an indulgent smile. “I’m hoping to be a groom again before I become the father of the bride. That girl of mine has had me going around in circles all summer. Thank goodness you’re home.”
At the count of nine, Rita Carson glanced up at her oldest son and said, “Oh, didn’t your father tell you?”
Clayt shook his head. “Tell me what?”
“We’re going back to Oregon first thing Monday morning.”
At seven Clayt narrowed his eyes at his father. Hugh Carson nodded and grinned. He’d been doing a lot of that since he’d gotten back from Oregon. Clayt wished he’d cut it out.
At six Rita said, “We wouldn’t have missed your brother’s wedding for the world. Your father and I are so proud of both you boys. I can hardly wait for Mama to be completely well so we can come home for good and get to know our new daughter-in-law.”
At four Clayt scowled and said, “What about Haley?”
Three.
“She’s adorable.”
Two.
“And she certainly reminds me of you when you were that age.”
One.
Looking up at her son, Rita exclaimed, “You’d better hurry if you want to be a groom again, Clayton, because Haley just caught Lisa’s bouquet.” Still laughing, she set off toward her only granddaughter.
Wondering if it might not be a good idea to simply lock his daughter in the attic until she turned thirty, Clayt leaned against the wall. On the other side of the dance floor Boomer Brown was taking a lot of elbow jabbing over the fact that DoraLee had caught the other bouquet. Sparing a glance at his father, Clayt said, “You’re really not home to stay?”
Hugh Carson was the same height as his sons, but his hair had turned gray and his face bore the lines of all the years he’d spent out on the range. Staring across the room at the woman he’d married nearly forty years ago, he said, “When I met your mother I didn’t think a thing of whisking her away from Oregon and everybody and everything she knew. She’s already lost your grandpa, but it looks as if your grandma’s going to pull through. The time your mother is spending back there now is giving her a chance to get reacquainted with the friends she knew growing up. You can handle the ranch on your own, son. Something tells me you can handle Haley, too.”
Clayt figured he should have thanked his father for the vote of confidence, but Mel swung by on Rory O’Grady’s arm, and whatever he’d been about to say died on his lips. The O’Gradys owned the largest spread in this part of South Dakota and never passed up the opportunity to brag about it. If you asked Clayt, Rory’s hair was a little too black, his pants a little too tight, his clothes a little too flashy right down to his snakeskin boots.
The lighting in the old town hall had never been great, but Clayt could see the intent in Rory’s eyes all the way from here. The fact that Rory was a self-acclaimed ladies’ man didn’t bother Clayt. But when Mel reached up on tiptoe to hear what Rory was whispering in her ear, Clayt clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ached.
“Is it just me?” Hugh asked, “or is there something different about Mel McCully tonight?”
Before Clayt could add anything to his snort, Rory whisked Mel away in the other direction. Folks started clapping their hands and stomping their feet as other couples headed for the floor. Mel and Rory didn’t seem to notice. Clayt didn’t wholly recognize the feeling creeping under his skin but he didn’t like it one bit.
Emerging from the crowd, Boomer Brown sidled up next to him and crossed his arms at his massive chest. “Jed Winters mentioned that Grover Andrews told him that Karl Hanson claims that Mel said she finally realizes how silly her infatuation with you has been all these years. I never would have believed it if I hadn’t seen her dancing with Rory with my own two eyes.”
Slapping his son on the back, Hugh Carson said, “Well, well, well. What do you think about that?”
Rory dipped Mel, the action drawing attention to the smooth column of her throat and the soft-looking skin visible above the scooped neckline of her dress. Watching through narrowed eyes, heat started in Clayt’s chest, only to twist and turn and slowly burrow lower.
What did he think? his father had asked.
Clayt thought that woman was making a spectacle of herself. And by God, something had to be done.
The clock on Main Street struck midnight as Clayt cut across the alley and yanked on the door that led to Mel’s place. The wedding reception was finally over. A person would think the folks of Jasper Gulch had never been to a wedding before. They sure hadn’t been in any hurry to leave. As far as Clayt was concerned the whole thing should have ended right after Luke, Jillian, Wyatt and Lisa had left for their honeymoons. The longer it had dragged on, the more disgusted he’d become.
The light was off in the stairway below Mel’s place, but he didn’t bother searching for the switch. He, Luke and Wyatt had sneaked up there so often when they were kids he could have found his way blindfolded. The apartment had been vacant back then, which had made it the perfect place to steal a kiss from Angela Nelson after the homecoming dance when he was sixteen. He hadn’t been up here much since he’d helped Wyatt and Cletus move Mel’s things in when she bought the diner ten years ago, but the lack of good lighting didn’t slow him down. He had a bone to pick with Mel McCully, and the sooner he got it over with the sooner things could get back to normal around here.
The thought of Mel grated on his nerves. There was nothing unusual about that. Hell, she’d been like fingernails on a chalkboard for as long as he could remember. Holding that thought, he reached for the doorknob. At the last minute he raised his fist and knocked instead.
“Come on in. The door’s open.”
Gearing up to say what was on his mind, he stormed inside. He opened his mouth to speak, only to clamp it shut again when he found himself alone in the room.
“I’m a little surprised Boomer dropped you off so early, DoraLee,” Mel called, her voice coming from someplace down the hall. “You must be as anxious to talk about the wedding as I am. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right out.”
Clayt had never been very good at waiting, and he’d already been waiting hours to speak his mind. After striding to the window overlooking Main Street, he glanced around the room. The apartment wasn’t large. He could see most of it from here. A kitchen too small to turn around in was completely dark, but light spilled from a narrow hallway on the right There was gray carpeting on the living room floor, a blue sofa on one wall, a television on another and a lamp turned to its lowest setting in the far corner. The coffee table was cluttered; the wicker basket beside it literally overflowed with magazines and newspapers. Mel McCully had never been much of a neat freak, that was for sure.
Clayt had no idea why that thought made him feel better, but suddenly he figured it wouldn’t hurt to take a seat. He was in the process of pushing an old afghan and a pile of clothes out of his way on the sofa when he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye.
Mel entered the room talking, her hands fiddling with a clasp in her hair. “So, DoraLee, what did Boomer say about the fact that you caught the bouquet?”
Her hair fell around her shoulders just as her gaze met his. She had cut her hair.
“You’re not DoraLee.”
Feeling like a deer trapped in the glare of headlights, Clayt could only shake his head.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
He straightened and tried to speak, but had to clear his throat and try a second time. “I came to talk to you.”
She