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Clayton's Made-Over Mrs.
Sandra Steffen
Bachelor GulchTHE BACHELOR: Rugged rancher and single dad Clayton Carson. This time around he was determined to marry a woman who couldn't manipulate his heartstrings.THE BRIDE: Diner owner Melody "Mel" McCully. She was danged tired of being overlooked by the local bachelors. What was she, chopped liver?All her life Melody had loved Clayton, and he'd never once looked her way. Only now, when he had a scalawag of a daughter to raise, did he come callin'. Well, roosters would lay eggs before she'd agree to his marriage of convenience. Because plain-Jane Melody was about to be made over, and would settle for nothing less than a proposal of love!Bachelor Gulch. This little town wanted women–but are these bachelors ready for marriage?



Table of Contents
Cover Page (#uae989af3-8a45-5792-a55b-d9ebfe826b83)
Title Page (#uacbc874e-e08c-5c2a-8ecc-3296734cb049)
Excerpt (#ue08114c9-dab5-53fc-a2fd-4c51352951a1)
Dear Reader (#u7d1123c1-c27e-57d3-b5ea-35aa77c6d468)
Dedication (#uba98030d-403e-5643-8e05-43ed62a4bea9)
About the Author (#udf3e0cd3-2541-5c91-982e-04808333c2a7)
Chapter One (#u41cb465e-5aa1-5c6b-b0c3-1004b3cf19d4)
Chapter Two (#ud075542d-22c4-5c16-9315-6ba4c11b795c)
Chapter Three (#u85a0da5b-9a0b-5efb-a390-487ef7995c13)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

Clayton’s Made-Over Mrs.
Sandra Steffen


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

“Who’d marry an ornery cuss like you anyway?”
“I was sort of hoping you would.”

Mouth gaping, Melody stared at Clayton for a full five seconds. She’d been dreaming of marrying this man for as long as she could remember, had imagined his wedding proposal at least a thousand times. Not once in all her imaginings had he ever used the words sort of.
He flashed her his lazy, sexy grin one more time. Just when her knees were starting to melt along with her resolve, he said, “By the way, do you have any cream and sugar?”

She thought about hitting him over the head with one of the trays, but she didn’t see much sense in denting a perfectly usable item.

“What do you say, Mel?”

Since Melody didn’t have much except her diner and her pride, she untied her apron and slapped it on the counter before stalking toward the door. “I say get your own darned cream and sugar.”
Dear Reader (#ulink_5b8e3445-e028-5fdd-a5a6-d20cbcff811b),
What a special lineup of love stories Silhouette Romance has for you this month. Bestselling author Sandra Steffen continues her BACHELOR GULCH miniseries with Clayton’s Made-Over Mrs. And in The Lawman’s Legacy, favorite author Phyllis Halldorson introduces a special promotion called MEN! Who says good men are hard to find?! Plus, we’ve got Julianna Morris’s Daddy Woke up Married—our BUNDLES OF JOY selection—Love, Marriage and Family 101 by Anne Peters, The Scandalous Return of Jake Walker by Myrna Mackenzie and The Cowboy Who Broke the Mold by Cathleen Galitz, who makes her Silhouette debut as one of our WOMEN TO WATCH.
I hope you enjoy all six of these wonderful novels. In fact, I’d love to get your thoughts on Silhouette Romance. If you’d like to share your comments about the Silhouette Romance line, please send a letter directly to my attention: Melissa Senate, Senior Editor, Silhouette Books, 300 E. 42nd St., 6th Floor, New York, NY 10017. I welcome all of your comments, and here are a few particulars I’d like to have your feedback on:
1) Why do you enjoy Silhouette Romance?
2) What types of stories would you like to see more of? Less of?
3) Do you have favorite authors?
Your thoughts about Romance are very important to me. After all, these books are for you! Again, I hope you enjoy our six novels this month—and that you’ll write me with your thoughts.

Regards,

Melissa Senate
Senior Editor
Silhouette Books
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
For Ann Green
After all these years, all our experiences, all our wisdom,
the only thing we know for sure is that we still don’t have a clue.
Thanks, friend.

SANDRA STEFFEN
Creating memorable characters is one of Sandra’s favorite aspects of writing. She’s always been a romantic, and is thrilled to be able to spend her days doing what she loves—bringing her characters to life on her computer screen.

Sandra grew up in Michigan, the fourth of ten children, all of whom have taken the old adage “Go forth and multiply” quite literally. Add to this her husband, who is her real-life hero, their four school-age sons who keep their lives in constant motion, their gigantic cat, Percy, and her wonderful friends, in-laws and neighbors, and what do you get? Chaos, of course, but also a wonderful sense of belonging she wouldn’t trade for the world.

Chapter One (#ulink_aa86d3d6-ec8e-543f-9385-345ef1d4b78d)
“Evenin’, Mel.”
For an instant everything inside Melody McCully went perfectly still. She recognized Clayton Carson’s voice; more than anything, she recognized what it did to her, darn it all. In the second or two it took to recover her equilibrium, she pushed her hair out of her face and turned around. “The diner’s closed, Clayt.”
He ambled closer, sidestepping the tables she’d already cleaned off, coming to a stop on the other side of the counter where a handful of regulars would be ordering up breakfast in less than twelve hours. He surveyed the room the way he always did, leaning back on his heels, his fingers hooked through the belt loops of well-worn jeans. “Do you have any coffee left?”
Mel was tired, and when she was tired, she tended to be the tiniest bit cranky. Of course, Clayt claimed she was always cranky. That wasn’t true at all. She had a perfectly fine disposition when it came to everybody else. It wasn’t her fault that Clayton Ezekiel Carson was a blind fool who couldn’t see the forest for the trees or the one woman in all the world who’d always loved him.
Motioning to the coffeepot with the wet dishrag in her hand, she said, “There’s coffee, but it’s been sitting in the pot so long it’s about to turn into paint stripper.”
“Just the way I like it.”
Mel sputtered under her breath the entire time it took to reach beneath the counter for a clean cup and fill it with thick, black brew. For some reason Clayt hadn’t moved. His eyes were in the shadow of the brim of his hat, and the lower half of his face was covered with a couple of days’ worth of whisker stubble that did nothing to detract from the strong lines of his jaw and chin. The man was over six feet tall without the scuffed-up heels of his cowboy boots. He loomed over her, and Mel McCully hated to be loomed over.
Giving him a good once-over, she said, “You’re too tall to talk to when you’re standing. Unless you wanted that coffee to go, you might as well have a seat.”
He lowered his frame onto one stool and dropped his hat onto another. “That hospitality of yours is something, Mel. Always keeps me coming back for more.”
Mel McCully had been born and raised in a town chock-full of rugged cowboys, but Clayt Carson’s slow, easy grin was one of a kind. She’d lost track of how many times she’d wished it wasn’t. Sighing, she moved on to finish washing off the counter.
“Do you have to do that now?” he asked.
“If I want to get out of here anytime soon, I do. Why?”
She glanced over at him in time to see him flash her another lazy, sexy smile. “I was sort of hoping you’d join me.”
“You were?”
This time his grin was accompanied by a brief nod. Reminding herself that she had plenty of backbone, she cast him a guarded look. His dark hair was a little on the shaggy side, and there were tiny lines beside his eyes and a crease slashing one lean cheek. He looked exhausted, whipped, dragged through a knothole backward. It served him right. Oh, she’d been as relieved as anybody when his little girl had been found safe and sound that very afternoon. No one knew why the little girl had run away, and Mel supposed Clayt had every reason to look worried and exhausted.
“Where’s Haley?” she asked, taking a stab at conversation.
“She dropped off to sleep a little after six and hasn’t moved since. Luke and Jillian are watching her at my place. With Haley asleep and Luke up to his elbows in wedding plans, I decided to go for a drive. I still can’t believe my brother’s getting married.”
As owner of the town’s only diner, Mel had heard all the jokes about the needy bachelors of Jasper Gulch. She hadn’t said much when the local boys had decided to advertise for women to come to their small town, but when she’d learned it had been Clayt’s idea, she’d nearly gone through the roof. He was her brother’s best friend, and she’d been in love with him for as long as she could remember, long before Clayt had married someone else, someone beautiful and sophisticated and selfish, someone who had decided early on that Jasper Gulch wasn’t for her and had left years ago. Recently Victoria had decided that motherhood wasn’t for her, either. For three months now, Clayt had had custody of his nine-year-old daughter, and boy did he have his hands full.
It was true that there were sixty-two bachelors in Jasper Gulch and only six marriageable women, give or take a few who had moved in this past summer. Mel supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised that Clayt had thought it was necessary to advertise for women to come to this godforsaken tract of land in South Dakota, but enough was enough. The town needed women, did it? What was she? Chopped liver?
“How about that cup of coffee?” he asked.
Swiping the back of her hand across her brow, Melody leaned her elbows on the counter. “If I drink coffee now, I’ll never get to sleep.”
He shrugged as if he thought he should have remembered that, then stared into the dark brew, lost in thought. Figuring it wouldn’t hurt to be nice just this once, she said, “What’s on your mind, Cowboy?”
His answer was a long time coming. “Haley, mostly.”
“She’s okay, isn’t she?” Mel asked. “I mean, she didn’t get into any real trouble last night when she was gone, did she?”
Clayt answered without looking up. “Not this time. But what about the next time? She’s only been living with me for three months and she’s already gone skinny-dipping with a boy, stolen food off people’s front porches, and run away from home. I hate to think what she’ll do next.”
Mel’s heart softened at the thought of Clayt’s little girl, and so did her voice as she said, “Instead of trying to figure out what she’s gonna do next, maybe you should try to figure out why she’s doing the things she’s doing.”
“I think I know why.”
“You do?”
“She needs a mother.”
Melody went back to cleaning off the counter. Scrubbing at some dried-on ketchup, she said, “Most kids do, Clayt.”
“Yeah, well, the first two single women to move out here passed me right over for my brother and my best friend. I guess there’s no accounting for taste, huh?”
Mel rolled her eyes. “Who’d marry an ornery cuss like you, anyway?”
“I was sort of hoping you would.”
Mel froze. Mouth gaping, she stared at Clayt for a full five seconds. She’d been dreaming of marrying this man for as long as she could remember and had imagined his wedding proposal at least a thousand times. Not once in all her imaginings did he ever use the words sort of.
He flashed her his lazy, sexy grin one more time. Just when her knees were starting to melt along with her resolve, he said, “By the way, do you have any cream and sugar?”
She opened her mouth to speak but couldn’t seem to make a sound. She thought about hitting him over the head with one of the trays, but she didn’t see much sense in denting a perfectly usable item. Completely oblivious to her agitation, he said, “What do you say, Mel?”
Since Mel McCully didn’t have much except her diner and her pride, she planted her hands on her hips and raised her chin at the haughty angle she’d perfected years ago. She untied her apron in a flash and slapped it on the counter before stalking toward the door. “I say get your own damn cream and sugar.”
“Mel, wait!”
She didn’t even break stride. “And lock up when you leave.” The door slammed on the last word.
Clayt blinked. At the sound of her footsteps clomping up the stairs to the apartment overhead, he slowly rose to his feet. Tiredly dropping a dollar bill on the counter, he reached for his hat and headed for the front door where he turned the lock just as she’d instructed. Demanded was more like it. Scowling, he thought it was exactly what he should have expected from Wyatt’s little sister. Mel McCully had always been as ornery as the day was long. Why had he assumed tonight would be an exception?
Other than a few vehicles that were parked in front of the Crazy Horse Saloon, Main Street was deserted. The town’s only bar was normally booming on Friday nights, but most folks were exhausted after spending the better part of last night searching for Haley. Things would be back to normal as soon as everyone got a good night’s sleep. Clayt needed eight hours’ worth of shut-eye, himself, but when he woke up, he’d still have a huge problem.
The worst drought in twenty-two years was only a memory now, but the shortage of women in town was still as real as the moon in the sky. Clayt had hoped to find a mother for Haley in one of the gals who’d come to town this summer. Everything had seemed so logical last spring. The town council had voted on his idea to advertise for women, the local paper had printed some of the bachelors’ comments, and bigger newspapers had picked up the story, nicknaming Jasper Gulch “Bachelor Gulch.” Scores of women had come out to check out the Jasper Gents. Unfortunately, most of them had taken one look at the dusty roads, the meager stores and the limited job prospects and had kept right on going. Only a handful had stayed, and Wyatt and Luke had snagged the two prettiest ones. More women continued to trickle in from time to time. Clayt figured it was possible that he might find one to his liking …eventually.
Haley needed a mother now.
His little girl was as precocious as they came. Victoria had never been mother-of-the-year material, but her latest desertion had been hard on their little girl. Things might not have been so bad if Clayt’s own mother hadn’t gone out to Oregon to care for his ailing grandmother. Left on his own with his freckle-faced daughter, Clayt had reached his wit’s end.
He’d always known Mel had had a crush on him, just as he knew he needed help with a capital H. Marrying Mel seemed like a perfect solution. She already loved him, she was good with kids, and he’d known her all his life. And best of all, she was nothing like Victoria. Mel was neither gorgeous nor sophisticated. Hell, she was as predictable as daybreak. Until tonight the only time she’d ever stunned him was when she’d kicked him in the shins when she’d been in the first grade.
I say get your own damn cream and sugar.
Hitching one boot onto his truck’s running board, he rubbed the shin Mel had kicked all those years ago, but it was his ego that was smarting tonight. Cramming his hat on his head, he climbed into his muddy truck and started the engine. He’d planned to announce his and Mel’s engagement at the barbecue he was throwing on Sunday in honor of his brother’s recent betrothal. So much for things going according to plan.
Clayt rubbed his bleary eyes. He was exhausted. A man tended to get that way after spending eighteen hours searching high and low for a girl who’d gotten it into her head to run away from home. He still thought Haley needed a mother. What an understatement. But she was safe for now, sound asleep in a four-poster bed in the house her great-grandfather had built on Carson land. Clayt needed a good night’s sleep, too. With a little luck he might just be able to come up with an alternative plan in the morning.

“Clayton, look at me!” Haley called.
Clayt’s heart made it to his feet before he did. His first impulse was to run hell-bent toward Haley. His second was to beg her to climb down from the gate she was using as a balance beam. But he was afraid any sudden noises or movements might cause her to fall into the pen with the meanest bull in the state.
His brother, Luke, and Wyatt and Cletus McCully must have had the same idea, because all four men set off toward the corral at a clipped, though steady gait. Keeping his voice as level as possible, Clayt called, “That’s good, Haley. How about hopping down from there and helping Is-abell Pruitt with the decorations for Uncle Luke’s engagement party?”
Clayt hoped old Isabell didn’t see his darling daughter stick out her tongue. “That’s sissy stuff,” Haley complained. “I’d rather help you, Clayton.”
She started to climb down, teetered slightly, then hopped to the ground. Four men breathed a collective sigh of relief but Clayt was the only one who placed his fist over his rapidly beating heart. Turning to his brother, he said, “As soon as this barbecue’s over, I’m moving that bull to the other pen.”
Luke and Wyatt both nodded but Cletus McCully shook his craggy head and said, “It won’t make any difference, boy. If there’s trouble to get into, that girl’s gonna find it.”
Haley chose that moment to stoop down to pet a halfgrown kitten. Her stance reminded Clayt of how she’d looked when she was four, all little girl grace and innocence. He didn’t know how a child could go from precociousness to sweetness in the blink of an eye, but his daughter had been doing it all her life. She’d come into the world squawking her head off, and had learned to walk when she was only nine months old. He’d only seen her for a week at Christmas and during the summers after the divorce, but he distinctly remembered the year freckles had started spattering her nose. She’d been seven. That was about the same time she’d started calling him Clayton. Not Daddy, not even Clayt. Clayton. Until Haley, only his mother had gotten away with that.
At first he’d thought it was just a phase. After a month, he’d asked her to call him Dad. She’d raised her chin and refused. Cajoling hadn’t worked either.
He was the first to admit that he’d never known how to handle his little girl. But that hadn’t kept him from loving her. She’d spent the seven years since the divorce being bounced from one end of Texas to the other while Victoria searched for the oil tycoon of her dreams. Clayt had custody now, and Haley was here to stay.
While Cletus, Wyatt and Luke set off to see how the women of the Ladies’ Aid Society were coming with the rest of the food, Clayt put his hat back on his head and strode toward the barrel roasters where a side of beef had been cooking all night. Keeping Haley in his line of vision, he breathed in the aroma wafting on the breeze.
It was the third day of September and fall was in the air. The weather could turn on a person this time of year, but for now the skies were sunny and the air was comfortably warm. Picnic tables had been set up on the grassy slope of land between his folks’ place and his own. The fine citizens of Jasper Gulch would start arriving soon. It looked as if the barbecue he was throwing for his only brother, Luke, and their best friend, Wyatt McCully, and their future brides was going to come off without a hitch.
Clayt was in a much better frame of mind this afternoon. Sleep had helped, but so had the realization that the situation with Haley wasn’t completely hopeless or out of control. Oh, Mel’s response to his marriage proposal still rankled, but the truth was he’d always done better when he was on edge, when beef prices were lousy and the weather was worse and only backbreaking long hours and sheer determination put food on the table and a little money in the bank. Somewhere between Friday night and noon today he’d decided it was about time he applied that same kind of sheer determination to finding a mother for his child.
Mel had had her chance. From now on he was going to check out the other women who lived in Jasper Gulch.
He was tall, Mel had said so herself. Women liked tall men, didn’t they? Folks had always claimed he and Luke had gotten their father’s looks and their mother’s brains. Who was he to argue? So what if Mel had turned down his proposal. There were other fish in the sea. Okay, there weren’t many, at least not in this corner of South Dakota. But there were a few, and by God, it was high time they were exposed to a large dose of Clayt Carson’s charm.

“Wonders never cease, do they, girl?” Cletus McCully surveyed the folks talking and laughing in small groups throughout Clayt’s side yard.
Mel downed the last of the punch in her paper cup before agreeing with her grandfather. It was amazing that two of the local boys—one of them her very own brother—were going to be married in a double ceremony in less than a week. It just so happened that she was immensely happy for her brother, Wyatt, and for Luke Carson, too. Jillian Daniels’s red hair and surprising flare of temper was a perfect match for that Carson obstinacy. And Lisa Markman’s throaty laughter and bad-girl smile was exactly what Wyatt needed.
Some things had definitely changed in good old Jasper Gulch. Others, however, remained the same. Tomorrow was Labor Day, and the day after that school would start, just like it did every year. The same people who’d attended the town picnic earlier that summer had turned out for Clayt’s barbecue today. Punch had been ladled and plates had been emptied. Isabell Pruitt, the self-appointed leader of the Ladies’ Aid Society, had checked the punch for possible spiking every fifteen minutes like clockwork. Now, children were jumping puddles near the barn door, mothers were fussing about muddy shoes, and the area ranchers were lamenting over the price of beef, just like they always did.
A trill of laughter drew Mel’s gaze to a rough-hewn fence near the shed. Clayt straddled the top board and Brandy Schafer, the only girl from her graduating class a few years back to stay in Jasper Gulch, was laughing up at him with stars in her eyes. It was enough to turn Mel’s stomach.
She’d always considered herself a reasonable woman, but the despair and disappointment she was feeling came from a place beyond logic or reason, a place that ached with shimmery emotions and dusky yearnings and hidden dreams.
Cletus muttered something under his breath and shook his head. “Don’t take it to heart, girl. I’m sure nothing will come of that. One of these days Clayt Carson’s gonna wise up and figure out that he couldn’t do any better than you. Nobody could. Maybe it would help if you were a little nicer to him. A person catches a lot more bees with honey, you know.”
Mel released a huge sigh and shook her head. She’d been doing that a lot since Clayt had sort of asked her to marry him. She’d stood in front of her mirror for a long time Friday night. She was twenty-nine years old, and she admitted that she was a little on the scrawny side. But her legs were thin and muscular, and although she wasn’t exactly well endowed in the chest department, she thought her breasts were, well, nice, maybe even pretty in a pert, cute sort of way.
Casting another glance at the cleavage visible above the low neckline of Brandy Schafer’s shirt, Mel cringed. Puppies were cute. So were kittens and bunnies and newly hatched chicks. But as far as breasts were concerned, it seemed that men preferred them in larger, more lush sizes. Cute breasts evidently ranked right up there with marriage proposals that included the words sort of.
Smoothing her thumb over the strands of hair secured in a heavy braid over her shoulder, she glanced up at her grandfather. Something had been bothering her ever since she’d stormed out of her own diner Friday night She’d been hiding her feelings from Clayt for years. Yet he’d acted as if she should fall at his feet at her first opportunity to marry him. It didn’t make sense. Neither did the fact that her grandfather seemed to know about her crush, too.
“Would you tell me something, Granddad?”
Cletus raised his bushy white eyebrows. “I’ll do my level best, girl.”
Checking to make sure nobody was within hearing distance, she whispered, “What makes you think I have tender feelings for Clayt?”
Cletus shifted from one foot to the other the way he always did when he was discarding answers faster than he could come up with them. Inching closer, he said, “I’ve known for years.”
“You have?”
The nod of his head was more serious than Mel would have liked. “Now might not be the time to break this to you, but everybody knows.”
Her hand flew to her throat. “That’s impossible. I’ve never told a soul.”
“When has that ever had anything to do with anything in Jasper Gulch? Would you looky there? Doc Masey’s motioning for me to join him behind the shed for a nice fat cigar.”
“Granddad.”
He turned around again on bowed legs, although he could have pretended he hadn’t heard.
“Everybody knows?” she mouthed.
Pulling at his suspenders, he said, “If you don’t believe me, ask around.” Without another word he headed for a group of his buddies who were waiting near the shed.
Mel stared after him, shaken. If everybody knew about her foolish heart’s stupid infatuation with that ignoramus Clayt Carson, she’d never be able to hold her head high in the diner again. How could they have possibly known? She and Clayt were rarely civil to each other, let alone nice.
Why, then, had her grandfather said that everybody in town knew about her feelings? Cletus McCully was a wonderful man. He’d taken her and Wyatt in after their parents had drowned in the Bad River when she was six, and she loved him to pieces. The man would lay down his life for her and Wyatt, but Mel happened to know that he wasn’t above bending the truth every now and then. He had to be mistaken about this. Still, he’d told her to ask around. Spying Jillian Daniels, one of the brides to be, Mel knew exactly where to begin.

“A double wedding. Isn’t that, like, the most romantic thing you’ve ever heard of? And look at Lisa’s dress. Isn’t it, like, the most gorgeous dress you’ve ever seen?”
Clayt was doing his best to follow Brandy Schafer’s conversation. But it wasn’t easy. At first he’d blamed it on the upper swells of her breasts she was so intent upon showing him. Now he realized there was more to his distraction than her young, nubile body. Truth was, she was boring him to death.
“I mean, I adore that color of blue, and I love the way the material practically skims her ankles. If Lisa’s going to carry that style of dress in her shop I’m absolutely positive the Jasper Gulch Clothing Store is going to be a success. Oh, I hope she does. I’m so sick of Western skirts and blouses…”
Idly, Clayt wondered how much longer the girl could keep talking without coming up for air. A movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. He didn’t have to turn his head to know it was Mel McCully. He would recognize her slender build and dark blond hair anywhere. She was one gal who’d never bored him with useless prattle. Mel wasn’t like other women. That’s what he liked about her. He was all set to flash her his famous grin, but she walked right on by without a backward glance, and he ended up shaking his head instead.
So, good old Mel was holding a grudge. He wasn’t surprised. She was more ornery and obstinate than any woman he’d ever known—including Victoria. Only Mel wasn’t nearly as mean. Clayt didn’t like thinking about Victoria. It reminded him of too many mistakes, of too many things he couldn’t change. He’d married young. And he’d married wrong. He was thirty-six years old now. The next time he got married he’d like to do it right. Maybe not for love, but at least for the good of Haley.
He nodded at whatever in Sam Hill Brandy was talking about now. Mentally he checked her off his list. She was built nicely, but criminy, any woman who was going to stay a step ahead of Haley had to have a little more between her ears.
A new woman named Brittany Matthews had moved to town a couple of weeks ago. She’d pretty much kept to herself since her arrival, but Clayt had heard that she and her five-year-old daughter had come all the way from New Jersey. Old Mertyl Gentry had her cornered over by the food table right now. As soon as he could get a word in edgewise with Brandy, he’d mosey on over and introduce himself. Brittany. Now that was a real pretty name.

Chapter Two (#ulink_04ca156c-df06-5feb-a6a9-ee6f984523bc)
Brittany. Brittany. Brittany.
It was all Mel had heard all day at the diner.
She placed the half-full tray of dishes on a table and headed for the front, where the Anderson brothers were waiting, money in hand. She smiled at Lisa, Jillian and DoraLee Sullivan on her way by, nodded at Brittany Matthews and stuck her nose in the air as she passed Clayt.
“Everything all right, boys?” she asked when she reached the register.
Neil Anderson nodded, but Mel had her doubts that he’d actually heard her question. He was too busy talking about the same thing everybody else was talking about.
“Brittany,” he repeated quietly to one of his brothers. “The name has a nice ring to it, don’t it?”
“Sure does,” Ned declared. “I don’t think Clayt’s taken his eyes off her since they sat down in that booth, do you?”
“Nope,” Norbert agreed. “And I can see why.”
Ned nodded. “She’s easy on the eyes, that’s for sure. I’m not usually partial to short hair, but I’m making an exception for her. What do you think, Mel?”
Mel thought she felt a headache coming on. A glance at Clayt and Brittany made her sure of it. There wasn’t really anything wrong with Brittany Matthews. She wasn’t much taller than Mel, but the boys were right. Her brown eyes were friendly, and Mel could see how a man might find her dark, wispy hair the tiniest bit enticing. Clayt must have thought so, too, because he reached across the table and brushed a strand off her cheek.
Mel’s temples throbbed like a set of bongo drums.
“Clayt’s a lucky dog.”
“Always did have an eye for the lookers.”
“Ain’t that right, Mel?”
The three thirty-something ranchers stopped short all at once, only to cast furtive glances at Mel one at a time. The brothers were slight of build and pretty good guitar players, but they’d never mastered the fine art of talking with a sizeten boot in their mouths. As if on cue, they flung enough money to cover their lunches onto the counter and took turns mumbling under their breath.
“Keep the change, Mel.”
“Yeah, keep the change.”
“S’long.”
“Thanks, boys.” While Melody punched the sale button on her old-fashioned cash register and deposited the money inside, Neil, Ned and Norbert moseyed out the door.
So, the Anderson Brothers knew, too.
Her grandfather had been right. Two days ago she’d been appalled at the very idea that people might know about her pathetic feelings for Clayt. She’d broached the subject with Jillian Daniels first, hypothetically of course. Jillian had seen through her carefully schooled expression like a picture window. Nodding her head as if trying to soften the blow, Jillian had said that Luke might have mentioned something to that effect. Lisa Markman’s reply had been a little more straightforward, and although Wyatt had tried to hem and haw his way out of it, he’d ended up admitting that he’d known for years, too.
When she’d first discovered the truth, she’d been certain she would never be able to hold her head up in public again. Her pride was smarting, but after a little soul-searching she’d come to the realization that nothing had really changed. She was just in on the secret, that was all. Some secret it had turned out to be.
“Afternoon, Mel.”
Mel could blame the fact that she hadn’t heard Clayt’s approach on the whir of the fan in the corner and the noise she was making stacking dishes on a tray, but she blamed the rapid thud of her pulse on something else entirely. Stiffening, she wiped her hands on her short apron and moved toward the cash register once again. “Everything to your liking?” she asked stonily.
“Your food’s always good and you know it”
She glanced across the room in time to see Brittany Matthews disappear inside the ladies’ room. Lisa, Jillian and DoraLee appeared to be finishing up with the wedding plans they were making at a table near the window, which left Mel on her own with Clayt for the first time since he’d sort of asked her to marry him four days ago.
Bristling all over again, she said, “That’ll be seven dollars and sixty-five cents.”
He handed her a ten. “How long you gonna stay mad at me?”
She cast him her most withering glare. “I’ve always been mad at you, Clayt Carson.”
He shook his head the same way he always did. Holding out his hand for his change, he said, “Don’t I know it. Things would be a lot simpler if you weren’t so confounded contrary.”
Shifting her weight to one foot, Mel took a chance and looked him straight in the eye. “How romantic.”
“You want romance?”
As if realizing he’d spoken louder than he’d intended, he glanced around to see if anyone had heard, leaving Mel a moment to hide her feelings. She swallowed and blinked and swallowed again. It wasn’t the question that hurt, it was his emphasis on you—as if she was the last person on earth he’d think about in a romantic way.
Thankful for the pluck she’d inherited from her grandfather, Mel straightened her spine and punched the button that would open the cash register drawer. “You and Brittany looked pretty cozy a few minutes ago. What’s the matter? Is there something wrong with her, too?”
Either Clayt failed to hear the sarcasm in her voice or he chose to ignore it. Depositing his change in his pocket, he said, “No, Brittany’s great. But she’s having her own problems with her little girl, and God knows I’m having trouble with mine. We decided it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to put the two of them together. I’m tellin’ you, Mel, you could have made this a lot easier.”
Brittany joined Clayt before Mel could think of a proper response, and the two of them strode out the door. Mel stared after them, wondering why she couldn’t just get over him once and for all. What was so great about Clayt Carson, anyway? His ego went right off the top of the size chart, and God knew his skull was thicker than most. He’d always riled her, and he probably always would.
“You’ve gotta face it, sugar.”
Mel jumped for a second time in a matter of minutes, only to find Jillian, Lisa and DoraLee staring at her from the other side of the counter. “What did you say?” Mel asked.
DoraLee slanted her a soft smile. “I’m afraid that one of these days you’re gonna have to face the fact that Clayt Carson’s never gonna wake up where you’re concerned.”
DoraLee knew, too. That, at least, wasn’t so surprising. DoraLee Sullivan, the sole proprietor of the Crazy Horse Saloon, was pushing fifty. She’d had a hard life, and it showed, but she had a knack for keeping the local boys in check no matter how many beers they’d had. She was also the closest thing to a mother Mel had had in a long, long time.
Leaning closer, Jillian covered Mel’s hand with her own. “If it’s any consolation, I think that future brother-in-law of mine is blind.”
“That’s right,” Lisa said with a wink that had probably gotten her into a lot of trouble in her day. “If you want, I’ll have Wyatt arrest him.”
Glancing out the window to where Clayt was crossing the street, Mel said, “I don’t think that will be necessary, Lisa.”
She watched Clayt as he waited for Roy Everts to chug on by in his rusty, rattletrap of a truck. With a small wave and a smaller nod, he continued to the other side of the street.
The local folks claimed the only crimes in Jasper Gulch were jaywalking and gossip. There had been that little episode involving a pie thief a few months ago, and Lisa’s car had been missing temporarily. And then there was that horrible color of orange Bonnie Trumble had painted the Clip & Curl. As far as Mel was concerned, Clayt Carson’s cowboy swagger was the biggest crime of all.
“Aw, sugar,” DoraLee crooned. “I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but I’m afraid it’s time you faced the fact that he’s never gonna pop the question you’ve been waiting all your life to hear.”
Mel sighed. “What would you say if I told you he already has?”
“He already has what, sugar?”
DoraLee’s question drew Mel’s gaze from the window. All three women had leaned closer, and all three seemed to see the light at the same time.
“Do you mean…”
“…my future brother-in-law…”
“…asked you to marry him?”
There wasn’t much Mel could do except nod.
“How?”
“When?”
“Where?”
Tipping her head toward a spot a little farther down the counter, Mel said, “He sort of popped the question right over there on Friday night.”
“I had no idea,” Jillian whispered.
“What did you say?” Lisa asked.
Mel shifted uncomfortably. “What do you think I said? I have a little pride, after all. I mean, what would you have done if Wyatt or Luke had said they were sort of hoping you’d marry them?”
Eyeing Mel with knowing brown eyes, Lisa said, “One thing comes to mind, but it isn’t very nice. What did you do?”
“I left him sitting with the worst cup of coffee he’d ever tasted while I stormed up to my place.”
“How awful,” Jillian murmured.
“Yes.” Mel’s lips twisting snidely. “You can see how disappointed he is.”
“No,” Jillian replied, “I meant for you. How awful for you.”
Mel sighed all over again. “Is it so wrong to dream of a little romance?”
DoraLee patted her bleached blond hair with one hand. “Maybe Boomer should give Clayt a few lessons in the romance department.”
The blossoming relationship between Boomer Brown and DoraLee Sullivan was another thing that had changed in Jasper Gulch, but DoraLee was right. There was nothing romantic about sort of.
Sighing, Mel whispered, “I want him to notice me. As a woman. As a desirable woman. Just look at me. Pretty silly, huh?”
“But you’re beautiful,” Jillian admonished.
“Yeah, right”
“You are,” Lisa insisted. “I noticed the first time we met.”
“Your beauty doesn’t flash like a neon sign,” Jillian said quietly. “It’s more subtle than that. Yours is the kind of beauty a person notices a little at a time.”
DoraLee nodded her head, a tender expression crossing her round face. “Shoot, sugar, I thought you knew that.”
Mel took her time looking into these three women’s eyes. Smoothing her fingers over the thick strands of hair secured in a loose braid over her shoulder, she said, “I appreciate the votes of confidence, but if I’m so danged beautiful, why hasn’t Clayt ever noticed?”
The expression in Lisa’s dark eyes changed. She drew Mel away from the cash register and circled around her. Within seconds DoraLee and Jillian were doing the same.
“Hmm,” Jillian murmured.
Chin in hand, Lisa said, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
Jillian nodded. “I think it’s time she made him notice, don’t you?”
Mel eyed them both skeptically. “What do you mean?”
“How long have you worn your hair in a braid?” Lisa asked.
Without waiting for Mel to answer Lisa’s question, Jillian asked another. “Has Clayt ever seen you in a dress?”
Looking to DoraLee for help, Mel said, “He’s seen me in that blue jumper I wear to church.”
“Mel,” Lisa said, “how would you like to open Clayt Carson’s eyes once and for all?”
Fingering her hair with one hand, Mel thought about the way Clayt had smoothed Brittany Matthew’s short wispy strands off her cheek. “What would I have to do?”
Lisa sidled up to her. “The question is what are you willing to do?”
Mel looked at Lisa, and then at Jillian, but it wasn’t until she’d met DoraLee’s smiling blue eyes that she said, “What do you have in mind?”
DoraLee rubbed her hands together and laughed out loud. “Ooo-eee. Clayt Carson isn’t going to know-what hit him.”
“And I know the perfect time and place for the unveiling,” Lisa stated.
“At our double wedding,” she and Jillian said at the same time.
Mel tried to protest that that was only four days away, and Lisa and Jillian had too much to do already. Lisa and Jillian exchanged knowing grins.
“There’s plenty of time.”
“You just leave everything to us.”
Swallowing the trepidation that was fast becoming a-fistsized knot around her vocal chords, Mel hoped to high heaven she didn’t live to regret what she was about to do.

Organ music was playing softly when Mel slipped into a pew near the front of the church. Unobtrusively gliding to the center of the row, she glanced around to see if anybody had noticed.
So far, so good.
Candles flickered on the altar and on windowsills throughout the old-fashioned church. Daisies and mums tied up with white bows and pale yellow ribbons adorned the front of the church and the end of every pew. The church was a hundred years old, yet it was filled with a sense of excitement and urgency it hadn’t seen in a long time.
Wedding guests had started arriving twenty minutes ago, but it seemed that half of them were making a fuss over Hugh and Rita Carson, Luke and Clayt’s parents, who’d arrived home from Oregon yesterday morning. The other half—all area ranchers and cowboys—were tripping over each other in their efforts to draw Brittany Matthews into conversation. As a result, no one had paid any attention to the petite woman in the peach-colored dress who’d hugged the shadows in her efforts to remain unnoticed.
Mel smoothed her hand over the soft fabric of her dress and crossed her legs the way she’d practiced. She recognized most of the voices coming from the back of the church, from Boomer Brown’s booming baritone to Isabell Pruitt’s annoying whine, all the way to DoraLee’s infectious laughter. Today’s wedding would be the first in more than five years and the only double wedding in the history of Jasper Gulch. Automatically reaching for the braid that was no longer hanging over her shoulder, she smiled to herself. Melody McCully planned to make a little history of her own.
Talking in undertones, guests began filing in. A short time later Boomer ushered Clayt’s parents to the front pew on the right, while Jason Tucker ushered Ivy Pennington, a special guest of both brides, to the seat next to Mel. She smiled at the gray-haired lady, then glanced up to gauge Jason’s and Boomer’s reactions to the new Melody McCully. Looking stiff and uncomfortable in their suits and ties, they nodded nervously then hurried to the back of the old church, none the wiser.
Mel settled herself more comfortably in her seat and smiled to herself. Things were working perfectly. At this rate Clayt was going to be the first person to notice her, exactly as she’d planned.
Louetta Graham began to play another song on the organ, and the grooms took their places at the front of the church. Clayt, best man to both Luke and Wyatt, fell into line a few feet behind them. All three men were tall, all three were wearing dark suits, all three were handsome in their own right. Mel loved her brother, and she liked Luke Carson, but her heart beat a steady rhythm for Clayt alone.
His hair looked freshly cut and appeared darker beneath the flickering light of so many candles. His face was cleanshaven, his skin stretched taut over high cheekbones and that angular chin that could be so infuriatingly condescending. His nose was a little too wide to be considered aristocratic, and today his gray eyes looked serious and thoughtful.
At the first strains of the wedding march, everyone rose to their feet. Feeling tall in her new heels and giddy with joy and excitement, Mel held perfectly still, waiting for the moment when Clayt’s eyes would meet hers.

Clayt could see Luke and Wyatt in his peripheral vision. It had taken everything he could think of to keep them calm this past hour. The hard part was over. Now, all he had to do was hand them the rings at the appropriate time and his job would be done.
Patting his right pocket where he’d placed Luke’s and Jillian’s rings and his left pocket where he’d tucked Lisa’s and Wyatt’s, Clayt peered through the crowd where the first bridesmaid was slowly making her way to the front of the church. Jason Tucker almost fell out of his seat as Allison Delaney floated by. If Haley was half as graceful at sixteen as Allison, Clayt was going to be in big trouble. The woman who came next didn’t look old enough to be Allison’s mother, but he’d met Corinna Delaney, the maid of honor—a newlywed herself and a close friend to Jillian and Lisa from when they’d lived in Wisconsin—at the rehearsal last night, and she was definitely Allison’s mother.
His vision blurred, and for a moment he saw only a patch of pale peach. Before his eyes could focus, an “Ahh” wound through the church, and he turned his head slightly as Cletus McCully came into view, a red-haired bride on one arm, a dark-haired bride on the other. Clayt’s mother always said there was no such thing as a homely bride, but Lisa and Jillian were prettier than most. As Jillian took Luke’s arm and Lisa took Wyatt’s, Clayt felt a burgeoning sense of pride that he’d been instrumental in bringing these two women to Jasper Gulch.
Listening with only one ear to the words Reverend Jones was reciting from his frayed prayer book, Clayt patted his pockets one more time then glanced at the people who filled the old church. He’d never seen so many ranchers and cowboys without their hats, but he had to hand it to them—the local boys didn’t clean up too badly. His parents were sitting with Haley in the first pew across the aisle, and Opal Graham was sniffling into a lace handkerchief. Cletus McCully looked about as proud as he could be, and Ivy Pennington, the gray-haired lady sitting next to Cletus, dabbed at a tear on her cheek. Clayt caught sight of that peach-colored dress again, but before he’d gotten a good look at the woman wearing it, Reverend Jones asked everyone to take their seat.
Clayt glanced away and back again so quickly his vision blurred. Still, there was something familiar about the woman’s build and the efficient way she moved. As if in slow motion, his gaze finally came to rest on her face.
Eyes he’d seen nearly every day of his life met his. Eyes the color of violets. Lips that had uttered his name a thousand times lifted—lips that were pink and full and the tiniest bit trembly.
Mel.
She smiled, so tremulously, so delicately his mouth went dry. Reverend Jones’s voice was coming from someplace far away, but Clayt couldn’t make out the words over the explosion in his head. His eyes strayed to the wisps of hair brushing Mel’s eyebrows and the slightly longer tendrils grazing the base of her neck where her heavy braid used to be.
What the hell had she done to her hair?
He was vaguely aware that people were looking at him. And he thought he heard Reverend Jones clear his throat. But it was the repetitious movement of Mel’s head that finally got through to Clayt. He glanced at Luke and Wyatt, who were looking at him strangely. Through the roaring din in his ears, he heard his brother say, “The rings, Clayt. We need the rings.”
Clayt fumbled in his pockets, came up empty-handed, and fumbled again. By the time he’d given the proper rings to the right couple, the din in his ears had turned into a silent hush that was even more unsettling.
While Luke and Jillian, and Wyatt and Lisa, exchanged sacred vows and wedding rings, Clayt told himself he’d been imagining his reaction to Mel. To prove it, he cast another glance in her direction. For a moment he froze all over again. Everyone else in the church was looking at the brides and grooms. Mel was looking at him.
His mouth went slack, and the strangest sensation began to uncurl low in his belly. Somehow managing to tear his gaze away, he clamped his mouth shut and told himself to get a grip.
For crying out loud, that was Mel McCully. The girl who’d stuck her tongue out at him so often he’d lost count. The girl he’d teased incessantly when they were kids. The girl he’d caught with her grandfather’s chewing tobacco when she was ten. The girl he’d never thought of as a girl at all.
Clayt rubbed his hand across his jaw. Luke and Wyatt were kissing their brides. And Clayt had the strangest urge to kiss Mel.
He was either going crazy, or he’d been without a woman for far too long. The way he saw it, that was enough to drive any hot-blooded man crazy. But Mel McCully?
Nah.
It had to be the candles or the ever-darkening stainedglass windows or the occasion, or something. Hell, it could be anything, as long as it wasn’t honest-to-goodness attraction.

“Well?” Jillian asked, reaching for a glass of punch. “Has my new brother-in-law noticed?”
“Details,” Lisa whispered, her dark eyes dancing in her heart-shaped face. “We want details.”
Mel finished ladling punch into another glass before taking a close look at her friends. Their gowns were as beautiful and unique as the personalities of the women wearing them. Jillian’s was made of old-fashioned lace with pearl buttons down the back. It had a waist that dipped low in front, the material falling over her hips and legs like a whisper with every step she took. Lisa’s gown was made of shiny satin and had a neckline just low enough to hint at the lush curves the bodice covered but couldn’t hide. Her dress had short sleeves, the hem and waistline trimmed with thousands of tiny rhinestones.
“Are you going to keep us waiting all day?” Jillian prodded.
Mel handed a glass of punch to two young boys. When they were out of hearing range, she said, “He noticed.”
“I knew it,” Lisa exclaimed.
“What did he say?” Jillian asked.
“What did he do?” Lisa cut in.
Hooking the ladle on the side of the punch bowl, Mel grinned. “Well, he almost dropped your rings for one thing.”
“So that’s what that was all about,” Jillian said.
“Ye-ha!” Lisa exclaimed. “You were right to keep the changes as subtle as possible, Mel. That man’s staggering beneath the weight of a ton of bricks, and he doesn’t even know what hit him.”
“You could be right,” Mel said around another smile.
“Has he said anything?” Jillian asked.
“Not exactly. He’s been steering clear of me ever since the ceremony. But he’s been watching me like a hawk.”
Reaching up to adjust the flowers in her long, red hair, Jillian said, “He’s more than likely trying to tell himself that he’s imagining the whole thing. ‘See?’ he’s probably saying to himself right now. ‘Nothing’s changed. She’s manning the punch table just like she always does.’”
Feeling as if she were in a time warp that was a cross between Christmas morning and the first day of spring, Mel chanced a glance across the old town hall. Pretending that she hadn’t noticed Clayt peering at her instead of looking at Brandy Schafer who obviously wanted his attention, she let Lisa and Jillian sweep her with them to the edge of the plank dance floor where their new husbands were waiting and the Anderson brothers were starting to play.

There. See? She manned the punch table just like she always does. There’s nothing unusual about that or about Mel It’s all in your head, Carson.
Clayt rotated a kink out of his shoulders and released a deep breath. When he’d first seen the tendrils of hair skimming Mel’s ears and neck he’d thought she’d gone and had her hair chopped off. Now he realized she was wearing it up, that was all. He wasn’t accustomed to seeing Mel McCully in that kind of dress, either, but Brandy Schafer had told him that Lisa was stocking a new style of women’s wear in the Jasper Gulch Clothing Store. That pretty much explained the differences in Mel’s appearance. Now that he knew that his initial reaction to her had been nothing more than a combination of surprise and a figment of his imagination, he could relax and enjoy the reception.
After checking on Haley, who was having a punchdrinking contest with Jeremy Everts, Clayt joined a group of ranchers who were complaining about the middle man and the shortage of hay and oats due to the summer’s drought. He happened to glance at Mel while Grover Andrews was asking her to dance. All in all, Clayt thought it was right nice of her to give that mama’s boy the time of day. It just went to show that Mel could be nice when she put her mind to it.
He was talking to Cletus when he noticed her dancing with Jason Tucker. Cletus snapped one suspender, and Clayt shook his head. That young buck loved to dance so much he’d been known to kick up his heels with his own great-grandmother.
Clayt was standing with his parents when Boomer Brown called for all the single gals to gather on the dance floor for the traditional tossing of the bouquet. “Look, son,” Rita Carson said, laying a hand on Clayt’s arm. “Haley’s going to try to catch one of the bouquets.”
Lisa and Jillian turned around at one end of the dance floor. All around them the folks of Jasper Gulch started counting backward. Ten. Clayt shook his head and gave his mother an indulgent smile. “I’m hoping to be a groom again before I become the father of the bride. That girl of mine has had me going around in circles all summer. Thank goodness you’re home.”
At the count of nine, Rita Carson glanced up at her oldest son and said, “Oh, didn’t your father tell you?”
Clayt shook his head. “Tell me what?”
“We’re going back to Oregon first thing Monday morning.”
At seven Clayt narrowed his eyes at his father. Hugh Carson nodded and grinned. He’d been doing a lot of that since he’d gotten back from Oregon. Clayt wished he’d cut it out.
At six Rita said, “We wouldn’t have missed your brother’s wedding for the world. Your father and I are so proud of both you boys. I can hardly wait for Mama to be completely well so we can come home for good and get to know our new daughter-in-law.”
At four Clayt scowled and said, “What about Haley?”
Three.
“She’s adorable.”
Two.
“And she certainly reminds me of you when you were that age.”
One.
Looking up at her son, Rita exclaimed, “You’d better hurry if you want to be a groom again, Clayton, because Haley just caught Lisa’s bouquet.” Still laughing, she set off toward her only granddaughter.
Wondering if it might not be a good idea to simply lock his daughter in the attic until she turned thirty, Clayt leaned against the wall. On the other side of the dance floor Boomer Brown was taking a lot of elbow jabbing over the fact that DoraLee had caught the other bouquet. Sparing a glance at his father, Clayt said, “You’re really not home to stay?”
Hugh Carson was the same height as his sons, but his hair had turned gray and his face bore the lines of all the years he’d spent out on the range. Staring across the room at the woman he’d married nearly forty years ago, he said, “When I met your mother I didn’t think a thing of whisking her away from Oregon and everybody and everything she knew. She’s already lost your grandpa, but it looks as if your grandma’s going to pull through. The time your mother is spending back there now is giving her a chance to get reacquainted with the friends she knew growing up. You can handle the ranch on your own, son. Something tells me you can handle Haley, too.”
Clayt figured he should have thanked his father for the vote of confidence, but Mel swung by on Rory O’Grady’s arm, and whatever he’d been about to say died on his lips. The O’Gradys owned the largest spread in this part of South Dakota and never passed up the opportunity to brag about it. If you asked Clayt, Rory’s hair was a little too black, his pants a little too tight, his clothes a little too flashy right down to his snakeskin boots.
The lighting in the old town hall had never been great, but Clayt could see the intent in Rory’s eyes all the way from here. The fact that Rory was a self-acclaimed ladies’ man didn’t bother Clayt. But when Mel reached up on tiptoe to hear what Rory was whispering in her ear, Clayt clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ached.
“Is it just me?” Hugh asked, “or is there something different about Mel McCully tonight?”
Before Clayt could add anything to his snort, Rory whisked Mel away in the other direction. Folks started clapping their hands and stomping their feet as other couples headed for the floor. Mel and Rory didn’t seem to notice. Clayt didn’t wholly recognize the feeling creeping under his skin but he didn’t like it one bit.
Emerging from the crowd, Boomer Brown sidled up next to him and crossed his arms at his massive chest. “Jed Winters mentioned that Grover Andrews told him that Karl Hanson claims that Mel said she finally realizes how silly her infatuation with you has been all these years. I never would have believed it if I hadn’t seen her dancing with Rory with my own two eyes.”
Slapping his son on the back, Hugh Carson said, “Well, well, well. What do you think about that?”
Rory dipped Mel, the action drawing attention to the smooth column of her throat and the soft-looking skin visible above the scooped neckline of her dress. Watching through narrowed eyes, heat started in Clayt’s chest, only to twist and turn and slowly burrow lower.
What did he think? his father had asked.
Clayt thought that woman was making a spectacle of herself. And by God, something had to be done.

Chapter Three (#ulink_d1c5dc53-ee49-5b89-bfe3-95e3dad78729)
The clock on Main Street struck midnight as Clayt cut across the alley and yanked on the door that led to Mel’s place. The wedding reception was finally over. A person would think the folks of Jasper Gulch had never been to a wedding before. They sure hadn’t been in any hurry to leave. As far as Clayt was concerned the whole thing should have ended right after Luke, Jillian, Wyatt and Lisa had left for their honeymoons. The longer it had dragged on, the more disgusted he’d become.
The light was off in the stairway below Mel’s place, but he didn’t bother searching for the switch. He, Luke and Wyatt had sneaked up there so often when they were kids he could have found his way blindfolded. The apartment had been vacant back then, which had made it the perfect place to steal a kiss from Angela Nelson after the homecoming dance when he was sixteen. He hadn’t been up here much since he’d helped Wyatt and Cletus move Mel’s things in when she bought the diner ten years ago, but the lack of good lighting didn’t slow him down. He had a bone to pick with Mel McCully, and the sooner he got it over with the sooner things could get back to normal around here.
The thought of Mel grated on his nerves. There was nothing unusual about that. Hell, she’d been like fingernails on a chalkboard for as long as he could remember. Holding that thought, he reached for the doorknob. At the last minute he raised his fist and knocked instead.
“Come on in. The door’s open.”
Gearing up to say what was on his mind, he stormed inside. He opened his mouth to speak, only to clamp it shut again when he found himself alone in the room.
“I’m a little surprised Boomer dropped you off so early, DoraLee,” Mel called, her voice coming from someplace down the hall. “You must be as anxious to talk about the wedding as I am. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right out.”
Clayt had never been very good at waiting, and he’d already been waiting hours to speak his mind. After striding to the window overlooking Main Street, he glanced around the room. The apartment wasn’t large. He could see most of it from here. A kitchen too small to turn around in was completely dark, but light spilled from a narrow hallway on the right There was gray carpeting on the living room floor, a blue sofa on one wall, a television on another and a lamp turned to its lowest setting in the far corner. The coffee table was cluttered; the wicker basket beside it literally overflowed with magazines and newspapers. Mel McCully had never been much of a neat freak, that was for sure.
Clayt had no idea why that thought made him feel better, but suddenly he figured it wouldn’t hurt to take a seat. He was in the process of pushing an old afghan and a pile of clothes out of his way on the sofa when he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye.
Mel entered the room talking, her hands fiddling with a clasp in her hair. “So, DoraLee, what did Boomer say about the fact that you caught the bouquet?”
Her hair fell around her shoulders just as her gaze met his. She had cut her hair.
“You’re not DoraLee.”
Feeling like a deer trapped in the glare of headlights, Clayt could only shake his head.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
He straightened and tried to speak, but had to clear his throat and try a second time. “I came to talk to you.”
She pushed her hair away from her face, then let her fingers trail through the ends as if she wasn’t accustomed to its new length, either. “Oh. Okay. What did you want to talk to me about?”
He almost tripped over her shoes as he took a step, which made him glance down at her stockinged feet, which drew his gaze over the peach-colored fabric of her skirt and on up to a waist that looked amazingly narrow. Higher, the fabric ended at the creamy expanse of skin he’d never paid much attention to until Rory O’Grady had bent her over his arm earlier.
Suddenly seething with renewed anger, he narrowed his eyes and gave his head a hard nod. “What the hell were you trying to do tonight?”
Mel took a calming breath. Honestly, it required an iron will to keep from telling Clayt to take a flying leap. That was what the old Mel would have done. The new Mel pretended not to notice how good he looked with his collar unbuttoned and his dress slacks slung low on his hips. The new Mel looked into his eyes and ever-so-innocently asked, “What do you mean?”
She could tell her question threw him, but being a Carson, which meant that he was quick-witted, among other things, he recovered almost immediately. “I mean it wasn’t a good idea to let every bachelor in the county see you twirling around the dance floor with the biggest womanizer in South Dakota—especially looking the way you looked tonight. I don’t know what you were trying to prove, but I don’t think—”
The step Mel took toward him stopped him in the middle of his tirade. “What’s wrong with the way I look?”
Clayt swallowed. Hard. What was wrong with the way she looked? The long plain braid was gone, for one thing. Now her hair waved almost to her shoulders as if it had a mind of its own. Not that he should have been surprised about that. But he’d never noticed those golden highlights before, and he was certain her eyes used to be plain blue, not violet. When had she grown those eyelashes? And those lips. Those pink, full, wet lips.
“Clayt?”
He came to in slow motion. Where was he? Oh, yeah. Taking inventory of what was wrong with Wyatt’s little sister. Only Mel wasn’t little anymore. At least not everywhere. He remembered the summer she’d started wearing a bra. He and Wyatt had teased the living daylights out of her. Back then she’d been as skinny as a cat in a bath. She was still skinny. Almost. It was that almost that made him pause, because where she wasn’t skinny she was damned appealing.
What was wrong with the way she looked? he asked himself as his gaze made its way back the way it had come, over narrow hips, gently sloping breasts, the shadow in the little hollow at the base of her neck, to her lips. Those pink, full, wet lips.
He swallowed again, but it only made him aware of the pulsing sensation in his throat and the growing pressure much, much lower. “People are talking,” he declared.
“The people of Jasper Gulch always talk.”
“Yes, but do you want them to whisper about you behind their hands and brand you a…”
Holding up a hand, she took another step toward him. “Before you call me a hussy, I believe you have my slip.”
He glanced down at the scrap of lace and satin he must have picked up without realizing it when he’d been trying to clear a spot to sit down. Aware of how he must look fingering her underclothes, he clenched his jaw. He was all ready to set her straight when she tugged on the slip, causing it to swish over his wrist and wind through his fingers like a whisper slipping through a sigh.
He rubbed his fingers over his palm and found himself looking in a place he had no business looking. Feeling guilty and agitated, he tore his gaze away from Mel’s breasts and glanced around the room once again. He’d noticed the clutter before. Why hadn’t he noticed how feminine the room was? The garden prints on the wall, the light gray carpet on the floor and the sky blue couch weren’t exactly frilly, but they were womanly. Funny. Until today he’d never thought of Mel in exactly that way.
“You were saying?” she asked quietly.
A force bigger than him drew him closer. Mmm, he thought, inhaling her scent. “Since when do you wear perfume?”
“Do you like it?”
His gaze got stuck on her mouth all over again. He’d always thought Mel’s smile was too big for her face. Tonight, it didn’t seem too big at all. Her lips were full, yes, but not too full. They looked perfect.
Perfect for kissing.
“Clayt?”
When had her voice become sultry? And when, exactly, had he lost his mind? He ran a hand through his hair and pulled himself together. Good God, this was Mel McCully. What in the world was he thinking? Clenching his teeth, he sputtered, “What difference does it make if I like it? The question you should be asking yourself is whether or not you want to have the reputation of a floozy.”
She plunked her hands on her hips and raised her chin the way she’d been doing all her life. “Clayt Carson, you couldn’t say something nice if your life depended on it.”
Clayt’s vision cleared. And then he did something he hadn’t done since he’d caught sight of Mel during the wedding ceremony hours ago. He grinned. This was more like it. This Mel he could handle.
“Would you mind telling me why you cut your hair and why you’re wearing makeup?” he asked, the epitome of superior rationality.
“I took Granddad’s advice,” she said.
“Cletus had something to do with this?”
Try as he might, Clayt couldn’t help noticing the way the light shimmered over her hair when she nodded. She tossed the slip to the sofa and turned, her skirt brushing his pant leg. He had a hard time swallowing.
From the other side of the room, she said, “He says a person catches more bees with honey.”
“Since when have you been interested in catching bees?”
He didn’t like the way she shrugged, or the way she turned, or the way he was reacting to the sight of either of those things. “Not bees, Clayt. I’m trying to draw a man.”
“Rory O’Grady?”
“Pu-lease.”
Clayt admitted that he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the turn his hormones had taken, but he was enjoying the smug feeling of satisfaction coursing through him right now. Mel had gone to a lot of trouble to impress somebody, and it hadn’t been Rory O’Grady. Hot dang, he hadn’t lost his touch after all. Not that he’d ever really doubted it.
Mel was meandering on the other side of the room, letting her hand trail over the top of the television, along a windowsill and onto a picture frame of her parents, taken a long time ago. Doing his best to hold back a grin, he said, “So you’ve done all this to try to impress a man other than Rory.”
She shrugged again and answered without turning around. “I’m not getting any younger, you know.”
“Then you see marriage in your future?”
She nodded, and Clayt was almost glad she wasn’t looking, because he couldn’t keep the hundred-watt grin off his face no matter how hard he tried. “Then why don’t you just end this stupid charade and marry me once and for all?”
“What?”
When she turned this time, his mouth went dry for an entirely different reason. “Look, Mel, that didn’t sound quite the way I intended.”
Mel’s hair may have been shorter, and she might have been wearing a dress he hadn’t seen until today, but he recognized the daggers shooting from her eyes, and nobody else could twist their upper lip in such a snide way or sputter quite so vehemently.
“Stupid charade? You think this was all for your pathetic benefit? And people say Rory’s got a big head. I said I wanted a man, Clayt. I didn’t say I wanted you. I wouldn’t marry an arrogant, muddleheaded ignoramus like you if you were the last man on earth.”
He knew she couldn’t possibly reach him from the other side of the room, but Clayt took a step backward anyway. He bit back a curse and sputtered, “I don’t know why I bothered.”
“Don’t bother,” she taunted as he strode to the door. “And the next time you get the urge to fondle women’s lingerie, I suggest you buy your own!”
Fondle women’s lingerie? He hadn’t been fondling…
She slammed the door so hard Clayt doubted his ears would ever be the same. He took to the steps like a man being chased by a demon. By the time he reached the bottom, he figured that was a pretty good description of the hothead upstairs. He was still sputtering when he stomped into the alley and headed for his truck.
Confounded, contrary, ill-tempered, cantankerous woman.
Mel McCully hadn’t changed. She hadn’t changed at all.

“I’ve changed, haven’t I, Granddad?” Mel asked, handing a wet plate to Cletus.
“Oh, I s’pose there have been a few…”
Up to her elbows in soapy water, Mel pushed her hair away from her cheek with her shoulder and forged ahead in the middle of her grandfather’s reply. “I admit that I miss the convenience of my braid, but I don’t miss its weight or the way it looked. And what’s wrong with wearing a pretty dress once in my life? And there isn’t any law against using a little lipstick and mascara.”
Accustomed as he was to these talk sessions, when Mel didn’t let him get a word in edgewise, Cletus simply nodded. Scrubbing another plate, Mel said, “Clayt thinks he knows who I am. He thinks he can barge into my place and ask me what I’m trying to prove. If he didn’t have such a thick skull he’d know I’m not trying to prove anything. I’m trying to show him something.”
“He got your dander up, did he?” Cletus asked.
Mel shrugged one shoulder as she thought about a few of the things she’d said the night before last. For heaven’s sake, she’d practically called Clayt a pervert. Handing her grandfather another plate, she said, “I might have uttered a word or two I shouldn’t have.”
Pursing his thin lips, Cletus said, “Oh-oh. What did you say?”
“Well, I seem to recall mentioning that I wouldn’t marry an arrogant, muddleheaded ignoramus like him if he were the last man on earth.”
Cletus shook his old head. “I thought you were going to hold your temper where Clayt’s concerned from now on.”
Mel leaned on the old sink, suddenly tired. “It could take me the rest of my life to learn to hold on to my temper where Clayt is concerned. I wanted him to notice me, and I ended up making him mad just like I always do. I’m a pathetic, hopeless spinster who will be thirty in a few months. At this rate he’ll never notice me.”

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