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“That was Bridgette.”
Melodie waited, not sure that a response was required.
“I told her that you declined, but she insisted I invite you to dinner at my house tonight. We’re having a meeting of the video staff at seven-thirty. It will be informal.”
Melodie wanted to inquire which would be informal—the dinner or the meeting.
“Please, Miss Melodie,” Amber said, her blue eyes liquid with tears. “I want you to meet my mommy.”
“No, honey. Not this time. I promise you I’ll stay after school one afternoon and meet her, okay?”
Barely mollified, Amber nodded and rested her head against her uncle’s broad chest.
After giving Amber a final pat, Melodie smiled at Trent. “Thank you again, but no. I’ll just go so you can take care of the kids.”
Trenton held out his hand and shook hers warmly once more. “I appreciate your time, Melodie.” He reached into his pocket for a pen. “Here’s my card,” he said as he wrote on the back, “in case you change your mind. It was nice talking with you.”
“You, too. Goodbye.”
In a blink, it seemed, they were outside and heading for their respective vehicles. As she slipped inside her traveling sauna, Melodie wondered how she’d gotten herself into another fine mess with so little effort. At least she had gotten herself out of it without any damage.
She was still lost in thought as she pulled into the driveway of her little cookie-cutter home. Her address might not be in Hyde Park or Tarrytown or any of the other wonderful neighborhoods she’d love to live in, but it was hers—and the bank’s.
She wondered for a moment where Mr. Trenton James Laroquette, Esquire, lived. She could only imagine. Probably in the house of her dreams.
Well, wherever he lived, the fresh coat of paint she’d put on last year still looked good and other than the fact that the yard was overdue to be mowed, the place was neat and tidy.
The first thing she did after opening the door was flip on the air conditioner. It was one of the few luxuries she afforded herself, and her standing rule was to turn it on when she got home in the evening and leave it on until she left for work the next morning. It was a little stuffy now, but the house would be blessedly cool for the rest of the night.
As she headed through the living area toward the dining room, something nagged at the edges of her consciousness. It wasn’t until she was almost done flipping through the stack of mail on the table that she realized what it was.
Things were missing.
The Led Zepelin poster was gone. Half the CD rack was gone. The gray recliner and end table were gone.
Most of all, she guessed her roommate was gone.
Three (#ulink_33e427da-3f83-5561-ace7-6a4c5780a4e2)
Melodie glanced around and noticed a few more things missing. Danielle hadn’t exactly been a neatnik, so the very fact that the place looked organized was surprising. Even Danielle’s room was clean—simply void of any personal effects.
When Melodie reached her room, she headed straight for the shower, leaving a trail of sweaty clothes across the floor. She loosened her braid and ran her fingers through her long, heavy hair as she adjusted the water temperature and stepped under the spray. She planned on standing there until her fingers started to wrinkle.
She didn’t quite make it to wrinkle stage before turning off the taps, but she did feel cool and refreshed. She wondered if it was odd to feel more from a shower than from a roommate who had abandoned her, leaving her in the lurch, but Melodie pushed the thought away as she wrapped one towel turban-style around her head and tucked another under her arms.
She supposed she should feel something—anything—since Danielle was gone, but the most she could come up with was a mild sense of relief mixed with an even milder twinge of disappointment. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t known this was coming.
Then she noticed an envelope propped against her pillow. In the enclosed note Danielle had said she’d “hooked up” with an old boyfriend and had to “split” all of a sudden. After ending the note with a hope that Melodie would be “cool” about all this, Danielle had signed off with “later.”
Danielle’s timing, as well as her writing style, left a lot to be desired.
This event certainly cast a new light on the video issue. She might actually need this job! If only she hadn’t declined so quickly. Not that she believed she’d had much of a chance of earning the part, but she was now motivated to at least give it a shot.
She glanced at the clock. Trent had said they were getting together at seven-thirty, and it was just after six. If she called, she might be able to get herself reinvited to the meeting.
In the time it took to retrieve his business card from her hip pack and return to the bedroom, her stomach had twisted into a knot. Her hand trembled as she punched out the numbers on the phone. Hesitating before hitting the last button, she slammed the receiver back into its cradle. She didn’t have to do this! She could always pick up a part-time job somewhere until the crisis was over. Besides, she’d just bet Trenton was a tightwad as well as a stuffed shirt and wouldn’t want to pay her what she was worth.
Despite the fact that she was alone, Melodie felt her face flush. That thought was mean and unworthy of her. She didn’t know why she was so dead set on believing the worst about Trenton Laroquette. She just couldn’t put her finger on what it was about him that affected her so.
Taking a deep breath, she reached for the phone again, and this time, completed the call.
“’lo?” a childish voice answered.
“Amber? This is Miss Melodie. Is your uncle there?”
All Melodie heard was a squeal, a crash as the phone bounced off a table or desk and a shrill shriek of “Uncle Trenton, Uncle Trenton! Come quick! It’s Miss Melodie!”
Melodie smiled and shook her head.
Her smile wavered when she heard Trent’s voice. “Melodie?”
She cleared her throat. “I apologize for the surprise, but I was thinking about your offer and wondering if the invitation to the meeting tonight still held good.”
There was a moment’s hesitation—just enough to make her nervous.
“Yes, of course. You’re quite welcome to join us.”
She let out a silent sigh of relief. “Great. Um, it’s at seven-thirty, right?”
“That’s correct. Let me give you directions to my home.”
She scrambled for a pen and turned Danielle’s letter over for scratch paper, mentally berating herself for not being prepared. Maybe subconsciously she hadn’t believed he would say yes.
Glancing at the clock as she hung up, she realized she would have to hurry to get ready and make it halfway across town in time.
But she also knew that, in a hurry or not, she needed to put her best foot forward. With quick strokes, she brushed her hair until it glowed. Pulling the sides back, she gave it a simple twist and used her favorite Chinese comb to hold it in place while the rest cascaded down her back. She chose a wrap skirt in a bright Southwest print and topped it with a turquoise-colored silk tank top. A gold necklace and big gold hoops in her ears were her only jewelry. She slipped tan sandals on her feet as she stuck her cheap but functioning watch into the purse she would use instead of her too-casual hip pack.
Always a minimalist with makeup, she found herself applying what little she did wear with care. She needed to look professional and capable, and she was the first to admit that blush, lipstick and mascara made her look a little older, a little less like a freshfaced teenager than she normally did. Just as repainting her nails from purple enamel to clear polish made the professional image more complete. She told herself firmly that she wasn’t worried about what Trent thought personally. She was simply trying to give herself whatever advantage she could now that she needed some extra income.
Hurrying out the front door, she grimaced at the summer sun, still forceful even at this hour of the evening. Maybe luck would be with her and she could at least arrive without having sweated off her careful grooming. It wasn’t until she was halfway to Trent’s house that she realized she’d left the directions—along with Trent’s number—on the bed, and he had mentioned his phone was unlisted.
Gritting her teeth, she turned around and headed back, praying she wouldn’t get stopped as she skirted the speed limit. In the end, she reached Trent’s neighborhood only a little late. Maybe he wouldn’t notice.
As she passed through the wrought-iron and stone archway that spanned the entry to the subdivision, she slowed down considerably. Any neighborhood this Yuppie was bound to have the requisite 2.4 children per household running around.
She snorted softly as a pair of identically clad joggers passed her on the sidewalk, their glances at her beat-up car expressing their concern as to what she might be doing on their side of town. Even the two fur balls running alongside stared at her. She wondered how their owners had trained them to do that.
The gate to Trent’s place was open, and several cars lined the large driveway. She parked and headed for the front door, more than a little impressed. Somehow she guessed that no matter how old she got or how far she moved from the Buda, Texas, of her youth, she would always be awed by obvious wealth displayed in elegant, understated ways such as this.
Point in fact, she was much more impressed than she wanted to be. Her earlier musing proved correct—Trent did live in the house of her dreams.
The lines were elegant. Soft, draping curtains covered the many windows, back-lit by a warm and welcoming glow. She would have picked the same natural rock on the face of the house, and the steeply sloping roof promised at least one room with a vaulted ceiling.
The front porch was laden with green plants, and she couldn’t stop herself from touching one to make sure it was real. She was surprised at the depth of her relief that, indeed, the greenery was alive.
The doorbell was answered by none other than seaman Joey. After announcing that his mother was in the kitchen, and pointing in the general direction of the back of the house, her erstwhile guide took off down the hallway toward the “beep-twiddle-beep” of a video game in progress.
With a shrug, Melodie headed through the house, breathing deeply the soft essence of flowers. Along with her other mistaken preconceptions regarding Trent, Melodie added decorating to her list. She’d been expecting dark leather, but found instead beige and soft blue fabrics. The carpet was deep and luxurious, though—she’d been right about that.
The house was filled with sound. In addition to the hidden video game, a stereo somewhere was playing soft rock favorites that mingled with laughter from down the hall to her left. She assumed the mixture of voices were the other members of the video team Trent had mentioned.
Melodie wound her way through the living room, assuming she was going in the right direction, and finally located the kitchen. She was delighted to find Bridgette exactly as she’d expected the parent of an urchin like Amber to be: petite, with her light brown hair pulled back in a swinging ponytail, and a bright, sweet smile. The mother was as warm and pleasant as the daughter, and it was easy to tell that Amber would be equally beautiful when she grew up.
“Amber talks about you all the time,” Bridgette offered as she shook Melodie’s hand and returned to slicing tomatoes. “She just loves dance class and is absolutely sure she’s going to be a prima ballerina when she grows up.”
Melodie chuckled. “Don’t worry. As soon as she hits the tomboy stage, she’ll want to be a fireman.”
Bridgette smiled in return. “Oh, I’m sure. But I just wanted you to know that I appreciate the attention you give her.” Bridgette stopped cutting and cocked her head. “Not that she gives you any choice!”
“Are you talking about my sweet girl?” A deep voice preceded a tall, blond-haired man into the kitchen. He moved behind Bridgette, wrapping his arms around her waist to nuzzle her neck.
Both intrigued by their play and feeling intrusive, Melodie’s stomach tightened as she watched the couple. She wasn’t used to such open displays of affection.
“Glen, stop it!” Bridgette shrugged him off, her cheeks flushing a becoming pink. “Glen, this is Melodie. She’s Amber’s dance teacher.”
Glen offered Melodie a firm handshake. “So you’re the one responsible for the need for ballet slippers and tights in every conceivable color.”
“Oh, no,” Melodie defended herself with a laugh. “I don’t have a dress code for class. The kids were supposed to bring home notes telling you that.”
“I think Amber conveniently lost hers.”
“Listen, Melodie,” Bridgette interjected, “would you mind taking these buns out to the barbecue so Trenton can get them browning? If I can get Glen to leave me alone long enough, I’ll finish the condiments.”
The knot in Melodie’s stomach pulled taut. What could she say?
“Uh, sure.”
“Just go straight through there,” Bridgette directed with a pickle in hand, “and out the sliding doors to the patio.”
Taking the bag of buns, Melodie left as instructed.
Trenton heard the glass door slide open, but he was too busy fighting the flaming grill with his squirt bottle to turn around. “Just a second, brat. I’m a little busy right now.”
When he turned, he pulled himself up short. The beautiful woman standing there certainly wasn’t Bridgette. She bore a striking resemblance to the quirky dance teacher he’d met earlier in the afternoon, however.
And a smile was twitching at the corner of her mouth.
“I have to admit I haven’t been called a brat by a relative stranger in a long time. People usually have to know me for at least a week.”
Trenton felt chagrined. “I apologize for that. I thought you were Bridgette.”
“Nope, just me with the buns.”
Trenton had to bite his tongue to keep from saying, “And nice buns they are.” He didn’t know Melodie yet, and sometimes people were taken off guard by his humor. Not to mention that, from their conversation this afternoon, Melodie obviously thought him something of a stuffed shirt. He wanted to relieve her of that impression, but not by changing the image to a sexist jerk.
She stepped forward, a little awkwardly, which struck him as odd. He found everything about her graceful, just as he’d expect in a dancer. Now that she was out of that baggy T-shirt and those wild leggings, he could see that his suspicions were indeed correct. Her sleeveless shirt revealed sleek, toned arms and an elegant neck. Her wrap skirt hugged slender hips, as well as the long legs he’d admired earlier, pigs and all.
Hearing the grill sizzle warningly behind him, he hurried forward to take the bread.
“Why don’t you grab something to drink and have a seat?” He motioned with his tongs toward a cooler at the end of the benches built into the perimeter of the deck.
A length of her hair fell over her shoulder as she chose a cola from the ice. With the sunset behind her, and the breeze playing with her long tresses, she looked as though she could be posing for a commercial. He was sure he wouldn’t be the only man to buy that brand of soda.
Suddenly his mouth felt dry. “Would you mind grabbing a root beer for me?” He nodded toward the grill. “It keeps flaming up and I don’t want to scorch the burgers.”
A moment later, as she handed him the chilled can, his fingers touched hers just for a second. It sent a jolt up his arm. Funny. He hadn’t noticed how small the deck was before now. He’d entertained twenty or thirty people before and it had never felt this close.
And quiet. He’d turned off the outside speakers to enjoy the crickets and cicadas, but now the silence wrapped around him.
He cleared his throat. “Did you have any trouble finding the place?”
“None at all.” She glanced around the deck. “Why are you out here by yourself?”
He flipped a patty and looked back at her. “Although the breeze makes it tolerable out here, everybody else likes the air conditioning. Besides, I just bought the newest version of Space Warriors from Planet Ten, and everyone’s trying to beat my high score.”
“You play video games?”
Her expression was nothing short of amazed. He barked a laugh. “Sure, why not?”
In the fading sunlight, he thought she blushed, but he wasn’t certain. “I don’t know. I…didn’t take you for the video type.”
His grin widened. “Just what type did you take me for?”
She smiled back. “Oh, somehow I imagined you spending an intimate evening with six or seven law books and a stack of legal pads.”
Trenton exaggerated a wince. “Sounds like I need to work on my image.”
She remained enigmatically silent.
He tried again. “I’m glad you could make it after all. What made you change your mind?”
“The idea intrigues me,” she said, her face brightening. “I think I was taken off guard this afternoon. When I had a minute alone to let it all sink in, I realized I’d spoken too hastily at Kidstravaganza.”
The grill chose to flame up again before he could reply. “Yow!” he. yelped, snapping his hand away from the danger. He grimaced and nodded toward rust on the grill. “I’m glad the neighborhood association hasn’t been by for an inspection, or I’d be in big trouble.”
Again, surprise registered on her face. Had he really made that bad of a first impression? Did she think he had no sense of humor at all?
Every time he glanced at her, he experienced her viscerally. His lungs constricted, or his gut went taut, or his legs tightened. He found it all rather interesting since he’d been around some of the most beautiful women in the city, and none of them had had this effect on him.
