Mel's Arc

Chapter 6 of 36

The fiddle wound down under Mel's feet. She felt the heir's hand go loose in hers. The last note faded. He stepped back and smiled that easy smile, the one that said the night was over and she had been a small part of it. Around them, couples broke apart and drifted toward the doors. Mel had no lie left to keep him. She had spent her one dance, and now he was leaving. "Nice dancing with you," he said. He tipped his head, already turning. "Give my regards to your folks. Small outfit, but honest work." There it was. The word she had waited two seasons to prove wrong. Small. He said it kindly, which was worse. He picked up his hat from the bench, and Mel understood she had nothing to make him stay. No favor. No song. No claim. She let him go. She watched him walk out into the dark and knew she had chased the wrong thing all night. She turned. Ted stood by the band, hat still in his hands. He had walked his lame horse home and come back. He had turned the fiddler's song for her. And she had spent it reaching past him for a man who called her family small. Mel crossed to him. "He's gone," she said. "I saw." Ted didn't gloat. He looked tired, and something in his face was closing up. "Ted." She made herself hold his eyes. "You came back with a lame horse. You turned that song. I used it on him. That was a poor way to pay you." "It was." He didn't soften it. "I know." She reached for something true. "He thinks my ranch is small. Maybe it is. But you never once looked at me like that. I was too busy to see it." Ted turned the brim in a slow circle. The barn had nearly emptied. Someone had left a bunch of lilies and iris on the bench, blooms wilting at the edges. He picked them up and held them out, awkward, like he wasn't sure he still meant to. "Grabbed these earlier," he said. "For you. Felt foolish about it an hour ago." Mel took the flowers. "Not foolish." "I'm not fixed on you," Ted said. "You made your no plain. But it's a long walk to the wagons." He set his hat on his head. "Walk with me?" She should have felt she'd lost the whole night. Instead she felt the ground shift. "Yes," she said. They went out together. He carried his jacket over one shoulder. She held the lilies against the blue dress and matched his step across the dark yard. The heir's wagon rolled off toward the Caldwell spread without her. Mel walked the other way, toward home, beside the man who'd stayed. The debt was still hers. But now she wanted to pay it.