Читать книгу Clayton's Made-Over Mrs. - Sandra Steffen, Sandra Steffen - Страница 9

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.