Page 12 of Lone Star

That…made sense. Michelle told her inner guard dog to cool it.

“Candy’s here,” she conceded. “He’s in the office.” After a beat, one in which she realized Candy would no doubt want to talk to Pacer’s sister about the current situation, she offered, “Come on and I’ll take you there.”

Melanie’s smile widened again. “That’d be great.”

Michelle left Janet in charge, and headed the long, winding way along the outer catwalk of the second floor toward the office, overly aware of the tall woman at her back, the click of her high-heeled boots over the hardwood. She was startled to realize that, in terms of looks, Melanie reminded her a little of Jenny. But Jenny’s manner was much more mellow and blunt; Jenny didn’t walk into a room like she owned it.

You don’t own this place,Mel, she thought, savagely, and immediately berated herself. She wasn’t the jealous girl; the snippy, insecure girl. There was no excuse for the way she was acting here.

“Where are you from, hon?”

It took Michelle a moment to realize that it was Melanie who’d spoken, and that she was the one being spoken to. She twisted her head to look over her shoulder as she navigated the familiar terrain of the catwalk, frowning. “What do you mean?”

“That accent. It sure ain’t from Texas.”

“I’m from London, originally,” she said, stiffly.

“In England?”

“Yes, but I live here now.”

“There’s no place like Texas.”

“Yes, so I’ve been told.”

They reached the office, and Michelle opened the door without hesitation.

The barback – a beefy, dodgy guy named Carl – sat in one of the tufted leather chairs across from the desk, and Candy dwarfed the swivel chair where Michelle normally sat. Leaned back, hands laced together over his flat stomach, gaze almost bored. “If you think I can’t put your head all the way through the sheetrock…” he was saying as they entered, and broke off, gaze lifting to the door.

“Hey–” he started when he saw Michelle. And then he must have seen Melanie, because his brows leapt, and he said, “Hey!” in a totally different voice. He put his hands on the arms of the chair, and pushed to his feet. “Get lost, Carl, and remember what I said,” he said, absently.

Carl scrambled out.

Michelle stepped aside to let him through…and Melanie moved past her, already there to meet Candy’s offered hug.

“Look at you!” Melanie exclaimed, winding both arms around his neck and squeezing tight. “You look great!”

“So do you.” He pushed her back to arm’s length, grinning. “Jesus, it’s been forever.”

“Yeah, but who can tell looking at you.” She swatted him on the chest, familiarly, grinning. “Jesus, do you age at all?”

“Ah, well.” He pushed a hand through his thick, golden hair. “Yeah. The sun, you know?”

“Oh, I know, believe me!” Melanie laughed, and plopped herself down in the chair Carl had vacated.

Candy sat across from her.

“You see these?” Melanie gestured to the skin around her eyes. “Crow’s feet! God, I hate it. I used to think I’d rather die than get old. Now.” She shrugged. “It is what it is. Guess I should just be glad I still have my figure.” She laughed, and Candy laughed, and Michelle felt like she was standing a long, long distance from them, on the other side of some veil of the past they’d pulled around themselves.

They stared at one another across the desk, both wearing fond smiles.

Candy said, “I’m real sorry about what happened to Pacer’s crew.”

Melanie sighed. “I’ve always worried about him. No wife, and just those kids. He’s really broken up about it.”

“Yeah. I’ve seen.”

“He said the FBI are involved. How bad is it, Derek?”

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