The Marriage Pact (Hqn) (15 page)

He’d walk Hadleigh to the house, though, and wait on the porch until she’d gone inside and shut the door.

Kissing her would have been nice, but even the dog probably knew
that
was out of the question, at least for tonight.

“I’ll be fine,” she protested, obviously flustered when Tripp opened the gate and gestured for Hadleigh to precede him. “Really. You don’t need to—”

Before she could finish her sentence, the front door flew open, and Melody stood in the chasm, peering out at them. The retriever—Muggles, wasn’t it? Or some other Harry Potter–type name?—seemed glued to Melody’s side, glistening black schnoz pressed against the screen in the outer door.

Great. An audience.

Not that he was exactly surprised.

He leveled an eloquent look at Melody, and she responded by wrinkling her nose as if to say “gotcha.”

Hadleigh seemed blissfully unaware of the exchange, and that was probably a good thing. “You see?” she asked Tripp brightly, goddess-beautiful in the light of the moon. “I’m perfectly safe, so you can go now. Thanks for dinner and—everything.”

Everything?
Tripp was mystified. He’d bought her a salad and some iced tea, and she’d barely touched either one, and then he’d abducted her, behaving like a nutcase in one of those true-crime shows on TV.

He should have dressed for the part, he thought ruefully. Worn camouflage and maybe a ski mask. Scoured his fingertips with sandpaper so he wouldn’t leave prints.

“Uh, you’re welcome,” he said, several beats late and with all the urbanity of a turnip.

“It was nice,” Hadleigh said, quietly generous. She raised herself onto her toes and kissed him on the cheek, the way women did when they were bussing Great-Grampa goodbye, once visitors’ hours were over at the old folks’ home.

Melody remained in the doorway, and so did the dog—Hermione? Hortense? Whatever. What was this, anyway, some kind of sideshow?

Tripp, speechless for once in his life of free-flowing bullshit, opened his mouth and, when nothing came out, closed it again.

Hadleigh, meanwhile, turned and strolled toward the porch steps. Looking back over one silky pink shoulder, she waggled her fingers in a goodbye wave and then left him standing there, in the middle of her front walk, like a bad prom date.

He didn’t move until Hadleigh had gone into the house and closed the door behind her.

He didn’t hear the lock click, which was what he’d expected, but maybe Melody was leaving right away.

Tripp sighed once and headed for the truck.

At his approach, Ridley began to bark again, this time yapping like a teacup poodle. He didn’t like being kept out of the action—such as it was—or maybe he just objected to letting Hadleigh out of his sight.

Join the club, dog.

At least there was one
good thing he could say about tonight. It was
over.

And tomorrow was a new day.

* * *

M
ELODY
,
WHO
HAD
changed out of her own clothes and into Hadleigh’s red sweatpants and a worn-out concert T-shirt at some point in the evening, stood impatiently in the entry, shifting from one foot to the other like a kid waiting for a turn at hopscotch on the playground.

“I see you’re planning on spending the night,” Hadleigh observed casually, bending to pet Muggles, who was frantic with joy at her return. That was the great thing about dogs, she thought—they were so unabashedly glad
to see their people again, whether the separation had lasted five minutes or five months.

“You’re stalling,” Melody accused her. Besides the sweatpants and T-shirt, she’d helped herself to another carton of yogurt at some point, and now she was waving the spoon at Hadleigh like an orchestra conductor’s baton. “Tell me what happened!”

Hadleigh smiled. “Okay,” she said agreeably. “
Nothing.
That’s what happened.”

Melody narrowed her eyes. “Are you kidding me? I checked the social media sites, my friend, and what do I see? They’re absolutely
peppered,
all of them, with pictures of you and Tripp—kissing!”

“I hope you made yourself at home when I was away,” Hadleigh said, her tone sweet as she took off her coat, hung it on its customary hook on the coat-tree. All the while, she had one ear trained on the sound of Tripp’s retreating truck, but Melody didn’t need to know that. “I mean,” she went on merrily, “like logging on to my computer—maybe peeking into my medicine cabinet and, if you really got bored, checking the expiration dates on the stuff in my fridge—”

Melody squared her shoulders and tried to come off as indignant. “You know very well,” she said archly, “that I didn’t
need
a computer to check up on you. I used my phone. Furthermore, I most definitely did
not
‘peek into your medicine cabinet,’ but if I had, I might have wondered when you plan to look into
birth control.
As for your fridge, I probably saved your life. There were things in there that your grandmother
must have bought during the first Bush administration—but not to worry. I tossed everything that bubbled or shouldn’t have been green so you wouldn’t poison yourself.”

Hadleigh laughed, shaking her head. “And those clothes?” she asked, indicating the purloined sweatpants and T-shirt.

“They were in the
drier,
for pity’s sake,” Melody said. “I was at loose ends and there was absolutely nothing on TV, so I decided to fold the laundry. Then I figured this outfit looked pretty comfortable and it was still nice and warm, so I changed into it. Sue me.”

“You’re impossible,” Hadleigh said, still smiling. Tripp would be well on his way home by then, heading back through town, out into the countryside, the sky popping with stars and the moon shining, even at half strength, as brightly as if it could barely contain all that light and might burst at any second.

A pang of something—yearning?—struck her, the way homesickness used to, just at twilight, when she was very young and away from home for a slumber party or a sleepover at a friend’s house. Most likely, what she felt was clearly visible in her face, but she’d already gone past Melody at that point, on her walk to the kitchen. She wanted to let Muggles out in the backyard for a few minutes and brew a cup of herbal tea in the vain hope she’d be able to sleep that night.

“That’s all you’ve got to say? That I’m impossible?” Melody ranted gleefully, curious beyond all endurance, trailing through the house in Hadleigh’s wake, right along with the dog. “The man
kissed
you in the middle of a busy restaurant—hell, Tripp didn’t just kiss you, he just about
swallowed
you, and it didn’t look like
you
were putting up any resistance—”

Hadleigh sighed as she moved through the archway between the dining room and kitchen and flipped on the lights. Although she knew better, she cherished a faint hope that, if she didn’t spill the whole story of that night’s nondate, Melody might drop the subject, at least for tonight, then either go home or crash in the guest room.

No such luck.

When Hadleigh opened the back door to let Muggles out, Melody started waving her smartphone around and challenged, “You don’t believe me? I can show you the pictures—”

Hadleigh followed the dog across the screened-in porch, opened the outer door and stood on the steps, hugging herself against the chill. “Of course I believe you,” she told Melody in her own good time. “And I don’t need to see the pictures because, well, actually, I was
there.
An eyewitness—didn’t miss a thing.”

Melody, standing in the inner doorway, heaved a dramatic sigh. “Why are you doing this to me?” she asked pitifully. “Damn it, Hadleigh, I’m your
friend.
We made a pact, you and me and Bex, that we were all in this husband-finding pact together. Now, all of a sudden, you’re being swept off your feet and you’re not giving up a single detail?
Honestly, I’m hurt.”

“You’re not hurt—you’re nosy,” Hadleigh replied, glancing back at Melody while she waited for Muggles to finish the yard tour and come inside. She smiled then. “But you’re a best bud and I know you mean well.”

“If I’m a ‘best bud,’ why not put me out of my misery and just
tell me what happened.
”

“The kiss happened,” Hadleigh said softly, even a little sadly. “Oh, and I told Tripp something I probably should have kept to myself.” At the look of concern and sympathy on Melody’s face, she worked up another smile, albeit a flimsy one, and raised her shoulder in a shrug. “Other than that, there’s nothing much to tell.”

Melody squinted in the dim light flowing onto the porch through the window over the kitchen sink. “Are you all right?” she asked in a near whisper. So much for the wronged-friend diatribe.

“I will be,” Hadleigh said very softly but with a note of conviction. “What if we talk about this tomorrow, Mel? Bex is due back sometime in the afternoon, isn’t she? If we wait until she’s home, I won’t have to tell the whole story twice.”

Melody nodded her assent, if somewhat reluctantly, and crossed to where Hadleigh stood on the chilly threshold, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Fair enough,” she said. “But you’re okay, right?”

“I’m okay. Go home and get some rest.” Hadleigh managed a raw chuckle as Muggles bounded up the porch steps toward them, and her voice was steady when she teased, “The stress of all this is starting to take a toll on you, Melody. You look terrible.”

Finally, Melody laughed, though her eyes were moist with tears. “Gee, thanks,” she said with a loud sniffle.

Once they were back in the kitchen, Hadleigh filled the teakettle at the sink and Muggles consumed the last few bits of kibble in her bowl. Melody stood with her back to the counter, watching Hadleigh for signs of God knew what and gnawing away at her lower lip.

“Stay and have some tea,” Hadleigh said. After all, Melody was one of her two BFFs, and it had been kind of her to stay with Muggles all evening—ulterior motives notwithstanding. Her heart was definitely in the right place, and she definitely didn’t deserve to get the bum’s rush.

But Melody shook her head and launched herself away from the counter, only in slow motion. “I’d better go home,” she replied. “Cats are independent, and mine have plenty of food and water, but they’ve probably been waiting for me. Can’t have them thinking I’m dead or something.”

Hadleigh switched on the burner under the teakettle, crossed the room and gave her friend a quick hug. “Another half hour won’t matter, will it?” she reasoned. “Stick around for one cup of tea?”

Melody had made up her mind to go, however, and once she decided on a course of action, large or small, she invariably followed through. She was already headed for the front door as Hadleigh spoke, in fact, picking up her purse on the way, taking her coat from the brass tree in the entry.

Hadleigh hurried after her. “I’ll walk you to your car,” she said.

Melody grinned wearily. “This is Mustang Creek, Wyoming,” she reminded her friend. “Not the mean streets of Gotham City. I’ll be perfectly fine.”

Déjà vu,
Hadleigh reflected. She’d said something similar to Tripp when he brought her home and insisted on waiting around until she was safely inside the house. Protesting had done her about as much good then as it would do Melody now.

Her friend wasn’t the only stubborn woman around, after all.

“I’ll just stand on the porch and keep an eye on you until you get in your car and drive away,” Hadleigh insisted.

“Whatever,” Melody said, spreading her hands in a gesture of tolerant exasperation. She went down the steps, turned at the bottom and looked back at Hadleigh, holding up her keys and jingling them for emphasis.

Hadleigh knew that was her cue to go inside, but she stayed put. Even though there was a definite nip in the air—winter was still a couple of months off, but it was on its way for sure—she wasn’t about to move, so she wrapped both arms around herself to keep from shivering and waited.

Melody slowly lowered the keys, and her expression, rimmed in the glow of the porch light, had gone solemn. “Was it bad, Hadleigh?” she asked, so softly it was a strain to hear her. “Is that why you don’t want to talk about tonight?”

“Not bad,” Hadleigh hastened to say, touched at the worry she saw not only in Melody’s face, but in her bearing. “Just—I don’t know—like being in one place as far back as you can remember, then suddenly finding yourself somewhere else.”

Melody’s brow furrowed. “
That’s
cryptic,” she said. Then, “If Tripp took you tonight just to spring another wife on you,” she vowed, “I may have to shoot him.” She brightened, but only a little. “And Bex will be delighted to help me hide the body.”

Hadleigh heard the teakettle beginning to whistle, way back in the kitchen. It had been Gram’s, that kettle, and it had a small bird on the spout that breathed steam and “sang” loud and shrill when the water came to a full boil. She’d always hated the darn thing, thought for sure it would split her eardrums wide-open one of these days.

For now, though, she ignored it.

“If there’s another wife,” she told Melody, “Tripp didn’t mention her. Now, will you please either agree to stay the night or get in your car and go home before I freeze to death?”

Melody hesitated for a fraction of a second, but then she grinned again, turned and practically sprinted down the walk. “I’m going, I’m going,” she called back when she reached the gate.

Hadleigh laughed, and it felt good this time, not forced, not manufactured, but natural and real.

Melody unlocked her car, got in and waited to close the door, so the interior lights would stay on, thus making her glaringly visible. She mugged, raising both eyebrows, and waved with comical enthusiasm—
See, no ax murderer hiding in here—
and Hadleigh waved back, sending a nonverbal message of her own.
If I have to stand here all night, waiting for you to shut your door and drive away, I’ll do it.

When Melody finally fired up the engine, tooted her horn and drove away, Hadleigh counted it as a victory, however small, and went inside to silence the teakettle.