by Gorman, A.
“Looks like we’ll have to get you that new wardrobe now. Appears you’ll be staying on just a bit longer.”
She caught the joy in his voice and smiled. As they fell into step, she leaned her head against his shoulder, and his arm dropped to her waist, bringing her close. She smelled musk and cinnamon. For now, it felt good to be desired.
“Here we go. We should be able to get you properly outfitted in here.”
Faith stared at the sign, wondering if he were joking. What did he expect her to wear from here? Perhaps she’d misread him terribly. With a heavy heart, she followed him into the Tractor Supply store.
Dawson stood. He’d never shopped for women’s clothes before, and now he was doing it a second time in as many days. This time, Faith was along so he couldn’t screw it up too bad. He knew lots of wives who shopped here, and they always looked nice.
Right now, he was so nervous, he hoped she didn’t notice his shaking. He’d been so scared they had a missing report filed with the police and she would be whisked away, back to whoever left those bruises on her. He prayed all night that would not be the case, but he knew he had to do the right thing and check with the law. For now, it seemed like she was meant to be with him and Sierra, and he aimed to enjoy every moment he was given.
He’d almost burst into tears when she asked him about Button’s nickname. He still had no clue how he was going to counter the custody suit, but he wasn’t losing his girl. He needed to stop chasing strays and go talk to a lawyer. As soon as things with Faith settled down, he’d go.
He scrubbed his hands along his jeans and then reached for Faith’s hand, shooting her a wink. “Ready for some fun?” Her less-than-enthusiastic return made him laugh. “Come on, honey.” He led the charge over to the women’s apparel.
The yellow cotton sundress caught his eye first. She’d set him on fire by wearing that. He grabbed one off the rack and held it up to her for size. Recklessly, he added two more and looked around for the fitting rooms.
“You try those on for size, and I’ll scout around for some more stuff.” He gave her a gentle shove. “Wrangler and Carhartt. We’ll be all set.”
An hour later, Dawson slid over his credit card as two clerks bagged their purchases. He signed his name with a flourish and sent Faith another joyful wink. He couldn’t wait to get her out of those granny clothes and into something nice enough to make him drool.
She was now the reluctant owner of that hot little sundress, a denim skirt, and a sexy silk crinkly skirt. She had a halter dress, denim dress, and a practical plaid shirt dress. For shirts, she had a nice selection of tank tops, t-shirts, a camo sweatshirt, some ladies’ rancher blouses, and two warm coats.
She had enough jeans to last a week that cradled her pretty little backside and a truckload of accessories. He watched as they bagged up her straw hat, sunglasses, leather belt, handbag, and a purse, and a pretty necklace that he caught her looking at and scooped it up into the pile before she could object. Once he found her shoe size, he added butt-kicking boots in turquoise and brown and a pair of pink camo moccasin slippers. Unable to resist, he’d topped the purchases off with a lacy bra, socks, and bikini lace underwear that would feed his fantasies.
She’d fought him over pajamas, saying he’d spent more than enough on her and she was fine with his Longhorns shirt. Unable to deny how mouth-watering good she looked in it, he relented. For now.
Each loaded down like pack mules, they headed to the door. A window ad caught his eye. “Look at that. The Founder’s Day Dance is this Saturday. And lucky you’ve got plenty to pick from to wear. Can you save me a few dances?”
Chapter 5
Flags waved in the wind around the big red barn, heralding the Founder’s Day Dance. White lights sparkled from around the doorway and twirled up tree trunks. Earlier in the day, tractors, horses, and school bands showed off their skills in the annual parade, and prizes were given for events of pie eating, log splitting, weight pulling, best cake, best quilt, and more. The dance was the culmination of the day.
Dressed in the fringed denim shirtdress and her shiny new boots, Faith felt so out of place. Standing in the yard, surrounded by trucks and jeeps, and with smoky smells of barbeque carried on the breeze, she had to admit she physically fit in with everyone else.
“Ready?”
She glanced at Dawson, his hopeful smile lifting something inside her, making her heart skip a few beats and then race ahead. Whatever her misgivings, he managed to erase them. Now, she looked forward to a few dances with him.
Inside the barn, tables sat laden with platters of food and drinks. Rows of chairs rimmed the walls. Center stage stood five men, each holding a musical instrument. Faith identified the violin and tall cello. A memory poked her. Another stage. Men in tuxes instead of blue jeans. Women in fine gowns instead of denim. Hushed tones instead of hearty laughter and handshakes.
The first squeal of the violin made her jump.
“Don’t worry about it.”
She turned up to Dawson. “What?”
“Whatever has your pretty brow all wrinkled.” Gently, he smoothed his thumb over her eyebrows, cupping her chin. “Let’s have some fun.”
“Okay, folks, we’ll get this dance started with some do-si-do,” the center stage man said into his microphone. “I’m ready to call this dance, so grab your partner, form your squares, and promenade right those pretty gals.”
Faith froze. “I can’t do this.” She watched as couples paired up and filled the floor.
Dawson’s hands slid into hers. “Sure you can. I’ll be beside you every step of the way. Just hold my hand.” Crossing the floor, they joined three other couples. Dawson pressed her palm down over his upturned one and tenderly joined her other hand in his. The position felt strange, but she closed her eyes and drew comfort from the contact. Other musical instruments joined in, creating a lively harmony.
The hand and body placement changed constantly as the caller on the stage sang out his calls, allemande right, left circle, right grand, and many more. Dawson guided Faith into circles, half circles, rapid turnarounds, head-spinning turns, and endless parading. At last, the call ended, and he escorted her to a chair.
“Water?”
Breathless, she nodded, grateful at his concern. Another dance started, and Dawson suggested a break. He chatted with friends, introducing her as his acquaintance, with his hand resting comfortably on her knee.
“Interesting no one’s noticed any well-heeled strangers around,” he murmured to Faith after several conversations with others.
“How’s that interesting?”
“Makes me wonder if you’re out here by yourself.”
They both glanced at her left hand, their eyes slowly meeting with the question neither one seemed able to ask. Faith licked her lips. “There could be many other explanations why no one else has been noticed.”
He brought her left hand up and kissed it. A shiver raced up her arm and along her back. Heady anticipation pumped through her like adrenaline. She could have closed her eyes and purred like a contented cat.
“Let’s not worry about explanations and things like that now,” Dawson suggested. “I’d much rather dance with you again.”
The musicians shifted into a slow song. Circles broke into pairs, moving close to each other.
“All right, gents, grab your filly and bring her out. Here’s a waltz that’ll have you dancing on the stars.”
Dawson lifted his eyebrow to Faith. “Care to dance on stardust with me, Faith?”
She couldn’t think of anything else she’d rather do…and nowhere else she’d rather be but in his arms. On the floor, he drew her close with one arm going around her waist. Cinnamon and woodsy aftershave filled her nose. He held her hand with his free hand, linking fingers. He dropped a kiss on her lips, smiling mischievously. She grinned.
He swayed to the slow rhythm. She scooted closer, following his lead. Gradually, she rested her head against his chest, hearing the stead
y beating of his heart. She closed her eyes, squeezed his hands, and smiled blissfully. If this was dancing to the stars, she only wanted a one-way ticket.
Monday when Sierra returned from school, she took her books outside. Curious, Faith trailed her to the side of the barn. Nestled against a hay bale, she turned pages of the textbook, reading aloud to her audience of the screeching rooster they called Buster and two of the ranch dogs. Sierra’s face looked so serious, Faith inched closer.
“Hello, Sierra. How was school today?” Gingerly she sat down on another hay bale, well away from the livestock.
“Good. But I need a topic for my social studies class. Something local.” She stopped flipping pages and studied Faith. “Hey, I know. Crazy Woman. That will work.” The girl jumped up, dropped her books, and threw her arms around Faith. “Thank you for giving me a great idea. I need to talk to Daddy. This will be perfect.” Excited, she raced away, the rooster clucking after her, wings flapping.
Stunned, Faith turned to the panting dogs. “Well, I’m glad I was so helpful, whatever I just did.” The shepherd dog barked, thumping his tail in the dirt. Faith brushed herself off and continued her exploration of the ranch yard, aware the dogs now joined her.
“Daddy, tell me the Legend of the Crazy Woman again,” Sierra asked after dinner. “I need it for a school report. Uncle Jack says being over there reminds him of his ex-wives.”
Faith hid her smile as she watched Dawson clench his teeth, roll his eyes to the ceiling, and grimace. She’d bet “Uncle” Jack was going to have some explaining to do soon. Dawson was tolerant, but only to a point when it came to his more colorful comments around Sierra.
Dawson set aside his bookkeeping and waited for Sierra to settle next to him. “Without including Uncle Jack, tell me about this report, Button.”
Soon he launched into a tale of Indians, lovers, wars, and sorrow. Watching the two of them, the trust and adoration in little Sierra’s eyes as Dawson spoke and the utter love Dawson shone for his daughter gave Faith goosebumps. She rubbed her arms and inched closer to the crackling flames in the fireplace. What a beautiful, tender picture they made!
Her heart cracked at the innocence and magic of the scene. Had she spent time like this with her own father? She had no memories of him, or a mother, or siblings. Her bottom lip quivered as Dawson wove the legend like a tapestry.
“And now on certain nights you can see the maiden’s footprints leading into the river. You can still hear her cries of anguish. They say she won’t allow another couple to remain in love and even today will drag one of them into the river to drown them.”
What a tragic ending to a sad legend. The logs hissed and spit, spending sparks into the air.
Cicadas chirped, still defiant against the cool of the night. Dawson sank deep into the rocker, letting the swallow of beer slide slowly down his throat. He set the bottle on the plank on his downward rock and eased out a long breath on the upward swing. The longer Faith stayed on, the less inclined he was to have her leave if she ever recovered her memories and found there was another life out there somewhere. He’d read where some amnesiacs never recovered their memories and just settled into new lives. He’d be okay with that.
After the night of dancing, he knew it would tear his heart out to see her pack her things and leave him. And he also knew she’d been having some flashbacks of memories. Nothing concrete enough to piece together, but he feared it was just a matter of time.
And there was the problem of Sierra’s maternal grandparents wanting her. He felt the snarl form on his face just thinking about it. The first court date was next month. He’d go into town tomorrow and see the lawyers. He’d procrastinated long enough; he needed to face this head on.
He needed to fight for his daughter. And for Faith. Because he couldn’t stand to lose either one of them.
“Care to share what’s on your mind?”
As if conjured by his thoughts, she stood before him, sexy as hell in her overall jeans and beaded slippers. Damn. He reached for his beer, and she bent, handing it to him. He grinned at the bottle in her hand. He nodded to the adjacent rocker and smiled at the picture they made, rocking on the porch and sipping a beer. Oh, man…
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, just a lot on my mind.” Boy, wasn’t that an understatement.
She took a delicate sip of beer as though it were wine in a crystal goblet. “I’ll listen.”
He hardly knew where to begin. He studied the evening sky, alive with colors of pink, purple, and orange.
“Have you ever wondered about the lasts in life?” he finally asked, hoping he didn’t come off sounding like a wimpy sap.
“What do you mean?”
He gestured around them. “We never know the last time we get to do or see anything. The last time you toss a ball with the dog, last night out with your buddies, last sunset.” He stopped, his voice catching. He coughed. “Last time to see someone in their dress, the last hug, the last dance. And the last kiss.”
She nodded. “Actually, yes, I have considered that. What…lasts…are behind me and I don’t remember them? Only I can’t bring back the emotions and memories of that last dance or kiss I might have experienced. Was it good or bad?”
She blinked and wiped at her eyes. Was she crying? She had plenty to cry about. Here he was getting all sappy while she had no clue what last time of anything was in her past. What was wrong with him lately? The evening train chugged through town, its whistle blasting in the distance.
Faith pulled a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose. He had to wonder if she kept a supply handy for when those emotional moments overwhelmed her. “Here’s something I’ve wondered about,” she said. “Why did you name your place Tica?”
A grin tugged at his lips. “When Lucy and I married, she knew I wanted to be a rancher. When Sierra was about three, we bought this place. She stuck around maybe two months. One day she said she’d had enough of living a lie, living out here, without any of the things I could no longer afford for her. Off she went, leaving us. I hadn’t settled on a name for the ranch yet and immediately thought of Tica. Things I Can’t Afford.”
He watched her reaction in the porchlight glow. She tilted her head to one side for a moment. Did she appreciate his satirical humor?
“Witty, but sad. Especially for Sierra. She seems to have adjusted well.”
His breath caught. “She has. She barely remembers her mama. Kind of like what I imagine you’re experiencing, just a few pieces here and there.” He paused, pulling in a tight breath. “Lucy’s parents want custody of Sierra. They haven’t seen her in almost four years, but they figure they can raise her better than I can.”
“What would make them think that? Particularly since they haven’t seen her in so long?”
Dawson took a drag of his beer and shook his head. “I don’t know what bee flew into their bonnet, but they’re taking me to court next month to prove how unfit a parent I am.”
She gasped, her hand going to her throat as she turned to face him square. Red stained her cheeks as she stared at him, light sparking in her eyes reflecting off the porch glow. “Anyone who watches you with her for any length of time will easily see you are a fantastic father. I was so moved tonight as you were telling her that folklore.”
“Thank you, Faith. That means a lot to me. But I am also a single parent. Her grandparents can give her a male and female parental figure.” He smiled in spite of himself. “All I can give her is myself and Jack.”
She looked out at the silhouetted barns and trees. After what seemed like a short eternity, she reached across and gripped his hand. He stopped rocking. Her expression was serious. Her voice was soft. “Maybe together, you and I could give Sierra a male and female parental figure. I could be a good mother to her.”
Dawson’s heart took wings. His soul sang. His pulse leapt. His mind raced. Her words were soft as feather down. They would make a fine parental team for Sierra. She would make a great wife. And he w
ould be a good husband.
Reality slammed into him with all the tenderness of an angry steer. He could have kissed her, but instead, he gently traced her left ring finger. Chest heavy, he fought to get the words out. “Maybe you already are.”
Chapter 6
Dawson hummed a happy tune as he drove home. He’d had to make a special trip to town to get fencing supplies Jack just happened to mention they needed—after he chewed on Jack’s backside a spell about the things he said around Sierra. While he was in town, he stopped in to chat with a lawyer and for a peek inside the new ladies’ boutique. He had a feeling this would be more to Faith’s liking, though she had not complained about her wardrobe.
In a box beside him, neatly giftwrapped, nestled a silky blue nightgown, trimmed in little roses and pretty bows. He wasn’t guaranteeing how long it would stay on her, particularly after last night. Following their discussion about Sierra and the custody issue, she’d silently gone to bed. He’d headed upstairs a short while later. About half an hour later, she’d softly knocked at his door and slid in. He’d been pleasantly shocked when she crawled into bed with him, nuzzled up against his shoulder, and whispered a single request.
“Hold me, Dawson.”
Her pain-riddled voice cut him like swords. He’d held her silently all through the night, never acting on one single thought that crashed through his mind like wild horses. He’d remained a gentleman, and she’d cried herself to sleep, her hot tears scalding his skin, her body melded against his. At times his breathing became tight and painful.
This morning, he awoke with a new resolve. Two of them. Whatever Faith had in her past did not matter. He wanted her in his present and future. And he was pretty sure she felt the same way. He wanted his ring on her finger. This silky gown was a start, then he’d make an honest woman of her by proposing proper-like.