The Marriage Pact (Hqn) (25 page)

She hurried into the shop’s tiny bathroom, stripped off her day-job clothes—a flannel shirt, the tank top beneath it, her sneakers, socks and jeans. That done, she stood at the sink in her bra and panties, splashing water onto her face. Her hair, caught on top of her head in a squeeze-comb, didn’t qualify as a disaster, but it wasn’t party-ready, either.

Hastily, Hadleigh dried her face on one of the rough brown paper towels from the wall dispenser, smoothed on a layer of tinted moisturizer from her makeup bag and swiped some mascara onto her lashes. She decided to hold off on the lip gloss until she’d put on the outfit she’d brought from home that morning.

Any other night, Muggles would have been a concern, but a neighbor, who also volunteered at the animal shelter, was taking her over to Shady Pines Nursing Home for a visit with Earl. It was all part of an outreach program, designed to cheer up the residents of both the shelter and the nursing home, and Hadleigh thought it was a wonderful idea. Once visiting hours were over at Shady Pines, that same neighbor would bring Muggles back to Hadleigh’s place and let her inside, using the key from under the doormat.

When Bex’s party was over, Hadleigh would go straight home, where Muggles would be waiting for her.

She reddened slightly, realizing she might not be alone at that point, and shimmied into her new getup, a pair of sleek black palazzo pants and a long, slinky red shirt with a sexy slanted hem. The garments emphasized her curves without hugging them too tightly, and Hadleigh loved the way they felt against her skin, all gossamer and soft. She sat on the closed lid of the toilet to pull on some knee-high nylons before poking her feet into a pair of black velvet flats.

A distant knock distracted her, quickening her heartbeat and turning her breath shallow.

Tripp.
He was here, and she wasn’t ready. Her hair was still a mess, and she hadn’t put on any lip gloss.

Hadleigh debated briefly, concluded that she couldn’t have the man thinking she’d changed her mind about going to the party with him, or even that she was hiding out somewhere in the shop, hoping he’d go away.

After a moment of muttering, she called out, “Just a second! Be right there!” and dashed for the shop door.

There was a man on the other side, for sure, peering in through the glass, his hands cupped on either side of his face, a foolish grin wreathing his mouth—but it wasn’t Tripp.

Of all nights, of all times, Oakley Smyth had decided to pay her a visit.

Hadleigh probably wouldn’t have let him in, but he’d seen her, of course, and small-town etiquette demanded a more polite reception. She didn’t hate Oakley, and she certainly wasn’t afraid of him, but they didn’t pal around, either. In fact, she’d seen him no more than half a dozen times since their almost-wedding.

Oakley was still handsome, if somewhat dissipated, in the way of the privileged and not particularly responsible—a rare commodity in Mustang Creek, where people were accustomed to taking life as it came, whether good or bad, pretty much without comment. Now the near-miss bridegroom let his eyes drift over her before stepping over the threshold, though Hadleigh hadn’t actually invited him.

“Still beautiful,” he said, putting almost no breath behind the words.

“This isn’t a good time,” Hadleigh blurted. “I’m going out and—”

Just then, headlights swept across the shop windows.

Tripp.

Although he didn’t turn his head to look back, Oakley seemed to know who was about to walk in.

“Are you afraid of him, Hadleigh?” he asked. “The pilot cowboy, I mean?”

“Afraid of him?” Hadleigh echoed, indignant. “Of course not.” Impatience overcame her effort at good manners. “What do you want, Oakley?”

“Why are you so nervous if you’re not scared of Galloway?” Oakley asked, causing Hadleigh to wonder if he was on pills or something; he didn’t smell of alcohol but that didn’t mean he was sober.

She was
nervous
because any encounter—or even the anticipation of an encounter—with Tripp made her nerves dance under her skin. And she was damned if she’d explain that or anything else to Oakley Smyth, her personal life being none of his business.

Tripp came in, slanted a quizzical glance at Hadleigh, as if to make sure she was okay and finally turned to face Oakley.

In that instant, Hadleigh understood what was at stake. Everything—everything—depended on what happened next. If Tripp got violent with Oakley, or if he showed any sign that he didn’t trust her, their relationship would be over before it had really gotten started.

Hadleigh held her breath, wide-eyed with alarm.

For a long moment, the two men watched each other, reminding Hadleigh of two rams fixing to lock horns any second.

Then Tripp’s attention swung back to Hadleigh. He smiled one of his tilted smiles and asked, “Are you ready to go, or do you need a few minutes?”

Hadleigh gulped, so relieved she thought she might actually faint from the rush in her head. “I’m
almost
ready,” she said.

“Good.” Tripp’s blue eyes were as peaceful as a cloudless sky. Then he handed her the bouquet of bright yellow, orange and white zinnias he’d been holding behind his back. “It was these or more roses,” he told her. “And that seemed redundant.”

Hadleigh’s hands shook as she reached for the flowers, and a smile trembled on her mouth. Oakley might as well have vanished into thin air, like the proverbial puff of smoke. “Thank you,” she said shakily. And then she raced for the bathroom.

When she came out, perhaps ten minutes later, Oakley was gone and Tripp wasn’t immediately visible, either.

“Tripp?” Hadleigh called. She might have wondered if her Saturday-night date had ditched her, but his truck was parked in front of the shop and the faint soap-and-sunshine scent of his skin lingered in the still air.

“In here,” Tripp replied from the back room where she taught classes, worked out designs and recorded the videos for her website.

She stepped over the threshold, carrying the bouquet, which she’d dutifully trimmed and put into a canning jar full of sink water. She set the whole thing aside, feeling strangely,
sweetly
stricken.

Tripp stood with his back to her, studying the mock-up pinned to her huge design board—the sketch of the special quilt she hadn’t shown anyone, not even Melody and Bex, because it might as well have been a map of her heart, it revealed so much.

Carefully, he raised one hand, traced the face of one of the figures she’d sketched on the oversize sheet of paper, torn from the roll she kept above her cutting table. The face he touched so gently was her own—in the sketch she was smiling, wearing jeans and a long-sleeved shirt and holding a blonde toddler, a little girl, on one hip. The other figure was clearly Tripp, and he, too, was holding a child, a boy, slightly older than the plump-cheeked girl. In the background, green rangeland unfurled, meeting a pale blue and cloudless sky at the distant horizon.

Although he had to know she was there, frozen in the doorway, Tripp didn’t say anything. Instead he went on looking at the design.

When he finally turned around, Hadleigh’s heart had wedged itself in her throat and her cheeks burned.

“Is this how you see us?” Tripp asked, so quietly she had to strain to hear him over the pounding in her ears.

Hadleigh bit her lower lip, found herself unable to speak and simply nodded.

That was when he smiled, and she knew she hadn’t scared him off by putting her deepest dreams on paper in such an obvious way.

Tripp glanced back at the happy-family sketch, then crossed to Hadleigh and placed his hands tenderly on either side of her face. He gazed into her eyes for a long time before he spoke. “I love you,” he told her solemnly. The grin flashed again, practically dazzling her with its summer-sun brightness. “But you might as well know right up front that I’m going to want more than two kids.”

Hadleigh didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so she did both, and then Tripp kissed her, and kissed her again.

And they almost missed the party entirely.

* * *

T
HE
PARKING
LOT
at the Moose Jaw Tavern had been cordoned off with red-and-blue crepe paper streamers, and the portable reader board, which usually listed the lunch special and the date of the next pool tournament, stood close to the unpaved street. Haphazard stick-on letters proclaimed
Private Party.

There was even an attendant on duty, clipboard in hand, evidently checking names off a list.

The Moose Jaw was jumping, jukebox music pouring into the night at top volume, and cars, trucks and motorcycles were parked close together, like sardines in a tin. In Mustang Creek, the term
private party
meant everybody in the county was welcome. Furthermore, if some hapless soul crashed the shindig, he’d be handed a plate and told to get in line for the buffet.

Hadleigh glanced over at Tripp. A moment later, he knew she’d read his mind. “Bex gets a little carried away sometimes,” she said.

Tripp drew up alongside the lot attendant, a local kid sporting an orange reflector vest and a self-important attitude. “Name, sir?” he asked.

The whippersnapper’s father owned the local feed store, having inherited the business from his father, who had, of course, inherited it from
his
father, and so on. Everybody who worked there was a blood relative to everybody else, and the two families, Tripp’s and the boy’s, went way back. “I was Tripp Galloway yesterday afternoon, when you loaded all those bags of horse feed in the back of this same truck,
Darrell,
and according to my driver’s license, I’m
still
Tripp Galloway.”

Darrell looked up from his clipboard and then over at Hadleigh, who greeted him with a smile and a slight motion of one hand. He blushed, but his eyes narrowed slightly when he turned his attention back to Tripp. “Jeez,” he muttered. “I’m just trying to do a good job.”

Tripp grinned. “If you’re grilling people you’ve known since you could walk, boy, you must be mighty
tough on strangers.”

Darrell made a resolute check mark on his paperwork and, finally, grinned back. “So far,” he admitted, “there haven’t been any.” With that, he got serious again, stepped away from Tripp’s truck and waved him into the parking lot, impatient to deal with the next vehicle in line.

Tripp parked behind the tavern, not in the lot but in the alley. That way, he figured, there was a fighting chance that he and Hadleigh wouldn’t find themselves blocked in if they decided to leave the party early.

“It’s dark back here,” Hadleigh observed, without apparent concern.

Tripp smiled. “Yeah,” he agreed. “But I’ll protect you.”

He shut off the engine, got out of the truck, came around to Hadleigh’s side and opened the door for her. For a few seconds, as she stood there on the running board looking down at him, her face aglow with moonlight, Tripp flashed back to the day he’d hoisted her over one shoulder and carried her out of the redbrick church.

“What did you say to Oakley after I left the two of you alone tonight?” she asked.

Tripp had expected the question; he’d just thought a little more time would pass first. Hadleigh waited calmly for his reply, still on the running board, a cowgirl goddess with stars catching in her hair.

Tripp sighed. “I asked him if he’d decided to take up quilting,” he said.

Hadleigh made a soft sound that might have been a stifled laugh—or not. “And?” she prompted.

“He said he’d come by to say hello to you, that was all, but if it seemed there was a glimmer of hope you’d give him a second chance, he’d jump at it.”

Remembering the brief conversation now, Tripp found himself respecting Oakley’s honest answer, if not Oakley himself. “I said he’d have to ask you about second chances, because it wasn’t my call.” He paused, cleared his throat, went on. “I also told him I plan on marrying you, when and if you’ll have me, that is. He said in that case, he might just show up right before we said our
I dos,
because that would settle a score.”

It was hard to tell how all of this was going over with Hadleigh, because she didn’t speak or move, and he couldn’t make out her expression since the light from the moon and the stars and the back windows of the Moose Jaw Tavern was behind her. If he hadn’t seen that sketch on the wall at her shop, he might have panicked.

Tripp sighed. Might as well bring this on home and be done with it. “I answered that if he did a damn fool thing like that, he’d better be ready for a fight, because I’d give him one then and there, church or no church.”

Hadleigh rested her hands on Tripp’s shoulders and he took hold of her waist, lifted her down. His heartbeat felt like blows from a sledgehammer, hard enough to bust right through his rib cage.

Looking up at him, she asked, “You want to marry me?”

He could only nod. His throat was dry as sawdust and all his innards felt as if they were trying to shinny up into it at once.

“And you’d fight for me?”

Tripp forced himself to speak. “Lady,” he ground out, “I’d do
anything
for you.”

Her arms slid around his neck, and he could feel her luscious breasts pressing against his chest. “So did you just propose?” she asked in a sultry purr.

Tripp considered the matter, then gave a gruff burst of laughter. “Yeah,” he answered. “I think I did. Since I don’t have a ring handy, and I’m standing up instead of down on one knee, I guess it was a pretty back-asswards way of asking you to be my wife, so I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted a do-over.” A pause. “Just say yes,” he added, and he wasn’t laughing now; he wasn’t even grinning.

Hadleigh tipped her head to one side, and he saw her lush lips curve into a little smile. Her fingers slid into his hair.

“All right, Tripp Galloway,” she said. “Yes. Yes now, yes tomorrow, yes forever.”

Chapter Fourteen

The following June

H
ADLEIGH
, M
ELODY
AND
Bex sat side by side on Bex’s old-fashioned side porch on chairs they’d dragged out from the kitchen. They all wore shorts and tank tops of varying colors, and their feet, propped comfortably on the whitewashed railing, were bare. Their toenails were all painted the same naughty shade of pink—a throwback to the slumber parties of yesteryear.

The sun had just gone down, and the first stars were popping out, like the lights of some distant celestial city, winking on a few at a time. The summer air was cool, a blessing after an unusually hot day, and smelled of freshly cut grass, Bex’s English roses and concrete sidewalks slowly drying now that most of the neighbors had shut off their sprinklers for the night. Kids played in nearby yards, their voices breathless and high-pitched as they rushed, in happy desperation, to have all the fun they possibly could before mothers or fathers called them inside for supper.

Muggles, lying on a time-tattered hooked rug next to Hadleigh’s chair, lifted her head, perked up her ears and made a soft, whining sound, as though she longed to join in the end-of-the-day games.

Hadleigh smiled and reached down to pat the dog’s gleaming golden head. “No worries, my friend,” she told the animal. “One day soon, you’ll have all the playmates you could want.”

Simultaneously, Melody and Bex both took their feet from the railing and plunked them down hard on the painted floor of the porch.

“Is there something you aren’t telling us?” Melody demanded good-naturedly.

“Like, for instance, that you’re
pregnant?
” Bex clarified, as if Melody’s meaning hadn’t been perfectly obvious in the first place.

Hadleigh laughed, kept her feet propped up—she’d been on them for days, it seemed, tying up loose ends at the shop so she could take a few months off, having hired a temporary manager—and wriggled her toes. “Not yet,” she said mischievously.

“You
know
all the old biddies will be checking off the months on their calendars,” Melody said, “starting tomorrow. The truth
will
come out.”

Hadleigh allowed herself a dreamy sigh. Tomorrow. The day she and Tripp were getting married. “So you two want to beat the ‘old biddies’ to the punch?” she teased. “Get the inside scoop?”

“Of course we do,” Bex said, in all seriousness. She
did
have a sense of humor, but lately she’d been so busy traveling all over the country on franchise business that she practically met herself coming and going.

Melody elbowed Bex, but gently, though her entire focus was on Hadleigh. “You’d tell us if you were having a baby, wouldn’t you? Your very best friends? The only two women in the world who love you enough to wear daffodil-yellow bridesmaids’ dresses?”

“Organdy,” Bex added darkly.
“With ruffles.”

“
Silk
organdy,” Hadleigh pointed out cheerfully.

The aforementioned gowns, though bright yellow with, yes, the merest hint of a ruffle slanting across the skirt, were not the horrors Bex and Melody had scoffed at after seeing them online and in just about every bridal shop within five hundred miles of Mustang Creek. In fact, they were elegant, floor-length sheaths, with a sexy slit on one side, starting at the hem and ending at the knee, affording the occasional glimpse of leg.

When, months ago, after an exhaustive search, Hadleigh had finally settled on the graceful garments now hanging on the doors of both Bex and Melody’s closets, carefully shrouded in cellophane, they’d given the choice a rousing thumbs-up.

And,
being Bex and Melody, they hadn’t missed a chance to razz Hadleigh about the dresses ever since.

“After Tripp,” she said, “you’d be the first to know.”

It was clear that Hadleigh’s friends believed her. It was also clear that they were disappointed.

Melody sighed, then leaned over to rummage through her oversize handbag. She brought out three small red velvet boxes, letting one rest in her lap and holding out the other two to Hadleigh and Bex.

“I was going to wait until just before the wedding to give you these,” Melody told them both before focusing on Hadleigh again, “but, much as I believe in girlfriend power, tomorrow should be about you and Tripp and your future together.”

Hadleigh held the box, unopened, in one palm. Suddenly, she was choked up, and her vision blurred slightly.

Melody laughed, though she was tearful, too, then wrapped one arm around Bex and the other around Hadleigh and pulled them close for a moment.

“Remember the marriage pact?” she asked.

Hadleigh looked down at the empty charm bracelet Melody had given her months before. It was the one piece of jewelry, besides her engagement ring, that she never took off.

Bex, as bewildered as Hadleigh, nodded slowly and held up one arm to show that she was wearing her bracelet, too.

“Open the boxes,” Melody urged in a quiet voice. Her eyes, though dry now, remained luminous. Then she sniffled and added, “We have something to celebrate, and this is it. One of us is finally getting married.”

Hadleigh lifted the hinged lid, peered into the box, and caught her breath, pressing the splayed fingers of her free hand against her heart. The charm, a tiny golden horse, running free, its exquisitely detailed mane and tail flying in an invisible wind, was perfect right down to its eyes, ears, nostrils and hooves.

“Oh, Melody,” Hadleigh whispered. “It’s so beautiful...”

Bex had the same charm in her box, as did Melody.

Melody sucked in a breath, expelled it and sat up a little straighter in her chair. “Since you’re the first of us to get married,” she told Hadleigh, “you get the first charm. The horse is supposed to look like Sunset, but it also represents the freedom you found when you opened your heart and let all that dammed-up love loose, once and for all. That was a very brave thing to do, my friend.”

“It was,” Bex agreed, beaming. At the same time, tears trickled down her cheeks. “Is there anything scarier than being in love?”

Knowing the question was rhetorical, neither Melody nor Hadleigh offered a reply. In fact, Hadleigh was fumbling with the charm, eager to put it on her bracelet, but her fingers weren’t working properly.

Melody finally did it for her.

A few minutes later, they were all wearing them.

“One for all,” Melody said, “and all for one. I’ll make matching charms for the three of us—unique ones, of course, representing each individual in some way. Then, wherever we wind up, together or apart, we’ll have something to remind us that dreams come true.”

“Just promise mine won’t be a workout shoe,” Bex said with a grin. “Or, worse, a teeny-tiny dumbbell—I might take that personally.”

Both Hadleigh and Melody laughed.

“Seriously, Bex?” Hadleigh chided. “You actually think anyone in their right mind could ever consider you
stupid?
”

“Yeah, Ms. Not-even-thirty-and-set-for-life,” Melody added. “You’re brilliant, Bex. All the time we were growing up, you said you were going to be rich someday, and here you are.
You did it, girl.
And we are
so
proud of you.”

Hadleigh nodded in sincere agreement.

But Bex looked wistful as she gazed down at her bracelet, fondled the dangling charm and asked softly, “Did you ever get something you thought you wanted more than anything else in the world, only to find out that it didn’t really change anything? Not inside, where it counts.”

“Group hug!” Melody cried, and the three women stood up, flung their arms around each other and clung. In a way, this evening was the end of an era.

And while Hadleigh knew they would always be best friends, she and Bex and Melody, there was no denying that, after tomorrow, things would be different, too.

Presently, they broke the huddle and retreated into the house, hauling the chairs as they went, because it was getting chilly and the mosquitoes were out.

Muggles dutifully followed.

* * *

T
RIPP
OPENED
HIS
eyes to a bedroom full of blinding light and Jim standing over him, grinning like a damn fool and already dressed for the wedding.

In a nanosecond, panic replaced irritation.

“What time is it?” Tripp flung back the covers.

Jim chuckled. He’d filled out since he’d married Pauline and they’d taken to roaming the country like a pair of gypsies, sending a postcard from every national or state park west of the Mississippi, along with intermittent camera-phone pictures showing the two of them in front of geysers and on roller coasters or admiring the world’s largest ball of string—and, once, memorably, standing next to a colorful sign that read, “See the Amazing Eighteen-Foot Reptile!”

“Relax,” Jim said. “It’s not even eight o’clock, and the wedding isn’t until two this afternoon.”

Tripp let out his breath, partly in relief, partly in frustration, and shoved his fingers through his hair. He worked as hard as anybody else, but since he’d hired a crew of reliable ranch hands, he didn’t get up at the crack of dawn anymore.

He reached for yesterday’s jeans, hauled them on and stood, letting his gaze run over Jim’s spiffy three-piece suit. “Aren’t you jumping the gun just a little?” he asked, but his mood was already improving now that he knew he hadn’t overslept, missed the biggest event of his life and permanently pissed off the only woman he’d ever love.

Jim fiddled with his clip-on tie. “I thought I’d try this getup on, that’s all,” he replied affably. “Get your opinion.”

“My opinion,” Tripp said, unable to hold back the grin twitching at one side of his mouth, “is that you’re a crazy man. The suit looked fine when Pauline picked it out for you, and it looks fine now.”

Jim frowned, but his eyes sparkled with mischief. “I don’t know,” he said, musing. “Pauline’s been baking a lot of cakes and pies since we got back here. The oven in the RV is about the size of a cereal box, so we don’t eat near as many sweets when we’re on the road, but I’ve been chowing down like there’s no tomorrow, and that’s a fact.”

Tripp finally laughed, tugging a T-shirt over his head. “Did you wake me up to tell me you’re worried about your weight, old man?”

“I woke you up because this is a special day,” Jim said, and the humor in his eyes was gone, replaced by a solemn expression. “I thought maybe we should—well, have ourselves a talk, man to man.”

“You’re not planning to tell me about the birds and the bees, are you?” Tripp joked.

Jim shook his head, but the serious look in his eyes didn’t change. “
That
horse got out of the barn a long time ago,” he replied. Then he slapped Tripp on the shoulder and asked, “What do you say I swap out these stylish duds for some regular clothes and we saddle up a couple of horses and ride for a while, just you and me?”

Tripp was moved by the invitation—and a little worried. “Answer one question,” he said. “Are you sick again?”

Jim’s eyes widened. “No,” he said, clearly surprised at the inquiry. “I’m healthy as—well, a horse.”

Relief swept over Tripp like a tidal wave. “That’s good,” he said, thick-voiced and gruff. “I’ll meet you by the corral in fifteen minutes.”

Jim smiled, nodded once, as though he’d asked a question and gotten an answer he liked.

A quarter of an hour later, Tripp left the house, with Ridley beside him, and saw the Jim he knew, the one he remembered from as far back as his recollection went—the tough, able rancher with quiet ways and a soul generous enough to take in not only a spirited, stubborn woman, used to fighting her own battles, but her little boy, too. There had always been plenty of room in Jim Galloway’s heart for the both of them, and even in Tripp’s teens, difficult years when he’d been rebellious, moody and apt to run off at the mouth more often than not, when he’d needed to test the borders of his stepfather’s acceptance, Jim’s commitment to another man’s child had never wavered.

He’d just gone right on loving Tripp, quietly, insistently.

In that moment, Tripp knew that if he could be as good a husband as Jim had been to his mom, and was now, to Pauline, if he could be the kind of father to his and Hadleigh’s children as this man had been to him, he’d be getting the important stuff right.

He rustled up a grin as he walked toward Jim, who’d saddled both Apache and Skit, the chestnut gelding. What he liked best about the name was that Hadleigh smiled every time she said it.

“This Skit yahoo here,” Jim said, “could use some work. I’m not even in the saddle yet, and he’s already dancing around like a tenderfoot on a gravel road.”

“Feel free,” Tripp replied, swinging up onto Apache’s back. “I’ve tried, but he’s a hard case, old Skit. So far, he hasn’t taken a liking to anybody except Hadleigh.”

Jim mounted with the ease of a much younger man and adjusted his beat-up old hat. “Well, then,” he boomed out, “there’s hope for him yet. If he’s cottoned to our Hadleigh, he’s got excellent taste.”

Tripp laughed, and they rode, passing through a couple of gates before they reached the range. The cattle had wintered well, and there’d been a healthy crop of calves in the spring.

“You’ve done a lot with this place,” Jim said, when they’d covered some ground and the herd came into view. “Does my heart good to see it.”

Tripp didn’t answer, didn’t figure he’d done anything more than he should have. After all, he’d had plenty of capital from the start, the means to buy cattle and horses and make necessary improvements to the place. Jim, on the other hand, had held on to that ranch through good times and bad, year after year, often with nothing much to depend on besides his own grit, gumption and common sense.

They’d stopped to water Apache and Skit at the creek when Jim finally got around to speaking his mind.

“Pauline and me,” he said, watching Tripp from beneath the brim of his hat, “we’re fixing to sell the RV and settle down.”

As far as Tripp was concerned, this was good news. He worried about the two of them, out there on the road, although he had too much respect for Jim’s pride to say so. “Okay,” he said, in a tone that encouraged elaboration.