A week had passed since the bridesmaid's dress selection, and Melody was ringing up a late afternoon customer after an exhausting hour-long sales session with a persnickety woman when her cell buzzed in her pocket.
She didn't make a habit of answering her personal phone during business hours, but when it rang a second time only minutes later, she dug it out of the pocket of her skinny jeans.
The number wasn't programmed into her phone, but it was a local area code. She answered it.
"It's Weston. Are you busy?"
"Kind of. What's up?" And how did you get my number?
She glanced at the cart bearing a load of skirts and blouses from the new stock that had arrived yesterday. Then to the pile of inventory reports—showing four discrepancies now—and the accounts payable that she also needed to reconcile tonight.
She'd planned to play back video from the surveillance cameras after she closed the store for the day. Maybe she could see who was walking off with her merchandise.
"Something's going on with the girls. Claire—I think it was Claire—called me, and she was sobbing into the phone. Have you heard from her?"
"I haven't." Today was one of Claire's days off. Melody hadn't seen either of the girls, but neither had she expected to. Things had gone relatively smoothly so far with Claire working part time.
Weston sighed. "I'm in the city, about to walk into a meeting that I can't miss. Could you go check on them?"
She hesitated.
"I wouldn't ask, but..."
But maybe he had no one else. She couldn't help remembering Anna's warning. "They're at home?"
"Yeah, I got that much out of her."
"Nothing else?"
"It was something about a boy. I didn't understand it all—look, I've gotta go. Thanks, Mel."
She stared at her phone after he'd ended the call. Obviously, he trusted her enough to ask her to check on the girls. But why?
Or was she really the only person in town that would help? No, that didn't make sense. At the party, he'd been friendly with several of the guys.
Maybe it was because she understood Claire more than he did.
She glanced at the clock again. She had an hour to go until closing time, but if there was drama involving a boy, she'd better get to the bottom of it.
She texted Claire that Weston had called and that she was picking up Chinese food and would be there soon.
Boy trouble called for nothing less.
An hour and a half later, after making the drive to Weatherford and back, she knocked on the door of their farmhouse.
When Claire opened the door, she was dry-eyed.
It was Chase, sitting on the sofa with an empty box and numerous crumpled tissues around her.
"I brought comfort food," Melody offered, holding up the plastic bag.
Chase took one look at her and burst into tears all over again.
Weston walked into the house just after eight to find three hysterical females sitting around the small nook table in the kitchen.
They had a spread of cardboard Chinese cartons open on the table—no plates—and Claire waved a pair of chopsticks wildly while Chase and Melody cackled with laughter.
Claire seemed fine.
And then he noticed Chase's red-rimmed eyes. What was going on? Between the two girls, Chase was normally more private with her emotions. What had upset her?
But he knew better than to rush in and demand answers.
"Y'all look like you're having fun," he said.
He receive an assortment of greetings, from Melody's soft "hello," to Claire's chopstick wave and Chase's nod.
He plucked a half-full container of lo mein from the center of the table before he could get his hand swatted and retreated to lean against the counter near the kitchen sink. He pulled a fork from the drawer and dug in.
Where had the food come from? There wasn't a Chinese restaurant in tiny Redbud Trails. His gaze snagged on Melody, and when she caught him looking, he raised his eyebrows at her.
She wrinkled her nose and tuned back in to the girls' conversation, but pink crept into her cheeks.
It made him want to steal her away, just for himself.
"Then she dumps her entire tray of meatloaf and mashed potatoes on his lap."
"You could try that, but I bet you'd get detention." Melody pushed a carton away, as if she'd overdone it.
He felt a moment of relief. At least it wasn't one of his sister's who'd dumped food on some poor unsuspecting guy.
"What's going on?" he asked, deciding it was better to brave an emotional storm than stay in the dark.
Chase's lips trembled, and she clamped them together.
Claire put a hand on her shoulder. "Principal Warren changed the policy for the school dance. No freshmen are allowed to attend, even if an upperclassmen invites you."
That was the tragedy that had his normally-stoic sister in tears?
His cluelessness must've shown in his expression, because Chase burst out, "Everyone was talking about us at lunch. Saying that the rule got changed because of us."
He still wasn't tracking. "Because of you two, specifically?"
Just because rumors were flying didn't make them true. And he well knew how high school drama could unfold at the speed of light.
And then Claire's mention of Principal Warren broke through the jumble of his thoughts. Ezra Warren.
The policy hadn't been changed because of the twins. It was because of him. Because Ezra Warren still held a grudge.
It was just crazy enough to be true.
Chase sniffed, and Melody shook her head when he opened his mouth. He wasn't even sure what he would've said.
"I think the best way to get over it is a makeover," Melody said. "You might feel more confident—"
"Yeah, right." Chase glowered at her.
Melody fished in what must be her purse, which had been hanging off the chair behind her. She came up with a small pad of paper and a pencil and started sketching so fast, his eyes couldn't follow the lines on the page.
"How was your meeting?" Claire asked him.
"Fine." He didn't let his attention waver from Melody, but he saw Claire make a face at him in his peripheral vision.
Expectation—or maybe it was anticipation—hung in the room, everyone waiting to see how Chase would react to whatever Melody was sketching.
"I'm not into all the girly-girl frills like you and Claire," Chase said, but her eyes were glued to Melody's paper.
"You don't have to be." Melody swept her pencil across the paper and then flipped the pad around for the twins' perusal. He found himself stepping closer to see.
Chase gasped softly. Melody had drawn a girl with more than a passing resemblance to Chase in a pair of jeans that even he would recognize as trendy and a T-shirt that hugged the slender curves he tried really hard not to think about teenage boys thinking about. Some kind of chunky bracelet made the outfit more feminine than it should've been, especially with the ballet flats Melody had sketched.
"That's perfect for you," Claire said even as Chase shoved the notebook back toward Melody.
But not before he'd seen the flare of interest in her eyes.
"I can't afford anything like that, and even if I could, it doesn't matter." Chase shoved back from the table, her chair legs scraping against the floor.
Something else was going on. He could read his sisters pretty well by now, and the look they shared said it all.
"C'mon, Chase, you're being silly," Claire murmured.
"Don't say it," Chase said, pointing a shaking finger at her sister. "Look at Weston."
What? How was he involved? He'd just walked in.
Claire shot an apologetic glance at him and kept talking. "Just because Weston is unlucky in love—"
Chase started to say something, but Claire cut her off. "And mom. Just because the two of them have been unlucky in love doesn't mean our family is cursed."
"I'm not..." He shut up when Chase gave him a scathing glance.
"Eve. Do I need to say more than that?" The name hit him squarely in the gut, but not with the power it had once had over him. And Chase wasn't done. "Or what about the dozens of girlfriends since?"
Okay, now his face was getting hot. "There haven't been that many."
Movement from the corner of the room showed Melody reaching for her purse. Smart woman. The twins could go on for hours, and this wasn't her problem.
"Melody, wait!" Claire turned.
"Oh, just let her go home," Chase fumed. "It's not like she would help me if she knew what I'd done."
And suddenly, what he'd thought was a normal teenage drama-slash-spat was something more serious.
"What do you mean?" Melody put her purse on the chair she'd just vacated.
He set the now-empty carton on the counter, heart pounding. "I think you'd better explain, young lady."
But Melody's small hand on his forearm stalled him from stepping into Chase's personal space, his first instinct.
"It was you? Stealing from the store?" Melody asked.
What?
Claire gasped. "Why would you do that?"
Chase's face turned bright red. "Because."
"Because you wanted to get me fired?" Now Claire advanced on her sister, a dangerous look in her eyes. "What if Melody had thought it was me?"
A glance at Melody revealed a slightly guilt-ridden look, which she quickly blanked.
"I wanted to be pretty too!" Chase's outburst made all three of them freeze in place.
And then her face crumpled, and she bolted from the room.
What had just happened here?
He stood rooted in place, feeling helpless and frustrated and a whole mix of things.
Claire started to chase after her sister, but Melody reached out for her. "Let me go."
He put both hands on top of his head, his elbows stretching toward the ceiling. "I don't understand what just happened here."
"She likes Jeremy," Claire answered, as if that explained the whole thing.
It didn't.