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