Chapter 16

When Wyatt strolled into the Bull Dancer on Thursday evening, there was a customer sitting at the bar. Which, in itself, wasn’t a complete shock. Tourists did occasionally wander in off the street. Wyatt got a vague impression of silver hair and a nylon sweat suit before his gaze caught on Melanie, who wore a high ponytail and an emerald-green racer-back tank top over calf-length leggings.

Tight. Black. Leggings.

Wyatt tore his gaze off her butt, which was planted on the stool next to the lone and—now that he managed to look past the leggings—familiar customer. Both were sipping tall glasses of ice water.

“Hey, boss man.” Louie grinned from where he leaned against the back bar, arms folded, either participating or shamelessly eavesdropping on the conversation. “We got us a packed house.”

Melanie swiveled on her stool and…smiled? His heart bumped up against his ribs at the unexpected warmth. “Wyatt! I was hoping you’d stop by. You know Mister Hadrich. We ran into each other on the river trail…which is lovely, by the way. He knows all kinds of interesting stories about this place.”

Her Texas twang was in full bloom, along with that smile, which she transferred to the old man. Wyatt’s heart plunked back into place. This wasn’t personal. This was Melanie in full PR mode. She wouldn’t sneer at him in front of a potential…what? Did she have any idea that the man she’d dragged in off the street was no harmless senior citizen?

Wyatt extended a hand. “Nice to see you again, Mister Hadrich.”

“Please. Just call me Gordon.” His fingers felt brittle, but his grip was strong.

“Join us.” With a subtle slant of her eyes, she indicated that Wyatt should take the seat on the other side of their guest. “Gordon has seen a lot of things come and go in this town. I’ve been picking his brain about what he thinks is missing.”

Beneath wiry white brows, Gordon’s eyes twinkled at Wyatt as he sat down. “Being a widower for the past nine years, I told her I wouldn’t mind if you brought back the original menu.”

Wyatt laughed, immediately charming as always. “City Hall informed me that they stopped issuing licenses for brothels back in the fifties.”

“I know.” Gordon sighed nostalgically. “But this place was something else until then. Especially for an eighteen-year-old ranch boy fresh in out of the hills.”

Melanie pressed a shocked palm to her chest. “Gordon! You didn’t tell me you were a client.”

“Only when I could afford it,” the old man said with a wink.

“What else do you miss?” Wyatt asked.

Gordon gave a slight, sad smile. “My wife, most of all. Did you ever meet her?”

“I did. She was a lovely lady.”

“From Tennessee. I miss that most of all, I think. Her voice.” The smile widened slightly as he patted Melanie’s arm. “Talking to this one…”

He stopped, pressing his lips together as if he couldn’t put the sentiment into words. Then he visibly shook off his melancholy and took a look around the bar. “There were plenty of Southern belles working here, back in the day. Can’t say how many of them were actually born in the next county, but the boys did love those accents. During World War II, when the airport was a training center for pilots, Madam Beverly brought in a cook—a widow from one of the local ranches. Every week she’d make a big Sunday dinner, the girls would dress like they were going to church, and all those homesick flyboys could eat for free.”

And come back on Friday to visit those same, sweet girls who’d been waved under their noses. But Wyatt wouldn’t spoil the old man’s fond memories by pointing out an inspired marketing scheme disguised as patriotism.

“Wow,” Melanie said. “That’s…brilliant.”

Gordon and Louie both burst out laughing.

“Not the sentimental type, I see.” Gordon gave her an approving nod. “Or a fool.”

Wyatt saw a flash of bitterness before Melanie ducked her head.

“I’ll give you the first one. The second…” She shrugged.

Gordon tilted his head, his still-canny gaze taking in her profile. After a moment, he gave a soft hmmff. “We’ve all been fools at one time or another. I tend to be more concerned about a person who makes a habit of it.”

“I try to stay in the fool me once category,” she said with a wry twist of her mouth.

Gordon tilted his water glass to clink it against hers. “That’s the best I’ve ever been able to do.”

She shot him a grateful smile, lifting her head and squaring her shoulders. “I am so glad I decided to go for a jog this afternoon. Can we do it again?”

“I would be honored. Give me a call. I don’t usually get out of the house until after nine in the morning.” He gestured to Louie. “If you’ll hand me one of those matchbooks…”

Louie reached into a small cardboard box beside the cash register and pulled out a pen and one of the matchbooks left behind by the previous owner.

Gordon grinned. “Been a long time since I wrote my number in one of these for a pretty girl.” He scribbled the digits and presented it to Melanie with a flourish. She clutched it to her heart and fluttered her lashes, drawing a chuckle from the old man, then tucked it into a concealed pocket on the side of her tank top. Gordon slid off his stool and paused to give the bar another once-over. “If you brought back the Sunday dinners, I might be persuaded to share my wife’s recipe for Southern-fried chicken.”

“I’ll put it on my list,” Melanie promised.

She and Wyatt both walked with him to the door, and stood just outside watching until he reached the end of the block and turned left onto the paved trail running the length of the dike that protected the downtown area from flooding of the Umatilla River. Melanie leaned against the brick wall and tilted her head back. Wyatt saw her eyes widen the instant she caught sight of the inscription on the building across the street.

Hadrich Blk 1902.

“Is that…?” she asked.

“Yep.” Wyatt allowed himself to enjoy her consternation. “They own that whole block. And the next one. Plus various other properties around town, and more farm and ranch acreage in Umatilla and Morrow counties than any other private entity.”

Her jaw sagged as she stared at the name, etched in stone. “But I thought…I mean, he’s so…he gave me Tootsie Rolls.”

“He’s a very nice man. He just happens to also be the retired CEO of a multimillion-dollar family corporation.”

“Oh my God.” She pressed a hand to her heart. “And here I was, feeling sorry for this poor, lonely old soul and wondering if I should have Louie get sandwiches for after our walk tomorrow.”

“He is definitely not poor. Lonely? Probably. But he’s got eight grandkids playing every sport they offer at school. He never misses a game or a meet, so he’s not exactly sitting home alone. And he keeps Grace stocked up on Tootsie Rolls, too.”

Melanie rolled her head to look at him, her gaze so intent it made him want to step back. “You admire him.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Wyatt had to fight not to break eye contact. The question was like a dentist’s probe, poking for tender spots while she measured his reaction. What did she expect to see? “Gordon was—still is—a savvy businessman who has reinvested his money in this community and raised three equally smart and socially responsible children. But he’s still a gentleman. And…a gentle man. You don’t find many like him.”

Melanie studied him for another beat. Then she gave the slightest nod and went back to staring up at the name chiseled into the building.

When she remained silent, Wyatt angled her a glance. “Did you learn anything useful?”

“From Gordon?” Her brows puckered thoughtfully. “He gave me some ideas, but I can’t come up with a plan until I know what you want.”

“I’ve already told you.”

“Uh-huh.” She pushed away from the wall and fished the apartment key from one of those invisible pockets. “Which will require further discussion, but this evening is too gorgeous to waste sitting around town. I’m going to go put on some jeans and drive up to the highest spot I can find to watch the sunset. Want to come?”

He did a double take. “With you?”

“Unless you’d rather head to different places and chat on the phone?”

“No! I mean, with you is fine.” He had to pause, unnerved by the invitation. He’d assumed she was being friendly for Gordon’s benefit, but the old man was long gone and here she was, inviting him to go for a drive. With her. Alone.

“Is something wrong?” he blurted.

She paused, key in the door. “Nothing new. Why?”

“You’re being nice to me.” He narrowed his eyes. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” she said breezily.

Too breezy. Too friendly. A thought struck him. He stepped closer, grabbed her chin to turn her face toward him, and leaned in close to stare directly into her eyes. Her pupils looked normal, but still… “Did that cow hit you in the head yesterday?”

Her breath caught, and he realized how close they were. Noses almost touching, his mouth so close—

“I am fine,” she said, refusing in true Melanie style to pull away. “But if you don’t back off, I can arrange for you to have a head injury, and I’m not talking about the one on your shoulders.”

He dropped his hand and gave her physical space, but kept the pressure on with his gaze. “What are you plotting?”

“Nothing!” She jammed her key in the apartment door and cranked hard enough that he feared it would snap off in the lock. “It has been brought to my attention that my work situation has had a negative effect on my personality. To paraphrase, I’m sort of a bitch, and I’m no fun anymore. That is not the person I want to be, so I’m going to change…beginning now.”

“With me.”

“Might as well tackle the toughest job first.” Then she grimaced, recognizing the insult buried in her declaration. “And it’s gonna take some work. Old habits and all that.”

Wyatt folded his arms over a heart that had accelerated to double time. He could barely keep his hands off her when she was sniping at him. If she started being civil…

He lifted sardonic eyebrows. “I’m supposed to believe that all of the sudden bygones are bygones?”

“I admit, it’s a stretch.” One corner of her mouth curled. “But like they say, fake it until you make it.”

And despite the sexual awareness that crackled between them, she had to fake liking him. He swallowed, the knowledge burning all the way down, landing in his gut where it could eat yet another hole. When would he learn? He and Gabrielle had had enough chemistry to set off an atom bomb, and look how that had worked out. And since she’d been happily remarried for years, it was fairly obvious which of them was impossible to live with.

He turned away abruptly. “Grab a coat. It’ll get cold by sunset.”

She disappeared through the door, and Wyatt could hear her taking the stairs two at a time, leaving him to cool his heels on the sidewalk. He should walk down to the deli and have them throw together some sandwiches, potato salad…

Three steps down the street, he changed his mind and walked to the trunk of his car instead. Besides the duffel that held his bullfighting gear, he kept a second, emergency bag packed with jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt and a sweatshirt, all of which had seen better days but were perfect for roadside emergencies—and impromptu hikes. He grabbed the bag and went into the bar to change.

When he came out, Melanie was leaning against the side of the building. She’d pulled a thin, zippered hoodie over her tank top and donned jeans faded to white in places, worn so soft they clung to her butt and legs with the familiarity of an old friend.

Or lover.

She had a jacket draped over one arm and a small, backpack-style purse slung over her shoulder. Her eyebrows shot up when she saw him. “Good Lord. I didn’t know you owned clothes that old.”

He was unable to stop himself from covering a grease stain on the sweatshirt with his palm. “There you go, obsessing over my wardrobe again.”

“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes and straightened. “My car or yours?”

“You have to ask?” Wyatt sneered at her SUV.

She eyed the keys that dangled from his fingers. “Can I drive?”

He turned his hand over, cradling the keys in his palm as if he was considering it. Then he tossed them in the air and snatched them again with a quick, hard laugh.

“You’re gonna have to fake it a lot better than that before you get your hands on this baby.”

She lifted a brow. “If I was really trying to fake it, I guarantee you would never know the difference.”

Then she sauntered down the block to the Camaro, leaving him to scrape his tongue up off the sidewalk.