Clayton's Made-Over Mrs.

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?”