Melody

 

Stryder left before Melody could talk to him about the contract and everything he’d given up for her. She wanted to thank him but she wasn’t sure how. He’d done so much for her and his last letter had been so full of pain and longing. What if it was too late? What if he didn’t feel like that for her any longer?

He’d run. He’d been so disappointed in her actions, that he had run from her. He’d climbed in his truck and peeled off as if trying to escape the devil’s grasp.

Defeated, Melody turned despondently back to the Vette and glared at it. She didn’t want to see it anymore. Carefully, she pulled the chamois cover into place, tucking the hem back under the bumper.

She’d been able to stop herself from taking her anger out on the car with the crowbar. Barely, but she’d done it. Instead, she called Jansen Stidwell. Leaving a message on his voicemail, she used the internet on the small phone she had and looked up the market value for the Corvette.

The wind had been knocked from her when she discovered the car was worth close to three-hundred-thousand dollars. Three. Hundred. Thousand. That was more money than she owed! More money than she would know what to do with. The sheer amount had taken her enough by surprise that she’d stared into the dim interior of the barn for a good thirty minutes. Finally, though, she’d snapped out of it and had straightened her shoulders.

If her father had left her debt, she had to believe he’d also left her a way to pay it. She had no sentimental ties to the car. None. She’d never driven in it with her father nor had she worked on it with him either. She didn’t care about it until she discovered how much it was worth.

A huge part of her wanted to get in the dang thing and drive as fast as possible from end of Montana to the next just to do it. Just to do something with the vehicle her father had never been brave enough to do. But she would settle for selling it. She could drive a new-to-her car once she paid off all of her debts. That would be good enough for her.

Brock had shown up not too long after, stating he’d gotten the message and rushed right over to talk to her. He’d been apologetic about the night before, but Melody didn’t care. She wanted to sell the care, that was it. Brock wasn’t an option for her and he looked hungover more than anything. What he didn’t have was the smell of alcohol on him and that made it easier to believe that he really was sorry.

His apologies hadn’t mattered enough to make her reconsider him. There was only one thing she wanted from the Stidwells and marriage wasn’t it.

Brock offered sixty-thousand and Melody laughed – out loud – at him. The offer was so low it wasn’t even insulting. Melody had pulled up the screenshot of the market value and pointed at the number. Brock’s face had paled and he’d made a phone call outside the barn doors.

When he’d returned, he’d shaken his head, glancing toward the corner of the car showing in the stall. “I can only offer one-fifty.” Something in his face wasn’t completely honest.

Melody had laughed again, loving the control and power she had for once. “I won’t go lower than two, so you can tell your dad I’ll go online with it.” She was more comfortable negotiating since she had seen how rare and valuable the Corvette was. There was no doubt in her mind that the Vette was worth every cent. She’d be happy with two-hundred-thousand since it was still more than enough to take care of her debts and get her future settled. She didn’t have to be greedy. But she wouldn’t take whatever was offered either.

For once, Melody was going to get what she was owed and that was the final word on it.

Since she wanted a fast sale, she had no problem going down, but not so much. And two-hundred-thousand was still enough to make a huge dent in what she needed. She could keep the house. She had the option to keep the house!

When Brock agreed, Melody’s stress had shifted from her back and she’d straightened her shoulders. She was no longer a poor woman. She could stand on her own two feet and not feel like she had nothing to offer anyone. She wasn’t a billionaire like Stryder, but she wasn’t a pauper either. Maybe, just maybe, he would see her as something more than a project.

Why hadn’t Stryder been more understanding? He didn’t have any sentimental attachment to the car. Why would he want her to stay in debt? Stay trapped? She was going to lose her home and he hadn’t understood. Maybe he was so far away from being poor he didn’t remember what it was like to live day to day, unsure where his next meal was coming from or if he was going to have a job when he woke up.

Well, Melody wasn’t too far from that. She could still taste the ramen noodles she’d cooked up and eaten the night before.

When Stryder presented her with keys to the flower shop, Melody could have screamed at him. Who did that? He couldn’t solve her problems by buying her things. Life didn’t work that way. She didn’t want Stryder to make her life easier. She wanted to prove she could do it on her own. And she had. Yet, that wasn’t good enough for him.

When Brock finalized the deal, Melody would have a ton of money. She could still let the house go, sell it to cover the debt on the mortgage and use a third of the car money to pay off the rest of the debt her father had left. She’d still have more than enough money to move away and start over.

The possibilities were endless. Moving away was more ideal than anything else. The longer she stood there staring at the expanse of Steel land spread out under the Montana sun, she realized she didn’t need her family place to be happy. She needed stability. She needed love and a family. The place was worthless without children to run around or a husband to work the land with her.

Plus, the biggest question was, did she want to stay? Stay and live next door to Stryder but not have him? Have him so close but so far? What would happen? They’d each marry someone else and their children would meet across the creek? Could Melody handle that? Having him so close but not actually having him? The ache in her heart at the thought hurt more than anything else. She clutched her shirt above her heart and tried to slow her breathing down.

Shaking her head, she shuffled to the side and leaned her shoulders against the wood on the barn in the same spot he’d stood. She leaned her head forward, closing her eyes and trying not to cry.

Watching him in front of the world as he made his business deals and his fortune was hard enough, miles away in California. She’d known what true brilliance his eyes were and took satisfaction that the television cameras had dimmed his beauty. Knowing that had made it easier to be away from him. Knowing that he wasn’t in the room made it easier to turn off the television or walk away from the papers. But there? A field away? Her heart wasn’t strong enough. Her soul was too fractured to stay together through that.

Melody started thinking maybe they could try again, hoping he still loved her like he’d said he did in his last letter, after learning what she’d learned in that box… Melody couldn’t believe it but maybe Stryder had lost it.

Why else would he act like that when he knew how deep she was? What was he thinking?

The sun began to set and Melody locked up the barn and wandered back into the house. She was mixed on keeping the home. She was mixed on so many things while shock held her suspended in disbelief. What was Stryder thinking that he could act like that?

She’d have to get candles out again, if she wanted to get anything done that night. Settling on the couch, Melody clutched a jar of peanut butter in one hand and a spoon in the other. While she’d been in the barn, she’d found the peanut butter in her mom’s old outside food storage, way in the back on the bottom shelf. The find was a boon. The car sell was a boon.

Stryder rushing off was just out of character for a man who had promised her always.

Staring out the window, glaring at the lights on in Stryder’s home down the way, Melody chewed on her bottom lip. She could only see the tops of his house, but it was enough to see he was home. He could afford to have his electricity on. Why didn’t he understand that she wanted that? Selling the car would give her that. Selling the car would give her food.

Maybe once Brock paid her for the car she would be able to buy real food. She was ready for eggs and bread and pizza and chicken. She was so ready to eat real meals. Was she having second thoughts about selling the car? Taking the anger at her dad out of the situation, did she still want to sell the car?

Yes, the more she thought about it, the more determined she was to go through with it. Selling that car would give her a freedom she’d never had before. Even though Stryder had freaked out, Melody knew it was the right thing to do. Why did he even care? If anything, why wasn’t he happy for her? She could have easily collected all the uncashed checks and gone to him for the money which came to more than the price she’d gotten for the car. Instead, he’d acted like a spoiled brat.

Well, she didn’t have to accept being treated like that.

Suddenly, her lights came on. Melody stood jerkily, staring around, whipping her head from side to side. What was going on? Her chest rose and fell as if she were under attack, but she wasn’t. She was surrounded in light and she looked back toward Stryder’s place.

He had something to do with the power. Of course, he did. She screwed the lid back on the peanut butter jar and pulled her boots on. Her feet ached, but she didn’t care. He had to stop doing things for her that she didn’t ask for.

Melody was going to confront Stryder once and for all, get him out of her system so she could move on with her life, wherever that was and with whoever. She ignored the pang in her chest at the thought of anyone else in her arms or in his.

The front door closed behind her and she strode down the steps and across the drive, gravel crunching under the worn soles of her boots.

Her stride lengthened as she made her way across the field, long grasses slapping against her shins. At the creek she didn’t pause, but stepped across the log confidently. She’d been over that way more times than she could count.

Her steps didn’t falter as she continued toward his house, glaring at the bright lights spilling onto the newly landscaped lawn. When did he have time to do all that? Wait, it was Stryder. He’d most likely paid someone to trim and water his lawn.

Was he having a party or something? Music that was nothing close to Blackhawks or Trace Atkins pounded from the slightly ajar door. A Mercedes convertible had been parked slightly askew in the drive near the front porch.

Melody climbed the steps without breaking her stride and swung the door open. Standing on formalities would only give her time to reconsider. She had to get the way she felt out.

Stryder turned from the empty fireplace in the front room, his brow furrowed as he took in Melody’s presence. His hand arrested in front of his chest with a crystal stemless glass half-filled with amber liquid. On the table beside him a new bottle of Wild Turkey whiskey claimed its spot and declared its presence discreetly.

Melody jerked back and swallowed. She’d never really believed that he’d stayed away from alcohol – or expected it anyway. But she’d hoped. Alcohol had ruined too much of her life. Her lips parted and she blinked at Stryder who had frozen with the glass half-way to his mouth.

He drank? That was all Melody could register. Her lips moved, but nothing came out. When had he started drinking? Was he an alcoholic like her father? He was drinking her father’s whiskey of choice.

Suddenly, a very famous woman walked into the living room from the kitchen with two different bottles in her hands. Her blonde hair was French-braided down her back and she wore very tight, very revealing clothing that Melody couldn’t quite focus on. “I’m not sure which one I want. Do you have a preference?” Holding the bottles up, Candy froze when she saw Melody standing in the living room. Eyeing her up and down, Candy arched a beautifully shaped eyebrow. “It’s a little late for the maid to come, don’t you think?”

Melody swallowed the words she was going to say Stryder, stepping back and staring accusingly at the man. Her disappointment welled inside her, overflowing her eyelids and coursing down her cheeks.

Dang him for making her cry. And dang it, she was crying in front of another woman who made Melody feel dowdy and unkempt. Melody didn’t say another word as she spun on her heel and rushed from the house.

Stryder didn’t need Melody – he had Candy and he had Wild Turkey.