by Diane Darcy
Everything she’d done since she’d been about fourteen had been actively geared toward getting away from this lifestyle, and here she was, not only sitting with losers, but enjoying it. Was this who she really was then? Deep down, would she always be trailer trash? Didn’t it matter what she’d done in the intervening years? Would she always be that skinny little girl, that pathetic loser, who wanted more, wanted to be more, but never could?
She shouldn’t be comfortable here. She shouldn’t be enjoying their company, she should be enduring it.
Looking into their faces, she saw their kindness and goodwill. Their acceptance of her.
She didn’t want it. She wanted to be different from them. Better.
Stumbling to her feet, her cards scattered. She had to get away. “I have to go now. I need to get back to my cabin and...and I have to go.”
Everyone stared in stunned silence.
Finally Sully spoke. “But we’re not finished with the stew!”
Melissa nodded and headed for the door. “I have to go. Goodbye. Goodbye!” She practically ran through the doorway.
Chapter Twelve
Flipping back the ugly pink curtain, Melissa looked out the side window. She could see past the cabins, all the way to the ranch house, but still no Richard.
“Why can’t we just go outside until Dad gets home?” asked Jeremy plaintively.
Melissa twitched the curtain back into place. “This isn’t our home. Stay put.” She turned to face the kids, sitting at the table. They were washed, tidy and combed, and staying that way.
Jessica crossed her arms. “How come we have to wait? I’m hungry right now.”
The whining didn’t even phase Melissa. “We’re eating as a family tonight.” Richard would be so surprised that dinner was ready when he came home. Thrilled even. She couldn’t wait to see his face.
She walked over to the stove and gave the vegetable stew another stir. It seemed a little watery, but didn’t look too bad. Perhaps some meat would have helped, but after the dead rabbit episode, Melissa was considering a vegetarian lifestyle.
She tasted the stew again. Yes, it was a little bland. But still edible. Any improvements were beyond her newfound culinary skills. She sighed and admitted to herself that she might have been a little hasty in leaving Sully’s earlier. She still needed to know how to cook. But the thought of going back there turned her cold.
What she really needed was a cookbook. Or a pen and some paper to take cooking notes. Or a new house, and a job. Or a time-travel machine. She might as well dream, since none of it was going to happen.
She crossed the room and opened the front door, glancing in both directions. Where was he? A cowboy sauntered around the corner then cut between two cabins and headed toward the garden. Why was he off work and Richard wasn’t? Surely Richard had been finished about this time yesterday? The vegetables might overcook if they didn’t eat soon.
Turning, she scanned the room. The table was as clean, neat and tidy as she could make it. A loaf of bread sat in the middle, a new offering from their anonymous benefactor. A plate of sliced cucumbers sat to one side, another of tomatoes. The dishes didn’t match, but there were folded napkins at each setting. Well, dishtowels really, but better than nothing. Everything she’d used to cook with had been washed and the room looked as inviting as she could make it.
Jeremy swung a leg back and fourth and Jessica sat with her arms crossed, obviously bored.
Melissa sighed. “Okay. Go find your father.”
The kids jumped up and ran outside.
“But don’t get dirty!” Melissa called after them.
About ten minutes later, she finally heard footsteps. She glanced up from stirring the stew, a smile on her face, but Richard wasn’t with the twins. She looked past them.
Breathless, Jeremy clutched the door frame. “Dad went to the saloon in town with the other cowboys.”
“What?”
Jessica, also breathing heavily, nodded. “Mrs. Dade told us. He went to the saloon.”
“The saloon?” Melissa stilled. After a moment, she took a deep breath, nodding once. “I see.” She put the spoon down and took another deep breath. “I see.” She focused on the kids. “Sit down.”
They sat.
Jessica looked at her warily. “What are you going to do?”
Melissa shrugged. “Do? Feed you kids dinner, of course.” Using a mug, her hand trembling a bit, she scooped soup into their bowls. She cut them both a generous slice of bread and wrapped the rest of the loaf in a cloth. Her movements stiff and controlled, she put a lid on the soup and took it off the heat. She pulled off her apron and hung it on a nail.
“I want you kids to eat. Then I want you to wash your dishes and go to bed. Under no circumstances are you to leave this cabin. Do you understand?”
Wide-eyed, they both nodded.
“Where are you going?” asked Jessica.
Melissa headed for the door. “I’m going to have a little talk with your father.”
* * *
The sounds from half a block away reached Melissa: tinny piano music, low booming voices, as well as a woman’s high-pitched laughter. The cool evening breeze did nothing to calm the anger building with each step she took.
Richard was inconsiderate.
Her low heels clicked sharply against the boardwalk as she passed by stores closed down for the evening.
He was insensitive to her feelings.
Her fists clenched and unclenched.
He didn’t care what she was going through.
A newly formed blister throbbed where the handkerchief had slipped off her heel about a mile back.
Wasn’t he always complaining because they never had dinner as a family? She’d made dinner, slaved over it, and where was he? Off carousing with a bunch of low-life losers in a saloon, that’s where!
Melissa pushed through the swinging doors, scanned the crowded room and had her suspicions confirmed. A rough-looking group, all of them losers. Fat men, tall men, lean men, short men, hairy-faced men. Denim, leather, and hat-wearing, poker-playing, drinking, smoking losers. And that was only the men.
Her eyes narrowed on Richard, standing at the bar, two idiots with him and all talking to a flirtatious girl clad in an interesting outfit. Red satin and white lace barely covered the generous curves thrust in front of Richard’s face, the dress length showing off plump, overweight, stocking-clad thighs.
Melissa’s temperature shot up, and dizzy, she gritted her teeth and lifted her chin.
She forced a calming breath. She supposed the outfit passed for risque and sexy in this time, but the poor dear would have to do better than that if she wanted to capture Richard’s attention. The guy watched Baywatch reruns, not Bonanza.
Regardless, he was dead.
She started forward and the stench of the place hit her; unwashed bodies and the sour smell of ale and tobacco. Smoke burned her eyes.
A very large muscular man, clean shaven, with a sharp indent in his chin and dark curly hair, blocked her path. “What have we here?” His grin stretched from ear to ear.
Melissa was forced to stop, and she slipped on the sawdust.
The man’s hands shot out and he gripped both her arms in his meaty paws and grinned down into her face like he’d just won the lottery. “Whoa there, filly. What’s your name?”
Melissa tried to look past him to Richard, but his bulk blocked her view. “Remove your hands or you will lose them,” she said, her tone as cold as a pair of frozen shears.
He laughed. “Don’t be that way. I’m Curly Jenkins. You and me could have some fun tonight,” he leered. “Let’s spend some time together. Get to know each other. We could be real good friends.” He pulled her forward.
Melissa’s rage hit a high point. “I do not--” She grabbed one of his hands, deftly turned, pulled it over her shoulder, backed up a pace and with a loud yell, leveraged his upper body weight and flipped him onto his back. “Have any interest--” She kicked
him in the side, placed both hands on her hips and leaned over him. “In spending time with you--” She kicked him again. “Or in being your friend! And if you touch me again, if you even look at me again, I’ll break both your arms!”
The tinny music stumbled to a halt, the saloon going silent as everyone stopped to witnessed the drama.
Melissa glanced up.
Everyone was staring.
Heat seared her face.
Curly chuckled and grinned up at her. “I am in love!” He grabbed one of her hands. “Marry me, darlin’!”
Everyone laughed.
Melissa’s face burned even hotter.
Catching her gaze, the bartender smiled. “You lookin’ for a job, honey?”
Melissa straightened and yanked her hand out of Curly’s sweaty grasp. She’d had enough. She would try to leave with some dignity. First gambling, now brawling in a bar, all in one day. She just kept sinking lower and lower.
She took a deep, calming breath, then met Richard’s stunned gaze. “Richard, dinner is ready.” She turned and walked toward the exit.
“Richard, better get on home before your wife gives you a beatin’!” A low raspy voice called out.
Laughter exploded in the saloon and she could specifically hear Richard’s laugh joining in. The idiot.
Curly’s voice boomed back to her. “That your wife?” His tone was disappointed.
“Yep. Sure is,” he actually had the nerve to sound boastful.
“She have a sister?”
“Sorry boys, but she’s one of a kind.”
Hearing the pride, the bragging in his tone, Melissa shook her head, huffed out a breath but actually smiled as she went through the swinging doors. His obvious pride was kind of sweet. The doors swung closed behind her and she headed down the boardwalk.
But he was still a dead man.
* * *
By the time Richard untangled the horse’s reins from the hitching post, Melissa was more than halfway across the main street and headed home. He mounted the horse and went after her. As he drew closer, he could see she was limping.
He dismounted, caught hold of the horse’s reins and pulled the animal along behind. “Honey?”
She didn’t even look at him, simply stared straight ahead and kept walking.
Richard tried again. “Sweetie?” He tried to catch hold of her swinging hand.
Melissa slapped him away.
“Are you upset?” He winced at the lame question. Of course she was upset. He just didn’t want to guess why she was upset. Volunteering information might give her more ammunition. He’d been married to this woman for fourteen years, and if he’d learned anything, it was to keep his mouth shut when she was angry.
But perhaps a compliment couldn’t hurt. “You sure look nice tonight.”
Nothing.
“Your hair sure does look pretty.”
Melissa’s lips tightened. “What about the girl you were ogling? Is my hair as pretty as hers?”
Oh, boy.
“A thousand times prettier. A million. A billion! And I wasn’t ogling. Why would I when I’m married to the most beautiful woman in the world? She couldn’t hold a candle to you.” He wasn’t sure, but he thought her face softened a bit. He grabbed her hand and held it. She tried to pull away; but not too hard.
He entwined their fingers and held on tight. “Anyway, I was only talking to her to be polite.”
Melissa snorted. “She had fat thighs.”
“I didn’t even notice.”
She turned narrowed, disbelieving eyes on him.
“But I’m sure they were disgusting!”
Melissa smiled for a moment, but her lips quickly formed a pout. “I made dinner tonight. I spent hours cooking and cleaning.”
Richard groaned, realizing why she’d walked the two miles to town. No doubt rage had given her wings. “And I missed it. I am such a jerk.”
Melissa nodded in agreement.
“You’re limping. Come on, let’s ride the horse.”
He mounted, kicked his left foot out of the stirrup and held out his hand to her. The horse shied a bit, but Richard held her steady and hefted Melissa up. Grabbing hold of her hips, he set her on his lap, both legs off to the left. “Okay?”
She clutched his arm. “Maybe I should ride behind you.”
Richard wrapped both arms around her. “No, I like this just fine.”
They rode in silence for a while, listening to the clomping of the horse’s hooves on the hard-packed dirt as the evening sun dipped lower in the sky.
Melissa slowly relaxed against him. “It’s so quiet.”
“Yeah, isn’t it great?”
She slapped him on the chest. “No. I hate it. I miss home.”
“What do you miss?”
“Cash, decent clothes, soft beds, gourmet restaurants, walking shoes, the hustle and bustle, cash; take your pick.”
“Yeah, but what about the smog?”
“And showers. Long hot showers.”
“What about the news? Murders and rapes every night.”
“Razors.”
“Hmm, let’s see,” Richard slid a hand up under her dress to feel her legs.
She slapped his hand away. “Birth control.”
Richard laughed.
“Convenience food,” she said.
“Now wait a minute! You’ve got to admit the food tastes great here. No preservatives. And the water! Have you tried that well water?”
Melissa stuck her chin out. “It’s not Evian.”
“It’s better.”
“There’s no ice.”
“There’s ice here. Just not for drinks. What about all the fresh air.” He breathed in deeply. “Isn’t this great? Come on, you’ve got to admit it’s great.”
“My career.”
“No alarm clocks to wake up to. And more time for the kids.”
Melissa turned toward him and sniffed suggestively. “Deodorant.”
Richard laughed again, then tightened his grip around her waist. “Riding a horse on a deserted country road with my wife in my arms.”
She seemed to think about it for a moment, then smiled and snuggled closer. “Yes, this is nice.”
The pace was slow, the horse simply walking. As far as Richard was concerned, they could do this all night. He felt content with her in his arms. It had been a long time since they’d been this undistracted.
Relaxed as she was, Melissa seemed softer, more approachable. He kissed the back of her neck.
She shivered.
Richard smiled and kissed her neck again. “Speaking of birth control, are you still wearing your patch?”
“I’m due to change it in two weeks.”
“So it’s still good right now, isn’t it?”
Melissa lifted one shoulder. “Forget it, I’m not interested.” She shivered again as he ran a hand up and down her arm.
“We could just make out,” he coaxed.
She shook her head, but arched her neck when he kissed her behind her ear.
Using the reins, Richard urged the horse off the path.
“What are you doing?”
“Just taking in some new scenery.”
She looked at him. “It’ll be dark soon and we need to get back to the kids.”
“The kids are fine.”
Melissa paused for a long moment, then took his hand in hers before meeting his gaze again, her eyes sultry. “What do you have in mind, cowboy?”
Richard’s heart pounded at her acceptance. He leaned over and whispered into her ear and, if the smile on her face was any indication, she liked his idea just fine.
* * *
“Yoohoo, Mrs. Kendal!”
Melissa turned away from the well, the bright morning sunlight momentarily blinding her before she finally focused on the Cowboy Wives Club approaching at a fast clip.
She quickly glanced around, looking for an escape. She saw no need to spoil her good mood by talking with people who hated her and n
o doubt simply wanted to assign new chores. But in the time it took to scan the orchard for a likely hiding place, they were almost on her.
Standing beside her, Jessica, the traitor, set down their bucket, smiled and waved in greeting.
Straightening, Melissa braced herself, lifted her chin and assumed a haughty expression. She spoke before they got the chance. “Don’t worry, I’m planning to spend some time in the garden this morning.”
Coming to a halt, Sarah waved a pudgy hand as if to dismiss Melissa’s comment. “How in the world did you throw Curly Jenkins onto his back?”
The three women were all smiles. Slightly nervous smiles, but smiles nonetheless.
Wary, suspicious, Melissa searched their faces, wondering what they were up to. She didn’t buy the sudden friendliness, but could certainly play along in order to find out what they really wanted. She stretched her own lips. “It’s called self-defense. I’ve taken classes for years.”
“Self-defense?” Amanda, her dark hair glistening with natural red highlights, tested the words, making them sound foreign and unfamiliar.
“It takes years to learn?” Sarah’s tone was disappointed.
They were so obvious. Did they really think their sudden friendliness would fool her? Melissa watched as Emma, timid as always, fidgeted, wary and uncomfortable. A dead giveaway that they were trying to pull something, and she prepared herself to be back-stabbed.
Enemies one minute, friends the next? Melissa was familiar with this game, and they were dealing with the wrong woman if they thought their little plan was going to bother her. Whatever it was.
But she’d play along for the moment. “Not years, no. Some of it is quite simple. For instance,” Melissa put out her arm. “Grab hold of my wrist and hold tight.”
Sarah hesitated, then followed the instructions.
Melissa gripped her own hand and with a quick twist, easily broke Sarah’s grip and freed herself.
Openmouthed with wonder, Sarah glanced at her friends. “I was holding on as tightly as I could.”
“She’s really good at it,” said Jessica. “You wouldn’t want to meet my mom in a dark alley.”
The comment, the note of pride, surprised Melissa. She couldn’t remember Jessica saying anything positive about her, ever, and a warm glow spread through her.