The Marriage Charm

So yes, he’d show his face at the Moose Jaw, make it clear that he wasn’t pining for a lost love.

Besides, he was the chief of police, off duty or not. It was his job to keep the peace, and to do that, he needed to get a read on the crowd. The wedding guests, well, they were sensible people for the most part, all of them friends of the bride or groom or both. But this was Saturday night, so the regulars were sure to be around, along with a few tourists. In Spence’s experience, emotions ran higher on sentimental occasions like weddings or holidays or funerals—any event with a lot of symbolism attached. Throw in a little alcohol and just about anything could happen.

Soon enough, the Moose Jaw was in sight, and it was definitely jumping. Cars, pickups, motorcycles, ten-speed bikes, any rig with wheels, short of little red wagons and skateboards, crowded the gravel lot. There was no evident method to the madness, either—the vehicles were parked at odd angles, as though drivers and passengers alike had abandoned them in a sudden panic. The overall effect was chaotic, like a mess of dominoes dumped out of the box.

If the patrons inside had been in that much of a rush to start swilling beer, Spence speculated wearily, what kind of shape would they be in by closing time?

He sighed as he got out of the truck, locking it behind him. By now, he’d been up just shy of twenty-four hours, having put in a double shift on Friday, before attending Tripp’s bachelor party. He was bone-weary and ravenous, too, since he’d had nothing but wedding food since last night’s pizza—a slice of cake, a handful of those dainty pastel mints, and a smoked salmon “sandwich” about the size of a silver dollar.

He needed protein, preferably in the form of a thick steak, medium rare, and after feeding a couple of critters—one horse, one dog—a long, hot shower. After that, God willing, he could fall facedown on his bed and sleep.

Even with a plan in place, such as it was, Spence felt faintly anxious.

His black-and-white mutt, Harley, in whom a number of mysterious breeds converged, would be watching the road for him, perched vulture-style on the back of the living room couch, peering through the picture window and fogging up the glass with dog breath while he kept his vigil.

The stone-gray gelding, called Reb in deference to Spence’s Southern heritage, was content enough, he figured, grazing in the pasture beside the barn, enjoying the pleasures of summer. Still, horses were social creatures by nature, whether they were wild or tame, and all of them needed company.

With these things occupying his mind, Spence was tempted to breeze right out of town, back to his ranch, pretending he’d never planned to stop in at the Moose Jaw in the first place.

Instead, and with considerable resignation, he walked across the parking lot. The bar had been in business since frontier days, when it was a bona fide Old West saloon, and the building listed slightly to one side, like a drunk trying to look sober. The roof sloped, streaks of rust marked the presence of every nail, and the never-painted wall boards had weathered to a grungy gray.

He’d stay for ten minutes, max, Spence told himself, resolute. He’d see and be seen, say howdy where a verbal exchange was required, size things up and, finally, hit the road.

Dutifully, he opened the door.

I’ll stay for ten minutes, he promised himself again. No more.

* * *

THE MUSIC ROARING out of the jukebox was too loud, and the Moose Jaw was too crowded.

In Melody Nolan’s opinion, that is. Everyone else seemed to be having a grand old time, whooping it up, laughing and dancing and consuming plenty of cold beer.

Oh, there was reason to celebrate, all right. Hadleigh and Tripp were finally married, and that was practically a miracle, given how stubborn those two were. And Melody could comfort herself with the knowledge that the marriage pact, a secret plan that she and Hadleigh and Bex had agreed upon and set in motion a few months before was actually working—one wedding down, two to go.

Melody fingered the tiny gold horsehead on her bracelet, a symbol of triumph, not just for Hadleigh, the first bride, but for herself and Bex, as well. She’d personally designed and crafted the sparkling talismans, one for each of the three friends, and this initial charm represented Hadleigh’s relationship with Tripp, a rancher and born cowboy.

So far, so good.

Melody was wildly happy for Hadleigh, BFF extraordinaire. It was probably just fatigue—along with her very sore feet—that made her feel forlorn at the moment, unusually fractious and on the verge of tears.

Physical discomfort exacerbated this sorry state of affairs, but Melody didn’t dare kick off the spiked heels she’d been wearing for six-plus hours as one of Hadleigh’s two bridesmaids.

If she did, regret would soon overshadow relief, because her poor tootsies would puff up to three times their normal size, in which case it would be impossible to get those wretched shoes on again. Furthermore, Melody had no intention of going barefoot for the rest of the evening, since the Moose Jaw’s sawdust floor was filthy and, besides, some overenthusiastic dancer might step on her toes.

So she suffered, though not in silence.

When her other best friend forever, Bex, short for Becca, Stuart came back to their sticky-topped table, laughing and breathless after yet another Texas two-step with yet another cowboy, Melody glowered at her.

Bex, clad in an elegant yellow dress, identical to the one Melody wore, registered the look and made a face in response.

“Why aren’t you dancing?” Bex half shouted in order to be heard over the blare of the music and the general hoot and holler of the crowd packing the seediest watering hole in Mustang Creek, Wyoming.

“Why aren’t you limping?” Melody countered. Bex’s shoes, like her dress, were duplicates of her own. Yellow, pointed at the toes and stilt-like. They were definitely out of place in their surroundings. Cowboy boots were the footwear du jour.

Bex’s sigh was visible rather than audible, because of the din, and the horsehead charm on her bracelet winked in the light when she lifted one hand to push a lock of artfully streaked hair from her forehead. “Honestly, Mel,” she said. Melody was reading her lips. “Do you have to be such a party pooper?”

Mildly chagrined, Melody once again touched the charm on her own bracelet. “I’m happy,” she retorted unhappily. “Okay?”

Bex merely shook her head. The woman was a fitness guru, for heaven’s sake, and she lived in athletic shoes, not three-inch heels. So why wasn’t she in pain? Those toned calves, no doubt, gained from giving classes at one of her fitness centers. “That’s not exactly convincing.”

Just let me welter in my self-pity. In the midst of that unbecoming thought, Melody felt an odd, heated charge tingle between the tips of her fingers and shoot up her arm, as if from the charm itself. Startled, she released it quickly, forgetting all about the exchange with Bex, sitting up a little straighter and glancing instinctively toward the bar’s entrance.

And there he was. Spence Hogan, the only man who had ever broken her heart.

Not just hers, of course. Pretty much any attractive female he came into contact with fell into that category. He should have a sign around his neck—Ol’ Love ʼem and Leave ʼem. Apparently you weren’t breathing if you were female and lived in this town and didn’t want to snag a date with him. By all accounts, many had. But she tried hard to plug her gossip ears when it came to him.

Spence was crossing the threshold, hat in one hand, standing so tall he almost had to duck to keep from bumping his head on the door frame.

It shouldn’t have been possible, but he looked even better in regular clothes than he had in the elegantly fitted tux he’d worn to the wedding. The guy gave a new meaning to the term “best man,” Melody thought peevishly. Her rising irritation was due to being constantly thrown into his company for the past two days. Hell, she’d had to sit next to him at the rehearsal dinner! If Tripp’s father, Jim, and his new wife hadn’t arranged that particular event, she might’ve been really annoyed at that seating snafu, but Jim was a sweetheart, and his wife probably didn’t realize she and Spence had a past. Besides, it was logical, since she was a bridesmaid and he was the best man.

Best man.

Best at what? Looking good? Making love? Shattering dreams?

Melody was thrown by the mere sight of Spence, which was weird because not only had they been forced into close proximity by the wedding ceremony, they’d also lived in the same small community for most of their lives. Inevitably, they ran into each other fairly often, despite her efforts to steer clear.

Nonetheless, her nerves shorted out, like an electrical circuit on overload.

Why, she wondered, silently frantic, couldn’t she just look away, render Spencer Hogan invisible, pretend he didn’t exist, as she usually managed to do?

No answer came to mind—and this development alone was maddening, since Melody always had a ready supply of answers. Except when it concerned Spence. Spence, with that easy, confident cowboy’s stride of his, and the vivid, new-denim blue of his eyes; if she hadn’t known better, she would’ve sworn he wore tinted contacts. The color was striking even from the far side of a crowded bar. So were his dark hair and his broad shoulders, the way his jeans fit his lean hips and long legs... Somehow, these familiar elements never failed to take her by surprise.

Spence had been about thirteen years old that memorable summer, when he first appeared on Melody’s personal radar, although he’d been around for a while. She’d been just six at the time, already thick as thieves with Bex and Hadleigh, all of them due to enter first grade in the fall.

Friends with Hadleigh’s big brother, Will, and Tripp Galloway, Spence hung around the Stevenses’ house a lot in those days, shooting hoops in the driveway with other boys from the neighborhood, playing rhythm guitar in Will and Tripp’s garage band.

One day that summer, though, he’d definitely caught her attention, which started a serious case of hero worship.

It wasn’t anything more complicated than the chain coming off her bicycle, causing her to wipe out in the street. He happened to be arriving at Will’s just then and jumped off his own battered bike. He dashed over, helping her up and examining her scraped knee and elbow, not one teasing word about the tears rolling down her face. Instead, he used the edge of his T-shirt to wipe them away. Then he brought her inside and delivered her into the caring hands of Hadleigh’s grandmother. When Melody came back out, the damage duly cleaned and bandaged, her bike was fixed and sitting by the garage.

“Hey, you okay?” he’d asked, as if he actually cared about the answer.

When she nodded, Tripp said, “I adjusted your chain. It was really loose.”

Will added, “The last time I wrecked like that, I’m pretty sure I cried, too. Don’t feel like a baby or anything.”

Then they went back to their basketball game.

That was it.

But both Hadleigh and Bex were impressed. Normally, in their experience, the boys didn’t even notice their existence.

Outwardly, nothing had changed after that day. Will and Tripp tolerated Hadleigh and her two sidekicks with benign indifference, and Spence followed their lead.

Hadleigh, Bex and Melody, on the other hand, shared a secret new awareness that nothing would ever be quite the same. They giggled and whispered among themselves, trying to unravel the mystery of this new fascination, but years passed before they finally succeeded.

Now, after all these years, Hadleigh and Tripp were deeply in love, the forever kind, and as of that very afternoon, joined in holy wedlock.

Coincidence? Probably not, Melody mused with a sense of philosophical awareness—undoubtedly brought on by the events of the day—as she took a sip of the beer some cowboy had bought her. She really believed this wedding was the culmination of something that had started when they were just kids.

The fairy-tale aspects of their shared history might have fostered legends if Bex and Will had grown up and fallen for each other, like Hadleigh and Tripp, but Will had been killed in Afghanistan and, while Bex had dated a lot, especially in college, she’d never met The One.

As for Melody and Spence, they’d had a summer fling once upon a time before she realized he wasn’t interested in permanence, and she’d been starry-eyed with dreams of a future together—a cozy house, children and all the rest. In the end, though, she’d made a complete fool of herself by blurting out a marriage proposal, one perfect night in July, with the last of the Independence Day fireworks still dribbling from the sky. And she would never forget—God knew, she’d tried—the expression on Spence’s face as he prepared his answer.

Instead of flashing that patented grin of his, instead of saying “yes, let’s do it,” the way Melody had expected him to, Spence had given her a figurative pat on the head and then, very gently, explained that he wasn’t ready to make that kind of commitment, and neither was she. She wasn’t even through college yet, Spence had reminded her, wounding her with kindness.

It had taken her years to recover. She took another sip of tepid beer as she grimly remembered that night.

Yes, he’d claimed, when she’d tearfully demanded whether he loved her, he did care for her, very much as a matter of fact. And that was one more reason he wasn’t going to be the one to derail her career, maybe even her whole life, before she’d had a chance to go places, figure things out, decide what she really wanted.

Before Melody’s personal universe disappeared into a black hole, she and Spence had spent virtually every spare moment together. Gradually, they’d grown closer and then closer still, until they’d finally made love, sweet and slow, under a star-spangled sky the first time, and in every private place they could find after that.

Oh, yes. Melody had loved Spencer Hogan with all that she had and all that she was.

Silly girl. She’d actually believed he loved her right back.

Until the breakup, of course. Spence had immediately consoled himself with Junie McFarlane, and Melody had moped around the house until it was time to go back to college in late August. There she was like a sleepwalker, distracted and depressed. Aware that things had to change, she’d switched her major from pre-law to fine arts, since she’d always loved shape and texture and color, and when that didn’t help, she hid out in the dorm, skipping classes and meals, rarely sleeping through the night.

Melody’s mother was beside herself with worry. After years of widowhood, she’d just remarried and was planning a move to Casper. Realizing she was causing distress to someone she loved—even knowing that she was keeping her mother from enjoying her newfound happiness—couldn’t cure the blues, apparently.

Left to her own devices, she would surely have crashed and burned.

Fortunately for her, however, Bex and Hadleigh had refused to let her self-destruct. They’d improvised an amateur intervention, the two of them, confronting Melody in the cramped little room the three of them shared all through college. Melody had balked at first, demanding that they leave her alone, but they were as stubborn as she was and simply wouldn’t give up.

They’d badgered her all one Saturday, until she would’ve agreed to practically anything just to get five minutes of peace and quiet. Knowing they’d finally cracked her armor, they’d pestered her to get out of the pajamas she’d been wearing for days on end, take a hot shower and put on her favorite outfit.

After that, Hadleigh and Bex had dragged Melody out of the dorm and off campus, winding up at the nearest mall, in one of those snip-and-dash salons, where a very gay guy with a pink Mohawk and a disturbing number of body piercings ordered her into a chair and proceeded to trim and fluff and spray her unkempt hair until she looked almost like her old self again.

Miraculous as it seemed, that was only the beginning of the Save Melody from Herself campaign.

Next, Hadleigh and Bex had declared that they were starving, and all three of them trooped over to the food court, with its plethora of unhealthy dining choices, and agreed, after some discussion, to share orders of yakisoba, chicken teriyaki and egg rolls.

Then, since the multiscreen theater was right there, and they’d all been fortified by a hot meal, they decided to take in a movie or two.

In the end, the total was three—two chick flicks and an apocalyptic action film.

The next day, she’d gone back to class, and for weeks afterward, Bex and Hadleigh had helped her catch up on the work she’d let slide.

Remembering all that in mere moments, Melody smiled to herself, there at the grubby table in the Moose Jaw Tavern, despite her aching feet and admittedly bad attitude.

The whole experience was ancient history now, she reflected, still watching Spence, still unable to stop watching him, as he made his way across the sawdust floor, pausing here and there to exchange a friendly word or a handshake with somebody or to laugh at some joke.

He approached the bar, spoke to the man behind it, but came away without a drink. Spence rarely indulged in alcohol; he’d told her once that it smoothed away the rough edges a little too well, whatever that meant.

At last, and with enormous effort, Melody finally managed to tear her eyes away from him, her face burning at the difficulty, and when she shifted her gaze in the opposite direction, it was to catch Bex grinning in that knowing way best friends have.

Melody grimaced at her.

Bex, unruffled as usual, laughed and shook her head, rising when yet another cowboy asked her to dance.

“Don’t be surprised if I’m not here when you get back,” Melody yelled over the music.

“Suit yourself,” Bex yelled back, good-natured to the end.

Melody was beginning to feel like a real wallflower, which was a stretch, considering how often she’d been invited to dance since she and Bex had arrived an hour or so before. After a few polite refusals, the invitations had stopped coming, and that had been okay with her and with her screaming feet.

She’d had, as her grandfather liked to say, all the fun she could stand.

Time to vamoose.

The waitress had been running a tab, and Melody wanted to pay her share, so she elbowed her way through to the cash register at the far end of the bar, searching her little yellow purse—part of the bridesmaids’ outfit—for her credit card.

She settled up and then limped toward the door, propped open to admit the summer breezes, and scanned the demolition derby in the parking lot for her car.

It was blocked in on all sides.

“Oh, hell,” she muttered, faced with two equally unappealing choices—go back inside the Moose Jaw, hunt down the bar owner and convince him to find the patrons responsible for the dilemma and get them to move their vehicles—or she could walk home.

“Is there a problem?” The voice, all too familiar, took her off guard.

She turned her head and, sure enough, Spence was standing there, watching her, his face in shadow and his expression, therefore, unreadable. Well, not completely. Was that a grin just barely tugging at one corner of his mouth?

“Yes,” Melody said stiffly. “There is a problem.” She sucked in a breath and continued in a rush of words. “In fact, there are several problems. First of all, I want to go home, and I can’t because my car is literally surrounded. Furthermore, my feet are killing me—”

Melody put on the brakes, stopped talking.

Spence, frowning as he listened, surveyed the lot full of rigs that might have been parked by half-trained baboons, and sighed. She was unprepared for the impact of his blue eyes when he looked back at her face then slid a leisurely glance down the length of her body to her shoes, which weren’t suitable for walking through gravel, let alone making the long hike home. The grin he’d probably been trying to suppress broke loose at last.

“I don’t know how you can walk in those things,” he remarked. “And, no offense, but that dress makes you look like an inverted daffodil. A wilted one. I’ll bet it’s stylish or something, but I’m not positive yellow is your color. The only good point is that it shows off one leg. I like that. You have nice legs.”

Melody rolled her eyes then snapped, “Well, thanks a whole heap for nothing.”

“Just my opinion,” Spence said. “I wasn’t kidding about the leg part.”

“I don’t remember asking for your opinion of my dress or my shoes or my legs,” she said, more than cranky now. When would this damnable night be over?

Spence’s response was a low chuckle, and the sound was so thoroughly masculine it made her heart pound. “Come to think of it,” he drawled, “you didn’t.” He paused, and in an instant, his expression changed. He seemed tired, no longer amused. “I’m headed for home myself, and I’d be glad to drop you off at your place.” A beat of silence. “Your car will be all right here till morning, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

By then, Melody’s heart had shinnied up into the back of her throat, but she managed to croak out a reply, anyway. “I don’t think—I wouldn’t—I mean—”

Spence’s mouth twitched again, and his eyes twinkled as he watched her.

Melody wanted to punch him.

She also wanted, perversely, to kiss him.

She wanted to...

Damn it all to hell, she didn’t know what she wanted.

Typically, Spence didn’t ask. Instead, without any warning at all, he swept Melody up into his arms and proceeded to carry her across the parking lot, his strides purposeful.

“What,” Melody gasped, after a considerable delay and with significant effort, “are you doing?”

“That ought to be obvious,” Spence replied reasonably. “I’m hauling you to my truck so I can drive you home. It’s not as if you could cover much ground under your own power—not in those ridiculous shoes, anyhow.”

“Hauling me?”

He nodded matter-of-factly. “You look thin enough, but I’d say you’re on the hefty side. I’ve lugged around calves that weighed less.”

Melody seethed, stung, even as something primitive and hungry unfurled inside her. “That was a terrible thing to say!” she protested. “Hefty?”

They’d reached Spence’s truck, and he set her on the passenger-side running board, holding her in place with one hand while he extracted his keys from the pocket of his jeans. After easing her to one side, he opened the door and gestured for her to get in.

“Sorry,” he finally said, without conviction. When she didn’t move, he just put her in the truck’s cab.

Melody’s backside landed hard on the seat, and she was too stunned by his audacity to say another word. Or to climb right out of the truck.

Spence paused to consider some passing thought, rubbing his chin as he apparently pondered. His beard was already coming in, Melody noticed, oddly distracted.

“I guess I can be fairly tactless,” he conceded. “Hefty might have been the wrong word. But I did apologize, didn’t I?”

Melody found some remnant of her voice, enough to call him a name.

Spence shook his head in apparent amazement, but Melody knew that lethal grin of his was lurking just out of sight and might reappear at any moment, a dazzling flash that would leave her temporarily blinded.

“I should’ve known better than to try and do you a favor,” he said with a long-suffering sigh. Before Melody could react, he added a brusque, “Fasten your seat belt.” With that, he slammed the door, came around to the driver’s side and got behind the wheel.