Chapter 8

Stryder

 

The old tire swung Melody around and around as the tree bent out over the knoll and the creek. Branches stretched further into the sky, reminding Stryder that he might have left, but nothing had frozen in time there. Everything had continued growing and aging and he’d missed it all.

Stryder paused, his mouth slightly open. Her long dark honey colored hair flew out behind her, the strands catching the mid-day light. How many times had he woken from a dream that looked exactly like that?

The creek seemed to have aged with them. The water gurgled like always, but the banks had eroded over the years, probably from spring flooding and runoff. The trees running up and down the creek were taller, thicker, and seemed to reach further across the water as if trying to touch the other treetops from the other side. The water was lower, leaving a pebbly and grassy shoreline to frame the blue and cloudy reflection of the sky as it rippled along.

Stryder scuffed the toe of his newly acquired leather cowboy boot in the dusty dirt layer. Even dressed like he should be, he suddenly felt more out of place then he’d ever felt in his life. Standing there like a voyeur didn’t aid his case. He had to speak, make sure she knew he was there. “Hey, Mel.”

She didn’t even look up. Maybe he hadn’t spoken loud enough. It was infuriating how nervous he was to speak to her, to be back there after the last time. After he’d seen her with Brock Stidwell.

Hooking his thumbs in the tops of his pockets, Stryder made his way across the large half-rotten log covered in soft mosses and lichens. The deep and brilliant greens flattered the gray and brown of the aged tree. He stepped carefully but assuredly across the ten foot wide stream.

He climbed the slight inclining knoll and stopped by the base of the tree. Would she turn? Would she acknowledge him? Or would she run away like she’d done at the diner?

Stryder wished he could say the tree was a cherry version or that there was vanilla growing nearby. But he couldn’t. He knew her scent. Had always known her scent. Every time he’d ever had a cherry pie with vanilla ice cream he’d thought of her, as if every waking thought wasn’t of her, he had to make it worse with remembering her smell.

Her back was to him. She obviously didn’t want to see him. Swinging, her hair drifted close and Stryder stepped into place, softly reaching out and pressing her shoulders to give her a bit more swing.

She didn’t tense up. Instead she pumped her legs and swung closer to him. Stryder pushed again, closing his eyes as his hands touched her if only for a brief moment.

Another and another and Stryder was lost in the moment. If he pushed aside everything he’d done over the last ten years, he could pretend he was eighteen again and he and Melody were there, on the shores of the stream just… being.

She leaned back, her face toward the sky and her eyes closed. There was a forgetting between them, just for a second, but it was enough to leave him feeling hopeful.

He didn’t want to be hopeful, if there was nothing to base it on.

On the next swing back to him, Melody opened her eyes and studied him, catching something in that split second. She jerked upright, stopping the swing with her toe and jumping from her seat.

The swing bounced as Melody left, rushing to the edge of the water and wrapping her arms around her waist. The very tips of her boots flirted with the edge of the water and her shoulders shook, up and down while she stared with her head facing downward.

Stryder moved toward her, hesitant. “Melody, are you crying?” He moved closer, one hand outstretched as if he were trying to calm an excited mare.

After a second, Melody whirled, her hair flying around her and a spark of fire in her dark eyes. She laughed, but it was angry and irritated. “Of course, you’re here. You seem to be in every horrible memory. You’re back, aren’t you. That’s you, isn’t it.” Except there were no questions in her voice. She hurled her words at him like accusations, hoping to sting him with their venom.

She hit her mark and Stryder tightened his shoulders. “Every horrible memory? I seem to have quite a few that aren’t bad between us.” He lowered his voice and tilted his head forward, trying to ignore the cut of the jeans on her shapely legs and the way her lips curled like she was hiding a secret and no one was going to find out. “Who else comes out here and pushes you on this swing?” If she said Brock, Stryder wouldn’t use the class and finesse he’d acquired. He’d storm off to Stidwell’s home and beat the living tar out of the man for trespassing on Stryder’s territory.

His. He didn’t have to be present to know what was his and what wasn’t.

Melody sliced her hand through the air to slap on her upper thigh. “Please! That’s not what this is about.”

“Who, Melody. Tell me.” Stryder moved close enough the shadow of his hat shaded her eyes. Cherry and vanilla washed over him again and if he knew what was good for him, he’d step back, put some distance between them. But one thing Stryder had never been good at, was knowing what was good for him.

“No one. No one has been out here since…” She didn’t say it, but she didn’t need to. They both knew what she was talking about. She glanced at his house and the movers doing their work in the distance. “Are you back?” Melody lifted her chin as she glanced at him over her shoulder.

“Yeah… Is that okay?” What did she think about him returning? He’d never asked her what she thought about him leaving, had assumed over the years that she was grateful for his departure. The things Clint had said… Stryder had thought she was glad for him to be gone.

Melody laughed, all humor from her tone dried up in bitterness. “Sure. Do whatever you want. I’m gone anyway. The ranch isn’t mine anymore. I’m signing papers in a few days. I guess they have a conditional buyer.” She shrugged, rolling her eyes like she’d always done as if things didn’t hurt her when they obviously did.

Did Stryder tell her he was the buyer? Not until he had more information. Maybe she didn’t want the land. Maybe she was ready to leave that place. Clint had always said he wanted more for his daughter than what Two Rides had to offer. The thought of her leaving left him feeling like a horse had kicked him in the gut. He swallowed and held his tone neutral. “You’re selling? Why? What happened?”

Melody folded her arms again and turned from him. “I can’t talk to you about… it’s not proper.” As if propriety had anything to do with them and what they could or couldn’t talk about.

“It’s me, Melody.” Stryder lowered his voice, reaching out to touch her shoulder, but dropping his hand at the last possible second. He stretched his fingers at his side and then closed his hand into a fist. How had they gotten to this point where he couldn’t touch her when he wanted? He felt like the last ten years had never happened as he stood by her at their spot and yet, it felt like more than a hundred years separated them.

Melody glanced at him through impossibly long lashes, sadness rich in the downturn of her lips. “Yeah, exactly, it’s you.” She turned back to face the creek with her arms crossed over her chest.

There was so much between them and Stryder understood not wanting to stew on the past. But the backstory between them was filled with love, too, not just pain. He was there for her. No matter what had happened. Even if she had openly said she hated him, Stryder would still be there for her. He couldn’t erase that kind of caring.

After a lengthy pause, Stryder stepped into her line of sight. He held out a hand and beseeched her with his eyes. “Mel, I’m here. It’s me. You can talk to me.” He would do whatever he could to fix things for her – even swallow his pride and step aside if she wanted to be with Stidwell. He’d hate it, but he would do it for her.

Melody shook her head imperceptibly, her eyes bright. “No, you’ll only hurt me, Stryder. I can’t take anymore right now. I don’t need to be reminded how much you have. I know you’re filthy rich and I’m happy for you, but right now, I don’t need to have it shoved in my face.”

That hurt. He’d only ever worked for his money because of her. In reality, his money was hers – that’s how he thought of it. Regardless, Stryder lifted his hands to chest level with his palms out. He backed up two steps, inclining his head in surrender. “Okay, I get it.” He paused for a moment, then asked softly, “How’d your dad die?”

Melody turned to him, anger mixing with her tears that were suddenly there instead of just dewing along her lower lids. She raised her voice but only enough to keep her tone light. “Remember when he used to drink all the time? Like every time you were over he was drunk?” She laughed, jutting out her jaw and blinking hard while waiting for his reply.

Stryder swallowed and nodded. “Yeah, I do.” Clint had given Stryder his first drink when he was seventeen. He’d never forget the silent ten minutes on the porch as Clint Steel had poured Stryder a drink and stared him down until he’d drank every last drop. Stryder had gone home and avoided Melody for the next few days, saying he was sick and didn’t feel well.

Guilt caused more symptoms than the flu or any hangover ever could.

Melody reached up and twisted a long strand of hair around her finger. She dropped her gaze and stared at the buttons on Stryder’s shirt. She murmured, “His alcoholism caught up to him. His liver gave out. Maybe he was depressed and that helped? I don’t know.”

The itch to drink hadn’t been strong since Stryder had arrived. He’d been too busy getting things arranged and working on business dealings he’d set up with some friends and other partners. He’d worked until the latest hours of the night when he’d fallen into bed asleep before hitting the new mattress. Yet there he was, facing an almost inconsolable need to drink. And not just a sip, or a glass, but an entire bottle. He could say it was in Clint’s honor, but that wasn’t it. His need for the liquor was because as much as guilt made you sick, it also made you long to numb the pain that came with guilty thoughts. Wild Turkey did that for him – even if only a bit.

Melody raised her large eyes toward him and her lower lip trembled. “Do you remember our pact? Never to drink?” She scrunched up her nose, a small wrinkle forming in the bridge between her eyebrows.

Of course, he remembered and he thought it adorable that she still held so much power in a promise they’d made each other when they were young. But that fit the Melody he remembered, the Melody he loved. She’d always been very clear on black and white and right and wrong. Remembering the pact was both naïve and sweet – both traits Stryder had always loved about Melody. What would she do when she found out he’d let her down?

Stryder swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. If he told her the truth, that he was a border-line alcoholic and that his favorite drink was the same as her dad’s, it would destroy her.

If he lied though, it would destroy him.

He held his breath while he contemplated what he would say.

Melody didn’t wait for an answer. She twisted her lips to the side and half-shrugged. “I… I tried a drink of his whiskey after he died. One of the last of the bottles we could afford – or actually, that he bought anyway, even though we didn’t have money.” She wiped the moisture from under her eyes, dropping her voice to a whisper. “I’m sorry. I actually didn’t even like it, didn’t even drink anymore of it after the one sip, but I felt worse about that than anything else, because… because I broke a promise.” She gasped and pierced him with her broken gaze. “Stryder, I don’t break promises and I broke that one.” She closed her eyes and dug her fingers into her arms.

He didn’t think he could love her more and she went and broke down because of a small promise she’d broken. A promise Stryder gave no weight to – or hadn’t. Now… She’d be destroyed, if she knew he was trying to recover from the very thing she hated.

Stryder nodded tightly, reaching out and rubbing his hand down her back. He couldn’t tell her the truth now. A lie would have to become his truth.

Or he’d never get her back. And the more he was around her – even the briefest stint since he’d gotten to town – had convinced him he needed the feelings she brought up in him, of being home and finally finding peace.

He needed that. He’d lie to keep it.