Love With a Perfect Cowboy

by Lori Wilde

  He smiled, remembering that kiss.

  “That’s the way I like to see you,” Doreen said. “Smiling.”

  “You want to go to McCleary’s for a cream soda?” he asked her.

  Walker McCleary’s Pharmacy had an old-­fashioned soda fountain in the back that was popular with the tourists. It was good to realize they had tourists again. He kept smiling.

  They picked their way over the old train tracks running behind the Chamber of Commerce, when the neck strap on Doreen’s halter top broke and her boobs came spilling out. Making it clear, in case he hadn’t already figured it out, that the Widow Jones was not wearing a bra.

  “Oh my goodness, will you look at that.” Doreen giggled. “Being a triple-­E is such a curse sometimes. I can’t go into McCleary’s like this.”

  Luke immediately closed his eyes. “Um, we could go into the Chamber of Commerce. I’ve got a key and I bet we can find a safety pin in the reception desk. Or a stapler. Or some tape to hold you in until you can get home and change.”

  “Aren’t you smart,” she said. “A problem solver. My kind of man.”

  Oh boy. He hated the thought of being alone with Doreen and her malfunctioning wardrobe, but he couldn’t really stand out on the street with her as she struggled to cover up her abundant breasts with her arms.

  “This way.” He put his hand to her back and guided her toward the rear entrance of the old train depot.

  They entered the quiet building and he flicked on the light; the first room from the back was Melody’s small office. He opened the door and let Doreen go in first. She stood there, holding her boobs like they were a pharaoh’s treasure.

  Averting his gaze, he stepped to Melody’s desk. It smelled like her. He smiled, and opened the desk drawer.

  And spied two boxes of red silk stationery, matching envelopes and several letters in Melody’s handwriting with a big X drawn through the middle of each page. He glanced at notepapers. They appeared to be early attempts at a letter to Cupid. Were these renditions of the letter he’d caught her mailing? Could there be a hint of her true feelings for him in the text?

  Grin widening, he eagerly started reading, but halfway through his stomach turned. He leafed through the second letter and the third. They were first drafts all right, but they were not heartfelt letters from Melody expressing her feeling for him. They were drafts of the Juliet letters that had been printed in the greensheet.

  It took a second for his discovery to fully sink in, but when it did, he felt like he’d been gut-­punched.

  Melody hadn’t been just publishing the letters from Juliet. She’d been writing them.

  THE LAST THING Luke wanted to do was attend the Sadie Hawkins dance. Having Doreen on his arm was bad enough, but it was going to be damn hard to see Melody again and not call her out on what she’d done. But the dance wasn’t the time or place to air dirty laundry. He had to bide his time.

  Faking a smile, he escorted Doreen through the door of the community center. She wore a tight sequined dress to match his tuxedo, but they both looked completely out of step with the theme. That’s the way Doreen wanted it. She liked attention and if they were dressed like everyone else, they wouldn’t stand out. For his part, Luke felt like a total dill weed.

  Melody and her crew had outdone themselves, transforming the gym into a set from Li’l Abner. Hay bales, wooden barrels, and scarecrows had been placed among picnic tables with red and white checkered tablecloths. Pink pig balloons floated around colorful streamers that had been hung from the ceiling. Red faux kerosene lamps served as lighting. A “Ladies’ Choice” banner was draped above the bandstand where a quartet played a cover of “I’ve Got a Little Hillbilly in Me.”

  Teen girls dressed in blue jeans cutoffs and gingham peasant blouses, boys were in plaid shirts and overalls. Children blew soap bubbles with replica corncob pipes or played horseshoes. Parents watched with amused smiles and grandparents reminisced.

  Refreshments included apple cider served in little brown jugs marked XXX in white paint, Mason jars of lemonade, pigs in a blanket crescent rolls, cornbread and pinto beans, watermelon slices and blackberry cobbler for dessert.

  Through the back window he could see a flatbed trailer strewn with straw, hooked to a tractor, waiting for the night’s culmination. A hayride.

  Dogpatch had come to life.

  Even though he was pissed off at her, he had to respect what Melody had done. The place was packed to the rafters.

  The band brought out the banjos. “Foggy Mountain Breakdown” had everyone moving to the music.

  He waved and nodded at constituents, made small talk with family and friends, all the time keeping an eye out for Melody.

  “You’re looking out of place in that monkey suit,” said his cousin Pete, hefting a beer in one hand and clamping Luke on the shoulder with the other.

  “Well, you know.” Luke shrugged. “It’s for the ladies.”

  “Yeah, I see ’em drooling over you. Story of your life.”

  “I’m lucky that way.”

  “How come you never got married?” Pete asked.

  “Guess I never found the right one.”

  “You’ve got a fine one on your arm right now.” Pete winked at Doreen and she tittered. “This is a great party, even if a Fant did organize it.”

  Luke bristled. “C’mon, for one night could we forget about Fants and Greenwoods and Nielsons and just have a good time?”

  “Easy to say.” Pete took a swig of beer. “Not so easy to do when you’ve got a teenage son who’s intent on chasing girls and half the town females come from John Fant stock.”

  “Would it be the end of the world if Billy did hook up with a Fant?” Luke asked. “I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?”

  Pete stared at him. “I can’t believe you’re saying that. After what happened to you in high school.”

  “What happened to me in high school is precisely the reason I’m saying this. The need for revenge poisons everyone and everything. Forgiveness is the solution, not retribution.”

  “You sound like a Lifetime movie. Should I buy you some chocolate and a bottle of Pamprin?”

  “Hating violence does not make me a girl.”

  “Look, I’m just saying, if Billy were to bring home a Fant to meet the family, I’d hit the roof.”

  “Even if the girl made him happy?”

  “How could he be happy with his family aligned against him?”

  “I’d be on Billy’s side. Peace is the way to go.”

  Pete narrowed his eyes, puffed out an indignant chest. “What? You some kind of Fant lover now? It’s that Spencer chick, isn’t it? You always did have a hard-­on for her. Can’t believe you brought her back to town. Big mistake. You’re playing with fire, cuz.”

  “You ready to dance?” Doreen interrupted. She shimmied, shaking her breasts for effect.

  “Why don’t we wait for a slower song?” he stalled.

  “Oh, right, gotcha.” She winked. “More romantic that way.”

  He forced a smile. She gazed at him adoringly. Terrific.

  The banjo music stopped playing and everyone glanced toward the bandstand. There was Melody, onstage again—­God, she could command a room—­microphone in hand.

  “Hello everyone and welcome to the Founder’s Day Sadie Hawkins dance. Have y’all been enjoying yourselves today?”

  Someone let loose with a long, loud whistle.

  “Yes,” chorused the group.

  “Woot!”

  “Awesome.”

  “You’re the best, Mel.”

  Doreen squeezed Luke’s upper arm. “Honestly, I don’t see her appeal. She’s too slick, too polished, and too darn skinny, and I bet she’d be hard-­pressed to fill a C cup.”

  “She’s damn talented,” Luke said. “She won a Clio.”

  “So? I was a Vegas showgirl.”

  He bit down on his tongue to keep from saying, Stripper poles don’t count.

  Doreen
pushed her bottom lip out. “I bet she’s lousy in the sack. Uptight and frigid.”

  Dead wrong about that, sweetums.

  Melody met his gaze across the room.

  Smack. Sizzle. Dammit. Every time he looked at her it was like touching a live power line.

  She pressed her lips into a thin line and quickly glanced away. Instantly, the smile was back as she addressed the crowd. “Okay, ladies. This is it, your chance to ask the man of your dreams to dance. Don’t be shy. Take the bull by the horns. Risk rejection. Channel the spirit of Sadie Hawkins and go to it.”

  The band launched into a lively rendition of Relient K’s “Sadie Hawkins Dance.”

  Girls sidled up to boys.

  Women approached men.

  Doreen wrapped her arms around Luke’s waist and drew him out onto the dance floor. She was chattering a mile a minute, but he wasn’t listening. He was watching Melody, who was talking to the high school girl who worked at the Chamber of Commerce—­Emma Lee Gossett, a Fant descendant—­and Emma Lee was shooting sidelong glances at Pete’s son, Billy.

  And Billy was looking back.

  Melody whispered something in Emma Lee’s ear. The girl nodded, lifted her chin, and stepped toward Billy.

  Billy smiled.

  Luke searched for Pete and spied his cousin leaning against the wall, scowling at his son, another beer bottle in his hand. Uh-­oh. A nasty premonition tickled the back of his neck and he was jettisoned back fifteen years to that picnic bench where he’d kissed Melody for the first time.

  The blast from the past wasn’t pleasant. He knew how this ended and suddenly he was backtracking on his earlier comment to Pete that he would be on Billy’s side if the boy wanted to date a Greenwood or a Fant. The town wasn’t ready for a repeat of that terrible summer.

  Emma Lee held out her hand to Billy.

  He took it.

  Together, they moved out onto the dance floor.

  Instantly, Pete launched himself from the wall, headed toward the kids. “Hey, hey, boy, get away from that Fant!”

  Billy tightened his grip on Emma Lee.

  Pete clamped his hand on Emma Lee’s shoulder.

  Emma Lee squealed.

  A half-­dozen Fants sprang into action.

  Luke’s legs were in motion before his brain caught up to what he was doing. He jumped between Pete and the converging Fants. Stretching out his body, futilely attempting to hold them at arm’s length, but already a brigade of Nielsons, including Luke’s father, Gil, were backing up Pete.

  Emma Lee clung to Billy like a grass burr.

  “Fant trash.” Pete spat. “Get your fucking hands off my son.”

  “Stop it!” Luke commanded. “Stop it right now.”

  But it was too late. The punching had already started.

  POLICE SIRENS BROKE up the fight. ­People ran higgledy-­piggledy, hightailing it for the exits, leaving a mess in their wake.

  The minute the first punch was thrown, Melody called the cops. She couldn’t believe things had spiraled out of control so quickly. When she encouraged Emma Lee to ask the boy she liked to dance, she never dreamed it was Billy Nielson.

  Talk about déjà vu. Her heart flew into her throat.

  Luke sat on his butt on the dance floor, his tuxedo torn and bloodied, his right eye swelling shut, his bottom lip cut and bleeding. Doreen was on her knees beside him, smoothing his shoulders with her palms.

  Melody raced over, but her heel caught on a streamer that had been pulled from the ceiling and lay tangled on the floor. She tripped, stumbled, almost fell, but managed to regain her balance.

  “Are you all right?” she asked breathlessly, coming to a stop beside Luke.

  He peered up at her with his one good eye and tried to say something, but immediately he put a hand to his lip. “Ow, ow.”

  “Oh, you poor baby.” Doreen stroked his head. “Don’t try to talk.”

  Law enforcement came through the door, but by then the instigators had dispersed. One of the deputies was Calvin Greenwood. Hand resting on the holster at his hip, Calvin sauntered over. “What happened?”

  “Fant-­Nielson crap.”

  Calvin sighed. “Ah shit. I knew it was coming after your office was vandalized and Melody kept putting up those damn Juliet letters. When are ­people going to get over it?”

  “It’ll never be over until we have an open dialogue about it,” Melody said. “Both families have been sweeping it under the rug for generations and nothing ever gets solved. We need to own this feud before we can do something about it. That’s why I published those letters from Juliet.”

  Luke glared at her with his one good eye. She knew what he was thinking. His way was the best way. Yes, she might have brought tourists into town with the letters, but at what cost?

  “I saw everything,” Doreen said. “Luke was trying to break up the fight and look what happened to him.”

  “Seems like you were the primary victim, Mayor.” Calvin eyed him, tension evident in the stiff set of his shoulders. “You wanna press charges?”

  Luke shook his head. “Putting those men in jail will only make things worse.”

  Calvin pushed his Stetson back on his head. “You sure about that?”

  “I’m certain.”

  Calvin glanced around the room at the few ­people who’d stuck around. He raised his voice. “Anybody else want to press charges?”

  No one said anything. A few shook their heads.

  “Could I speak to Luke in private?” Melody asked.

  Calvin held up his palm. “Go ahead.”

  “You don’t need my testimony?” Doreen looked hopeful.

  “No,” Luke said, wincing. “Go home, Doreen. I’ll have to give you a rain check on our date. We’ll start fresh.”

  Disappointment crossed her face, but she nodded. “Okay.”

  Melody motioned for Luke to follow her to a private corner of the room. Seeing his battered face cut her to the core. “You should press charges.”

  “Against your cousins?”

  “They assaulted you.”

  “It’s not the first time a Fant has assaulted me. Pressing charges would only make things worse. I want to end this damn feud once and for all. Filling out a police report would have the opposite effect.”

  “They’re just going to think you’re a coward.”

  “Do you think I’m a coward?”

  “We should talk this out.”

  “Not here. Not now. Not with your cousin glaring at me.”

  Melody glanced over her shoulder to see Calvin scowling. He was still a Greenwood, even though he’d been sworn to uphold the law and do what was right, ultimately his sympathies were with his family.

  “It’s his decision, Mel,” Calvin called out. “If the man doesn’t want to press charges, honor his wishes.”

  She turned back around to her cousin. “So just let him get the hell beat out of him again at the hands of our family?”

  Calvin didn’t answer that. “You want to go to the hospital and get checked out?” he asked Luke.

  “It’s not the first time I’ve had a black eye and busted lip,” he said. “I’ll live.”

  “In that case, there’s not much I can do. Are you absolutely sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right then.” Calvin shrugged and motioned to the two deputies who’d come into the building with him. “We’re heading out. Unless you want to file charges for destruction of property, Mel.”

  Should she?

  “Don’t.” Luke shook his head. “There’s not enough cells in the county jail to hold everyone who was slinging punches tonight. Besides, the effects of this are probably rippling throughout the town right now. Instead of messing with filing police reports, the deputies need to be patrolling the streets to nip hostilities in the bud.”

  He had a point.

  She glanced around at the gym. It had taken a punishing. Her decorations were ripped to shreds, blood streaked the floor, chairs were knoc
ked over, food spilled. It was a mess, but no serious damage done.

  “Luke’s right,” she said. ­“People are out there seething over this. You need to keep a lid on that.”

  Calvin nodded. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

  The deputies departed.

  Melody sighed. “What a mess.”

  A hand touched her shoulder and she looked over to see Natalie and Lace standing there. She hadn’t even realized they were still in the room.

  “You go on home. You’ve had a long, trying day. Lace and I will clean up. We’ve got the guys to help us.” Natalie indicated their husbands, Pierce and Dade.

  “Besides,” Lace murmured, “someone needs to doctor Luke’s face.”

  Relief moved though her taut muscles. She was lucky to have such a loyal, understanding family. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I do appreciate you.”

  Her cousins both gave her a hug.

  Melody retrieved her purse from where she’d stashed it behind the bandstand and went over to Luke. “Come on,” she said. “I’ll give you a ride home.”

  Chapter 22

  THE ride to the condo was silent. Feeling uncertain, Melody cast a sideways glance at Luke. What was he feeling?

  She pulled to a stop in her parking spot. “Can I come in and tend to your wounds?”

  “The way my face is hurting, I’d be a fool to say no.” He got out of her Corvette and led the way up the stairs to his condo, but there was a difference about him. Something she couldn’t decipher.

  He unlocked the door, held it open for her.

  She stepped over the threshold, accidentally brushed against his shoulder on the way in. His muscles tensed, and she heard the air leak from his lungs in a quiet hiss. Was he upset with her? Did he consider this whole thing her fault?

  Was it?

  Reaching around, he flipped on the light. He motioned her farther inside, tugging at the bedraggled bow tie at his neck and yanking it off.

  She followed him deeper into the room. He shrugged out of his jacket and slipped it over the back of a chair and proceeded to roll up his shirtsleeves.

  “We need to get you taken care of,” she said. “Sit down.”

  He slumped heavily onto the kitchen chair. He was wearier than he wanted to let on.