Chapter 5
MELISSA
Lonesome is no Chicago. I know this because in the eight hours it took me to fly from Miami to Dallas to Bismarck, North Dakota, I looked for hotels in Lonesome and there aren’t any.
There is one bar, one grocery store, one gas station, and one veterinary clinic, but not a single hotel, motel, bed and breakfast, or rental place within twenty miles.
It seems like I’m going to have to stay at my husband’s house. It’s two in the morning. I hope that he hasn’t brought anyone home with him from the airport or things are going to get awkward. Right now, though, I’m so tired that I don’t care.
I never made it back to Chicago after we disembarked from the Tropical Wave.
I didn’t intend to come to Lonesome until I opened the package that Captain MacLeod left for me and saw the papers inside.
Once I finished reading them, I spent an hour online, switching flights and booking rental cars.
I flew to North Dakota wearing a sweatshirt I got at the Miami airport over my Bahama Mama souvenir T-shirt.
If it wasn’t for the ski jacket that I grabbed from a box store I passed on my way out of Bismarck, I’d be freezing to death.
I’m still confused about what happened. I am praying that Wade has a clue.
When I opened the fancy envelope, I expected to find a souvenir certificate of our wedding at sea.
Instead, I found copies of a marriage application for the state of Florida that had been duly signed, witnessed and submitted to the appropriate government offices when we stopped in Key West on the last full day of our cruise.
It turns out what Josh and Joanie called their vow renewal was actually them marrying each other again. Officially. Since Wade and I insisted on following suit, we had the same legal ceremony. Hopefully, we can undo this mess together.
This isn’t a situation that I can explain in a text.
I have to talk to my husband directly. I check the address I requested from Josh against my rental car’s GPS and turn right off Main Street.
It’s a short residential road. At the end of it, in a corner lot, is an institutional gray, stucco bungalow that screams “Fuck off” to all who gaze upon it.
“I’m in the right place,” I say to myself.
All the lights are off. A security light snaps to life as I approach the front steps. The doorbell echoes inside the dark house. I give Wade a minute. He’s not expecting anyone in the dead of night. I freeze my ass for another minute and press the buzzer again.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” a deep voice asks.
I turn around and jump when I’m faced with a solid wall of muscle. “Fuck! Where did you come from?” I shout. I’m not worried about waking the neighbors. At this point, I think I need witnesses. “I’m here to see Wade.”
“Why do you want my brother?”
I stare harder at the mountain in the unflattering light. Dark hair, dark eyes, full, dark beard. They could be related. “Mason?”
“Who the fuck are you?”
“It’s a long story. My name is Melissa Prescott. I’m Wade’s…” I can’t tell him my news before I speak to Wade. “I’m an old friend of Wade’s. We’ve known each other for years.”
“Bullshit. You should have done your research. Any real friend of his would know that everybody calls him Duck.”
“Honey, I’m the reason everybody calls him Duck,” I say. “And Wade will tell you so if you ask him. Is he inside?” My sneakers and light-weight jeans are invitations to frostbite. I need to get into either the house or my car, but the mountain in front of me refuses to move.
“Duck?” he yells.
“She’s fine.” Wade’s familiar voice comes from the shadows along the side of the house. He’s wearing a leather jacket with a patch on the chest that I can’t read in the dark. “What are you doing here, Mel?”
I cup my hands and blow on my fingers. “Freezing my ass off. Can we go inside? We need to talk.”
“We do?”
I stare at him. “I’m not here at two in the morning for shits and giggles, Wade.”
“Fine. Grab your stuff,” he says to me. “Thanks for the ride, Mace. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Are you sure?” his brother asks.
“She’s fine,” Wade repeats. “Come inside, Trouble. What did you do this time?”
“You did it with me,” I grumble as I head back to my car to get my luggage.
Wade’s house screams masculine energy. At least, it does from what I can see from the single floor light in the corner of the living room.
The walls are gunmetal gray. His furniture is black leather, the side tables, chrome and slate.
Three walls are dominated by a massive television, an even bigger window, and a photo gallery that would take hours to explore.
“I want to go to bed, Mel. It’s been a long-ass day. I don’t know why you’re here, but it must be an emergency,” Wade says. “How vital is this?”
Realistically, we can’t do anything tonight. If I beat him home, he’s been traveling longer than I have. “Very important but not urgent. It can wait till morning. Can I use your shower and sleep on your sofa?”
“Fuck, no. Use the shower, but I’m not letting you crash on the sofa. It’s two in the morning. We’ve slept together the last three nights. You’re in my bed. The bathroom is the first door on the left. Do you need anything else?”
“This is great, Wade. Thank you. We’ll talk in the morning.”
He disappears down the hall into his bedroom.
I dart into the guest bathroom and wash off thousands of miles of dust. Unlike the past few days with tropical air coming in through the cabin window, Wade’s house is chilly, so I decide to sleep in my new sweatshirt.
I beat him to bed, thump a pillow into submission, pull the comforter over myself, and close my eyes. I don’t hear Wade come to bed.
I wake up when a beam of sunlight hits my face. I immediately sit up, swinging my legs so I can plant my feet on the floor. Wade is standing in the doorway, holding two mugs.
“Coffee?”
“God, yes.”
“Black from what I remember of our honeymoon.”
“Speaking of, you’re going to want to sit.”
“Not a fan of taking orders since I left the navy, Melissa.”
“I didn’t tell you to sit down, Duck. I told you that you’re going to want to. Sit, stand, faint. All options are open to you.”
His brown eyes narrow. “Are you here to tell me that you’re pregnant? We fucked for three days straight, but we didn’t slip up on the condoms.”
“You are such an asshole!” I can’t believe the first thing out of his mouth is an accusation that I’m trying to baby-trap him.
“You’ve known me for twenty years, Wade.
Do you really think I’d pull something so low?
Also, what makes you the sugar-daddy in this relationship?
I’m one of the top chefs in Chicago. I can support myself, thank you very much.
” I don’t hold back, but since I’m also not an idiot, I don’t say any of this until I take the mug from his hand and step back.
“Chill, Mel. I’m sorry I was a dick. I just want to know why the fuck you’re here instead of in Chicago. I assumed that you’d go home once our ship-board marriage was over.”
I take a gulp of my coffee. “Yeah. About that.”
I stalk to the living room, pull the envelope from my purse and hand it over.
Wade sets his coffee on the coffee table and flicks through the sheaf of papers, then starts again, reading each one in depth. “What the fuck? What the fuck! These papers look real, Melissa.”
“I know, Wade.”
“It says “Filed in the State of Florida”, Melissa.”
“I know, Wade.”
“It says “Copy”, and that the original will be mailed in four to six weeks.”
“I know, Wade!”
He sinks slowly to the sofa. “What the fuck?” he repeats.
I sit beside him. “I don’t know, Wade.” I take the papers from his hand and flip to the marriage application.
“This is what we signed, but it was blank. I remember that part. I think that the purser or the captain filled everything else out from our cruise registration information.” We had to give them our names, ages, addresses and passport information when we booked.
“I knew that purser with the hearts in her eyes was way too happy,” Wade grumbles. “She knew exactly what she was doing.”
“Whatever reason she did it, it looks like our shipboard romance didn’t expire when we returned to port.”
“Why didn’t you just call me?”
“Would you have believed me, or would you have thought I was pranking you?”
“You totally would pull something like this. But you wouldn’t waste airfare to do it,” Wade says. He looks at his half empty coffee cup. “I need something stronger than this.”
I hand him my cup. “Splash of whiskey?”
“Or a double shot.”
“Let’s stick with a splash until we come up with a plan.” I rub my finger across my teeth. “I need to use your bathroom again.”
“Mi casa es tu casa. We are married, after all.” I snort. Wade has always had the driest humor of any man I’ve ever met. He doesn’t say much, but when he does, I’ve learned to pay attention. “If you’re fast, I’ll take you out for breakfast since I have nothing in the house,” he adds.
Unlike his gray living room, his bathroom has shiny white tiles and blue accents. I grab a face cloth and use the soap from the tray on the counter. It’s got the same hint of patchouli that I’ve smelled on Wade over the years.
I return to the living room to find the normal Wade that I know and lust after.
The man can wear a suit, but he really shines when he’s scruffy.
He hasn’t shaved, giving himself some delicious stubble that matches his salt and pepper hair.
He’s in heavy jeans, a khaki green thermal sweater, and he’s holding onto a heavy leather jacket.
The patch on the chest says he’s in the Lost Souls Motorcycle club.
The smaller badges above it show his name as “Duck” and his rank as “President.” I knew he rode, but the rank was new to me.
“President?” I say as I climb into his pick-up.