The Marriage Pact (Hqn) (19 page)

None of this mattered to Tripp anyhow; what counted was the simple fact that he owned a horse again.

It had been too damn long.

Growing up on a ranch, he’d always had at least one hay-burner to feed, water, groom, clean up after and finally ride, but when his favorite gelding, Partner, had died unexpectedly during Tripp’s first year of college, the loss had hit him hard. To his way of thinking, he should have been there, had the chance to say thanks for all the good times they’d had together, he and Partner, and say his farewells. But it hadn’t gone down like that, and Jim’s quiet assurance that the horse hadn’t suffered, while comforting, didn’t take the ache out of the experience.

If asked why a cowboy, born and bred, didn’t have a horse, Tripp would have responded in easy practicalities—in college, he hadn’t had the time or the money to board one. After graduation, having qualified for flight school, he’d joined the air force, undergone extensive training and then gone to war.

After his discharge, he would’ve explained, he’d flown commercial jets all over the world and was often away from home for days at a time. Besides, keeping a horse in Los Angeles—or Seattle, either—didn’t make sense to a man raised in the country.

Yep, he’d have said all those things, and they were true enough, but now, having just filled an emotional gap he hadn’t let himself dwell on over the years, Tripp knew he’d had another reason, too.

He’d been scared to care for another living creature the way he had for Partner.

Ridley represented the first real chink in his armor. Tripp had bought the pup, the last guy to be picked for the team, from some jerk selling the most recent litter from the back of a beat-up truck. And never mind that just about the last damn thing he needed was a house pet. He’d made the purchase anyway—twenty dollars, marked down from fifty, according to the sales pitch—planning to find the dog a good home.

Instead, he’d wound up giving the animal a temporary name, and that was the deciding factor. Tripp Galloway learned an important fact about himself right then: naming something—especially when that something came equipped with a pair of hopeful brown eyes, four feet and a heartbeat—meant forging a bond that couldn’t be broken.

All these thoughts ran through Tripp’s head as he stood there in the Andersons’ barn, watching as Apache was led away to make room for another horse.

He bought that one, too—a neatly put together little buckskin mare he could imagine Hadleigh riding—and the sturdy chestnut gelding that was offered next.

Tripp knew he’d need more than three horses, since Jim’s were all just about ready to be put out to pasture. Not to mention fifty to a hundred head of cattle, if the homeplace was going to live up to being called a ranch. But this was a start.

And, damn, it felt good.

Outside, in the chilly dazzle of the afternoon sun, he paid and took one of Chessie’s neighbors up on his offer to haul the two geldings and the mare over to Tripp’s place in his trailer in return for a modest fee.

The two men shook hands on the deal and, after giving Ridley another airing, Tripp and his dog headed for home.

They stopped at Bad Billy’s drive-through for a couple of cheeseburgers, one for each of them, along with a large order of curly fries to share, and Tripp, suddenly starving, wolfed his food down with only a little more restraint than Ridley did.

It was already starting to get dark when they reached the ranch. Tripp felt lonely, for a moment, knowing the house was empty. He was glad Jim had actually taken a vacation for once in his life, but he’d been missing the old coot.

Fortunately, there was work to do, with three of the four empty stalls in the barn to prepare for immediate occupancy. The current collection lined the pasture fence, waiting to go inside to be fed, watered and put up for the night.

When the other truck arrived, headlights piercing the darkness, pulling a dented horse trailer, Tripp was ready to unload the newcomers and get them settled in with the others. Ridley, sensing big doings, was practically beside himself with excitement, running in circles and barking his fool head off.

Tripp finally had to shut the dog in the tack room for a good fifteen minutes, just to keep him from getting trampled.

Once he’d paid the owner of the trailer and watched him drive off, and all the horses were safely in the stalls, he turned Ridley loose again, and the two of them ambled over to the house, ready to call it a day.

* * *

“N
O
GETTING
AROUND
it,” Hadleigh told Muggles ruefully, when they’d been back home for about fifteen minutes. “I owe Melody an apology.”

Muggles, seated on her favorite hooked rug in the corner of the kitchen, tilted her golden head to one side and perked up her ears, looking for all the world as if she not only understood but completely agreed with the statement Hadleigh had just made.

She even whimpered sympathetically.

“You are absolutely right,” Hadleigh answered, shaking her head as she surveyed the stacks of mismatched pots and pans, skillets and kettles she’d pulled from their customary cupboard and piled on the counter practically the moment she and Muggles came through the door. When she was upset, she had to be
doing
something, preferably constructive, and she’d been feeling a rising need to sort out her possessions, to clear the board, so to speak, and start over.

It was a worthy goal, and the kitchen cupboards were as good a place to begin as any, but the argument she’d had with Melody weighed so heavily on her mind, and her heart, as well, that she wasn’t going to get anywhere. This was just busywork. Avoidance, basically.

First things first.
The slogan had been one of Gram’s favorites, and she’d said it so often that the words were probably imprinted in Hadleigh’s DNA, a fact that could be considered a blessing or a curse, depending on a person’s viewpoint.

Hadleigh had accomplished a great deal in her professional life—designing quilts, teaching her techniques online and in classes at home and all around the country—and she loved everything about her work, On the other hand, following Gram’s well-intentioned dictum had also turned her into a card-carrying perfectionist, an often driven
perfectionist, with a distinct tendency to steamroll past or
over
any obstacle or opposition she happened to encounter.

But Melody wasn’t
an obstacle or an opponent; she was one of Hadleigh’s two dearest friends. In spite of many ups and downs over the years, she and Bex and Melody had been closer than most sisters.

Okay, so Melody
was
outspoken and sometimes infuriatingly blunt.

She was also loyal to the death, generous, funny and a million other good things.

“Coming with me?” Hadleigh asked, her hand on the back door’s knob.

Muggles, possibly on drama overload, yawned expansively, flopped onto her belly and rested her muzzle on her outstretched forelegs, rolling gentle brown eyes at Hadleigh. All of this combined to form a nonverbal reply.
Not unless you insist.

“I don’t blame you one bit,” Hadleigh said. “You can stay here and hold down the fort. I’ll be back after I’ve said ‘sorry’ and eaten my share of crow.”

Muggles sighed expressively, closed her eyes and promptly fell asleep.

As Hadleigh ducked out, smiling in spite of the butterfly convention warming up in her stomach, the dog gave a single snuffling snore.

Five minutes later, Hadleigh drew a deep breath, straightened her spine and knocked firmly on the outside door of Melody’s studio.

Melody’s eyes were red-rimmed and a little puffy.

“I’m sorry,” the two women said at the same time.

In the next moment, they were hugging, both of them blinking back tears.

“Me and my big mouth—” Melody lamented when the hug ended.

Hadleigh’s words tumbled over her friend’s. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper—it was childish.”

“You’re both right,” said Bex, who always served as referee when the need arose. “Melody, you don’t have to blurt out any opinion that comes to mind, and Hadleigh,
you
don’t have to take yourself and everything else so seriously.”

Both Hadleigh and Melody laughed.

Hadleigh shut the door behind her and slipped out of her coat.

“I’ll make us some tea,” Bex announced cheerfully. “Herbal, of course, since neither one of you needs caffeine.”

Melody nodded, smiling now, and took Hadleigh’s coat from her, hanging it on one of the pegs next to the door.

“And,” Bex added, on her way to the kitchen, which adjoined Melody’s studio, “I think this would be a good time to show Hadleigh what you’ve been working on, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Melody agreed with a glance in the direction of her drafting table, where a small sheet of canvas covered her latest project.

“But wait until I get back!” Bex called from the kitchen.

Melody spoke in an exaggerated whisper, meant to carry. “I wanted to keep this a secret—until Christmas, anyway—but Bex is such a snoop I couldn’t pull it off.”

“I
heard
that!” Bex sang out.

Hadleigh and Melody exchanged amused smiles.

“I really am sorry I acted like such a prima donna,” Hadleigh said softly.

“And
I’m
really sorry I didn’t keep my thoughts to myself,” Melody responded, giving Hadleigh’s hand a brief squeeze.

Hadleigh lifted one eyebrow. “So you meant what you said? About me being in love with Tripp all this time? Without really knowing it, I mean?”

Melody huffed out a breath, looking dejected again and a little tense. “Yes,” she admitted. “I meant what I said, Hadleigh. I think what I think, and I can’t pretend otherwise—but I didn’t have to
say
what I did.”

Hadleigh pretended to ponder Melody’s reply, but the truth was, her friend’s sometimes brutal honesty was so much a part of her that she couldn’t always rein it in. The miracle was that Melody
ever
held back an opinion, whether it was good, bad or indifferent.

“Fair enough,” Hadleigh finally said. “Which isn’t to say I’m prepared to agree.”

“Right.” Melody’s smile was bright with relief and with humor.

“What are you two talking about in there?” Bex called over the shrill whistle of the teakettle.

Again, Melody and Hadleigh laughed in unison.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Melody called back.

Bex didn’t answer, but she looked grimly determined, not to mention hopeful, when she came in, carrying Melody’s grandmother’s china teapot, three matching cups and saucers, sugar, milk, artificial sweetener, cloth napkins and silver spoons, all carefully arranged on a basket-weave tray.

“Friends again?” she asked.

Melody placed an arm around Hadleigh’s shoulders and squeezed, and Hadleigh returned the favor.

“Friends again,” they confirmed.

Chapter Eleven

O
NCE
M
ELODY
, H
ADLEIGH
and Bex had seated themselves, and Bex had graciously poured tea for one and all, an expectant air settled over the small gathering.

“Let’s agree,” Bex said, primly and carefully, “not to discuss Tripp Galloway.”

“Good idea,” Hadleigh said quickly. By then, she’d begun to come to terms with an unsettling thought. If she
wasn’t
wildly, hopelessly and permanently in love with Tripp, why had she reacted to Melody’s earlier remarks so strenuously? It wasn’t like her to fly off the handle the way she had, let alone storm off in high dudgeon.

“For now,” Melody said mildly, before taking a sip of tea.

Something mischievous but wholly benign rose up in Hadleigh then, some instinct she couldn’t define, even to herself. “Of course,” she offered in dulcet tones, “we
could
discuss a certain police chief. Namely, Spencer Hogan.”

Melody flushed crimson.

“Stop,” Bex interjected in a stern voice.
“Now.”

“Sorry,” Hadleigh muttered, smiling into her own fragrant cup of steaming tea.

Melody shot her a warning look.

“Melody,”
Bex said immediately. “Tell us all about your project.”

Melody sighed, visibly banking her fiery temper. “You mean the one you discovered by peeking at my designs while I was out of the room?” she retorted, staring pointedly at Bex.

Bex was undaunted. “That’s the one,” she said.

Again, Melody sighed. It was dramatic, that sigh, and Hadleigh recalled with amusement how active Melody had been in both her high school and college theater arts classes. Back then, she’d planned to become a trial attorney, not an artist, and she’d been convinced that training as an actress would improve her “presence in court.”

“Would you mind if I finished my tea first?” Melody inquired, with acid sweetness, glaring at Bex.

“You’re stalling,” Bex said. “But go ahead— finish your tea. We’ll wait.”

Melody set her cup and saucer down with a clink of bone china and sterling silver. “Oh,
all right,
”
she capitulated. “Anything to keep the peace.”

Bex merely smiled.

Hadleigh didn’t dare do that, so she hid her mouth behind her cup, well aware that the laughter undoubtedly dancing in her eyes might still give her away.

Melody rose from her chair, stalked over to her drafting table and, instead of throwing back the canvas that covered whatever design she’d been working on, opened one of the drawers. She removed a simple but elegant black velvet box, the hinged kind she bought in quantity and used to display her jewelry creations.

After returning to her chair, she flipped open the box.

Hadleigh used all her self-control not to crane her neck for a look at the contents.

Melody lifted three gold bracelets, each composed of a series of graceful links, from the box. She held them, suspended, from the tip of her right index finger. “I made one of these for each of us,” she said. “As a sort of—well, a sort of symbol.”

Hadleigh didn’t even pretend to catch Melody’s drift.

“They’re charm bracelets,” Bex explained.

Melody extended one bracelet to Bex, and one to Hadleigh and then fastened the third on her own wrist.

“What—” Hadleigh began, but she was strangely choked up, and the sentence she’d been about to voice fell away, uncompleted.

“Tell her,” Bex prompted gently, opening the clasp on her own bracelet and putting it on. It glittered beautifully on her left wrist.

“Give me a chance,” Melody said, her tone a little on the snippy side, her color high.

Bex just shrugged.

Hadleigh looked down at the golden glow encompassing her wrist, feeling moved but unable to define the reasons. Jewelry was jewelry, after all, and Melody had presented both her and Bex with many pieces over recent years—pendants, rings, even bracelets. And, yet, she knew this one was special.

“It represents our covenant,” Melody said, almost shyly. “The marriage pact, I mean.”

“Okay—” Hadleigh said. “It’s beautiful, Mel, but—”

“Let her finish,” Bex interrupted, though not unkindly.

“Here’s the plan,” Melody went on, after drawing a deep breath and releasing it slowly. “We wear the bracelets, the three of us, and as we find true love, I’ll make a special charm, in triplicate, something symbolic. You know, a different design to represent each of our romances.” Hadleigh’s throat constricted, and tears scalded her eyes. “Oh, Melody—” she began, but again she couldn’t go on.

“It’s a beautiful idea, isn’t it?” Bex put in.

“The point,” Melody explained, clearly moved to tears herself and yet doggedly pressing on, “is shared purpose. We
believe
for each other. We honor each other’s intentions, and we keep going, no matter what. Finally, we celebrate each other’s success.” A sniffly pause. “Essentially, it’s one for all and all for one. Nobody is really home free until everyone
is.”

“Wow,” Hadleigh breathed, almost overcome.

“Yeah,” Bex agreed. “The marriage pact is more than just a common goal. It’s a sacred
covenant,
like Melody said.”

“But it’s no good,” Melody added, somewhat breathlessly, “unless all three of us are in this for the duration.”

Hadleigh felt a jolt of genuine commitment, of a promise, a vow. “Let’s make it happen,” she said.

“Me, too.” Bex nodded, her eyes shining with tears.

“Then it’s settled,” Melody said. “As we find true love, whether it’s all at the same time or at different times, I’ll make matching charms for all three of us, designed to commemorate each romance and marriage. Nobody gives up—that’s the agreement—until we
all
have three charms on our bracelets.”

“That’s beautiful,” Hadleigh whispered.

“Yes,” Bex agreed, examining the bracelet twinkling on her wrist with quiet pride.

“What happens next?” Hadleigh heard herself ask.

“That’s up to the fates,” Melody said, looking intently at Hadleigh and then at Bex. “Our part is to decide
—
and then stand by our decision.” She paused. “So,” she went on. “Are we in or out?”

“I’m in,” Hadleigh said firmly. Inside, she was trembling a little, because on some level, she understood that this was no lark; it was some kind of serious cosmic business.

“Me, too,” Bex repeated.

Melody thrust out her upraised hand, the one sporting the glimmering gold bracelet. Bex clasped Melody’s hand, and Hadleigh grasped both.

Heaven knew what the results of this odd ritual would be, Hadleigh thought, but one thing was absolutely clear: there was no going back.

* * *

O
NE
DAY
,
OUT
of the blue, Jim—still aboard ship— called home, ebullient, and considering his habit of silence, incredibly talkative. “I’ve met somebody,” he announced, before Tripp had had a chance to process his stepdad’s unusually jubilant mood.

Tripp, standing in the ranch-house kitchen with the landline receiver pressed to his ear—God forbid Jim should call him on his cell phone, like anybody else would have—was a few beats behind the action. “You’ve—what—?” he asked stupidly. At least they could have a private conversation, since the construction crews were all on their lunch breaks.

Jim had been gone for five days by then, and all that time Tripp had been awaiting news that he’d successfully boarded the Alaska-bound cruise ship. Not a word out of him. Now, to Tripp’s shock, his taciturn and patently unfanciful father seemed to be saying— But that
couldn’t
be it, after all these years he’d spent pining for his late wife.

Could it?

“Her name is Pauline,” Jim went on, as excited as a teenager recalling the prom date of a lifetime. “She’s retired. Used to teach high school math—”

“Whoa,” Tripp interrupted. “Slow down, Dad.”

Jim laughed, and the sound rang with a joy Tripp hadn’t heard since before his mother had died. He felt delighted and wary at the same time.

“Pauline and I are in love,” Jim continued. “It’s the real thing, Tripp, and I’m sure hoping you’ll be happy for us.”

Pauline. A math teacher. And probably not a predatory psychopath like so many of the folks featured in ID Channel “docudramas,” but still... How well could Jim possibly know this woman after less than a week? “Hold on a second, Dad—”

But Jim had the proverbial bit in his teeth, and there was no reining him in. “Pauline has an RV,” he rushed on, practically bubbling over with happy enthusiasm. “We’ll eventually want to settle on the ranch, I suppose, but in the meantime, we want to hit the road and see as much of the country as we can.”

Tripp released a long breath, and if his head didn’t quite stop reeling, at least it had slowed down. “All right,” he said cautiously, drawing the words out like a short length of rope. Wasn’t this what he’d wanted all along? For Jim to stop marking time and start living again?

Jim must have read Tripp’s mind, because he sighed and said hoarsely, “I know this seems real sudden, son—I reckon because it
is
pretty sudden—but I’ve only felt like this once before in my life, when I met your mother. Love happens in its own time, for its own reasons—and I am
definitely
in love with Pauline.” His voice took on a sober, uncertain tone. “What I need to know, Tripp, is that you’re—well, you’re okay with this.”

Tripp stood with his eyes closed and his shoulders hunched. He consciously relaxed the muscles in his back. “I want you to be happy, Dad,” he said. “If I seem a little...thrown, it’s only because things seem to be moving really fast.”

Jim chuckled, but that faintly solemn note remained. “Soon as the cruise is over, Pauline and I will head for the ranch and you can meet her for yourself. Once you do, you’ll feel a whole lot better about the situation—I promise.”

“Dad,” Tripp put in, “you don’t need my permission or my approval. It’s just—”

“It’s just that you’ve read too many of those true-crime books between flights, Captain Galloway,” Jim teased. “Pauline isn’t a nutcase with a trail of dead or missing husbands behind her. She’s a schoolteacher
,
Tripp, widowed for almost twenty years. She has four kids, all happily married professionals and upstanding citizens.” He paused to take a breath, evidently just getting started. “God knows, Pauline’s not after my money, because I don’t have a hell of a lot, and that’s okay, because she doesn’t either.”

“What’s her last name?” Tripp asked lightly. He’d have demanded a social-security number and a credit score, too, if he could have gotten away with it.

Jim wasn’t fooled by the attempted subtlety of Tripp’s question, but he didn’t take offense, either. He replied, with a smile in his voice, “Norbrand. Pauline Norbrand. Shall I spell it?”

Tripp laughed, feeling mildly guilty but equally determined to make sure the lady was on the level. Some things, he thought, were too important to be left to chance, and his Dad’s happiness and well-being were among them.

He’d run a background check on Oakley Smyth once upon a time, with admittedly mixed results, since he still wasn’t convinced Hadleigh would ever forgive him for it, and he was about to do the same thing all over again. This round, Pauline Norbrand would be the object of the investigation.

This is none of your business,
lobbied the still small voice in Tripp’s head.

The voice was probably right, Tripp concluded, with a twinge of his conscience. Just the same, the truth was the truth, wasn’t it? Even when tough or downright painful discoveries came to light in the process?

“Nope,” he said, in belated answer to Jim’s question. “You don’t need to spell it.”

After that, the conversation swung off in an easier direction. Jim reported that he was enjoying the cruise, seeing the sights, and the food was a revelation, after years of rustling up his own grub every day. He was putting on weight, which ought to be good news, he figured. On top of that, he’d won five hundred dollars playing bingo and, yes, he was feeling just fine and getting enough rest, and, yes, he was taking his medicine as prescribed.

“You need to quit worrying so much, son,” Jim lectured affably in closing. “It’ll wear you down if you don’t put the brakes on.”

“Okay,” Tripp agreed, his smartphone already in his free hand, thumb busy scrolling for the number of his old air-force buddy’s private investigation firm up in Denver. Was the company still in business? After all, using the major search engines on the internet, most people could easily find all the information they wanted on their own.

Goodbyes were said, Jim’s humorously resigned, Tripp’s distracted, and the call ended.

Tripp decided to think a while before calling his friend and tossed his cell phone aside.

He didn’t much care for this suspicious, skeptical side of himself, but he was also a realist. Furthermore, if he’d bothered to check out his ex-wife, Danielle, in advance, he’d have saved them
both
a lot of trouble and wasted time.

Ridley, standing with his muzzle pressed to the pet door and whining softly, seemed to be back in helpless-critter mode. Most likely, he wanted to get outside and beg scraps from the plumbers and electricians and carpenters hanging around in the yard, finishing their lunches.

“If you want to go out,” Tripp told the dog flatly, “go out.”

Ridley tossed him an accusing look, then low-bellied through the swinging door.

Tripp, grinning a little, immediately booted up his laptop.

* * *

“I’
M
THROWING
A
party Saturday night,” Bex announced at the next gathering, an impromptu tea party held in Melody’s studio nearly a week after the bracelet presentation and renewal of the marriage pact. Since then, they’d all been busy, and they’d spent most of this visit just catching up on day-to-day stuff.

Now, when Bex finally voiced her plan for the following weekend, she and Hadleigh were getting ready to leave, putting on their coats, while Melody stacked the tea paraphernalia back on the tray.