Elusive Echoes (11 page)

His lips curved into a smile as he
remembered Melanie as a young girl. He'd been enchanted by her.
She'd reminded him of the fairy princess his mom had always told
him he would marry. When she'd had to leave, he'd missed her
desperately, and at first, he'd been determined to find her. But at
fourteen, looking for her wasn't feasible, and life had moved on.
Then, one day just after his twenty-second birthday, she'd shown up
in Orson's Folly again.

He'd been involved with Savannah about that
time, a petite, blonde city girl looking to fulfill her fantasy of
marrying a rich goodtime cowboy. But from the moment Mel re-entered
his life, he'd been painfully aware that Savannah was no more than
a replacement for the only woman he would ever love. He hadn't
mourned when Savannah went back to the city. He had been hurt
deeply, though, to discover that Mel wasn't the same person who'd
left. She'd changed, hardened. But as time passed, she had regained
her delicate fairy princess softness. Until the past few months.
Did the darkness that seemed to grip her have something to do with
the brother he hadn't known about?

A sense of dread filled Sean when he thought
about her years away from Orson's Folly. Where had she been? What
had happened to her? She'd promised to talk to him about it. He
wondered if she really would.

Mel's bed was queen-sized, and he recognized
it as the one Sandy had left behind. It was neatly made up, with a
pale blue chenille bedspread and about a dozen throw pillows. In
his weariness, it was definitely the most inviting thing in the
room.

He found a state-of-the-art coffee maker
with a timer on her kitchen counter, and located her coffee
canister next to an ancient, questionable-appearing microwave.
Setting the coffee maker for four o'clock in the morning, he
figured the smell of the coffee would motivate him to get up and
leave. He surveyed her kitchenette and smiled. She wasn't set up
for dinner guests, with just one chair and a small, round
bistro-style table.

In the bathroom, Sean found
the first evidence of Mel's whimsical personality. A huge bathtub
with whirlpool jets ruled a corner of the room, and she'd placed
candles and jars of bath beads on the triangular shelf in the
corner. Brass wall sconces and copper filigree butterflies adorned
the walls. The window on the far wall of the bathroom was covered
by curtains in a butterfly pattern. Sean glanced at the rug in
front of the tub and blinked.
Oh, boy!
Frogs on lily pads.

Back in the main area, Sean lit the bedside
lamp, noticing that the fixture was loose and the lampshade floppy.
The alarm clock was exactly where she'd told him it would be. A
newspaper clipping tucked underneath the clock caught Sean's eye.
After setting the alarm, he made sure the piece of paper stayed
safely where she'd left it.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he took off
his boots. After a moment's hesitation, he unbuttoned his shirt and
slid it off. He loosened his jeans but left them on. He'd probably
be more comfortable if he removed them, but that didn't feel right.
Or maybe it felt a little too right.

****

Mel slipped into her apartment, closed the
door behind her, and set the lock with a little snick. Sean had
left the bedside light on. He was lying on his back, one arm flung
to the side, the other over his head. The covers had slipped down
to his waist. In the glow of the lamp, his skin was nearly golden.
His lean body and well-defined muscles were born from years of
physical labor.

She stood quietly at the foot of the bed,
watching him sleep, her emotions moved by the serenity on his face.
Her heart wrenched just a little when she wondered if they would
ever get their chance. Because it didn't feel like it right
now.

Mel padded to the bathroom, where she washed
away the smells of the bar, and then donned a pair of flannel PJ
pants and a soft navy blue T-shirt. She pulled a blanket from the
linen closet and returned to the main living area. She couldn't
resist stopping at the foot of the bed again. He hadn't moved. His
breathing was deep and even. At least he was getting good, solid
rest.

She eased her way up along the bed and
reached for the lamp to turn it off.

"Your couch is ugly and lumpy," he said
quietly.

Mel jumped, sucking in a huge gasp of air.
"I thought you were asleep."

He didn't move, didn't open his eyes. "Was.
But you were watching me and it woke me up."

Now he wasn't making sense, and Mel wondered
if he was merely talking in his sleep.

"You've got a big bed." He opened his eyes
and rolled onto one side, propping his head on one hand. "There's
no reason you should sleep on that lumpy couch."

Mel stared at him, uncertain what to do. Why
was he offering to share the bed?

Green eyes glinted in the dim light and he
chuckled. "Just sleeping here, Mel. Your bed's big enough we
probably won't even bump into each other." He pulled a pillow from
beneath his head and dropped it on the other side of the bed.

She hesitated, but was unable to stop
looking at him.

"Scared?"

Mel nodded. "Yes." Scared of her desire,
scared of her feelings. Scared of the emotional intimacy the act of
sleeping with someone promised.

"Of what? What are you afraid of, Mel?" His
voice was soft. He was talking to her the way he spoke to the
horses he helped heal from physical and emotional wounds.

It was a very persuasive tone and she
trembled at the soft caress of the words.

"Are you afraid of me?"

Mel nodded. "Of you . . . and everything. .
." Everything he represented that she wanted but wasn't sure she'd
ever get.

"I won't hurt you, Mel."

A ghost of a smile tugged at her lips. "You
won't mean to," she corrected in a whisper.

His smile mirrored her uncertainty. "Lie
down on your bed, Mel. We'll sleep, just like you offered. I
promise."

She felt like she was moving in slow motion
as she crossed to the other side of the bed and laid down on the
very edge. She didn't draw down the covers; instead pulling the
blanket she'd carried from the linen closet around her. She could
feel his eyes on her the whole time. Then she looked at him and was
trapped. He kept his inscrutable gaze on hers for a long moment,
and she nearly forgot to breathe.

"Good night," he said in his gentle voice.
Then he rolled over and killed the light.

Mel eased her head down to the pillow, lying
on her side with her back to Sean. She closed her eyes and drew in
a long, deep breath, intoxicating herself on the scent of him
clinging to the pillow. With intoxication came restlessness that
would not allow sleep. Heaving an impatient sigh, she flopped onto
her back.

"Are you going to bounce around for what's
left of the night?"

"This was a mistake. I should have taken the
couch." But Mel didn't move from the bed. She breathed deeply,
willing herself to go to sleep. He was more than two feet away but
she felt his heat. His even breathing should have soothed with his
presence. Instead, each breath he took sent an ocean wave of desire
rolling into her awareness like the incoming tide.

Sean heaved a deep sigh. "I can feel your
tension from here." He shifted to the center of the bed. Then his
hand brushed over her arm, and he hooked her around the middle,
pulling her toward him. Warm breath fanned the back of her neck.
"Go to sleep, Mel," he whispered.

Being held by him was infinitely worse . . .
and infinitely better. She willed herself not to move.

His hand began a slow, lazy caress,
traveling the length of her arm from shoulder to wrist then back.
Little tremors began where he touched, flowed outward on little
electrical currents. She was torturing herself by not pulling out
of his embrace.

"Relax," he whispered. "Nothing's going to
happen."

And
that
was the problem. She didn't
want
nothing
to
happen. She sighed and concentrated on loosening muscles that were
winding up for the pitch. "Did you know when I was thirteen I
stopped thinking of you as my best friend?"

He froze but only for a moment. Then his
hand began its spellbinding caress again, moving higher, toying
with the ends of her hair where they touched her shoulders.

Mel's skin tingled. She forced herself to
keep talking when all she wanted to do was turn in his arms. "I
decided when the time was right I was going to take you as my lover
instead."

His hand stopped again and this time, she
heard his breathing hitch.

"Of course, I hardly had any idea what that
meant. I only knew it was special and personal. And I knew it would
be good with you because I really, really liked you. I always felt
safe with you. But you didn't seem to notice me like that."

He was breathing again, but
raggedly. When he spoke, his voice was a little choked. "I noticed
you, Mel. There's never been a time I haven't noticed you. And for
the record, when you were thirteen, I not only noticed you, I
wanted you. And I
did
know what it meant, just as I knew it'd have to wait." He
shifted his hand higher and traced the outline of her ear as he
spoke. "We've always had a connection. But when I was fourteen . .
. man, it was intense." He chuckled. "And sometimes it was
downright painful." He drew a deep breath and blew it out, his
breath tickling the hairs on the back of her neck. Mel's heart rate
ramped up at the understanding that at the moment, not all of that
particular kind of pain was in the past. But his next words
reoriented her to the conversation. "And then you had to go away.
One day . . . you were just . . . gone."

Chapter Seven

Mel had been Sean's best friend and nearly
constant companion since their first meeting. Her gentle comfort
when his mother died had also helped ease the pain and emptiness
he'd experienced when Ryan left home. But only one year after
Ryan's departure, Mel herself had been yanked from Sean's life.
Though his father had tried to fill in the gaps, Sean had been
inconsolable. It hadn't been a great time. In fact, it had been a
mighty confusing time. And very lonely.

Mel had never spoken before about where
she'd gone, who she'd lived with. And they hadn't immediately taken
up their friendship again when she returned. She hadn't been the
Mel he'd grown up with. She'd come home a girl with a lot of
mileage and a bite to her personality. But even that bite hadn't
killed Sean's love for her. He'd simply waited her out. Was still
waiting her out in many ways.

He stilled the restless brush of his fingers
on the soft skin just below her ear, but he couldn't bring himself
to break the contact. "Where did you go? Where did they take you,
Mel?"

She brought her hand up and laid it over
his. Her palm was hot. She flexed and contracted her fingers
reflexively. Her breathing was shallow and quick and he knew
without feeling it that her heart rate had bumped up.

"My whole life, I never knew Todd wasn't my
real father. Mama never told me, not even after he died."

Sean remembered the accident that had
claimed Todd Mitchell's life. It had happened a few months after
Ryan left. Mitchell's pickup had skidded off the road on the way to
Jackson and slammed into a cliff-face. The truck had been mangled
beyond recognition, its driver dead on impact. Twelve-year-old Mel
had been crushed at the loss of her father. With the need to
provide for herself and her daughter, Mel's mother had gone to work
as a waitress at Carol's Diner in town. Sylvia had worked long
hours and in a freakish coincidence, almost a year to the day after
her husband's death, Sylvia had been driving home late one night
when a logging truck broadsided her tiny car. She hadn't had a
chance.

"Everyone thought I would live with Grandma
Tilly. I wanted to. I loved her so much," whispered Mel. "But she
was Todd's mom, and not really my grandma at all."

Her light sniffs and barely perceptible
shudders told Sean she was crying. He was torn between wanting to
know what had happened, and the need to soothe away her pain. He
brushed a tender kiss over the top of her head.

"One day, this man showed up. He said his
name was Nick DeVayne. He and my mom had been—together before she
married Todd. He said I was his daughter. I didn't want to believe
him. It was like—I'd lost my parents and now this man was trying to
take away who I was." Mel stopped talking and inhaled deeply then
blew out the breath. "Grandma Tilly sent him packing, but Nick came
back the next day with proof. He had my original birth certificate
naming him as my father, and notification from the state of my
adoption by Todd in lieu of back child support. Oh, he had a story
about why he hadn't paid, and the story always changed."

"But if you were adopted, weren't his
parental rights terminated?"

"He had an emergency order of custody signed
by a judge in Oklahoma City."

Mel rolled out of Sean's arms and turned to
face him. Silver light from the full moon slanted through the
window and bathed her face. The dim glow and the pale blonde hair
splashed across the dark pillowcase made her appear ghostly. He
couldn't see the shadows in her eyes, but he knew they were
present.

"Are you sure you want to hear all
this?"

Sean propped his head again. Needing the
contact, he reached out and smoothed her hair. "Only if you want to
tell me."

"After Nick took me away, I
met my half-brother, his son, Denny. I don't know what happened to
Denny's mother or how Nick ended up with custody. Denny was a year
younger than me, and exactly like his—
our
father. It was all about making a
fast buck with both of them. We never stayed in one place very
long. Nick ran cons. And then we'd have to leave before he got
caught. He changed our names so many times, I lost track of who I
was supposed to be. He used me and Denny in his cons." She buried
her face in the pillow, her sudden movement severing the connection
between them. When she turned back to Sean, she tucked her hand
under her cheek. "I helped him screw so many people over. I got
good at it. I got really, really good at seducing older men to be
interested in me with my virginal innocence, and then Nick would
move in for the kill, all blustery, 'what are you doing with my
fifteen-year-old daughter?' And they would pay him so much money to
make sure he didn't go straight to the police. I stayed fifteen for
almost three years."