Chapter 4

Stryder

 

Stryder’s phone rang again, flashing Candy’s name and number on his screen. He couldn’t remember how many times she’d programmed her picture into his phone to show her smiling face when she called and how many times Stryder had deleted it. Her perseverance was both admirable and annoying.

Candy was as beautiful as makeup could create. Her shape was more waifish and she refused to eat anything other than sushi and vegetables or what was approved by Rolf her trainer.

She was even rude to Stryder when he ordered in, demanding he acquire a personal chef. He’d balked at the request and refused. He wasn’t home enough to hire someone to make him food he could make himself. Just because he had money, didn’t mean he had to be helpless.

Finally, he picked up the phone from where he’d set it on the booth tabletop and listened to the message Candy had left him, all the while staring at Melody’s womanly curves. When Melody moved her hair swung back and forth at the middle of her back. He’d always loved the honey tones of her hair and the deep wave of curls in the thick tresses. Melody was intoxicating and mesmerizing while Candy was… contrived.

When she’d turned to him, he’d caught his breath. Her beauty had matured, thinned out to reveal a high brow and regal angles. Where she’d had rounder cheeks as a teenager, she now had a profile that belonged on Roman coins.

From her position behind the counter, Melody wouldn’t look Stryder’s direction, but that didn’t stop him from appreciating the regal slop to her nose or the way she held herself.

His phone rang again and Stryder flicked a button, making the phone silent. He didn’t want to deal with Candy while he was immersed in the raw pain and addicting pleasure from his past. Melody was more than he’d ever deserved. Why, then, couldn’t he convince himself to forget her? Why hadn’t he taken no as his final answer?

Because Stryder Flint didn’t quit. He didn’t know the meaning of the word.

No one had recognized him, yet, except Melody. She was the one who mattered, but what would happen when they started realizing that Flint was back with all of his money? He’d left poor and returned one of the richest men in the world. That would garner him some attention.

Maybe he’d get some service, if he flashed some green. Melody still hadn’t approached him and he set his phone down and leaned back in the booth, staring at her. He didn’t bother being subtle that he expected her at his table sooner rather than later. He arched an eyebrow in challenge. If she’d look his way, she would get madder than a spitting porcupine and probably approach him.

Probably.

That early in the morning, it looked like Melody was the only waitress. The other girl had left and she’d had a sassy quality to the friendly smile she’d shot him as she’d sat him. For the first time in a long time, a waitress hadn’t flirted with him and Stryder found that both refreshing and disturbing. If he wasn’t on his game, Melody would never give him another chance.

The cook slapped his palm on the stainless steel serving area and pointed in Stryder’s direction when Melody looked toward her boss. Cocking her head to the side, she thrust her finger toward the ground and muttered something with spicy undertones. Stryder couldn’t make out the words, but judging by the ruddy complexion of the cook, they hadn’t been complimentary.

Snarling, the cook said something else, holding her gaze with his.

Melody shook her head, plunking a hand on her hip. The cook jerked his hand toward Stryder and his tone reached the booths, but not the words. Not for the first time, Stryder wished he could hear them. He had a feeling he’d pop the man in the jaw for whatever he was saying to Melody.

Stryder leaned forward, folding his hands in front of him and trying to read their lips or overhear what was being said. Whatever it was had the man’s face turning a darker red and Melody close to tears. She was pleading for something and the cook’s face hardened.

Protective feelings welled inside Stryder that the man pressured Melody like that. He would jump to her defense, if he didn’t have the sinking sensation that she was fighting about approaching him. If he didn’t need to speak to her as badly as he did, he would leave and give her a modicum of peace.

“Fine!” Melody’s retort was strong and reached everyone in the diner. The table full of regulars – maybe eight in all – stopped talking and turned to face the kitchen area, watching as she grabbed a glass covered in condensation. She kerplunked the cup on a small brown, round tray and huffed toward the end of the counter. Almost as an after-thought, she latched onto the black coffee pot and narrowed her gaze at Stryder as she got closer.

Her home town beauty hadn’t faded and he swallowed at his suddenly dry mouth.

Before reaching Stryder’s table she glanced at the other booths. The sound of the men turning and scraping their chairs and returning to their conversations was suddenly loud in the quiet.

Bright pink spots flushed her cheeks and she set her jaw.

Stryder was muted by her beauty. It’d been too long since he’d seen her last, touched her, held her. With her higher cheekbones and slimmer face, her eyes appeared even larger. He could drown in their deep mahogany coloring protected by thick lashes. All of his confidence from the years of experience behind him disappeared and he might as well have been a shy teenager again.

She stopped at his table, placing his glass in front of him. Her lips moved but Stryder didn’t hear her talk. He just stared at her, wondering why he’d left. Why he’d chosen like he had. He’d kept so much from her, convinced he was doing the right thing. All of that faded behind him. He wished he could do it all over again, but how did he tell her that?

Melody tilted her head, arching an eyebrow. “Hello?” She pointed at the menu in front of him. “Did you know what you want?” Her tone was barely congenial, as she bit off the T sounds.

Stryder didn’t drag his gaze from her face. He couldn’t. There was nothing else worth looking at. He felt like a dying man given a reprieve. “I know what I want.” He didn’t mean food and the narrowing of her eyes suggested she knew exactly what he meant.

Gritting her teeth, she spoke through barely parted lips. “From the menu? What do you want from the menu?” She took a deep breath as if he was the most inconvenient person she’d ever come across.

The table behind Stryder had fallen silent again as they listened intently to what Stryder and Melody were saying. One of the men had said something about Melody accepting someone named Brock’s proposal. If it was Brock Stidwell, Stryder would have no problem telling that jerk where to stuff it. She wasn’t married yet and Stryder could work with that. But she hadn’t said never and that was terrifying to a man like Stryder. Did she have feelings for Brock still?

Stryder needed her to have feelings for him still. Not Brock.

“Um, do they still have the Reuben sandwiches?” The Reubens were the best he’d ever had and he’d been all over the world. On more than one occasion, Melody and Stryder had split a plate with fries. They’d been so in love they’d fed fries to each other, under the teasing eye of their friends and family.

Did Melody remember? Did she think of him? Even late at night when she was trying to fall asleep, did she think of the promises they’d made to each other?

“Yep, I’ll bring that out in a bit. Comes with fries.” She snatched up the menu and didn’t write anything down, tucking it with her tray under the elbow of the hand holding the coffee and freeing her other hand.

As she turned, Stryder reached out and grabbed her free wrist. She whipped back around, staring at his fingers on her skin. He couldn’t let go, even if she begged him to. Touching her after so long felt right, needed, and he longed to pull her to the seat beside him so he could wrap an arm around her shoulders and just hold her close. After her daddy died, she had to be hurting and alone. He’d pull her face into the crook of his neck and just hold her.

She probably needed comforting and Stryder wanted to be there for her. He’d never wanted anything so bad – besides her.

After a lengthy second, she deliberately pulled her hand from his and leaned down. “Don’t touch me again.” Her tone cracked like a whip and she didn’t keep her voice down.

Startled, Stryder held his hands at chest level and widened his eyes. “Okay, I just… we need to talk.” He leaned closer, lifting his eyes to study her face. “I can help you, Mel. You need to let me help.” Would she let him help though? He owed Clint money, and that transferred to her at Clint’s death. Stryder could help.

She parted her lips as if she might answer him, and then a chair scraped on the linoleum behind Stryder. A barrel-chested farmer with forearms that looked like they belonged on Popeye stepped into view. He tugged on the shoulder strap of his overalls and inclined his head toward Melody, eyeing Stryder. “Miss Melody, do you need help with this one?” He didn’t take his gaze off Stryder while waiting for Melody’s answer. How many men interested in Melody or bothering her had there been where locals like this one had been forced to step in to protect Melody?

Anger grew inside Stryder, covering his regret. What had he left Melody to? What type of harassment? He should have put a ring on her finger when he’d had the chance. He never should have let Clint pushed him out.

Stryder glanced at Melody as she studied him, her expression unreadable.

What would she say? Stryder was strong, but this farmer worked hard for a living. He probably had never seen inside a gym, but he looked like he could bench press a tractor tire. For a second, Stryder held his breath and looked at Melody.

Who was she going to accept help from? Him or the farmer?