A Home Of Her Own. Cathleen Connors
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who came to the services made a point of stopping by to offer Buck their condolences. While many expressed sympathy for Melodie, others used the opportunity to reveal their contempt by ignoring her completely or giving her scornful looks that said they were swayed neither by the fancy talk nor big dollars that had once wooed her away. They did, however, seemed impressed with the man Buck had become. A staunch friend to each and every one of them in an emergency. The son poor Grace never had.
“You sure couldn’t tell that blood’s thicker than water by the shameful way that girl treated her mother,” pronounced Phyllis Brockridge as she added yet another cookie to the neat pile on her plate. Although directed at her equally chubby sister, the comment was loud enough for Melodie to overhear.
Buck knew it wasn’t deliberate. Mrs. Brockridge was hard of hearing and thought no one could hear her unless they were standing right beside her. Acknowledging her with a neighborly nod of his head, Buck called the old woman over.
“It was awful nice of you to come today, Phyllis. You were a good friend to Grace, and I know she would appreciate any kindness you could show to her daughter while she’s here. You do remember Melodie, don’t you?”
A flush of crimson climbed over the woman’s white collar at the subtle reproof. “Yes, of course,” she said, balancing her plate with one hand and extending the other to Melodie. “So nice to have you home—at last.”
Melodie thanked the woman for coming. Perhaps being seen talking politely to one of the town’s most influential citizens would take some of the chill out of the room. She knew only too well that many people had taken offense at the perception that she had tossed Buck over for a big-shot engineer who whisked her out of state just as fast as he could after their justice of the peace ceremony. When Grace became ill and her only daughter didn’t come rushing home for so much as a holiday visit, their disapproval hardened to rocklike condemnation. The judgmental souls who populated the Friendly Valley of Warm Winds would not easily forgive such disloyalty.
That Buck would so chivalrously come to stand beside this traitor in their midst was a surprise to everyone.
Especially him.
Melodie was sure Buck’s actions merely confirmed to the churchgoers among the group what an upstanding Christian he had become despite all the many obstacles life had put in his way.
“Lean on me if you’re feeling faint,” Buck instructed, his voice a sultry command that sapped Melodie of the remaining strength she had intended to use to walk out of this rattlesnake pit. She was secretly longing to take refuge in those strong arms, and her knees wobbled beneath that tempting suggestion.
Pride was all that kept her standing on her own two feet.
“The absolute last thing I want from you is pity, Buck Foster,” she whispered angrily,
“That’s not what I’m feeling right now,” he murmured into her ear.
The warmth of his breath against her neck raised goose bumps beneath the sleeves of her black satin dress.
“Revenge, then?” she guessed warily.
Buck’s eyes revealed neither pity nor revenge. Instead what Melodie glimpsed within their golden depths left her quaking beneath the hitherto unthinkable possibility of restoring a relationship with the man she had never been able to stop loving. It was akin to straddling a fault line and hearing the ground rumble beneath her feet. On second thought, being swallowed whole into the bowels of the earth was less frightening than what Melodie was feeling at the moment.
She had to stop looking in his eyes. She had to remember where she was and for what purpose.
Melodie strove to remind him thickly, “This is neither the proper time nor place to—”
“Relax, Mel. Relying on me for a few minutes during a stressful time shouldn’t compromise you much.”
The hint of a smile toyed with the corners of her mouth. “I suppose you’re right. And I obviously don’t have to worry about compromising my reputation with any of the good folk here either.”
Buck raised a wicked eyebrow. “We could always give them something to talk about.”
“Haven’t we given them enough in the past?”
Buck’s teasing left Melodie feeling no longer chilled. If this unexpected flurry of brash attention was intended as a diversion to help her get through the next hour of agony, it was working wonderfully. Even in somber garb, devoid of makeup, and wearing her hair in a style befitting a spinster, Melodie felt more aware of her femininity than she had in all five years of her marriage. That she could feel anything but numb at such a sorrowful time was shocking.
It occurred to her that Buck might just be setting her up for some kind of public humiliation. Surely it was too much to expect forgiveness from one whom she had hurt so badly. To simply wish away one’s mistakes. To imagine something beautiful coming from the smoldering ashes of their love.
Pulling her eyes away from his, Melodie forced herself to think rationally. For heaven’s sake, if a single, respectful arm around her waist provoked such feelings, what would happen if she actually succumbed to the urge to tuck his other arm securely around her, lean up against that granite-hard body and allow another human being to be strong for her for a change?
Like forsaking all reason and attempting to fly off a cliff by simply flapping one’s arms, she figured.
Melodie decided that she liked it better when Buck was mean to her. At least then she knew what to expect of him—and of herself.
“I don’t know about you,” Buck drawled softly into her ear, “but I’ve had just about enough of polite society as I can stand for one day. What do you say I go get the vehicle and pick you up out front?”
Gratitude flowed from every pore of Melodie’s body. “I’d be eternally grateful. It shouldn’t take me too long to say my final goodbyes.”
Without Buck at her side, Melodie suddenly felt as vulnerable as Lady Godiva. Instead of covering up, however, she lifted her chin proudly in the air and stood her ground as he made his way out the door. Hurt by the reaction of those she’d long considered her friends, Melodie decided if anyone wanted to talk to her, they could darn well take the initiative to approach her.
She didn’t recognize the tailored, painstakingly coiffed woman making a beeline straight for her. Perhaps they had gone to school together. The passage of time certainly hadn’t helped her limited ability to remember names and faces any.
The lovely redhead confirmed her suspicions. “You don’t know me,” she said in a polite, tight voice. “But I think I should introduce myself.”
“Were you a friend of my mother?” Melodie asked.
“No.”
That single word hung between them, flapping like a red flag hung out to dry on a blustery day. Melodie raised an eyebrow in confusion. Why would someone who knew neither her nor her mother attend the funeral? Intuition kept her from extending the woman her hand. She had a funny feeling she might just withdraw with a bloody stump if she did.
“I’m Judy Roes,” the lady stated with a smile that went no deeper than her lipstick. Green eyes glittered with disdain as they perused Melodie from head to toe.
Melodie shook her head apologetically. “Sorry. The name doesn’t ring a bell.”
Pushing a manicured hand through her hair, the woman responded in a voice so sweet one could have glazed a Christmas ham with it. “I don’t believe for a minute that Buck hasn’t mentioned me.”
Shrugging her shoulders, Melodie explained, “We really haven’t had much time to visit.”
As Judy Roes chewed on this bit of information, Melodie came to realize that they were the focal point of everyone’s attention. It seemed every eye in the room was staring at them. She apparently was the only one in the dark as to this woman’s identity and purpose.
“Look,”