Fearless in Texas Page 6

  “You could say that. I finally found that horse I’ve been waiting for all my life. We won Denver and San Antone, and broke into the top ten in the world standings after the Memorial Day rodeos.”

  “Are you kidding me? That is so great!” And no one deserved it more than Claudia, as hard as she’d worked. “I can’t believe I hadn’t heard.”

  Claudia hitched one petite but well-toned shoulder, the result of hours on and around horses. “I suppose it’s hard to keep track once you lose touch with the rodeo crowd. You’re really not roping anymore?”

  “No. I… It got to be too much, with work and all.”

  “Mmm. It’s a shame, though. You were so good. But I guess it’s worth it, if you really love what you’re doing. And from what I hear…” Claudia’s voice faltered, and color flooded her cheeks as if she’d just remembered what she’d heard about Melanie. “It, um, sounds like you’ve been keeping busy,” she finished and blushed harder, obviously realizing how that might sound if she’d been the bitchy type.

  Which she wasn’t. Her green eyes held nothing but sympathy…and she might as well have slapped Melanie right across the face. Her cheeks stung with prickling heat. Geezus. Claudia felt sorry for her. Poor, pitiful Melanie who’d obviously lost her way.

  “Things have been pretty crazy.” Melanie’s voice was tight to the verge of squeaking.

  “Well. We all get a little, um…off track, right?” Claudia gave Melanie’s hand a squeeze. “I’m sure you’ll be back on your feet in no time.”

  Melanie nodded and began to root in her bag, an excuse to duck her head. She pulled out her phone, turning it so the other woman could see the alert on the screen. “Damn. I’d love to stay and catch up, but I’ve been waiting for this email…”

  “I understand completely. Duty calls and all that.” Claudia’s words echoed with relief.

  Melanie sidled toward the door. “It was great to see you. I’ll be keeping an eye on the standings, rooting you on.”

  “Thanks. And you…take care now, you hear?”

  Melanie made some kind of noise in response and spun around to leave, plowing into a man who was coming through the door. She muttered an apology as she stumbled past him and onto the sidewalk.

  Her car was parked a block down. Once inside, she had to jab twice at the ignition button to start the engine. Then she cranked the air conditioner full blast and just sat, staring through the windshield. Shit. Shit. She’d been prepared to stare down the lawyer’s scorn, to fight back against Janine’s antagonism, but Claudia’s genuine concern undid something vital in her chest. Her counterattack against Michael was supposed to be a show of strength. A public declaration of war on misogyny. Vengeance, thy name is woman.

  She was not supposed to look pathetic.

  She groaned and let her head drop until her forehead thumped against the steering wheel, turning the vents so they blasted directly in her face, then glanced down at her phone and got another jolt.

  The email was from Wyatt. His proposal, or a note saying he’d changed his mind and what the hell was he thinking anyway? She dropped the phone on the passenger’s seat. At this particular moment, she wanted to be anywhere else so desperately that if he had repeated the offer, she might say yes.

  Exactly what she needed right now—to put herself in proximity to Wyatt with none of their friends to run interference.

  She pushed herself up, put the car in drive, and pulled out, drawing a screech of brakes and the blast of a horn from a car she’d cut off. Dammit! She couldn’t think, the doubts rattling off her brain like hailstones on a tin roof. Where was all that righteous anger when she needed it? The certainty that she could weather any storm? She raked a hand through her hair before she remembered it was pulled back in a barrette. The pain in her scalp snapped her back to the present. The traffic. And the sign on a familiar building three blocks ahead.

  Panhandle Orthopedics.

  Before she’d consciously made the decision to stop, her car had swerved into the parking lot. It struck her as odd that it would be Tori she ran to for help. Melanie, Shawnee, and Violet had not treated her well back in college—and Melanie still cringed at the memory. But the prissy rich girl who’d taken too much of their crap had come back to the Panhandle a kick-ass woman.

  Then she’d married Delon Sanchez—the father of Violet’s son—and Shawnee had married Violet’s cousin, Cole. And Melanie…

  Melanie was a hot mess.

  The receptionist looked up as she walked in. Beth took in the suit, and her eyes went wide. “Did you actually go to work today?”

  Naturally the older woman would be in the gossip loop. She and Tori had become good friends, bonding over a shared lack of give-a-shit.

  “No. I had an exit interview—” To Melanie’s horror, her voice caught. She tried to clear her throat. “Is Tori…”

  “I’ll get her.” Beth jumped up and hustled out into the clinic.

  Melanie stood in the middle of the thankfully empty waiting room, incapable of deciding whether to take a seat.

  The door opened, and Tori grimly looked her up and down. Then she tilted her head. “Come on.”

  Instead of the office, which Tori shared with two other therapists, she led Melanie to a private treatment room and waved her inside. “Give me two minutes to boot my last patient out the door.”

  Melanie nodded mutely. When Tori was gone, she went to the sink in the corner, wetted a paper towel and pressed it to her burning cheeks, then unclipped the barrette and finger-combed her hair so it slid forward, a long, brown curtain hiding her face as she leaned over the sink to douse the towel again and hold it to her forehead. She didn’t move when the door opened, then closed with a quiet click.

  “Did I just take a giant step backward on behalf of womankind?” she asked.

  “Whoever told you that has been drinking the Good girls keep quiet Kool-Aid for too long.”

  No hesitation. No bullshit. Tori was rarely less than brutally honest. And that, Melanie realized, was why she’d come. To get an unbiased answer…and advice.

  She straightened to meet Tori’s steady, gray-blue gaze. “I need a good lawyer.”

  And who could give a better recommendation than the daughter of a former U.S. senator whose family owned, among God knew how many other things, a law firm?

  Tori gestured toward a blinking light on the wall phone. “Line three. Beth has her on hold.”

  Chapter 8

  Melanie had barely kicked her suit into the corner in favor of ratty jeans and her last surviving West Texas A&M T-shirt before the knock came at her door. When she opened it, Tori strolled in with a six-pack of Dr. Pepper in one hand and three pizza boxes in the other.

  “The ladies’ club is meeting a day early.” She dropped the pizzas on the coffee table and went into the kitchen to rummage for plates and paper towels.

  Before Melanie could close the door, Violet appeared cradling a large covered cake pan, followed by Miz Iris with a double-decker pie carrier.

  “Hey, sugar.” Violet’s mother paused to tip onto her toes and kiss Melanie’s cheek. “I brought blueberry and apple.”

  A lump rose in Melanie’s throat. Her personal cavalry had just come galloping over the hill. As she started to lean back against the door, it flew open, slamming into her shoulders. Violet stuck out an arm to keep her from face-planting into the red velvet cupcakes.

  “What the hell?” Shawnee demanded, plunking a bottle of tequila down on the table to free up one hand, which she used to smack Melanie upside the head hard enough to make her ears ring. “You go out to commit grand theft auto and vandalism, and you don’t even invite me?”

  Melanie dodged out of reach behind the love seat. As usual, Shawnee looked like she’d blown in on a tornado, her long, wildly curly hair a life force all its own.

  “I was trying to be stealthy,” Me
lanie said.

  “I can do stealth,” Shawnee protested.

  Violet snorted. Then she squinted down toward Shawnee’s legs. “You brought Katie?”

  “Hey, she’s a woman too.” They all eyed the red heeler, who planted her butt squarely in the middle of the room and glared back at them. Shawnee scowled. “The rest of the crew left for the rodeo in Vernon this afternoon, and somebody thinks I am incapable of driving three whole hours all by my delicate little self.”

  “Hah!” Violet crowed, pointing. “You broke the man rule. Drink!”

  “It doesn’t go into effect until I put down the official glass. So…” She held up an opaque white shot glass emblazoned with the words Here goes the last fuck I have to give. “The next person who mentions one of them other than for purely business purposes takes the first shot.”

  She thumped the glass down beside the bottle of tequila. Then chaos broke out as everyone grabbed for plates and rifled through boxes. No one mentioned Michael, or the reason they were all here.

  “I cannot believe Mariah Swift qualified for the College National Finals riding Butthead,” Tori said as she snatched the last piece of pepperoni.

  “Shocked the hell outta me,” Shawnee said. “Who knew he just needed to go so fast he doesn’t have time to be stupid?”

  Melanie tried not to flinch at the mention of the name. It wasn’t Mariah’s fault that Hank’s misplaced crush was the reason he was no longer a bullfighter at Jacobs Livestock’s rodeos. Melanie pushed away the depressing thought and curled into an armchair, letting the chatter swirl around her as she sipped beer, munched pizza, and blessed Violet for the night she’d slammed into their college apartment brandishing a bottle of tequila, fresh off the latest in her epic series of dating disasters.

  “I do not want to talk about it,” she’d declared. “In fact, I so much don’t want to talk about it that the first person who even mentions one of them has to drink.”

  They’d made a pact, sealed it with a round of shots—and the tradition had been set.

  Everyone found a seat and tucked into their food. Katie stumped over and dropped to her belly in front of Shawnee, all sad, starving eyes. Shawnee ignored her, immune from long practice.

  Miz Iris tossed the dog a pizza crust, then shifted her focus to Melanie. “What did the lawyer have to say?”

  So much for small talk. The war council was now convened—and there wasn’t a trace of pity on any of their faces. Thank God.

  “She’s drafting a response, stating that I also reserve the right to file suit if they slander or defame me.” Melanie tossed the rest of her pizza slice onto her plate, her appetite ruined. “They have to prove that my statements were untrue and caused measurable damage to Westwind.”

  Violet made a thoughtful face as she licked cream-cheese frosting from her finger. “I wish we could hear the scuttlebutt around that place.”

  “We could break in and bug the office,” Shawnee suggested.

  “Or we could just ask,” Tori said. When everyone stared at her, she shrugged. “They’re a Sanchez Trucking client, and I’m sure Gil would love to skulk around the warehouse while he’s waiting to load.”

  Damn. Why hadn’t Melanie thought of that? It was a banner day if either Gil or Delon was behind the wheel when a Sanchez truck backed up to the loading dock. Gil had been a star in his own right before the wreck that had crushed his pelvis and ended his bareback riding career, and the luster of Delon’s two world championships had rubbed off on the whole family and their business. The elder, less-scrupulous Sanchez brother wouldn’t hesitate to use it to his advantage.

  “The guys will tell him anything he wants to know, no skulking necessary,” Melanie said.

  Tori made a face. “Well, that’ll ruin Gil’s fun.”

  No doubt. Melanie could remember a time when she—and every other adolescent girl within fifty miles of Earnest—had woven elaborate, happily-ever-after fantasies around the hotter-than-sin Sanchez boys. Even then, before he’d descended into the hell of chronic pain and addiction, there’d been a wildness in Gil that was a little bit scary…and sexy as hell. Since Tori had located a surgeon in Boston who’d successfully rebuilt his hip and left him almost good as new, Gil had lightened up some.

  Now he was only moderately scary.

  “Anything else we can do?” Shawnee cracked her knuckles. “Someone we can rough up in a dark alley?”

  Melanie gave a sour half laugh. “Sure. And while we’re at it, let’s get Tori’s daddy to buy Westwind and replace Leachman. Be sure the new CEO is a woman—that would kill him.”

  “Unfortunately, Daddy spent this month’s paycheck on another new horse,” Tori said dryly.

  Miz Iris folded her hands and gave Melanie the same look she’d given a pair of eight-year-olds she’d caught skinny-dipping in the stock tank. What are we going to do with you? “You can’t stay in Amarillo.”

  “It would be safer if I get out of town,” Melanie agreed.

  “Ya think?” Shawnee scooped up a piece of apple pie, took a bite, and moaned in approval. “Miz Iris, you are a genius. So how are you set for money, Mel? Got enough to pay the lawyer and tide you over until you find another job?”

  Blunt, as always. Before she could answer, Violet chimed in. “We can always use extra help in the office at the rodeos.” She shot a glare at Tori. “Especially since Sanchez Trucking stole my best secretary.”

  Tori raised both hands. “Don’t look at me, I know better than to stick my nose in the family business. But Analise is one hell of a dispatcher…and we have dental.”

  “Like I don’t have enough trouble—” Violet began.

  “Oh my God!” Melanie straightened. “I forgot to ask about the science fair.”

  Tori, Miz Iris, and Shawnee exchanged a glance, then burst out laughing.

  Violet’s scowl deepened. “Beni insisted on doing his project on the breeding cycle of horses.” She made an I know, I know gesture. “We made sure the posters were all PG-rated.”

  “But they forgot to search his backpack,” Tori said.

  “He brought models.” Violet’s expression went even darker. “Which he had altered to be anatomically correct.”

  “And…he used them…to demonstrate…conception!” Shawnee choked out, then spewed crumbs as she doubled over laughing.

  “Just you wait.” Violet stabbed finger at Tori. “Next year, you and Delon are in charge of the science fair.”

  Tori shrugged. “I’ll pawn it off on my sister. The two of them can splice some genes or something.”

  “What about your parents?” Miz Iris asked.

  All the laughter in the room died. Melanie grimaced. “I called them. Neither picked up, so I left messages with the gist of the story. Daddy hasn’t called back… Big surprise. And Mama sent me a text saying not to worry, she didn’t think it would cause any problems for her clear down in Lubbock, and I should thank God at least I didn’t have two kids to worry about when my life went to hell.”

  There was a beat of stunned silence.

  “Wow,” Shawnee said. “I should be used to it, but the ability to make everything all about her still blows me away.”

  “It is a gift.” And the reason Melanie hadn’t asked if their mother had heard from Hank. She didn’t need a daily “But I am so worried, I just can’t stand it!” phone call to jack up her own fears. Or worse, Have you seen my son? plastered all over the Internet, the better to be the center of a storm of prayers and “Oh, you poor thing!” replies.

  Silence fell again as if they were all waiting for someone else to speak up. Finally, Tori said, “I did talk to Daddy. He’d be happy to make a place for you in one of his companies.”

  “And Joe’s stepfather will do the same in a heartbeat,” Violet added. “You could go work in Japan or Brazil if you really want to get away.”

  A
lump rose in Melanie’s throat, even though she’d been expecting just this. Had, in fact, counted on it as a last resort. As she’d told Wyatt, she wasn’t a complete idiot—all evidence to the contrary. These people would always come through for her. But first she had to make every effort to do this on her own. Anything else felt like cheating.

  “I appreciate it,” she said. “And I will take one of them up on it if it turns out my marketing career is reduced to stuffing flyers under windshield wipers at the Shop-n-Save. I don’t want to jump into anything, though.”

  “What are you gonna do while you’re sorting yourself out?” Shawnee asked.

  Melanie thought of the proposal Wyatt had emailed—businesslike, professional, and very generous—which she’d read when she got home. The immediate rejection she’d planned to send was still in her outbox. He had managed to snag her interest, presenting both an opportunity and a challenge unlike anything she’d done at Westwind. The Bull Dancer Saloon. Even the name caught at her imagination. Pendleton was a charming town steeped in the history of the Oregon Trail, drowsing happily along except for that one week in September when fifty thousand rodeo fans poured in and tripled the population during the famous Roundup.

  And best of all, it was located fourteen hundred miles from the Texas Panhandle.

  Of course, there was still Wyatt. But he had his students, and when he wasn’t busy with them, he’d be flying off to fight bulls at rodeos all over the country. They’d barely even see each other…right?

  Before she’d fully completed the thought, Melanie heard herself say, “I have another job lined up. Just a short-term, freelance thing, but it’ll tide me over.”

  “Here?” Violet asked.

  “No.” Melanie inspected her abused manicure. “It’s, um, in Oregon.”

  They all stared at her. Finally, Tori said, “You are going to work for Wyatt?”

  “No! I mean, not really. Like I said, it’s freelance. He bought a bar, and he wants me to develop a marketing plan.” When they kept staring, she added defensively. “Y’all said I should get out of town. The pay is good.”