Clayton's Made-Over Mrs.. Sandra Steffen

prettier than most. As Jillian took Luke’s arm and Lisa took Wyatt’s, Clayt felt a burgeoning sense of pride that he’d been instrumental in bringing these two women to Jasper Gulch.

      Listening with only one ear to the words Reverend Jones was reciting from his frayed prayer book, Clayt patted his pockets one more time then glanced at the people who filled the old church. He’d never seen so many ranchers and cowboys without their hats, but he had to hand it to them—the local boys didn’t clean up too badly. His parents were sitting with Haley in the first pew across the aisle, and Opal Graham was sniffling into a lace handkerchief. Cletus McCully looked about as proud as he could be, and Ivy Pennington, the gray-haired lady sitting next to Cletus, dabbed at a tear on her cheek. Clayt caught sight of that peach-colored dress again, but before he’d gotten a good look at the woman wearing it, Reverend Jones asked everyone to take their seat.

      Clayt glanced away and back again so quickly his vision blurred. Still, there was something familiar about the woman’s build and the efficient way she moved. As if in slow motion, his gaze finally came to rest on her face.

      Eyes he’d seen nearly every day of his life met his. Eyes the color of violets. Lips that had uttered his name a thousand times lifted—lips that were pink and full and the tiniest bit trembly.

      Mel.

      She smiled, so tremulously, so delicately his mouth went dry. Reverend Jones’s voice was coming from someplace far away, but Clayt couldn’t make out the words over the explosion in his head. His eyes strayed to the wisps of hair brushing Mel’s eyebrows and the slightly longer tendrils grazing the base of her neck where her heavy braid used to be.

       What the hell had she done to her hair?

      He was vaguely aware that people were looking at him. And he thought he heard Reverend Jones clear his throat. But it was the repetitious movement of Mel’s head that finally got through to Clayt. He glanced at Luke and Wyatt, who were looking at him strangely. Through the roaring din in his ears, he heard his brother say, “The rings, Clayt. We need the rings.”

      Clayt fumbled in his pockets, came up empty-handed, and fumbled again. By the time he’d given the proper rings to the right couple, the din in his ears had turned into a silent hush that was even more unsettling.

      While Luke and Jillian, and Wyatt and Lisa, exchanged sacred vows and wedding rings, Clayt told himself he’d been imagining his reaction to Mel. To prove it, he cast another glance in her direction. For a moment he froze all over again. Everyone else in the church was looking at the brides and grooms. Mel was looking at him.

      His mouth went slack, and the strangest sensation began to uncurl low in his belly. Somehow managing to tear his gaze away, he clamped his mouth shut and told himself to get a grip.

      For crying out loud, that was Mel McCully. The girl who’d stuck her tongue out at him so often he’d lost count. The girl he’d teased incessantly when they were kids. The girl he’d caught with her grandfather’s chewing tobacco when she was ten. The girl he’d never thought of as a girl at all.

      Clayt rubbed his hand across his jaw. Luke and Wyatt were kissing their brides. And Clayt had the strangest urge to kiss Mel.

      He was either going crazy, or he’d been without a woman for far too long. The way he saw it, that was enough to drive any hot-blooded man crazy. But Mel McCully?

      Nah.

      It had to be the candles or the ever-darkening stainedglass windows or the occasion, or something. Hell, it could be anything, as long as it wasn’t honest-to-goodness attraction.

      

      “Well?” Jillian asked, reaching for a glass of punch. “Has my new brother-in-law noticed?”

      “Details,” Lisa whispered, her dark eyes dancing in her heart-shaped face. “We want details.”

      Mel finished ladling punch into another glass before taking a close look at her friends. Their gowns were as beautiful and unique as the personalities of the women wearing them. Jillian’s was made of old-fashioned lace with pearl buttons down the back. It had a waist that dipped low in front, the material falling over her hips and legs like a whisper with every step she took. Lisa’s gown was made of shiny satin and had a neckline just low enough to hint at the lush curves the bodice covered but couldn’t hide. Her dress had short sleeves, the hem and waistline trimmed with thousands of tiny rhinestones.

      “Are you going to keep us waiting all day?” Jillian prodded.

      Mel handed a glass of punch to two young boys. When they were out of hearing range, she said, “He noticed.”

      “I knew it,” Lisa exclaimed.

      “What did he say?” Jillian asked.

      “What did he do?” Lisa cut in.

      Hooking the ladle on the side of the punch bowl, Mel grinned. “Well, he almost dropped your rings for one thing.”

      “So that’s what that was all about,” Jillian said.

      “Ye-ha!” Lisa exclaimed. “You were right to keep the changes as subtle as possible, Mel. That man’s staggering beneath the weight of a ton of bricks, and he doesn’t even know what hit him.”

      “You could be right,” Mel said around another smile.

      “Has he said anything?” Jillian asked.

      “Not exactly. He’s been steering clear of me ever since the ceremony. But he’s been watching me like a hawk.”

      Reaching up to adjust the flowers in her long, red hair, Jillian said, “He’s more than likely trying to tell himself that he’s imagining the whole thing. ‘See?’ he’s probably saying to himself right now. ‘Nothing’s changed. She’s manning the punch table just like she always does.’”

      Feeling as if she were in a time warp that was a cross between Christmas morning and the first day of spring, Mel chanced a glance across the old town hall. Pretending that she hadn’t noticed Clayt peering at her instead of looking at Brandy Schafer who obviously wanted his attention, she let Lisa and Jillian sweep her with them to the edge of the plank dance floor where their new husbands were waiting and the Anderson brothers were starting to play.

      

       There. See? She manned the punch table just like she always does. There’s nothing unusual about that or about Mel It’s all in your head, Carson.

      Clayt rotated a kink out of his shoulders and released a deep breath. When he’d first seen the tendrils of hair skimming Mel’s ears and neck he’d thought she’d gone and had her hair chopped off. Now he realized she was wearing it up, that was all. He wasn’t accustomed to seeing Mel McCully in that kind of dress, either, but Brandy Schafer had told him that Lisa was stocking a new style of women’s wear in the Jasper Gulch Clothing Store. That pretty much explained the differences in Mel’s appearance. Now that he knew that his initial reaction to her had been nothing more than a combination of surprise and a figment of his imagination, he could relax and enjoy the reception.

      After checking on Haley, who was having a punchdrinking contest with Jeremy Everts, Clayt joined a group of ranchers who were complaining about the middle man and the shortage of hay and oats due to the summer’s drought. He happened to glance at Mel while Grover Andrews was asking her to dance. All in all, Clayt thought it was right nice of her to give that mama’s boy the time of day. It just went to show that Mel could be nice when she put her mind to it.

      He was talking to Cletus when he noticed her dancing with Jason Tucker. Cletus snapped one suspender, and Clayt shook his head. That young buck loved to dance so much he’d been known to kick up his heels with his own great-grandmother.

      Clayt was standing with his parents when Boomer Brown called for all the single gals to gather on the dance floor for the traditional tossing of the bouquet. “Look, son,” Rita Carson said, laying a hand on Clayt’s arm. “Haley’s going to try to catch one of the bouquets.”

      Lisa