The Bride Wore Tie-Dye. Pamela Ingrahm

       Three

      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”