wildlife.
“Problems with your love life?” A throaty male voice cut through the night, wrapped around her like a hug.
Slowly, Melody swiveled her head in the direction of the rich baritone. Fear sped along her nerve endings to imbed deeply into her brain. Who was he? How much had he seen?
Stupid!
She was laying everything on the line and yet she hadn’t been sharp enough to scope out the gardens to see if anyone was lurking among the plants before posting her letter. Was she secretly self-destructive? Her former boss would say yes.
From behind a thicket of Spanish broom shrubbery, which were alive in this drought solely due to Lace’s innovated water conservation measures, Luke stepped from the shadows.
His Stetson was tipped back on his head, revealing the adorable cowlick that insisted on flopping across his forehead. Tempting as sin, and twice as handsome. Honestly, running an ultra-marathon while going braless beneath a burlap shirt would chafe less than his smug, knowing smile. One hand went to his hip, casual, nonthreatening.
She felt threatened anyway, tossed her head, sniffed. Haughty. Whenever she felt threatened, she defaulted to haughty. She knew it, wasn’t proud of it, but there it was.
“Well?” he prodded.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You just mailed a letter to Cupid.” He stepped closer, his straight white teeth flashing seductively in the dark. He knew how to get to her. Just flashed that charming grin and expected her to liquefy.