A Home Of Her Own

After lingering over a breakfast left mostly untouched, Melodie considered the black suit that she intended to wear for this sad occasion. She had purchased it a short time ago and worn it only once—at her husband’s funeral.

Slipping into the cool, black silk, Melodie relived that terrible day. Since her own mother had been too ill to travel the long distance to be at her side, she suffered through the ceremony alone. A few of Randall’s engineering associates had shown up to pay their respect as well as some of the hired hands from the dude ranch that she had been managing. The modest gathering meant a great deal to Randall’s parents who were so bereft at the loss of their only child that they could barely acknowledge his widow, a woman they had felt all along was beneath their son. They felt little need to offer Melodie any more than their condolences.

On some subconscious level, she felt herself entitled to little more. Beneath her black veil, Melodie was secretly relieved that the hand of fate rather than a legal document had dissolved her marriage. Not only was she convinced that Randall would have fought with all his might against a divorce, Melodie herself had been raised that once you make your bed, you sleep in it—crumbs and all. So she did her best to graciously accept the sympathy offered her without shattering anyone’s image of a marriage that had always looked better from the outside than the inside.

Their duty done, Randall’s friends scurried self-righteously back to their fancy Tucson offices to embrace the little calculators that ruled their world. Her in-laws returned to Denver to pick up the silken thread of their social lives, and Melodie proceeded to tender her resignation before the end of the week. Although far from feminine or traditional, her job was something she enjoyed and was good at. It also helped pay for all those expensive toys that Randall accumulated in a futile effort to look richer than he really was.

Melodie’s boss, Peter Hamlein, hated to see her go. Initially he hadn’t thought a woman capable of acting as head wrangler, but he’d been in a bind and decided to give her a chance. Melodie had proven him wrong, working long hours beside the men beneath the blistering Arizona sun and treating every aspect of the operation as if it were her own. Peter assured her that the work ethic she brought with her from Wyoming was in short supply in this snowbirds’ paradise. In addition to her excellent horsewoman skills, Melodie was the best people person he’d ever had in the position. An important part of the job required placating the rich dudes who spent a fortune to be waited on hand and foot for the entirety of their vacations. Pete offered her more money in hopes of getting her to stay on, but she was clearly anxious to get home to her ailing mother. Melodie could offer him no more than a couple of weeks’ notice to help him get things in order for her replacement.

She had been in the process of packing her bags when she received news of her mother’s death.

Certain she couldn’t make it through another funeral as bleak as Randall’s, Melodie took comfort in the fact that many old friends and neighbors were sure to be in attendance today. Grace had been well liked and respected in the community as one of their most stalwart pioneers. Forcing her feet into a pair of dark pumps, Melodie walked over to her mother’s cloudy mirror and surveyed her appearance. The dead look in her eyes came as no surprise. She pulled her long blond hair into a severe bun, pinned it down with forceful jabs, and waited for Buck to tell her it was time to go.

Chapter Three

Buck looked handsome in a Western-cut black suit that emphasized his lean muscularity and made him look rather like the CEO of an up-and-coming company on the verge of a hostile takeover. Ever the gentleman, he opened the passenger door of his pickup for Melodie and helped her in.

Feeling suddenly awkward in anything other than a comfortable pair of cowboy boots, Melodie struggled to gain her seat without revealing any more of her legs than necessary to the man, who even in this moment of deep apprehension, made her so totally aware of her long-forgotten womanly allure. Tensing beneath the tawny scrutiny of his eyes, she still felt his helping touch. Had he noticed how bow-legged she had become from living in a saddle?

Buck wasn’t aware of any such imperfections as he allowed his gaze to trace the lines of the slender legs in question. Despite her efforts to make herself look plain, Melodie was as pretty and fragile as a china doll. Unadorned with anything other than naturally long lashes, her eyes appeared so large and luminous that a man could fall into their vulnerable depths and never find his way out. A sudden longing to free a single blond tendril from the captivity of that tight bun startled Buck. For the briefest fraction of a second, he considered reaching out to take the hands folded so demurely in Melodie’s lap and offering her the solace of human touch on this sad day.

The thin gold band she still wore on her finger was an effective deterrent to that foolish impulse.

It rankled him to see her still wearing that ring.

Over the years Buck had come to conclude that the only thing that milksop Randall had over him was money and breeding. The money part didn’t bother him much, but he was mighty sensitive about the fact that his mother had abandoned him as easily as she might have dumped a stray off at a shelter.

Thinking Melodie had jilted him for status and money, over the years Buck had taken perverse comfort in casting her motives in a bad light. That she continued to wear her dead husband’s ring indicated that she might have actually loved him. He wondered if that disagreeable taste in his mouth wasn’t the lingering extract of jealousy.

Grace hadn’t expounded about her son-in-law’s untimely death when she informed him that Melodie was quitting her job managing that fancy dude ranch and finally coming home. They’d had a long, unspoken agreement never to mention Randall’s name in each other’s presence, and Grace wasn’t one to break it—even if the fellow in question was dead. Buck was left, however, with the definite impression that Grace would not grieve his passing one iota more than he himself did.

A thin drizzle of rain spit against the windshield as Buck drove the short distance to the church where Grace had spent every Sunday morning since he had known her. And where he had accompanied her for the better part of the last two years. To his surprise, he found more peace within that humble little church than he had in all the years of trying to prove himself to a world he once thought completely against him. Framed against the backdrop of the majestic Pinnacle Mountains, the white chapel took on the modesty and serenity of a nun. Though Buck would have preferred mingling Grace’s ashes with the loam of her beloved mountains rather than boxing her into a formal ceremony constrained by four walls, he knew that the community needed the chance to publicly mourn the passing of one of their most faithful members.

He intentionally arrived early so that both he and Melodie could say their private farewells to the woman who meant so much to each of them.

Once inside, Melodie drew a sharp breath at the sight of the coffin positioned at the front of the church where she had been both baptized and confirmed. Inexplicably exhausted by the miles she had traveled, she had been in no shape to stop by the funeral home to pay her respects yesterday.

Buck squeezed her shoulder in sympathy. “You okay?”

Eyes wide with pain bespoke Melodie’s trepidation at the task before her. Though Buck’s presence beside her was reassuring, she nonetheless flinched at his touch. How could he be so kind to her in light of the way she had treated him?

The flash of hurt in his chiseled features indicated that her aversion to his touch did not go unnoticed.

“I’ll give you a moment alone,” he murmured, turning away before she could stop him.

For the sake of her sanity, Melodie concentrated on details of her surroundings as his footsteps faded away. Gathering clouds outside let little light through the stained-glass windows, lending gloominess to an already dismal day. She noticed that a soft green Berber had replaced the ugly gold shag carpet she remembered so well. Compelling herself up the center aisle one step at a time, she stood at last before the open coffin.

A suffocating sense of déjà vu grabbed her by the throat. Other than the fact that Randall’s casket had been closed because of the manner in which he’d chosen to die, the scene itself was horribly familiar. Peering timidly over the side of the casket, Melodie struggled to keep from screaming, What have you done with my mother?

The withered body lying before her bore little resemblance to the vibrant woman Melodie remembered. She reached out to touch those loving hands folded so peacefully as if in prayer. And instantly recoiled from the icy contact with death.

How sad it was that she had nothing to give this woman who had given so much of herself. Not even her tears. Years of stoically keeping her feelings to herself had dried up any public display of emotion. Had she any faith left in God, Melodie could have offered her mother a prayer, but she knew only too well there was nothing she could do now to make up for the pain she had caused this dear woman.

No amount of pleading over a dead body would buy her the forgiveness Melodie was seeking.

Staring at her mother’s age-blemished hands, it occurred to her that she did have a token to offer Grace after all. Years ago, her mother had expressed the desire to be buried with her wedding ring. Even in this small request it seemed circumstances had conspired against her. Ultimately the ring had been pawned to pay bills. With a sudden ferocity of intent, Melodie wrenched the gold band from her own finger and slipped beneath the hollow of her mother’s folded hands the only thing of value Randall had left her.

“Rest in peace, Mamma,” she whispered. “Nobody deserves it more than you.”

The ceremony was brief and poignant, the small church filled to overflowing. A carry-in sponsored by the local church ladies followed in the basement that was as dark and drafty as Melodie remembered. Apparently recent attempts to raise money for a new parish hall had been met with complaints about the economy and flagging cattle prices. The good news was they had enough money in the fund last fall to do the groundwork and pour the foundation. Concerned members left the rest in God’s hands. The condition of her surroundings mattered little to Melodie who was anxious to express her appreciation to those present for taking the time to pay their respects. Despite the sad circumstances of her homecoming, it was good to be back in the tight-knit community where she had been raised, and she was looking forward to reestablishing ties with old neighbors and friends.

Extending a hand to the woman who had been her mother’s closest neighbor—a mere three miles down the lane—Melodie tried to keep her emotions in check. “It was very kind of you to come, Mrs. Linn.”

As if fearing she would somehow be contaminated by Melodie’s touch, the old woman pulled her hand away.

“I’m surprised you could be bothered to come home for your mother’s funeral,” she rasped. “I never held out any hope you’d get back here before they laid poor Gracie in the ground. As far as I’m concerned if you hadn’t treated her so abysmally, your mother would have likely found the will to outlive us all.”

Too stunned to respond, Melodie gasped at the outrageousness of the accusation. She fought the impulse to bend over double from the impact of the blow. How could a professed Christian be so cruel?

As Cora Linn limped away, Melodie felt other angry eyes upon her. Did everyone present interpret her extended absence as intentional neglect? Could she expect that her lack of tears would brand her an unfeeling monster as well? Her mother had always maintained that just because there weren’t any teardrops on the outside didn’t mean it wasn’t pouring on the inside. Whatever her personal demons, Melodie wasn’t about to display them publicly. She supposed that after so much time away she shouldn’t have expected to be accepted back into this community as anything other than an outsider.

Cora’s verdict that she was a negligent daughter wasn’t anything Melodie hadn’t already labeled herself. Like the virulent Mrs. Linn, she too suspected that had she only been there to offer support, her mother might still be alive today. Nonetheless the thought of Grace actually confiding her disappointment in her daughter to her outspoken neighbor made Melodie bite her lip so hard it caused a drop of blood to appear.

Buck didn’t know what Cora Linn said to upset Melodie, but from her reaction he guessed it shied away from being charitable. The instant the cantankerous old biddy turned away, he saw the slump of Melodie’s shoulders as she wavered by the dessert table. Unexpected feelings of protectiveness knifed him. Cursing himself as the world’s greatest masochist, he crossed the small reception area in a few long strides and slipped an arm around Melodie’s waist.

She heard someone behind them gasp.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Melodie demanded through clenched teeth.

“You look like you’re about to faint. Why don’t you let me help you to a chair?”

As compliant as a block of marble, she whispered bitterly, “You’d better be careful what you do. It might be socially precarious to be seen with me.”

Precarious indeed!

Buck had felt temporarily safe in Melodie’s presence only as long as there was some distance between them. The instant his arm went around her slender waist, he could no longer allow himself to pretend that he was anywhere near being over this woman.

Faking an imperturbability he did not feel, he asked, “What did old lady Linn have to say?”

“Nothing I haven’t thought myself.”

Though her face remained a perfect mask of composure, Buck could feel Melodie tremble. The piercing look he gave her coaxed an abbreviated explanation from her.

“Let’s just say she wasn’t glad to see me.”

The good manners Grace had taught him did not desert Buck now. It hadn’t been all that long ago when the fine folk of this town had ostracized him. He recalled how Grace and Melodie had both stood beside him, stubbornly refusing to listen to the rumors people circulated about him. Labeled a born troublemaker, he remembered only too well how it felt to be treated like an outsider. It had taken three full winters of shoveling Cora Linn’s sidewalk for free before she finally accepted that he wasn’t going to slit Grace’s throat in her sleep and run off with all her valuables. Not that she had any.

“I’ve charted these waters before,” Buck told Melodie with a wry smile as he scanned the room for approaching sharks. “Why don’t you let me help you navigate them today?”