Big-Bucks Bachelor

by Leah Vale

  “I don’t think champagne is supposed to be chugged like beer.”

  “Would you rather have some champagne? I can have Dev open us some.”

  “No. No. That’s okay. Really,” she rushed to reassure him. She was having a hard enough time remembering this wasn’t real. “I don’t think we have to go that far to convince people.”

  “That’s not why I offered.”

  Before he could explain further, if he’d intended to, the band’s lead singer, a local guy and Garth Brooks wannabe right down to his black-and-white shirt, turned on his mike and called for their attention. Melinda was pretty sure he worked over at the slaughterhouse in Pine Run. He confirmed her suspicion about where he, and undoubtedly his band mates, worked when he introduced the band as The Slaughterhouse Four.

  Then he shocked her by saying that there was a newly outed couple who deserved a round of applause. “Everybody give it up for Jack and Melinda!” he yelled, whipping off his cowboy hat and pointing at them with it.

  The bar, which had been steadily filling up all evening, erupted in hoots and applause. Melinda instinctively covered her face with her hands. Never in her life had she been the object of such positive attention. Though she might have enjoyed it if she and Jack actually were engaged. Because they never would be, Melinda forced herself to lower her hands and soak up the moment despite her discomfort.

  When the ruckus died down, the lead singer continued, “And in honor of their engagement, they get to kick off the fun by starting the first slow dance. Get out on that floor, you two.”

  Melinda’s pulse went nuts with the stupidest combination of fear and excitement. She glanced at Jack. He was smiling at the lead singer like a guy with a lot of practice being a good sport. His gaze shifted to her, and he cocked a brow. She probably looked like a thirteen-year-old at her first school dance.

  She felt worse. It was as if she’d been stripped bare, her fondest wishes laid out for all to see.

  The band started playing a halfway decent cover version of a popular country western ballad and Melinda gripped her hands together in her lap, seized by the urge to dive under the table. Jack, however, pushed his chair back and stood. He offered her his hand, his expression saying, well, here we go.

  She had no choice. She’d made a deal, after all, and she wanted what she’d be getting out of it—a moment in Jack’s arms—more than she wanted to blend into the woodwork. Melinda wiped her damp palm against her jeans then slipped her hand into his. When his warm, strong fingers closed around her hand and he pulled gently to encourage her to stand, her mortification ebbed, replaced by the skittering thrill the prospect of being held close by Jack gave her.

  He turned and led her the few steps to the middle of the dance floor, then faced her and brought their joined hands up while he slipped his other one around behind her. She hesitated, but the pressure from his hand on her back encouraged her to step toward him so that they were touching from chest to hip. She slipped her free hand up onto his broad, hard shoulder. He bent his neck and settled his chin just barely against the side of her head. They began to move with the slow, easy rhythm of the song, swaying gently, taking small steps together that felt as natural as if they’d been dancing together all their lives.

  She couldn’t breathe. But she could feel. Oh, how she could feel. She could feel the strength of his hands. She could feel his heat through his shirt and smell the musky spice of his aftershave. In stark contrast, his belt buckle was cold and hard against her stomach and made her far too aware of what was below that buckle.

  And how unaware he was of her.

  But then he slid his hand from the middle of her back up under her hair, tangling it in his fingers as he went but doing so without pulling. She could feel him working the strands between his fingers, as if he were enjoying its texture. That small, gentle acknowledgment of her femininity freed the vise that held her chest and she pulled in a deep, blissful breath. Her breasts rose against his chest and he pulled her tighter against him. She wasn’t sure, but she thought that perhaps he wasn’t so unaware of her, after all.

  She could sense an energy building in his body, an attentiveness, perhaps.

  She closed her eyes to shut out all the curious faces and rested her head against his chest, focusing on the strong beat of his heart instead of the artificial beat of the music. The strangest sort of peace filled her. Her entire body pulsed with awareness of him, but she’d never felt more calm and sure in her life.

  Then it hit her like a flash of summer heat lightning that lit up all the dark corners of her heart she’d foolishly thought she’d known what they held. What she’d felt for Jack when she’d pined for him across the expanse of their desks as he concentrated on paperwork or when she’d surreptitiously watch him run his big hands gently over an animal wasn’t love. She’d merely been infatuated with his good looks, incredible body and wounded soul.

  She’d been taken with the idea of Jack Hartman. A man who needed to be rescued and healed.

  But now that she knew what it felt like to be championed by him, personally as well as professionally, and held by him, feeling revered and almost cherished, she realized what being in love with Jack really felt like, what it really meant.

  And she realized, really saw, how much it would hurt if he did as he said he would and left town.

  Until she was forced to face that day, though, she intended to steal every moment of happiness she could in his arms. With her father, and even Eric, the man she’d thought she’d once loved, she had preferred to go without their affection if she couldn’t honestly earn it, which she ultimately never did. With Jack, her monumental pride went by the wayside and she easily turned thief.

  To her amazement and delight, they danced the entire set just as they were, fast song or slow, barely acknowledging the congratulations and ribbing doled out in equal measure from those who joined them on the dance floor. When the music finally disappeared, it took a moment for the plain old noise of the crowded bar to bring her back to reality enough to notice that the band had taken a break.

  As much as Melinda would have liked to stay in Jack’s arms until the jukebox was fired up to keep the good times rolling in the interim, she was forced to step away from him when he straightened and released her. The daydream had come to an end with the jarring sounds of chairs scraping across the scarred floor and the overly bright laughter of women trying desperately to avoid ending the night alone.

  Melinda bore her own desperation in silence, as always.

  Jack met her gaze briefly before scanning the crowd while running a hand through his thick hair. “It’s heating up in here. Would you mind stepping outside for a second?”

  An image of them making out up against the building, his big, hot body trapping her against the hard wall, pressing into her, flashed in her mind and her pulse went nuts. “No, not at all,” she choked out. “I could use some fresh air.” Not to mention a long, deep kiss. She fanned herself with her hand as she followed him to their table to snag their coats and then headed for the door.

  Dev looked up from drawing a beer and called, “You aren’t calling it a night already, are you? Not that I blame you, though.” He winked at them, and the patrons seated at the bar, everyone except Paula and her friend, that is, laughed and nodded knowingly.

  When Jack merely shrugged, Melinda felt compelled to explain as she followed him to the swinging doors, “We’re just getting some fresh air.”

  Dev grinned. “Ah. You know, I’ve heard the air is particularly fresh against the building where the streetlight doesn’t reach.”

  Someone else said, “Heard, nothing, Dev. You’ve probably tested it yourself.”

  Another guy added, “Now why would Dev go out into the cold when he’s got a room right there in the back?”

  Melinda thankfully stepped through the door Jack held open for her even though the cold air, while it cooled her cheeks, momentarily stole the breath from her lungs. Having her physical relations, preten
d though they may be, bantered about by a bunch of bar patrons wasn’t something she was comfortable with. Nor did she care to hear about how men like Dev milked every pleasure they could from being single. That sort of daring was as beyond her as city life.

  Before they moved away from the light and scant heat escaping from the saloon, Jack helped her into her coat.

  “Thanks. So, are we done for the night, after all?” She dug her gloves out of her pockets and pulled them on.

  He remained silent as he put his own coat on and fastened it up. Then he blew out a steamy breath. “We probably should be. Listen, Melinda, I’m sorry about…about the way I took advantage of the situation in there. It’s just been so long since—”

  “I’m not sorry, Jack.” She didn’t want to hear him minimize the connection that had been forged between them by blaming it on his lack of physical contact since his wife died. She didn’t want him to rationalize away the illusion she’d created for herself. The illusion that he cared for her in the same way she cared for him.

  She took a step that closed the distance between them. She wanted that feeling back. “It was just dancing, Jack. So please, don’t say another word.”

  “But Melinda—”

  She yanked off a glove and stopped him by reaching up and placing her fingers on his firm, warm lips. She tapped into the way he’d made her feel on the dance floor to gather the courage to replace her fingers with her lips. She drew away her hand. Focusing on his sensuous mouth, she raised up on her toes.

  “Damn it.”

  Her heart lurched and she jerked back. Dear Lord, what had she done? But Jack wasn’t even looking at her. He was scowling at something behind her. She turned and saw the stray dog that Jack and the sheriff had been trying to trap standing not five feet from them, a plastic bag that at one time had held hamburger patties hanging from his mouth. At first glance, his long, gray-tipped coat and slender legs and muzzle did indeed make him resemble a wolf. And his stance was not the least bit submissive, only slightly wary. It was little wonder there were some in town who’d called for the dog to be shot.

  She automatically raised a reassuring hand toward the dog and whispered what Jack had obviously already surmised. “We’ve got to get that plastic away from him before he chokes on it.”

  His jaw set, Jack slipped his hands into his pockets. “I don’t have any treats in this coat. Do you have any on you?”

  Melinda put her hands in her pockets but found only tissue and lip balm. “No. I don’t.”

  “I’ll have to fake it.” He stepped around her and hunkered down to appear less threatening, extending his cupped hand toward the mangy dog.

  He took all of two steps, then the dog bolted right past them. Jack lunged for him, but the ground was slick with fresh snow and he fell short, sprawled out on his chest. The dog skirted him easily, almost as if he’d been toying with Jack the entire time. Tail held high, he ran off down the street, his booty still tight in his teeth and flapping in the wind.

  “Arrgh,” Jack growled, picking himself up off the snowy sidewalk and brushing off.

  “You okay?”

  “Just pissed. That dog’s making me nuts.” He brushed his hands off and came back toward her.

  He met her gaze and his expression shifted.

  Melinda knew in her gut that he was going to go back to what they were talking about before, say something about the way he’d held her when they’d danced. Something that might forever break the tenuous bond they’d made.

  Before he could open his mouth, she blurted, “Let’s go catch that dog before he chokes to death.”

  Chapter Eight

  Without giving him time to answer, Melinda took off into the snowy night, running down empty Main Street on the trail of the dog.

  “Fool woman,” Jack grumbled as he looked dolefully down at his good boots, then at least took the time to grab a length of rope out of the back of his truck and put on his gloves before he lit off after her. That dog didn’t want to be caught, and Jack seriously doubted if they’d be able to get close to the animal. He could still see Melinda as she ran straight through the intersection of Main Street and Big Draw Drive, but even if he couldn’t see her, her fresh tracks in the snow, directly on top of the dog’s prints, were easy enough to follow in the light from the turn-of-the-century streetlamps. Jack’s longer legs ate up more ground than Melinda’s, but she was still half a block ahead of him when she entered the green glow cast by Jester’s lone traffic light hung where Lottery Lane crossed Main Street. She paused for a moment, then canted off to the right, toward Jester Community Park.

  Uncertain how the dog would react if she cornered it, Jack increased his speed to catch up with her. He didn’t doubt her judgment or skill in handling the dog, and she was somewhat protected by gloves and a heavy coat, but two vets were always better than one when dealing with an unpredictable animal. He finally caught up to her when she stopped beside a tree, her attention on the ground and her breath misting the air around her.

  “Lose him?”

  She glanced at Jack, a wry grin on her face. She clearly enjoyed the challenge. He’d always assumed she tackled difficult situations with animals more out of dedication, maybe even stubbornness, than anything else, but he realized she found pleasure in solving the problem, doing the job well, also. He liked that.

  She gestured to the rope he held coiled in one hand and asked, “You didn’t by any chance grab a flashlight, too?”

  White Christmas lights had been left up on the library and medical clinic across the street from the park, along with every other business in town. And even though the lights reflected off the snow enough that Jack and Melinda could see their way around, it was by no means light enough to see into the shadows of the trees and bushes scattered around the two-acre park. “No, I didn’t. I was too intent on catching up with my crazy partner.”

  “I’m not crazy. Just maybe a little too enthusiastic.” She looked back at the ground and pointed at where the dog’s tracks were clear until they reached the base of the bare tree, where they became jumbled with other, older tracks. “The limbs keep the snow from falling as thick here, and there have been other dogs visiting this tree recently.” There were several patches of snow at the base of the tree that were definitely yellow.

  Jack circled around the tree. “There’s not enough light to tell which of these tracks leading away are his.”

  “Darn dog. I was hoping that chasing him would be enough to spook him into dropping that bag.”

  “No such luck.”

  She rounded the tree to stand next to him. “Do you want to keep looking?”

  “Yeah. I’d hate for him to choke himself on the plastic.” Jack clenched his jaw at the thought of the dog’s life ending in such a pitiful way after struggling to survive on his own for so long. He didn’t deserve it.

  “Then let’s keep looking. I worked up enough of a sweat running down here that I’m plenty warm.”

  “Good.” Montana winters didn’t lend themselves to nighttime romps outside. “Why don’t we spread out a little, so we can cover more ground.” He pointed toward the right side of the park. “You swing past the play area in case he went to hide under the play structure, then check out the basketball courts and baseball field. I’ll head straight down to the pond and look around there. He might need a drink after being chased by Miss Speedy Vet.”

  “I did notice that you had a hard time keeping up, old-timer.”

  He raised the rope. “At least one of us was thinking ahead on the off chance we did catch him. Why don’t we meet back up at the pavilion in fifteen minutes. If we haven’t spotted him by then, we probably aren’t going to, and that’s plenty enough time to spend out in this cold.”

  “Sounds good, Skipper. I’ll sound out if I spot him.”

  “And I’ll do the same. Be careful.”

  “You, too.”

  They headed off in their prescribed directions. As much as Jack tried to focus on the ground
for any sign of fresh tracks from a large dog or a glimpse of said dog beneath the scattered trees and bushes, he couldn’t keep from constantly looking in Melinda’s direction to make sure she was safe. Which was odd.

  For the past six months he’d never once thought about her safety when she went out on calls to the area farms and ranches, often to tend huge, cranky bulls and temperamental hogs weighing hundreds of pounds. Any or all of them could have easily crushed her slight frame against a wall or fence. So why was he suddenly worried about her?

  Because now you know what it feels like to hold her in your arms. He had no choice but to acknowledge the voice in his head. He couldn’t deny it. From the moment he’d held her close and started moving to the music, his way of thinking about Melinda had irrevocably changed. She had ceased to be just an easygoing co-worker he could depend upon. She wasn’t even just a funny, caring woman he’d come to know and appreciate better these past weeks.

  Melinda was now the woman who made him think about, made him feel things he hadn’t felt or thought about in five long years.

  She was the first woman he’d wanted since Caroline.

  The realization hit him in the chest like an unexpected cow kick. He stopped dead in his tracks next to a lump of snow that would be a cluster of cattails in the summer and fall. He wanted Melinda. In self-defense he immediately tried to shake off the significance of it.

  He was a healthy guy, after all, and she was a beautiful, sexy woman. He’d just been slow noticing, was all. And since he hadn’t known Melinda while Caroline had been alive, there weren’t any painful memories connected to her. That’s why Melinda was the first to stir sexual feelings in him.

  Nodding his head in agreement with his own logic, he started searching for the dog again.

  Because the large, open-sided, wooden pavilion, with its gazebolike roof sat near the pond, Jack was the first one there after making a course around the small, frozen body of water. The air, trapped between the peaked roof and the concrete floor, was colder still in the pavilion. Jack’s boots sounded sharply against the concrete slab that had been poured to keep the dozen or so picnic tables level and make the pavilion usable during the annual Founders’ Day celebration in two weeks.