The Marriage Charm

Fine. She planned to state her business and go. Who cares what I look like?

After all, this was an errand, not a hot date. Still, Melody did loosen her hair and let it fall around her shoulders. No use being at a total disadvantage. Spence threw her for a wide, slow loop as it was. She didn’t know why, but she found herself recalling the time they’d gone swimming in the Yellowstone River on a camping trip early in that magical summer. He’d looked downright delicious with wet hair and absolutely nothing else on... Oh, yeah, that had been one unforgettable afternoon.

Let’s put that memory in cold storage.

Melody drove slowly toward Spencer’s property, mapping out her apology as she went. She’d say she was sorry for being grumpy, foisting the blame on her diabolical shoes. He’d act distant but nice about it all, and that would be it. Done deal. Then maybe she could actually work. Creativity was a delicate thing. When she was upset, she couldn’t concentrate. So she wasn’t doing this for Spence. She was doing it for herself.

When she finally cruised through the open gateway onto the Hogan ranch and started up the long drive, a plume of dust roiling in her wake, she scanned her surroundings, immediately registering that although Spence’s truck was parked near the barn, his horse wasn’t in the pasture, and there was no sign of his dog, either.

Perfect. She’d worked up her courage and come all this way for nothing.

Clearly, the chief of police was not at home.

Torn between mild annoyance and stark relief, Melody parked, got out of the car and stood, hands on her hips, breathing in the grass-scented country air and taking in the scenery while she weighed her options.

The Grand Tetons loomed in the near distance, jagged and snow-capped.

She shifted her focus to the house. Nothing fancy, but Spence wasn’t ever going to be fancy, and no one would expect that. The low-slung structure was functional and comfortably spacious, and it suited a cowboy lawman’s lifestyle. There was a wide front porch, shaded by a sloping roof, outfitted with several wooden rocking chairs and a small table. The barn was weathered but looked like it had a new roof, and the corral was clear of any weeds, with a solid rail fence and a trough at one end.

The house and yard could have used a woman’s touch, she thought—a few flower beds, maybe a window box or two, some cheery curtains at the windows.

But Spence was a bachelor, sharing the ranch with the horse and the dog, and Melody supposed the set-up was pretty much perfect for a simple man. Only Spence wasn’t simple at all; he was darned complicated, vexing as hell, and that mistake she’d made years ago of thinking she understood him—it had really bitten her in the posterior.

Um, better put that memory on ice, too, sweetheart.

Melody began to feel fidgety. She really needed to work. It wasn’t just therapeutic on a bazillion levels, it was also her livelihood, and, therefore, the only reason she was here at all. She wanted to get that apology out of the way so she could concentrate again...

Maybe she ought to cut her losses and run, get out while the getting was good. She could always send Spence an email, dash off a breezy “sorry about that” and move on with her life.

Furthermore, she could do without the drama, she told herself. Things had been running pretty smoothly but now, all of a sudden, Spence was an issue. Again.

All he did was give you a ride home, she reminded herself silently. Lighten up.

Inspiration struck. She’d leave him a note. That would soothe her conscience, put paid to the whole matter, once and for all.

Problem solved. Resolutely, Melody climbed the steps and just in case she’d missed her guess and Spence was at home, after all, she knocked on the door. No dog and no horse almost certainly meant no Spence, but with the way her luck had been going lately, she might catch him with his pants off or something.

An intriguing thought.

She rapped firmly at the door. Waited.

No answer.

Still, she hesitated to barge into another person’s house. She considered scribbling a few words on a page from the sketchbook she always carried in her purse, but it was a breezy day; the message might blow away, roll across the range like a tumbleweed or wind up lodged in the branches of some pine tree.

Hell.

Melody pounded on the door.

* * *

NOTHING. SHE WAS out of choices.

After drawing a long, deep breath, she tried the knob. Surprisingly, the chief of police had left his house unlocked, but then again, she supposed Spence knew it would take some nerve to rob his house.

She stopped in the act of opening the door, noticing with amusement a garden gnome parked next to something bushy by the front porch. No kidding? She guessed the plant was a weed, but she had to admit it was kind of pretty with yellow flowers that she assumed would send anyone with allergies into a tailspin. Still, it looked as if he intended it to be there. A garden decoration like that on a ranch—what was the story? If that wasn’t out of character, she would eat her pointy shoes from hell.

He was such a...man.

A tall, infuriating man with skillful hands and a compelling smile, who made love as if he really meant it...

But didn’t. All these years she’d expected to hear that he’d gotten engaged. It hadn’t happened. There’d been some talk about Trudy Reinholt, an attractive elementary-school teacher who seemed to hold on to him the longest—longer than Melody had, that was for sure—but it had fizzled out about a year ago.

Melody let herself in and stood in the living room, since there was no real entry other than some tiles in a square so cowboys could wipe their feet before they stepped onto the hardwood floors. There was a tan couch to her left in front of a river-stone fireplace, a plain pine coffee table with a dog-eared novel on it and an iron lamp that had the image of a bronco rider. His coffee cup was still sitting on the surface of the table, but to his credit, he’d used a coaster.

Would he mind her just barging in? His actions last night meant he’d given up that choice, she decided. If he hadn’t been so impetuous, so...pushy, she wouldn’t be standing here, uninvited, in his living room.

Yep, all his fault.

Still, she was an interloper. Spence craved his personal space, she knew that about him, and it was something they had in common. Solitude was a friend for both of them. She needed it in order to create her eclectic designs. He dealt with a much grimmer reality, although—granted—no one would call Mustang Creek a hotbed of criminal activity. But solitude for him was an escape from the problems he had to unravel, a chance to recover his equilibrium.

While he was in the real world solving crimes, she was in her own little realm spinning treasures.

They were opposites. She got him, and yet she didn’t.

Was that the chemistry? She was light, and he was darkness?

No, Spence was pure light, just of a different kind.

She should ditch the philosophical meditation and find a pen, since there didn’t seem to be one in her purse. No sketchbook either. Melody might have walked right into the man’s house, but she drew the line at rummaging through cabinets and drawers. She finally fished out a bank receipt from her bag and thankfully spotted a pen on a small side table by the picture window. She’d snatched it up and started to scribble her apology, noting that the pen said Findley’s Feed Store on the side, when the door opened.

“Hey.”

The sound of Spence’s low voice made her whirl around in time to have Harley launch himself at her in pure adoration, singing the song of his people.

So the master of the house was back.

Boy, he sure was, leaning in the doorway, that faint, devastating smile on his mouth. “Ma’am, pardon me for saying so, but I believe you’re trespassing.”

* * *

“I WAS LEAVING you a note.”

Melody looked cute when she felt guilty, especially while trying to fend off a dog with one hand, a pen clutched in the other.

Spence’s problem was that she looked cute—no, beautiful—to him all the time. Even in the daffodil dress, wobbling on her ridiculous shoes, she’d turned him on. Maybe it was that glimpse of one long, sleek leg because her skirt had a slit in the side of it.

The real Melody, the quirky artist with mismatched clothing and long honey hair in a shining fall over her shoulders, was eye-catching in his humble opinion. It didn’t matter what she wore.

“About?” He raised his brows in question.

“About what?” She’d figured out that if she climbed onto one of the stools by the counter, Harley’s exuberance was easier to handle. At a word, the dog would calm down, but Spence didn’t say anything. Perched there, Melody peered at him.

“You mentioned a note?”

“Oh, right.” She seemed flustered. Gloriously so. “I was going to thank you for last night.”

“For what, specifically?” Spence savored Melody’s discomfort, reflecting on the fact that she hadn’t seemed all that grateful at the time.

“The ride home.” She was blushing. “And I assume you’re the one who got my car back to me. Thanks for that, too.”

“No problem.”

“It had to be something of a problem, since you didn’t have my keys.”

“As someone who’s worked in law enforcement for a while, I can tell you it’s not an insurmountable one.”

In the course of his career, he’d met a few people who’d done a two-step, twirl and turn when it came to the law, but they weren’t always bad folks, just a little misguided. He didn’t look the other way when they broke hard and fast rules, but most of them, especially the young ones, only needed a nudge in the right direction. Spence was a big believer in second chances.

He wouldn’t mind a second chance himself. A second chance with Melody Nolan.

He could hardly believe it, but they were actually alone. Yesterday had been different, full of activity and ceremony and guests, but in his quiet house they were together—and on their own—for the first time since he and Melody had gone their separate ways nine years ago.

“Just answer my question. How did you manage the car anyway, without my keys?”

“Called in a favor from someone I know.” He moved into the kitchen, but his casual stride didn’t reflect his mood. He was anything but nonchalant. Coming home to see her car outside his house—and her inside it— had done something interesting to his stomach that had nothing to do with the fact that he’d ridden back because he was getting hungry.

She looked skeptical but also flustered at being caught in his kitchen, although at least Harley had calmed down enough that she could get off the stool. “How do they turn off the car without keys?”

She’d always had an inquiring mind.

He shrugged. “The same way they started it, I imagine. And no, I didn’t let a convicted felon drive your car. No arrests, just an...unusual background.”

Frank was a wizard with all things mechanical, but outside of one juvenile joyride, he’d stayed out of trouble. After that initial brush with the law, they’d come to a mutual understanding—Spence didn’t want to send him to jail, and he didn’t want to go. He’d found it hilarious that Spence had called him.

She chose to not pursue it. Facing him, her aquamarine eyes vivid in the late-morning light, she began, “This is better done in person, anyway. I know we’re no longer—”

“Lovers,” he supplied helpfully, crossing his arms and propping himself against the counter.

More’s the pity.

“Not in practically a decade!” His gorgeous trespasser glared at him. “I was going to say friends. That we’re no longer friends, I mean. The point is, I always pay my debts, so if you ever need a favor, I guess I owe you one.”

Spence couldn’t help it; he laughed at her grudging tone. His drawl was deliberately exaggerated. “Why, ma’am, I’m afeard that ain’t the most gracious apology I’ve ever gotten.”

Her eyes really were the most beautiful color, a shade of aqua he’d never seen on anyone else, and they flashed with a familiar fire he’d sorely missed. It had been too long since he’d really looked into them, with her looking back. Melody usually did her best to stay away from him—and if they both happened to be in the same place, she’d pretend he wasn’t there. Or that she wasn’t...

She slung the bag she’d brought over her shoulder, and he was surprised she didn’t topple over because it was obviously heavy. That was confirmed when she listed a little to one side. “Don’t pull that country bumpkin act with me, Spence. After that hefty crack last night and the way you manhandled me, you’re fortunate to get an apology at all.”

Harley sat there with his head cocked in that way he had, apparently fascinated by their exchange. The dog was so darned smart he probably understood every word, too. If Spence even mentioned the word walk, the dog was at the door, and heaven forbid he should carelessly drop the word treat because then there’d be a streak of black and white making a dash for the pantry, straight to the correct cupboard.

Melody was getting ready to leave. Apology over, duty done.

While he still wondered why she’d bothered, he didn’t want her to go. That glutton-for-punishment mentality of his clearly meant he should get his head examined by a professional.

Oh, yeah. And he was about to prove it.

“Hold on.” Spence lifted his brows. “I already know the favor. The one you promised me.”

“You do? Okay.” She eyed him suspiciously. “Shoot.”

She sure as hell should be suspicious. His intentions were distinctly based on a certain portion of his anatomy that was clamoring to be in charge. Her mouth was soft and tempting in the light coming through the kitchen window, the view outside framing her in a vista of mountain peaks and blue sky. The sun lit her hair with a glorious shimmer of gold.

If he asked her for what he wanted, she might refuse, so he improvised. “Don’t move.”

“That’s the favor?” There was confusion in her voice. And a slight tremor.

“Yep.”

“What are you up to, Hogan?” Her eyes widened as he took two steps, closing the distance between them.

He relieved her of the purse or bag or whatever it was. He muttered, “What’s in this thing? Have you been diving shipwrecks to pick up cannonballs?” It thumped as he put it on the counter. Then, quick as heat lightning, he caught her around the waist.

“None of your business, and what the hell are you doing?”

“Kissing you.”

“I don’t think—”

“Perfect,” he interrupted as he lowered his head. “Thinking should not be involved.”

It had been a long time since that passionate summer when they couldn’t get enough of each other, but his senses hadn’t forgotten a damned thing. Her taste, the curves of the body pressed against him and a fierce surge of desire he’d certainly never felt with any other woman.

Maybe if he hadn’t been in constant contact with her for the past few days he wouldn’t have done it. While it was awkward to run into each other in town and at various Bliss County events, they both used avoidance like a personal shield.

They’d done this for nine years. But he still thought about her every day. That was too telling to ignore.

What if they put as much effort into resuming a relationship as they did avoiding it? Perhaps it could work.

It must be Tripp’s happiness rubbing off on him, giving him some sort of romantic bug that was as infectious as the flu.

Melody made a noise of protest and slapped his shoulder.

Not exactly romantic enthusiasm.

In return, he deepened the kiss, half expecting a knee to the groin.

Then her hand relaxed on his arm.

That was something he might not have noticed if he wasn’t so attuned to her body language, but he felt every atom shift, the cosmos adjust, and Melody softened against him.

Physically, they’d always been good together...

If she made that sexy little sound of enjoyment that he remembered like a song stuck in his mind, he’d be dead in the water.

She made it. Big splash as he went in and started to drown.

Instant erection. He knew she could feel it, too, because she stirred slightly, in an erotic movement that was instinctively female, and if he hadn’t been busy giving her the kiss of her life—he was sure trying—he would have groaned out loud.

What happened next was up to her.

Neither one of them was breathing evenly when they finally broke the kiss, and he nuzzled her neck, waiting for her to say something, anything, to indicate how she felt about what they’d just done. Knowing Melody, she might come to her senses—smack his face and storm off, peeling rubber as she drove away.

He really hoped she wouldn’t come to her senses.

He certainly wasn’t being practical.

Luck was with him; she wasn’t, either. She looked him in the eyes. “I have no idea what that was about.”

“Yes, you do.” He brushed his fingers across her cheek. “I’m going to recant what I said last night. You’re lovely in yellow. I’m very partial to you in yellow. See how well I can apologize? Besides, it was a joke.”

“Too late to smooth that one over. Maybe you should kiss me again.”

“I’d like to do a hell of a lot more than that.”

“That isn’t exactly a state secret at the moment.” Her reply was typically sassy, but she didn’t pull away.

A treacherous flicker of triumph shot through him. Whoa, there, cowboy, don’t get too full of yourself yet. Give her something more.

“Mel, did you ever consider that it’s never too late?” He whispered the words against her mouth, and the sun was warm on his shoulders as he pulled her closer. “For us, I mean.”

He didn’t wait for her answer. This kiss was even better than the last one. That could be strictly his opinion, but as one of the two participants, surely his vote counted.

Melody took a long breath when it was over. “I know I’m being stupid, but I don’t care. Bedroom?”

“You aren’t...” He started to argue, but trailed off. Leery as she was of trusting him again, he was equally afraid of making promises until he understood exactly what she wanted. Until he knew that they both wanted the same thing.

He swept her into his arms but was wise enough to not say a word as he carried her down the hall to the desired destination. It was time he learned to keep his mouth shut.

CHAPTER FOUR

MAYBE IT WAS Hadleigh and Tripp’s romantic wedding wedding that had sent her personal universe into la-la land, and maybe it wasn’t.

Melody wondered if with just two fire-hot kisses, the man holding her had changed his mind about ticking off the avoid-at-all-cost box.

“It’ll take me two minutes to get out of these clothes,” he said. “Let me undress you first.” It was so endearing that she burst out laughing. It felt good.

“Oh, out of my sexy sweatpants and T-shirt?”

“I don’t need fancy duds to know what you’ll look like.” He peeled off her shirt, raising her arms. “The shirt is see-through to a discerning man like me with a good memory. I remember what’s underneath, so I don’t notice the frills.” He added in a low voice, “Come on, Melody, you know I think you’re beautiful. That was never our problem.”

No, he was right. With him, in his arms, she’d always felt every inch a woman. In fact, she’d become a woman. At twenty, even in this day and age and halfway through college, she’d been a virgin. Not a conscious choice, really, but she’d had the nagging thought that it might have been. She was the naive fool who’d saved herself for him, as she’d realized later, when she faced the bitter truth.

* * *

FOR A VERY long time she’d had a crush on Spencer Hogan. When it turned into a love affair, she’d gone in feet first, like jumping off a cliff. It had been awkward when he’d grasped that she had zero experience, but all in all, they’d managed pretty well, probably because he sure hadn’t saved himself for her. She was well aware that even in high school he’d had a reputation as a player.

Over the next few months, practice had improved the situation. They’d practiced on every horizontal surface available until it came time for her to enroll for fall college classes. They’d continued their relationship—or that part of it, anyway—even after that disastrous proposal of hers, followed by his humiliating rejection, in early July. All summer long, they’d been lovers. She’d still thought they had a future.

Then he’d cut her loose.

He’d wanted a summer fling, so why couldn’t she just do the same thing now?

That annoying inner voice, the one she wished would shut up, whispered, Because that’s not you, dummy. Especially when it comes to this man.

He was beautiful, too, with all that dark hair and those oh-so-blue eyes. At least she’d put on a new bra with matching panties when she’d gotten dressed, since that was all she had. She hadn’t done laundry in a while, thanks to the wedding festivities.

He ran his finger along the scalloped lace edge over the curve of her right breast. “My X-ray vision missed this. Nice.”

She retorted, “It’s a laundry issue, so don’t think I wore it for you.”

“I hope you won’t mind if I admire it more off you than on.” He deftly undid the clasp in front and slipped it off her shoulders. At some later time, she’d probably resent that level of expertise.

Don’t think about that.

In his usual audacious way, he just picked her up and deposited her on the bed. His room was masculine, but then again, he was Spencer Hogan, male through and through. A rough-hewn bed with a headboard made of pine logs took center stage. It was covered with a bedspread in browns and greens patterned with pine trees, and there was a single dresser, a nightstand with a reading lamp and a door to what she assumed was a closet. A window with a view of the mountains drew the eye. No other decorations.

The view alone was probably the reason there wasn’t a single picture on the wall. What was the point? No framed picture could match it, spring, summer, fall or winter, but her attention was currently riveted elsewhere.

When he shed his clothes, she could see that his body certainly hadn’t changed, still honed and muscular, his broad chest tapering to a taut waist and narrow hips. She knew he worked out because she’d seen his truck at the local gym; Bex owned it and she went there, too. She also knew that he rode Reb every day, rain or shine.

His aroused state reminded her that sexual attraction was never their problem, either. Any more than mutual appreciation of each other’s looks had been. On the physical level, they’d had no complaints.

“You won’t need these.” Her panties went next as he hooked his fingers in the thin bits of lace and drew them down her legs.

When he stretched out on top of her, her heart was beating at a pace that would send the average race car driver slamming into a wall at curve three. He stroked her breast and said the most romantic thing possible, which certainly didn’t help matters.

“I’ve missed you.”

Three simple words if you discounted the contraction. But he looked and sounded as if he meant them.

He also looked hot. And sexy. And just...Spence.

“Are you talking to me, or my breast?” Melody ran her fingers through his thick hair and let him have his way. “I—”

He interrupted whatever she was going to say—she wasn’t sure what that was, actually—with another scorching kiss. Enough talking. That was also Spence. Pillow talk wasn’t his style. He was a man of action in every way, so that hadn’t changed.

Neither had the way he could so quickly ready her with a touch, with his kiss; even a meaningful look could do the trick.