by Carolyn Zane
Sighing, Wendy grabbed her hundred-and-fifty-dollar cross-trainer tennis shoes and a pair of aerobic sweat socks and headed across the driveway to Travis.
For a brief moment Travis didn’t recognize the babe on his doorstep who stood smiling up at him with her bright, aquamarine eyes.
“Are you ready?” she asked, breezing past him, her tennis shoes slung casually over her shoulder. Travis blinked. Wendy? He was surely seeing things. This cute little package with the jeans that hugged her delectable little derriere was Wendy? Damnation! If he hadn’t known she was coming over, he’d never have guessed. She looked wonderful! Cute enough to grace the cover of that Metropolitan magazine any day, in his opinion.
Reaching into her pup-tent-size purse, she withdrew several compact discs. “Beth loaned me these rock-and-roll albums by some of the hot new bands,” she said, holding up the CDs. “She says these guys are hot, hot, hot, so I figured you could teach me to fast dance to them. And slow dance, too,” she informed him, and pitched her purse into his hall closet. “I’ll need to know that.” Kicking the bag all the way inside, she slammed the closet door and turned to face him. “Plus, I’ve never been one of those hothouse flowers who needed help opening the dang door. But since men seem to like doing those things, I guess I could put up with it.” Grinning, she planted her knuckles on her hips. “So, it would help if you could tell me what you like in the way of helping a woman into the car, or seating her in the restaurant and, you know, when opening a door—”
Travis nodded, tuning her out as she listed her demands for lesson number one. He was still unable to believe the transformation that had taken place in her look. She didn’t seem the least bit aware of how different she looked. How beautiful, really. It was uncanny. The same voice was coming out of the same mouth saying the same bossy things the same as usual. But the trouble was, she wasn’t the same anymore. Not at all. At least, not on the outside. She was cute. Really cute. And, being the man that he was, he found himself reacting to her new look on a purely animal level.
He shook his head to clear it. Good grief. What the hell was he doing here? This was Wendy. Wendy. Neighbor. Playmate to Dustin. Postmistress. Ugly-shoe owner. Buddy. Nothing more. Nothing less.
Get a handle on it, man, he warned himself.
“Also, I’ve been thinking that you need to coach me how to make small talk. I feel like such a boob and get all tongue-tied whenever I have to talk to a really handsome man, so…” She paused for air, then, turning toward his living room continued her enthusiastic diatribe.
Something suddenly rankled, and Travis couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He followed her toward his living room wondering what had put the nasty, gnawing, almost hurt feeling in his gut, when it dawned on him.
She’d said she had problems talking to really handsome men.
Plowing a hand through his thick, brown hair, he listened to her yabber her head off and wondered what that made him. Something she’d stepped on out in the yard? Hell, he’d never had any trouble attracting a woman’s attention before. Criminy sakes, he had them hanging all over him every Friday night down at Little Joe’s Café. She could just ask Sue Ellen, if she didn’t believe him, he thought huffily. Sue Ellen practically owned the damn place. She’d know.
Sheesh. What a head case he was becoming. She goes and dyes her hair and suddenly it’s important what she thinks of him. How idiotic. He’d given up worrying about what women thought of him when Elly Mae took off. Heck, he didn’t even care if BambiAnn thought he was handsome. So why should he care if the wallflower next door thought so or not?
She had turned and was looking up at him. “So. Think that’s doable for lesson number one?” Smiling winsomely, she dropped to his couch and began stuffing her brightly painted toes into her socks and shoes.
Aw, man. Even her feet were cute. He thought about suggesting that she go put on a pair of her giant, black, postal clodhoppers, but remembered her telling him that she’d given them to charity. Damn.
Travis cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah,” he finally managed. “I think we can get a lot of it done.”
“Great,” Wendy grunted as she finished tying her shoes and then bounded to her feet. She glanced around the house. “Where’s Dusty?”
“Taking a bath. He’ll play in there for a while and leave us alone. He’s got the fleet out, so we have at least half an hour to get started. So. Uh. What should we do first?” he asked, feeling strangely shy. He was feeling shy? He hadn’t felt like this since he and Elly Mae had shared their first kiss under the Jackrabbit bleachers down at New Hope High.
Wendy, however, did not seem the least bit reticent about her impending lessons, he thought grumpily. As far as she was concerned, he was just an object. A nonentity. Simply there to take her from crayons to perfume.
Oh, so what. He had to get over himself if he was going to make it through the evening. Taking a stoic breath, he squared his shoulders and prepared himself mentally as she opened the doors to his entertainment center.
Squinting thoughtfully at his stereo, she hit the power button and, whipping a CD out of its case, slid it into the player. “Let’s get the dancing out of the way, while the night is still young,” she suggested over her shoulder, and adjusted the volume on the pulsing, throbbing rhythm that vibrated from his stereo speakers.
“Okay.” He nodded, moving the coffee table and an armchair out of the middle of his large, simply furnished living room. Dancing was something he was pretty good at. Listening to the pounding beat of the latest sound, a feeling of buoyancy overtook him. This might be kind of fun. Who’d have ever thought it? he wondered, shrugging good-naturedly. Teaching good ol’ Wendy next door to dance. How about that. He passed a hand over his jaw. If only it were still that simple. “Now, then,” he said, pulling her into the middle of the room. “What you have to do first, is relax.” Giving her bare shoulder an encouraging squeeze, he couldn’t help but notice how incredibly soft her skin was. “Then,” he continued before he had time to analyze the soft-shoulder issue, “you just let yourself feel the music. Listen.”
Closing her eyes, Wendy dropped her shoulders and listened. Her pale pink lips puckered thoughtfully.
Travis stifled a groan. “Next, the most important thing about this kind of dancing is doing what makes you feel comfortable. Anything goes, really, but several things are universal.”
Opening her eyes, she watched him intently as he began to move. “Like what?” she wondered out loud.
“Like moving your hips. Like this,” he said, and demonstrated, setting his jeans-clad tush into motion.
“Oh…” she breathed, her eyes widening.
“Then, of course, you have to move your hands back and forth, like this…” He raised his arms over his head, snapping his fingers to the beat. “Or like this…” He swung them back and forth, displaying yet another move. “Or, you know, pretty much anything you want to do, like this.” He began to move around her in a circle, occasionally bumping her hip with his, nudging her into gear.
Wendy began to move, her motions were tight and stilted from complete lack of experience. Not to mention the fact that she found the whole process completely ludicrous. What in heaven’s name good did all of these gyrations do? Would this really help her snare a husband? She sighed. It was all so silly. Well, if it would land her a life partner, she guessed she’d better “swang her thang.”
“Come on,” Travis urged, seeming to get into the spirit of the lesson. He reached out and took her by the hands, pulling her around the oval throw rug on his floor. “Loosen up.”
“But,” she protested, stumbling along beside him, “there doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to any of the steps you’re doing. I mean, at least when you’re waltzing or foxtrotting, there are some basic steps to follow.”
“Yeah,” Travis agreed, snapping his fingers and clapping his hands and spinning in happy circles. “But in a way, that’s the beauty of it. It’s kind of like making love. Anything goe
s.” He nudged her with his behind, knocking her off balance.
Taking a steadying step, Wendy rolled her eyes. “I hope that’s not on tonight’s agenda.”
“Well,” Travis grinned devilishly, “maybe I could give you some advice in that department if you’re rusty.”
“No, thank you,” she said primly as her entire head went pink.
Travis guffawed good-naturedly and proceeded to bump and grind his way around her, clapping his hands over his head, all the while staring down into her eyes.
Wendy flashed a glance down at her expensive tennis shoes and willed them to dance. Oh, yeah. She was rusty, all right. If never having had a physical relationship of any kind with a man meant rusty, then she was a regular tin woodsman. Heavens. Much to her eternal mortification, she’d only gotten one good-night kiss in her entire dating career and that had been on the cheek.
However, that wasn’t surprising, considering the way her mother would barge out to the front porch the moment one of her brave young suitors had walked her to the door. No wonder sister Wanda had climbed out the window every night to escape their mother’s watchful eye.
And though she had no intention of taking Travis up on his ridiculous offer, she couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like being married to him. Waking up with him. Sharing Dusty with him. She shook her head. What on earth was she thinking? This was Travis, for pity’s sake! Good old devil-may-care Travis.
“Look at me,” he ordered. “That’s part of the whole deal. Eye contact.” Taking her hands in his, he looped them around his neck and then circled her waist with his arms. He leaned his forehead against hers and stared deeply into her eyes. “I never noticed how blue your eyes are,” he said, wonder filling his voice.
“That’s because they’re not,” Wendy said, nervously wetting her lower lip with her tongue. She’d been doing just fine until this move. How would she ever learn to relax with a man when he held her this close? This whole touching deal was completely out of her realm of experience. It was a good thing she was getting the jitters out of the way with Travis. Because it certainly wouldn’t do to sweat this profusely with a prospective husband. “I, um,” she stammered, trying like the dickens to sustain eye contact. It was harder than she’d ever dreamed. Although, not in an altogether disagreeable way, really. In fact, with some more practice, she might even come to enjoy it. Look forward to it.
She could see the tiny flecks of gold and green in his gray eyes. “I’m wearing colored contacts. Actually, my eyes are brown. Like my hair.”
“Oh. No wonder I never noticed before.” He winked teasingly at her.
Blessedly, he pulled her arms from around his neck and proceeded to teach her how to follow her partner around the room. The steady pulse of the drums and the heavy tones of the bass guitar finally began to work their magic. Before she knew it, Wendy was beginning to relax and enjoy the art of the fast dance.
“Here.” His silky voice came to her from just over her shoulder as he laid his hands on either side of her hips. “Like this,” he urged, moving her hips in a circle until she began to get the hang of it. “Good,” he praised, and began to move with her. “Real good.” His sexy tone held a note that Wendy had never heard before.
“Hey, whatcha guys doin’?” Dusty shrieked, galloping into the living room, wearing nothing but a towel clutched loosely at his waist.
They sprang guiltily apart at the child’s giggling voice, and avoided each other’s eyes.
“Hey, sweet potato!” Wendy called to the exuberant boy as he stumbled and slipped down the hallway toward her. “We were dancing.”
“Dancing?” Dustin shouted, reaching the living room. “Oh, boy!” Loosing control of his towel, it slid down his bare bottom while he jumped around the room to the raucous rock.
Wendy took one look at the bare cheeks as they bounced to the beat of the music and felt the mirth well into her throat. “So—” she looked over at Travis and laughed “—that’s what I’ve been doing wrong.”
Travis raised a playful eye. “Oh. Did I neglect to mention the pait about dropping your drawers?” He turned and addressed his son. “Dusty, where’s your modesty?”
“Just a minute, Dad,” he yelped, jumping off the couch. Stumbling over his towel, he rolled around on the floor. “I’ll go get it.”
Wendy and Travis stood together, watching his antics till the end of the song, both aware that things had begun to change between them just before the young boy had arrived. It was a good thing he’d come in when he had. This was a platonic relationship for heaven’s sake, they thought, not daring to look at each other. After all, they thought, Wendy? Travis? Come on. Get real. Shaking their heads to clear the temporary insanity, they found each other’s eyes.
“I think it’s time for a break,” Travis suggested, his gaze tangling with hers.
“Yes,” she murmured, backing up and switching off the stereo. “How about some chocolate milk, kiddo?” Wendy asked, reaching for Dustin’s hand.
“Yeah!” he shouted gleefully.
“But first, why don’t we go find your pajamas?”
“Aw…”
Travis watched them go…hand in hand toward his son’s bedroom, Dusty’s little bottom still hanging out of his towel, hers still packed fetchingly in those damnably tight jeans. And once again he experienced a growing pain somewhere in the vicinity of his shriveled and broken heart.
Dustin fell asleep as Wendy was reading the requested bedtime story. She leaned over and kissed his soft cheek. Stroking his golden hair away from his brow, she smiled down at the sweet expression on his young face. Someday soon, if she was lucky, she would have a little boy to call her own. A little boy just half as wonderful as Dusty would make her happier than she’d ever dreamed possible.
He was the reason, really, for her current husband quest. Until she’d fallen blissfully in love with the little bundle of energy next door, she’d never known what she’d been missing. Never known just how much she craved the grubby kisses and affectionate face pats that only a five-year-old could bestow. Never known how a simple Halloween costume could take on an entirely different meaning when viewed through a child’s eyes. And never known how desperately she’d needed to be loved herself. She had Dusty to thank for waking her up. Him, and the magazine article she’d found in the recycling bin.
As she smoothed the covers up beneath the young boy’s chin, Wendy sensed Travis’s presence in the doorway, and wondered just how long he’d been standing there, watching. She turned, caught his eye and saw there a look of sweet poignancy, as his gaze traveled from her to his son.
Running his hand across the back of his neck, he breathed deeply and smiled at her. “He adores you, you know.”
Angling her head toward him, Wendy returned his soft smile. “Ah, yes. But I’m afraid only half as much as I adore him.”
Travis nodded, as if he understood the depth of the relationship that had formed between her and his son from the time Dusty was no more than a toddler. She knew Travis realized she was really the only constant, loving maternal figure the boy had ever had. Not wanting to rouse the sleeping cherub at her side, she carefully stood and after Travis had laid a gentle kiss of his own on the boy’s cheek, followed him back to the living room to resume their lessons.
“Melvin-Jasper?” Wendy squealed, sticking her finger down her throat and pretending to gag. “You can’t be serious.”
They were sitting together on his couch, drinking ice tea and going over the list of eligible bachelors that Travis had prepared for her.
Soft country music was now playing on the stereo, after they’d abandoned the slow-dance lessons. Travis told her he had to stop because the tops of his feet couldn’t take any more punishment, but in actuality, it was his libido that had taken the bashing. It just felt too damn weird, holding the New Hope postmistress that close. It was almost as if he was putting a move on the local schoolmarm or something equally kinky and taboo.
So, he’d dropped
her like a hot potato and run to the freezer to fish out a tray of ice for the tea, and of course, to cool down his increasingly bizarre reaction to the prim and proper postal worker from next door.
“What’s wrong with Melvin-Jasper?” he asked, leaning back to look curiously at her.
“No way!” She giggled. “I get mooned every time he bends over. What’s with his pants, anyway? Can’t you go in with some of the guys on your crew and get him a pair of suspenders or something?”
Travis sent her a wounded look. “You didn’t seem to mind being in his company when he was on our bowling team last fall,” he said, defending the rough-around-theedges Melvin-Jasper.
“True.” She pulled a thoughtful face. “And I must admit I found it fascinating that anyone could bowl at all with their pants down around their knees that way, let alone score so consistently high. So—” she glanced up at him “—you think Melvin-Jasper would make me a good husband, huh?”
Travis pinched his upper lip between his thumb and forefinger, looking askance at her. No. It was true. He couldn’t really see the two of them making a life together. Though Melvin-Jasper—when he wasn’t spitting tobacco juice all over the floor—was a great guy, it was really no surprise that he hadn’t found a wife. Travis figured that it would take a pretty special woman to put up with Melvin-Jasper’s particular brand of body odor. Melvin-Jasper wasn’t much for dallying in the shower. “Okay, cross him off.”
With a vigorous scribble, Wendy did just that. “Let’s see now, who else have you got up your sleeve?” she murmured, perusing his list.