by Jill Gregory
She’d bought the dress off the rack the day before at Top to Toe. It was a simple dress—long-sleeved flowy silk, in a sophisticated deep oxblood red, that ended a good few inches above her knees and made her look tall and slender. She hadn’t even tried it on yet, had merely guessed at her size and brought it home, hanging it in her closet. She still wasn’t sure she was ready to put it on.
But she had to meet Brady at Lickety Split in a half hour for their “date.” He’d written her a pretty nice note, but she didn’t have a clue if he was merely getting the obligation of this date out of the way or if he really wanted to spend time with her.
Or if he’d give up and run again if her grandfather happened to call while they were together or if they somehow bumped into him on Main Street.
She wanted Brady to know she wasn’t upset that her grandfather didn’t think too highly of him. She thought highly of him. That should be enough for Brady.
And she could deal with her grandfather.
She’d gone to her grandmother for advice the previous day. And Grandma Joanie had told her to listen with her heart. If she was certain Brady was a good man, then one of these days, her grandfather would come around.
“You leave all that to the two of them,” Joanie Hodge had instructed her as she served Madison tea and a big slice of peach pie still warm from the oven. “They’ll work it out. You go after what you want. Follow where your heart leads you, Maddy. And trust it to always lead you to the right place.”
That was exactly what Madison intended to do. After slipping on tiny jet earrings and spiky black heels, she straightened and appraised herself in the full-length mirror on her closet door.
Some might think she was a little overdressed for Lickety Split, but she didn’t care. She liked the effect. The dress wasn’t one of those long, glittery, girly pink or white confections she associated with the pageants. It wasn’t pageanty at all. It actually looked good.
Sort of cool and sophisticated.
And unlike those days when she was competing and wearing nothing but fancy, frilly pastel dresses, she certainly didn’t feel the least bit like she was going to barf as she looked herself over in the mirror. She wore the barest trace of rose lip gloss and a tad bit of eyeliner and mascara. Her hair fell in loose dark waves, streaming past her shoulders.
Smiling slightly, she snagged a black lacy shawl from her dresser drawer and hurriedly tossed it around her shoulders. Simply wondering what Brady’s reaction would be when he saw her tonight sent an anticipatory tingle rushing over her skin.
She seized her purse, took one last peek in the mirror, then flung open the door of her apartment, only to nearly run into a tall figure in a brown leather jacket, leaning against the narrow corridor’s wall.
A scream flew from her mouth, just before her brain belatedly processed who he was.
Brady.
“What are you doing here? You scared me half to death!” She leaned against the wall for support as her thumping heart slowed ever so slightly in her chest.
“Hey. Sorry. You okay?” Brady studied her, his brows knit. His thick sandy hair was neatly combed and he looked older somehow—tall, strong, and dreamily handsome. Beneath his jacket she glimpsed what was probably a brand-new pearl gray shirt, along with his boots and jeans.
She drew a breath. “I thought we were meeting at Lickety Split.”
“We were, but then I got to thinking. On a real date the man calls for the woman at her door.” Brady reached behind her to close her apartment door. “So I got here early to escort you properly.”
Madison stared at him. “Are you saying this is a real date?” She waited for him to make a joke.
“As real as they come. If that’s okay with you.”
There was no laughter in his eyes. She knew because she searched them. She saw only warmth.
Her cheeks flooded with heat, and to keep him from noticing, in case they’d turned pink, she ducked her head as they started down the hall.
“I don’t suppose it ever occurred to you to knock. Or did you just want to jump out at me like the bogeyman?”
“I didn’t want to rush you. So I waited.” His gaze slid appreciatively over her. “For the record, it was worth the wait. You look…incredible. I mean,” Brady added quickly, taking her arm as they headed down the stairs, “you always look incredible but…tonight…”
She almost tripped on the bottom step, but his fingers tightened on her arm, steadying her.
“Brady, what are you talking about? You think I always look incredible? Are you crazy? In my jeans, in a sweatshirt?”
“Absolutely.” He flicked her a what’s-wrong-with-you kind of grin. “Don’t you have a clue how gorgeous, not to mention totally hot, you are? In whatever you’re wearing. Especially if you’re not wearing much at all.”
She blushed, remembering that night in her apartment. Hot? Gorgeous? Incredible? He was crazy. “I’m not any of those things. I never try to be. I had enough trouble trying to be all of them when I was younger.”
“I know you did—I remember. But, listen, Madison. You don’t have to try. You just are.” He held the door for her as they walked out onto the sidewalk. “You always have been,” he added quietly.
She didn’t know what to say. Brady had been her friend even before she entered a single pageant. He knew her better than anyone, except her grandparents. Her mother hadn’t known her at all, or at least, had never understood that Madison had totally different wants and needs than she did. Her head was whirling as they walked down the darkened block, lit only by intermittent streetlights, and crossed toward Main.
“I wasn’t even sure you would go through with our date…after what happened in my apartment that night,” she told him softly. “I haven’t heard from you, Brady. I’m sorry if you were mad when I answered the phone when my grandfather called. It’s just that he gets so worried if he can’t reach me—”
Brady stopped short and grabbed her arm. “I wasn’t mad at you. Not because you answered the phone, not for any reason.”
“Then why did you leave like that? You just jumped up and left. You’ve barely spoken to me since.”
“Maddy…” He seemed to be searching for words as they faced each other on the quiet, darkened street, only blocks from Lickety Split. “I was furious with myself, not with you. Furious because I lost it that day, way back when I punched out Deputy Mueller after Cord died. Your grandfather’s deputy, of all people! I was sure your grandfather would never get past that. He’d never trust me and he sure as hell wouldn’t trust me with you. I didn’t want him to be angry with you on my account. You’ve already gone through enough—”
“That’s for me to decide, Brady Farraday.”
She yanked her arm free and glared at him, her caramel eyes darkening.
“I’m not intimidated by my grandfather. Or by you. I make up my own mind.”
“I know, Maddy, but…I didn’t want to be the one causing any kind of hard feelings between you and him—”
“Oh, shut up, Brady. You’re not going to come between me and my grandparents. You never could. No one can. But they’re not coming between you and me, either,” she told him, her chin tipping up as she met his eyes.
Brady could barely keep from sweeping her up in the air and twirling her around. She was magnificent. Slender, feminine, determined. No longer the childhood friend he’d spent countless hours with when they were young, but now a woman with a will so calm and so fierce she took his breath away.
“I don’t want anything to come between us, either.” He pulled her close, resisting the urge to stroke his thumb along her lush bottom lip. “But I want you to be happy.”
“Then I suggest you kiss me,” she told him, grabbing the front of his jacket and tugging him around the corner, into the moonlit alley behind the Cuttin’ Loose, away from the streetlights of Main. “Kiss me now, Brady Farraday, because I won’t be happy until you do that again.”
He didn’t have to be asked twice. He backed her up slo
wly against the rear wall of the Cuttin’ Loose salon and leaned down in the brisk darkness of the October night. As his mouth brushed hers, she lifted her arms and twined them around his neck. Her lips parted and her eyes shone and it seemed to Brady that every curve of her body seemed to melt like the sweetest candy against his.
He kissed her a long time, letting his lips rove along her jaw, down her throat, then return to capture her mouth. He studied her as if memorizing every single one of her features, every eyelash, freckle, and the shape of her mouth. Then he kissed her some more.
When they were both breathless, he drew back and gazed down into her flushed, upturned face, into eyes that were searching and trusting all at once.
Then she grabbed the front of his jacket again and murmured, “Ice cream can wait, Brady. I can’t. Kiss me some more.”
She pressed her lips to his and he grinned and did what he’d been brought up by his mother to do—always oblige a lady.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Two weeks later in Bismarck, North Dakota, Jake hurried toward his rental car. Behind him in the stands of the rodeo arena, a roar went up from the crowd. The bronc-riding competition was still under way. But he never slowed his steps or felt tempted to turn back and see what was going on.
For once the smells and sights and thrumming energy of the rodeo hadn’t grabbed him the way they always had before.
He’d originally booked his return flight for first thing in the morning, but he’d impulsively changed his plans and switched to a red-eye tonight. He could have stayed another hour or two at the rodeo, bunked at his hotel, and made it to the airport after breakfast but he found himself suddenly in a big hurry to get back.
He’d only left Lonesome Way five days before, but he missed Emma something terrible. He missed Bronco, too. He’d left the mutt in Carly’s willing care, since Emma loved the animal so much. But…who’d have thought he’d miss that dog?
And who else do you miss? a voice inside him asked. His own voice. He couldn’t seem to shut it up.
Well, yeah, he missed Carly. And that was an understatement. They’d been spending even more time together ever since her whack-job ex-boyfriend and that private detective had faced a judge. A judge who sent both of them packing.
The detective hadn’t been charged with anything, but Kevin Boyd had gotten away with a suspended sentence for breaking and entering, contingent on him agreeing to leave town immediately—and to leave Carly and Emma alone.
Once the judge had listened to all the testimony, added up dates and times, and seen Emma’s birth certificate as well as the results of a blood test, he’d informed Boyd that based on his own testimony as to the last date he had any contact with Carly McKinnon, along with the child’s legal age and date of birth and the blood test results, there was no possibility that the child in question could be his.
If ever a man had left a town with his tail between his legs, it was that asshole Boyd, Jake thought. But he hadn’t slunk out before Jake had warned him personally—in a soft, even, but unmistakably dangerous tone—that if he ever came within fifty miles of Carly or Emma again, he’d rearrange his face so that the devil himself wouldn’t recognize him.
With Hurley already speeding home to Wyoming and Boyd gone as quick as he could book the next flight to Boston, Jake had no reason to worry about leaving Carly and Emma for a couple of days. The danger was over.
He’d called her that first night he arrived in Salt Lake City, and then each night he was in Carson City. He’d even spoken to Emma on the phone, though all she’d done was babble something about Bug and “Mumma” and “Masson,” which was her way of saying “Madison.” But this trip, when he’d flown out here to Bismarck for the Wilderness Falls National Rodeo, he’d had second thoughts.
He’d wanted to call again every morning and every night. To hear Carly’s voice. Find out about her day and Emma’s day. But he’d stopped himself. He realized he couldn’t continue to do that.
It wouldn’t be fair.
Now that the danger was over, he had to start stepping back. Give Carly some room and take some for himself. They were getting in too deep. And Jake didn’t do deep.
This is bad; you need to nip it in the bud. Now, he told himself as cheers and applause thundered from the stands behind him. He barely heard it. All he could think about was how he felt when he and Carly were together. Whether they were washing dishes or making love. Every time he was with her, every time they touched or kissed and even when he simply looked at her—he felt incredibly close to her. Closer than he’d ever felt to anyone.
It was terrifying. More terrifying than the most savage bull on the circuit. An insistent beep kept blaring in his brain, warning him of danger.
He knew they were on the brink, in danger of crossing an invisible line. Of becoming more than coparents to Emma, more than friends. More than even friends with privileges. It was uncharted terrority and every instinct Jake possessed roared at him to back off.
If he called her every night he was away, she’d have every right to start thinking of them as a couple. Believing that they were more involved than they actually were. She didn’t realize that there were things he could never give her or do for her—or be for her.
Which was why it was better to pull back now and not feed any more expectations.
He cared too much about Carly to ever want to see her hurt.
The amazing, beautiful mother of his daughter deserved better than what he could give her. She was strong and smart and sexy beyond words. And whenever they made love—whether Emma was over at Travis and Mia’s place on a playdate with Zoey or having a sleepover at Martha’s, or even tucked into her own little crib down the hall at night—he couldn’t get enough of Carly. She felt so perfect in his arms. The richness of her laughter drew him like home cooking. He’d discovered somewhere along the way that those forest green eyes and her brave spirit never ceased to call to him.
But he sensed they were dancing close to a very dangerous cliff. It was time to step back from the abyss.
Frowning, he yanked open the door of his rental car and was about to slide behind the wheel when he spotted the girl.
Skinny, about eighteen. A beauty with shiny blond hair pulled up in a ponytail, and a quick, eager walk. For a moment—just one moment—something about the color of her hair and the shape of her face and the way she moved reminded him of Melanie.
He watched her run along the sidewalk and into the arms of a clean-shaven young cowboy in a tan Stetson, who scooped her up and twirled her in a circle. Her laughter rang out like tinkling crystal, and the illusion dissolved.
Melanie had never laughed like that. She’d hardly laughed at all. Ever. Aside from the color of her hair and the quick way she walked, and the brilliant blond beauty, this girl was nothing like Melanie.
Still, he stood a moment, his hands gripping the top of the car door, thinking back on the pretty and mostly silent girl he’d promised to help. The girl who’d desperately needed him.
He’d forgotten how young they’d both been back then. She was just seventeen; he was nineteen. And she was scared to death.
Her mother had died of leukemia ten years earlier. Her father was a rodeo pickup man, responsible for helping the cowboys dismount after a bucking event and for keeping the arena clear, as well as for herding and roping as needed. He was also a drunk and a bully who dragged Melanie along with him from rodeo to rodeo when she wasn’t living at her aunt’s house in Livingston, getting home-schooled.
Jake had first met Melanie Sutton at the Bear Claw bar in Livingston. They’d run into each other after that at a number of rodeos and became friendly. One day, he happened to spot a bruise on her arm, but she wouldn’t talk about it. A month and a half later, she had a bruise on her face, a bruise so purple that no amount of CoverGirl makeup could completely disguise it.
It took a little time before Jake got her to admit that her father became violent at the slightest provocation. He beat her if she came h
ome late after being with friends or if he caught her talking to any male under the age of forty. Or if she burned his supper, or didn’t answer him fast enough when he asked her a question.
Furious, Jake was determined to confront the man and warn him what would happen if Jake ever found out he’d hit his daughter again.
But Melanie wouldn’t let him. She was terrified by the very idea and begged him not to say a word to her father or to anyone else. Jake suspected others knew, too, but they all looked the other way. Her father, Duke Sutton, apparently never drank on the job and was considered one of the best pickup men in the business. No one wanted to get in Duke’s way or cross him by paying too much attention to the bruises and broken bones that now and then plagued his daughter.
Melanie had always looked defeated and as skittish as a deer skidding on melting snow across a lake. Finally Jake knew why.
He made her swear to call him the next time she felt in danger. He promised he’d come and help her anytime—all she had to do was call.
He even managed to win her trust enough to get her to accompany him to a social worker’s office for an initial meeting he set up. The social worker urged her to file a police report against her father and to go to a women’s shelter. But Melanie panicked, too terrified of her father to even contemplate such a thing, and bolted from the meeting.
When Jake caught up with her, she was headed resolutely back to her father’s RV to clean up and cook supper before Duke returned from working with his horses. She’d been crying, her eyes red and bloodshot.
Mostly it was the hopelessness that stabbed at him. Melanie didn’t believe she would ever escape, so she didn’t allow herself the courage to try.
He wrapped his arms around her and told her he would be there for her. That she needed to get out now, and head to a place where she’d be safe. Somewhere far away where her father wouldn’t find her.
At first she refused, assuring him over and over again that she would run away someday, as soon as she scraped together enough money and enough courage—and a good head start. Once she finally did, she vowed, scrubbing the tears from her cheeks, her father would never find her.