It had been the longest ride of Melanie’s life. The only saving grace had been that Caleb didn’t bring up the kiss.
She didn’t know whether to be grateful or angry. She supposed she was a little of both, she thought as she watched his taillights disappear down the driveway in a cloud of dust. Grateful that she’d escaped having to talk about something that she didn’t understand, something that embarrassed her to the core, and angry with both of them for not bringing it out in the open so they could put themselves and their friendship back on an even keel.
Shaking her head, Melanie trudged to her bedroom to change into work clothes. Since her father wasn’t home, the remainder of the day’s chores fell to her.
She didn’t mind the work. In fact, she loved each and every chore—well, okay, maybe she didn’t love each one, but she couldn’t think of a single chore she actually hated. Except on the rare occasion when an animal had to be put down. And housework. She hated anything that hinted of housework.
Other than that, she didn’t mind the effort it took to keep a ranch running. It was good honest work. It made a person stronger, and not just physically. What she did mind was having to do her father’s share so he could run around losing money all over the damn territory.
She would start with the most important chores and work her way down until dark. The most important were the mares. There were three of them, and they were her star boarders.
Well, Melanie thought with a chuckle, they were her only boarders. Their owners paid extra to make sure their beauties were well taken care of, including being stabled each night so they wouldn’t have to spend the nights out in the open.
If given a choice, nearly all of Pruitt Ranch’s own horses would stand outside in a blizzard and let icicles form on their muzzles before they would willingly step a single hoof inside a barn. PR horses were an independent lot.
At the back door, in the kitchen, Melanie stomped her feet into her boots and headed out. She juggled the list of chores in her mind. It wasn’t fair to the mares to bring then in from the paddock and lock them up in the barn in the middle of the day just because she wanted to take her list of chores in some particular order.
But part and parcel with putting them up for the night was cleaning out their stalls, so she started there. After that she drained the water trough in the corral and gave it a good scrubbing. Ever since the West Nile virus made its appearance in Oklahoma she tried not to let water stand in the troughs, or anywhere else, for more than a couple of days. Lord knew there were enough natural breeding places for mosquitoes; she wasn’t about to provide more if she could help it.
By the time she did a few more chores, drove out to the back pasture and checked on the cattle there, then came back and stabled the mares, it was nearly dark. While she was brushing down the last mare she heard a vehicle rumble up to the barn on the other side of the corral.
It was her dad. She recognized the sound of his pickup. After the way he’d dumped her at the café earlier, she wasn’t sure she was ready yet to talk to him. She took her time with the last mare.
Finally, she could delay no longer. In the deep twilight she walked the fifty yards from the barn to the back door and entered the house.
Her father was on the phone. As she came in, he said, “I told you I’d get you the money.”
Melanie’s stomach clenched. She froze in the open doorway.
Her father hung up the phone and turned toward the refrigerator. “What’s for supper?”
For one long moment, Melanie could do no more than gape. When she didn’t answer, her father turned to look at her. She snapped. Somehow, behind her, the door slammed shut.
“Maybe if you’d eaten dinner after church this afternoon you wouldn’t be hungry.”
“Hmmph.” He appeared unimpressed with her sudden anger. “You ate, and I’ll bet you’re hungry.”
“Bet?” It was all she could do to keep from shrieking. “Haven’t you placed enough bets for one day?”
A flush of guilty red stained his cheeks. He turned back toward the fridge and pulled open the door. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You don’t, huh?” She jammed the heel of one boot into the bootjack and worked her foot free. “Then who was that on the phone that you were promising money to?”
His shoulders stiffened, but he didn’t turn to face her. “None of your business.”
“Oh, it’s my business, all right.” She took off her second boot and stalked across the room to grab his arm and tug him around. “You’ve been taking money out of the ranch account for months like you think we’ve got our own printing press.”
Melanie stopped and took a deep breath. This was the man who played horsey while she rode his shoulders. The man who taught her to ride a real horse, gave her her first pony, taught her to rope a steer. Taught her to love the land. Taught her what it was to love family.
“Daddy, I love you, but this has to stop before you bankrupt us.”
“Aw, don’t give me that,” he said, pained. “It hasn’t been that bad.”
“Hasn’t been that bad?” Her voice rose in pitch as she waved her arms. “Look around. Do you think we let the hands go three weeks ago because we didn’t need them anymore? Because we like working ourselves half to death and never catching up?”
“I know you said we were short,” Ralph said, “but that was before we sold the calves. We’re fine now.”
“We might be,” she said, “if we hadn’t been in the red before the sale, thanks to your gambling and Mama’s credit card charges.”
Fayrene and Ralph Pruitt had been separated for nearly two years. Not legally, on paper, but physically. One day Fayrene had decided she was tired of Ralph paying more attention to his cattle and horses—even his pickup—than her. She had packed a bag and hauled tail to Phoenix to live with her sister. She called every couple of weeks to talk to Melanie, but never Ralph.
There had never been a discussion about how Fayrene was to support herself. She had the same credit card she’d always carried, in the name of the ranch; Ralph had never asked her to give it back or stop using it. As long as she was his wife, she was entitled, he said.
It was Melanie, however, who had to figure out how to pay the mounting bills.
“I’m telling you, Daddy, we won’t make it through the winter at this rate. What are we supposed to do, sell off land? Or maybe Big Angus.”
“We’re not selling so much as an acre of the PR, and we’re damn sure not selling Big Angus.”
Big Angus was the enormous bull that was the foundation of their breeding program. His championship bloodline, not to mention his perfect confirmation, made him one of the most valuable bulls in the state.
“You sound just like your mother,” Ralph went on, “always exaggerating, making things sound worse than they are.”
“Daddy—”
“I’m hungry. Do we still have any of that roast beef? We can have sandwiches.”
And that, Melanie knew from past experience, was the end of any discussion on money.
Melanie had been right about the end of any more money talk with her father. He stuffed two thick roast beef sandwiches, one after the other, into his mouth then kissed her on top of her head and went to bed.
Monday morning she faced the chores alone again. Instead of her father, in the kitchen making coffee as he did most mornings, she found a note:
Gone to the city. Don’t wait up.
He meant Oklahoma City. If he’d been going to Rose Rock, he’d have said he was gone to town. In Oklahoma, there was generally only one “city,” and that was Oklahoma City. Tulsa was Tulsa; everything else was called by its name unless you lived in the country and were referring to the nearest town, then it was “town.” But “the city” was Oklahoma City.
There was legitimate ranch business he could take care of in the city. The big tractor-supply places were there, and they needed a new part. But he usually had the parts store in town order whatever he needed.
He was up to no good again. Gambling. There was no other logical explanation for this latest disappearing act.
Melanie was so angry, so frustrated, she wished heartily for a punching bag. Or a cord of wood to chop. Since neither of those was handy, she bit down on her emotions and turned the mares out for the day. She found little satisfaction in mucking out their stalls, but it had to be done.
When she went to the feed room in the back of the barn, she swore. Her father was supposed to have brought home a new load of sweet feed for the mares two days ago. Obviously he’d had more important things on his mind, because there were no new bags.
She should wait until later, after she’d put in another few hours of work, but maybe the trip to the feed store in town would settle her down. Between anger at her father, and the dream she’d had of kissing Caleb, she felt ready to explode. Mucking out stalls had not helped.
She drove to town, cursing herself for postponing her work, knowing that she would have to stop early enough that evening to get ready to go with Justin to the birthday party. Maybe she would drown her sorrows in beer. Except she never got drunk. She wasn’t much of a drinker at all. She was a sipper. It took her all night to get through two glasses of beer. If she was drinking bottles or cans, she couldn’t finish two unless she stayed up all night to get the job done. Still, she was looking forward to the evening.
What she was not looking forward to, she thought as she stopped at the mailbox at the end of her driveway on her way back from the feed store, was opening the mail. It was, as usual, all bills. No prize patrol, no letter from Ed McMahon waiting to tell her she’d won a million dollars. Just another bill from the electric company, who, for some reason, expected money from them about this time every month. An insurance statement. An invoice from the credit card company. That was going to hurt.
And hurt, it did. She put off opening it for as long as she could. She unloaded the sweet feed. She made sure the bags were stacked straight. She straightened up the rest of the storage room. She went to the house and made herself another roast beef sandwich. She would be glad to see the last of that roast; she was getting tired of it, no matter how good it tasted.
Then there was nothing legitimate standing between her and the bills. With grim resolve, she carried them to the desk in the small den off the living room and grabbed the letter opener. As if about to take a dose of particularly foul-tasting medicine, she held her breath and opened the worst of them—the credit card bill—first.
She nearly staggered at the amount due. Good grief! Last month she had paid off the entire balance, and now the account was completely maxed out. All five digits of the allowable amount. What the— In one month?
“Mama, what have you done?”
The list of charges was as long as her arm and took up two pages. None was for less than five hundred dollars. Department stores—high-end ones. Victoria’s Secret? What could her mother have bought there for six-hundred-fifty-seven dollars? There were other places listed, whose merchandise or services Melanie could only guess at.
The charge that stopped her heart was from a Scottsdale clinic for more than ten thousand dollars.
Oh, God. A clinic? Her mother was ill. How serious was it? It must be bad to cost that much. Why hadn’t Mama called to tell them?
She reached for the phone with trembling hands and dialed her mother’s number in Arizona. She got the damn answering machine.
“Mama, it’s Melanie. Are you there? If you’re there pick up. I just got the credit card bill. Mama, what’s wrong? Are you sick? Hurt? What’s happened? All that money charged to the clinic. Why didn’t you let the insurance cover it? Please call. You’ve got me terrified here. Call. And hurry, Mama.”
A sick feeling bubbled in the pit of Melanie’s stomach. Oh, God. Her mother was sick, and the Pruitt Ranch was in big financial trouble. Heaven help her, there was no way she could pay off the credit card balance this time. And with interest rates that would do a loan shark proud, it was going to take years to pay off.
And how could she even consider worrying about such a trivial matter as that when for all she knew her mother could be dying?
Melanie sat heavily and buried her face in her hands. What was she going to do? How could she help her mother? She had to assume that if her mother was in a really bad way she would have called. Or Aunt Karen would have. But nobody ran up a ten-thousand-dollar tab at a clinic for a hangnail or a bout with the flu.
And why, oh why, hadn’t she used their health insurance instead of charging it all to the credit card? Had she lost her mind?
She was obviously feeling well enough to buy out half of the finer shops in Phoenix, whose charges were dated after the charge at the clinic. That was something, then.
If her mother’s health weren’t enough, Melanie felt as if the very survival of the PR rested on her shoulders. In truth, it did. Her parents certainly weren’t helping. They were, in fact, the problem. Both of them.
She loved her parents deeply, but right now all she wanted to do was knock their heads together. They had to stop this. She had to make them stop.
But how? She had tried talking, begging, demanding. Nothing had worked. What else could she do? She couldn’t sit around and let them take the ranch under. She knew they didn’t want the ranch to go under any more than she did, it was just that they had both become as irresponsible as a couple of teenagers since Mama had moved out. She supposed she should be grateful they’d…
That was it. She didn’t have to convince them of anything. When her parents had separated they had agreed that they wanted to ensure that if anything happened to one of them, Melanie would still have the ranch. They’d had their lawyer draw up papers giving Melanie fifty percent of the ranch, with twenty-five percent going to each of her parents. Unless the two of them joined forces—an event not likely to happen in the foreseeable future—control rested in Melanie’s hands. It was time she exercised it.
She reached for the phone.
Thirty minutes later it was done. They weren’t out of debt, weren’t going to be for a good long while. But neither of her parents would be able to add to the problem. She had closed the credit card account and canceled the ATM cards. No one could charge anything to the ranch, except at the feed store in town, and no one could withdraw cash from the bank without writing a check. And she had the only checkbook. If her mother’s health caused more expenses Melanie would handle it. Somehow.
Heaven help her, her mother and father were going to hit the roof when they found out what she’d done.
She wished her actions made her feel better but they didn’t. That sick feeling still rumbled in her stomach. Who was she to tell her parents what to do? They had worked hard all their lives, built this ranch up from the small, one-man operation Grandpa had left Daddy. They were her parents, and she was treating them like children, taking control of their money, cutting them off.
Heaven help her.
Billy Ray’s birthday celebration that night at the Road Hog Saloon was, by all accounts, a rousing success.
By all accounts except Melanie’s. She was most definitely not enjoying herself. Her beer kept disappearing right out of her glass. She reached for the pitcher on the table to give herself a refill, but, oh, great. The pitcher was empty.
“More beer!” she yelled. But the band was so loud, she doubted anyone heard her. It was a local group called the Aloha Shirt Boys, named for the shirts they wore, not the music they played; they played country and western, with a little Cajun thrown in now and then, and they played it loud. L-O-U-D loud.
“More beer!” she yelled again, pounding the pitcher on the table. Why wasn’t there any more beer?
“Hey, sweetcakes.” Her buddy, Justin, slid in next to her in the booth. “Whatcha hollering about?” He had picked her up at seven, as planned, and they had driven to the Road Hog for Billy Ray’s party, both grateful that whoever had done the choosing had chosen the Road Hog over Deuces at the other end of town. If the Road Hog was a dump, Deuces was three notches below a dive.
“I’m outta beer.” She frowned at her empty glass, the empty pitcher, then at Justin. Her pal. Caleb’s brother. Caleb, with the magic lips.
No, no, no. Mustn’t think about Caleb’s lips. Nope. Bad lips. Shame on those lips. No more lips for her, by golly. She shouldn’t even be thinking about lips, but she needed lips to drink her beer.
“I’m outta beer,” she said again.
It was easier to think about beer. If she just kept thinking about it, pouring it down her throat, she wouldn’t have to think about Caleb’s lips. Or her father. Or her mother’s health. Now there was a subject to get a girl to drinking.
Her father didn’t yet know what she’d done, but she had called her mother back and left a second message, warning her not to use the credit card because it would be turned down.
Oh, boy, howdy, that was going to go over like a lead balloon.
They were going to hate her. Mama and Daddy were both going to hate her for this.
“I want more beer.”
Good grief, was that her voice? That ugly, whiny sound?
Her parents weren’t here. And neither were Caleb’s lips. She was safe for now.
“Where you been?” she demanded of Justin. “This’s the firs’ I’ve seen you since we got here.”
Justin hooted. “Sweetcakes, did you know your words are slurring?”
She blinked and opened her eyes wide. “Are not.”
“Are too.”
“Tha’s a lie.”
Justin hooted again. “You’re drunk as a skunk. How much beer have you had?”
“This is her third pitcher.” The waitress, Linda, clunked down a fresh pitcher of beer and whipped the empty one away.
Justin goggled. “Third? What’s the deal, Mel? You never drink this much.”
Using two hands to make sure she didn’t spill a drop, Melanie refilled her parched glass, then guzzled the entire contents to soothe her parched throat.
“Ah.” She slapped the glass back down onto the table and smacked her lips. “Tha’s better.”
Justin was starting to get worried. This wasn’t like Mel at all. She never drank this much, and she damn sure never guzzled a full glass in one gulp. “Three pitchers?”
“’S a lie.”
“Come on, pal, what’s going on? It’s me, here. You can tell me anything, you know that.”
“Nope.” She shook her head and refilled her glass yet again. “You’re my fun pal. Caleb’s my talkin’-to pal.”
“You want me to call Caleb?”
Her eyes nearly popped out of her head. “Lips?”
Justin burst out laughing.
“No way, José.” She shook her head so hard she nearly fell against him. “He’s part of the prob— The prol— The damn reason. Him and his lips.” She snorted. “His lips, my parents. Either one would be enough to send a girl to the nearest bar, and I’ve got ’em both to deal with.”
The way Mel was glaring at him, as though Caleb and his lips and her parents, whatever they had to do with anything, were somehow his fault, had Justin swallowing back another burst of laughter. Sober, she was capable of giving him a black eye if he made her too mad. He had no idea what she might do when drunk, because he’d never seen her like this before. He didn’t know how to deal with this Mel.
“You hold that thought, sweetcakes.” He patted her on the shoulder. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
“I don’ thin’ so.”
Halfway out of the booth, Justin paused and looked back at her. “You don’t think I’ll be back?”
“Nope.” She took a sip of beer and smacked her lips.
“Why not?”
“’Cuz Blaire Harding just walked in, an’ I happen to know you’ve got a baaad case of the hots for her.”
At the mention of Blaire Harding’s name, Justin’s head whipped around all on its own. Without direction from his brain, his eyes scanned, then zeroed in on her as if they were laser-guided. Without looking back, he slid from the booth.
“See ya, kid,” he said over his shoulder. Because Mel was right. He had a baaad case of the hots for Blaire Harding, and the woman had been avoiding him like the plague for days.
But before he got too carried away, he made his way outside—where he could make sure Blaire didn’t leave before he had a chance to drool—er, talk to her. The noise level was slightly lower outside than in, which was his reason for going there. He unclipped his cell phone from his belt and called Caleb.
Caleb pulled into the gravel parking lot in front of the Road Hog and killed the engine, but he didn’t get out right away. Justin had to be lying. The kid would consider it a good practical joke to get Caleb riled up and have him driving all the way into town to see about Melanie.
Melanie herself was probably in on the joke.
Drunk. That was a good one. Melanie never got drunk. It took her all night long to sip her way through one or two beers. And that certainly didn’t make her drunk.
It was much more likely that Justin got hooked up with a woman and didn’t want to drive Melanie home. Melanie wouldn’t care, because she and Justin were just friends.
But then, he would have sworn he and Melanie were just friends, too, until she’d knocked his socks off with that kiss the other night at the party. Now he wasn’t sure what they were to each other.
It flashed through his mind that calling him to come rescue Melanie could be nothing more than a trick to get him to come to Billy Ray’s party. Justin and Melanie weren’t above such a scheme.
It wasn’t that he didn’t like Billy Ray. How could you not like a guy who put up with everyone calling him by his first and last names together, all his life? His name wasn’t Billy Ray Somebody. Ray was not his middle name, it was his last name. But for some reason, everyone in his family was known by their first and last names joined together. And the names always ran together as if they were one word: BillyRay, his brother DonnieRay, their daddy JuniorRay, their sister ConnieRay, and their mother, Mrs. Ray, pronounced MizRay. MizRay, as far as anyone could tell, did not have a first name other than Miz.
Caleb liked them all just fine. It was only that Billy Ray and his crowd were several years younger than Caleb, and he could take only so much rowdy partying.
Could it be that at thirty-three he was getting old?
Nah, thirty-three wasn’t old. Never mind the aching muscles as he finally climbed out of his pickup. Muscles were supposed to ache after a long hard day.
The noise from the band was loud in the parking lot. He took a deep breath and braced himself before pushing the door of the Road Hog open and stepping inside. The blast of sound that hit him made him wince. The wall of smoke choked him. Two more good reasons to have stayed home—preservation of his lungs and eardrums.
“Hey, Caleb!” Billy Ray himself, obviously just coming from the men’s room, spotted him instantly and gave Caleb a hearty slap on the back. Or, he would have, if he hadn’t been three sheets to the wind. His aim was off and his hand barely glanced off Caleb’s shoulder. But the force of his own movement, without Caleb’s solid back to stop him, nearly sent him face-first to the floor. He staggered, then righted himself and grinned sloppily. “Glad you came, buddy. Come on over to my table and have a beer.”
Caleb tucked his hands into his back pockets and pretended he hadn’t heard the invitation. “Looks like a big party.” He had to shout to make himself heard over the band and the crowd.
“It’s the best!” Billy Ray answered. “Oops. There’s Carol Anne flaggin’ me down.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Wouldn’t wanna keep the lady waiting, now, would I?”
Caleb laughed, as he was meant to. “Not if you’re smart, pardner.”
“Oh, yeah,” Billy Ray said, swaying past Caleb toward the well-endowed redhead waving her arms in the air. “If there’s one thing Billy Ray is, it’s smart, and don’t let anyone tell you different.”
Caleb shook his head as Billy Ray plowed his way through the crowd of people. Yep, he would just as soon have stayed home. That didn’t make him old, it just, in his book, made him sensible.
Now all he had to do was find Melanie through the smoke and the throng and call Justin’s bluff about her being drunk.
This was one of those occasions when being six feet tall came in handy. There were some men taller than he was, but they were either on the dance floor, sitting at a table, or leaning on the bar. Without too much stretching on his part he was able to see pretty much the entire room.
Just then the band ended their number and a two-second lull occurred before the roar of voices resumed over the scattering of applause. Into that two-second lull came a sharp whistle from near the tiny dance floor in front of the band at the opposite end of the room from where Caleb stood.
The whistle was, if one could be, familiar. He glanced over and saw Justin. Caleb nodded that he’d spotted him, and Justin pointed toward the booths along the far wall.
And there sat Melanie in the front corner booth. Maybe sat wasn’t the right word, as she was more or less slumped into the corner. She looked as if any moment she would simply slide right out of the booth and end up in the floor beneath the table.
Good grief, had Justin been telling the truth? Was she really drunk?
As he worked his way to her side he worried over what could have caused her to get herself in such a state.
He remembered that lost look on her face Saturday night at the party, remembered thinking she was upset over Sloan’s marriage to Emily. She had denied it, but now, seeing her drunk, for what might be the first time in her life, he had to wonder.
Saturday night she’d said that whatever was bothering her had nothing to do with Sloan. Caleb knew Melanie pretty well, and he couldn’t imagine what could be hurting her enough to have her acting so out of character.
“Hey, there.” He slid in across from her, more than surprised that someone as popular and well-liked as Melanie was alone in the booth.
Her eyes were closed. For a minute he was afraid she had fallen asleep. Or passed out, if she was really as soused as Justin said.
“Go away,” she said. “There’s only enough beer for one, and I’m the one.”
The pitcher was full, her glass half so.
“Looks to me,” he said, “as if you’ve had more than your fair share already.”
Melanie cracked one eye partially open then groaned. Great. She’d either had way too much to drink, or not nearly enough. She was hallucinating. She had to be, because she knew Caleb wasn’t really sitting across from her. No way. She’d made sure to find out that he was not coming to…to… Oh, yeah. Billy Ray’s birthday party. The Road Hog. That’s where she was.
But Caleb wasn’t there. She’d ridden to town with Justin. Not Caleb.
“I definitely need another beer.” She raised her glass, but the apparition across from her reached out and snatched it from her hand. “Hey!”
“No more for you, pal.”
Melanie frowned and squinted to see more clearly. “Lips?”
The apparition frowned back. “What about them?”
“’Zat you?”
“Jeez, how drunk are you? It’s me, Caleb. Are you ready to go home?”
She hiccuped, then giggled. “I think I’m too drive to drunk.”
He muttered something that sounded like, “The understatement of the year.”
“Hey, I resemble that statement.”
Caleb laughed and shook his head. He’d never seen her like this. “You certainly do. Come on, woman, let’s get you out of here.”
She poked out her lower lip in a stupendous pout. “Don’t wanna go home.”
Caleb slid out of the booth. He stepped to her side of the table and reached for her arm, intrigued by the strength he felt there. He shouldn’t let her strength surprise him; he knew she worked probably as hard as he did. He decided he liked that firm muscle beneath his hand.
“Come on,” he said. “We’ll go someplace else, then.” He wasn’t, as a rule, a liar, but just then he would have promised her anything to get her to get up and walk out the door with him. He hoped to God she could still walk. If he had to carry her through this crowd of her friends she would never live it down. Which meant she would never forgive him.
But she let him tug her across the seat to stand beside him. She wobbled a little but stayed upright.
Caleb wrapped his arm around her waist and started her toward the door. She leaned against him and stumbled over her own feet.
“Oops.” She giggled.
“You’re going to love hearing about this tomorrow,” he muttered.
She flung her head back to look up at him and nearly threw them both over backward. “What?” she yelled. “Where are we going?”
“Out of here.”
They made it out the door without much trouble. Most of the crowd didn’t notice they were leaving, so only a few yelled out to say good-night. The gravel in the parking lot made for tricky footing for Melanie. He would have simply picked her up and carried her—she wasn’t in much condition to object—but there were several people around and he didn’t want to have to deal with the talk such a move would surely generate. He took most of Melanie’s weight against his hip. All she had to do was move her feet, and finally they made it to his truck, where he belted her into the passenger seat.
“Where we goin’?” she asked, swaying as he turned right out of the parking lot.
“You already asked that.”
“I did?” Hic. Giggle.
“Jeez, you are snockered.” He glanced over in time to see her blink once, slowly. She reminded him of a baby owl.
“How ’bout that. I guess I am. Snockered.”
“I’m wondering why that is,” Caleb said.
Hic. Giggle. “’Cuz I drank too much beer.” She gave an emphatic nod. The movement would have overbalanced her and sent her tumbling to the floor-board had it not been for the seat and shoulder belts.
“Easy, there.” Caleb reached over and pulled her back upright. Her head fell against the headrest and stayed there. He would have wished that she would just go ahead and pass out, except then he would have to get her into her house, and he didn’t particularly want to have to explain to Ralph why he was bringing his pride and joy home drunk as the proverbial skunk.
And if the worst should happen and Ralph wasn’t home, Caleb would have to put her to bed.
“Don’t you dare fall asleep,” he ordered sharply.
“Sleep, sleep, sleep. Don’ wanna sleep. Where we goin’? I wanna dance.”
Caleb turned on the radio to a country station. “Knock yourself out. Figuratively speaking.”
“Knock myself out.” She gave herself a mock punch to the head. “Pow.” She laughed so hard she fell against the door.
Caleb winced. She was strapped in, but that didn’t mean he wanted that door to fly open. Leaning as far as he could, he reached behind her head and pushed the door lock on her door.
“Oh, oh! I love this song.” She leaped toward the radio. It took her three tries, but she finally managed to turn up the volume and sing along.
Since Caleb had spent most of the past two days reliving that kiss they’d shared on the makeshift dance floor Saturday night, he wished heartily that she had picked some song other than the old Conway Twitty hit about wanting a lover with a slow hand. Caleb did not need the pictures that took over his mind.
Retracing a trip he’d made at least a hundred times in his life, Caleb slowed and turned off the highway onto the Pruitt Ranch driveway. But for his headlights it was pitch-black out here. He had to take it even slower than he had when he brought her home the day before, because he couldn’t see where the next pothole might be.
Potholes obviously were no concern for Melanie. She sat next to him singing at the top of her lungs. Currently it was a commercial jingle about car mufflers.
“We’re here,” he said unnecessarily.
“No, no, no.” She groaned. “I tol’ you I di’n wanna come home.”
“Yeah, you told me.” He parked next to the back door. The house was dark, and the yard and driveway, lit by the utility light next to the house, showed her lone vehicle. After ten on a weeknight and her dad wasn’t home.
“Not my business,” he muttered as he got out and went around to haul Melanie out.
She did not cooperate. Part of that was on purpose, because she really didn’t want to go into the house, and she kept saying so as she held on to the truck door when he urged her out of her seat. But part of her lack of cooperation was because she was too snockered to stand up straight.
“Okay.” He slipped one arm around her waist and lifted her weight onto his hip again. It had worked well enough at the parking lot. “Here we go.”
At the back door he pulled open the storm door and tried the knob. It was locked. No surprise there.
“Where’s your key?” he asked.
She blinked up at him, doing that little owl thing again, and giggled. “You’re so cute. Did I ever tell you how cute you are?”
“Come on, you’re not that drunk. Your key, Melanie. Where’s your house key?”
She gave him a sly smile. “My pocket.”
“Well, get it so I can get you inside.”
“No.”
Caleb dropped his forehead to rest against hers and sighed. “Come on, Mel, be a sport. Give me your key.”
“You have to kiss me first.”
Caleb jerked his head up. In the glow of the utility light he stared at her, stunned. “I take it back. You’re drunker than I thought. Give me your key.”
Her bottom lip poked out. “You’re not gonna kiss me?”
“We did that the other night, remember? I got the impression you wished we hadn’t. Now be a pal and give me your key.”
“I know you liked kissing me.”
“Sugarpie, a dead man would like kissing you.” Please, God, let her be too drunk to remember I said that. “Now give me your key.”
That sly smile she gave him a moment ago returned. “Why don’t you get it yourself?”
Sweat popped out along his upper lip. He could almost feel his hand pushing into her pocket, feeling the shape of her beneath a single layer of fabric.
He braced his hands on her shoulders. “If I have to get it myself I’m going to hold you upside down by your ankles and shake you until the key falls out.”
Now her pout came back. “You’re no fun.” She jammed her right hand into her front pocket and pulled out a key. And promptly dropped it. “Oops.” Giggle. Hic.
Caleb spent the next several minutes on his hands and knees, in the semidark, swearing, until he finally found the key on the edge of the bottom step.
“Eureka!” Melanie cried with a wave of her arms that nearly sent her tumbling off the steps.
“Whoa, there.” Caleb caught her by the arm and steadied her. While he unlocked the door, she moaned.
“Caleb?”
“Here we go.” He pushed open the door and reached inside and turned on the kitchen light.
She swayed against him. “Caleb, is this room s’pose to be spinning?”
“Oh no you don’t.” He swept her into the room and closed the door. “Don’t you dare pass out or get sick on me.”
She leaned against him. “I think I need to…”
“I hope you’re going to say lie down.” He helped her across the kitchen and down the hall. Caleb got her through her bedroom door and lowered her to sit on the side of the bed.
She fell back, her arms spread wide. “Ahhh.”
Caleb turned on the bedside lamp. “You’re not sick?”
“Nope. I’m fine, fine, fine.” She looked at him and wiggled her eyebrows. “You’re lookin’ pretty fine yourself, Lips.”
“I’ll ignore that. Let’s get these boots off.” He straightened her on the bed, then tugged off her boots, leaving her thick white socks on. “Better?”
“Mmm.” She flexed her toes. “Oh, yeah.” She tugged her shirttail free and unbuckled her belt.
Caleb swallowed. “What are you doing?”
“Getting comfor—” She unzipped her jeans. “Comorb—” With a wiggle of her hips she started tugging the denim down her hips. “Comftorble.”
He stood beside the bed, helpless to stop her, helpless to look away. Had her legs always been that long, that perfect?
With a final kick of her feet the jeans did a neat little soar-and-dive and fell into a puddle on the floor.
Caleb couldn’t look anymore. He reached across her and tugged the comforter until it covered her from the waist down. Feeling much better, and not a little proud of himself, he propped his hands on his hips and wished he knew why she’d felt the need to drink the way she had tonight. “Need anything else?”
“Uh-huh.”
“What?”
She crooked a finger at him. “Come here.”
He stepped closer. “What do you need?”
“Come cos— Closer. Come closer.”
“I’m right here, Mel.”
She wiggled sideways on the bed, then patted the space beside her hip. “Here.”
Caleb sat on the edge of the bed and leaned toward her. “What is it? Are you sick?”
“No.” She shook her head, then closed her eyes and moaned. “Oh, I shouldn’t have done that. Remind me not to move my head again.”
“Don’t move your head again.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“You’re welcome. You want to tell me why you did this to yourself?”
“You wanna kiss me again?”
If she had needed to get his attention, she sure did it. “What?” he asked, certain that he did not want her to repeat the question.
“You liked kissing me.”
“Melanie…”
She reached up and traced a finger across his mouth. “You’ve got great lips.”
Caleb jerked his head back. Letting her touch his lips was not a good idea. Not when he wanted—badly—to taste hers. “Three pitchers of beer, huh?”
She slipped her hands around his neck and locked her fingers together. “And your point is?”
“Come on, Mel, let go.”
“Not until you tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
She licked her lips. “Tell me you liked kissing me.”
Lamplight glistened along her moist mouth, making him want to groan. Instead, he swallowed. “I liked kissing you.”
“Then do it again.” She tugged him closer.
“And have you accuse me tomorrow that I took advantage of you?”
A giggle escaped her. “Oh, goody. You’re going to take advantage of me?”
“I am not.” He pulled her hands from behind his neck, but she then slid them around his chest. “Come on, quit fooling around.”
“Well, that’s typical. All I wanted was a kiss, and you want to fool around.”
“If you weren’t three sheets to the wind I might just give you what you think you want.”
“Promises, promises. Come here.” She tugged sharply, throwing him off balance. He caught himself on his forearms before crushing her beneath his weight. “You don’t have to take advantage of me. I’ll take advantage of you.”
“Melanie.”
“Caleb. I’ve never known you to talk so much. Are you scared of me?”
Somewhere in the back of his mind he realized that she wasn’t slurring her words quite as much as she had been, but the thought disappeared, along with his common sense, when he admitted, “Terrified.”
But really, he thought, gazing into her eyes and on down that pert nose to those soft lips. What would it hurt if he kissed her? She wanted him to. And in the morning she probably wouldn’t even remember it.
And that was disgusting. She didn’t know what she was doing. He had never taken advantage of a woman in his life. He wasn’t about to start with a trusted friend. This was Melanie, for crying out loud. She trusted him. He couldn’t betray that trust.
“I’ll be gentle,” she whispered.
“Melanie.”
“Are you going to make me beg?”
All the strength went out of his knees, his arms. He lowered toward her until there was nothing but a scant breath separating his mouth from hers. Then there was nothing at all, because he was unable to stop himself from taking what she offered. Giving what she asked for.
Her taste was hot and sweet, with a hint of beer that made him smile against her mouth.
When she traced his lower lip with her tongue, he forgot all about smiling. He forgot he shouldn’t be kissing his friend. He forgot that she probably didn’t know what she was doing. He forgot his own name. It didn’t matter. He didn’t care what his name was—he knew hers. It was Melanie. Sweet, sweet Melanie, who could be as soft as an angel one minute, sharp as a blade the next, and just now, in his arms—how had his arms come to be around her?—as fiery and lethal as a bolt of lightning.
Then suddenly her mouth went slack, her arms slid from around his back to fall to her sides on the bed.
Caleb raised his head and looked at her. “Melanie?”
Her eyes were closed. She had passed out.
It was a sign, Caleb thought as he pushed himself up and off of her.
Damn. He didn’t even remember crawling on top of her. Another few minutes and he might have done something they would both be a lot sorrier for than a simple kiss or two.
Not that kissing Melanie even began to resemble simple. They had too much history between then, as neighbors, as friends, for them to change the status quo without some careful consideration.
He looked down at her sweet, familiar face, her sable-brown hair spread out messily across the pillow. He was halfway toward touching that hair when he stopped himself and backed away. He had no business touching her while she slept. No business standing over her, watching her.
He turned off the lamp and left the room. As he stepped into the hall, a delicate snore followed him. He smiled.