Dances Under the Harvest Moon (Heartache, TN 3)

by Joanne Rock

  “So what’s the trouble with the car?”

  “Apparently, you need gas to run these things.” She meandered closer and he noticed she’d traded her strappy high heels for a pair of flip-flops. His gaze tracked to the diamond-shaped cutouts in her dress that fell along her narrow waist.

  “I’ve heard as much.” He cocked his thumb at the trunk. “Do you keep a spare container back here?”

  His gaze dropped to the flat rear tire he hadn’t noticed before.

  “Er. No. I got nervous when the car stalled, and steered off the road sort of sharply.” She frowned at the tire she must have been inspecting when he’d arrived.

  “You hit a rock?” The tire was beyond flat.

  “A boulder roughly the size of Texas.” She had an edge in her voice that he’d never heard before.

  Then again, he’d never gotten to know her nearly as well as he would have liked to.

  “I’m not much with a car jack,” he admitted. “Give me a computer and I’m the man of the hour. But cars?” He shook his head. “I only know how to drive them. And keep the tank filled.”

  She shot him a sideways glance. He’d hoped for a smile, but nothing doing. Her lips pursed, her jaw jutting.

  “Changing the tire won’t help when I have no gas,” she pointed out, illuminated by the blinding LED fog lights of a pickup truck blasting country tunes out the open windows. “I’d better get a tow.”

  He waited while she called the only local tow truck service, the Elliot brothers. The Elliots were farmers who had a garage on the side. When she clicked off, he smiled.

  “I’ll stay with you until they get here. And I can definitely give you a ride wherever you’re headed.” He offered because he was a good guy like that and not because he had any intention of ogling the smooth skin above her hip.

  Much.

  “It’s a long way to North Carolina,” she observed drily. “Especially for a guy who was testing the moonshine a few hours ago.”

  “First, I swilled about half a teaspoon of that so-called beverage before deciding it tasted like battery acid, so my driving skills are excellent. But what do you mean you’re going to Charlotte now?” He straightened and stared into her car. Where was her luggage?

  Maybe her trip out of town wouldn’t be for long.

  “Well, not now exactly, since I have an empty tank and a flat tire.”

  “But you planned on it.” He hadn’t really believed she’d do it.

  “Don’t tell me you haven’t heard? I’ve officially lost all my good sense. I sold off my share of Last Chance Vintage to go pursue a singing career.” She shoved her hair aside and winced in the middle of the movement as if something hurt.

  “Are you okay?” He reached to steady her, his focus quickly shifting. “Did you hit your head when you went off the road? Maybe you should sit down.”

  Already he was opening up the passenger door of her car with one hand, while keeping the other on her elbow. What other injuries hadn’t he noticed while he was thinking about how to keep her in town?

  The interior light of her vehicle came on, spilling onto her back, but the front of her remained in shadow.

  “I’m fine,” she protested. “I didn’t—that is, maybe I bent my wrist funny. But I definitely didn’t hit my head.”

  “You sure? Sometimes when you hit your head you black out and don’t remember it.”

  Frowning, she shook her head, although she did allow him to maneuver her into the passenger seat. “No. I remember it clearly.”

  “Then how did you hurt your wrist?” He leaned closer to get a better angle on her face. “May I?”

  Without waiting for permission, he smoothed a hand over her scalp, checking for bumps. Her pupils were dilated, but not in an unusual way. When he tipped her chin higher, however, she edged back in the seat.

  “You have to admit this is an unorthodox way to cop a feel.” Her voice was breathless.

  “If I were going to cop a feel, don’t you think I’d start somewhere more memorable?” Gently, he thumbed a dark patch on her cheek, but it smudged at his touch. Not a bruise. “You’ve got some grease or something here.”

  “Okay. Stop.” Straightening, she gripped his wrist and lowered his hand. “I’m fine. I merely didn’t have a good plan for this adventure of mine.”

  “That doesn’t sound like you.” He crouched in front of her, staying still for a minute, enjoying the feel of her fingers on his skin. “How about your wrist? Can I see?”

  “You know, you’re not a doctor.” Relinquishing her hold on him, she tucked her hands under her arms.

  Wincing.

  “But I am the mayor.” He reached for her right wrist and cradled it in his palm, inspecting it. “That gives me considerable authority in this town.”

  “To call a council meeting maybe,” she scoffed, but she let him move her fingers around, checking her mobility.

  “Although if at any time martial law is declared, I think I’d be declared king or something.” The wrist seemed a little swollen in comparison to the other one, but her range of motion didn’t suggest a break.

  “Really?” She laughed, finally giving him the smile he’d been looking for earlier. “Is that how they conned you into taking the job—the promise of absolute power?”

  “Something like that.” He didn’t want to stop touching her, especially when she smiled at him that way.

  She smelled good, like hothouse flowers in spring, enticing him to lean closer. His forearms brushed against her thighs as he kept her wrists in his hand.

  Their eyes met in the dim reflection of the dome light. The throb of her pulse spiked against his thumb for one heated moment. Then her smile faded.

  “I’d better check up on the tow truck.” She licked her lower lip. “I thought it would be here by now.”

  He didn’t want to let her go.

  “Your wrist is swollen.” He smoothed over the inflamed spot. “You could have sprained it.”

  “No.” She broke out of his grasp, ending the moment. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I need to go.”

  Reluctantly, he rose to his feet, giving her space while she called the towing service again. When she disconnected, he watched her gather her things from inside the car and stuff her phone in her bag.

  “So, Heather, you want me to take you home? Or set a course for North Carolina?”

  “If you don’t mind giving me a ride, I would settle for home.” Keys in hand, she backed out of the car.

  On instinct, he reached out to steady her again since the road’s shoulder dropped off hard. His fingers grazed a bare patch of her waist, his palm landing on her hip. The feel of her teased along his senses like a fuel-injected aphrodisiac.

  He let go before she could say “I’m fine” again. But he wouldn’t forget that impossibly soft skin anytime soon. And—bonus—he’d just kept her in Heartache another day. How long would it take to convince her to stay? To take over the mayoral job?

  Maybe have dinner with him?

  “Do you have a suitcase?” He closed the door behind her.

  “In the trunk.” They crunched through weeds and gravel to the rear of the vehicle. “TJ said he’s almost here.”

  “That’s probably him now.” He pointed toward a disco-show of flashing yellow lights coming down the road.

  “Wow.” Heather stood close to him and popped the trunk with her key fob. “Those lights should come with a warning—may induce seizures.”

  “They’re a little distracting.” He stared at the huge piece of luggage in her trunk. “I’m going to grab your bag and pull my car forward to give him room.”

  “Thank you.” She was already flagging down the truck.

  With a break in traffic, TJ didn’t seem to mind slowing down and stopping in the lane.
Besides, drivers would see that tow truck from miles away. Still, Zach hefted the giant suitcase and closed the trunk. He dropped it into the rear seat of his convertible, then pulled the car forward. Before he could do the gentlemanly thing and go back to escort Heather to his ride, she was at his passenger door and letting herself in.

  “Of all your dad’s cars, this one was always my favorite.” She tugged on the seat belt. “TJ is set, by the way. I’m going to call him tomorrow about the tire.”

  “See ya, Mayor!” the younger man called as he hopped down from the truck cab. “Drive safe.”

  Zach gave a wave before pulling onto the highway. He handed Heather an extra hat that he kept on the floor of the backseat—an old visor from a long-ago golf tournament.

  “You might want to wear this.” He noticed she held her hair in a death grip as he punched the gas.

  “Thank you,” she called over the inevitable wind noise. She put the hat on and tightened the strap in the back, but still held the length of her hair in her fist.

  “I could put the top up,” he offered.

  “Are you kidding me?” She grinned. “I wanted to put a thousand miles between me and Heartache tonight. My only consolation is getting to ride in the mayor’s supersexy convertible.”

  “Nice of you to point out the main attraction.” He didn’t have far to go before he pulled through a no U-turn spot on the highway.

  Where he promptly did a U-turn.

  “I’m surprised you got to keep your dad’s cars,” she observed, adjusting the side mirror before perhaps realizing what she’d said. “Actually, I apologize. That’s completely none of my business.”

  “It’s a matter of public record.” He didn’t mind telling her. He’d rather she knew the truth than think he’d hid assets from the government after his father’s arrest. “I bought back my favorites from his collection after my business took off. Only two of the cars I own now belonged to my father. This one and a Jaguar that were purchased by one of his friends at the bankruptcy auction.”

  A friend who became Zach’s mentor after his father went to jail.

  “How is your father?”

  “You mean, how does he like federal prison?” He couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice.

  “No. I mean, how is his health? His mind-set? I’m sure it was a difficult adjustment for him...and for you.” She tilted her head back against the seat rest in a way that made him think she was enjoying the ride. Or maybe she simply wanted to feel the wind on her face.

  His gaze shifted to her legs and the expanse of thigh visible under the short hem of her bright dress. He was treated to a whole different side of her tonight, and not just because of the dress. He cleared his throat and tried to focus on her question.

  And the road.

  “He’s always got an appeal in process. That gives him something to focus on besides, say, remorse for what he did.” He drummed the steering wheel with his thumbs. “Since he’s never bothered to be forthright about anything in his entire life, I don’t keep in touch.”

  She was silent for a long moment.

  “Family dynamics are complicated.” She glanced at her legs and, gripping the hem of her dress with both hands, tugged it lower.

  “That’s putting it mildly. You’re fortunate your family is so close.”

  “As in, most of them live within shouting distance from me?” She wrangled her windblown hair back under control. “Because I don’t know if I’d call that fortunate, exactly.”

  He’d turned off the highway onto the county route that led into Heartache. The car quieted as it slowed, the road deserted. The air had turned cool after midnight.

  “So much for ‘Family First.’” He still saw weathered old campaign signs around Heartache sometimes that put the former mayor’s slogan in bright blue letters.

  “You must think I’m a total ingrate, taking off right after Erin’s wedding and trash-talking my family like they were a bother instead of the people I love most in the world.” She repositioned herself on the leather seat, crossing her long legs so her knees pointed away from him.

  The view was still mighty fine.

  “No one knows how to get under your skin like family. I understand that.” But he didn’t. Not really.

  His family had been a sorry excuse for a nuclear unit from day one. His father was a criminal. His mother an accessory, if only by a case of big-time denial. Both parents had been more concerned about getting ahead—or not getting caught—than they’d been about their kids. Zach had tried to make up for their inattention to his sister, Gabriella, by being a good brother.

  He had failed miserably.

  He sucked at being a family to her as much as his parents, too caught up in his dad’s scandal to see the signs of depression in Gabriella, which had surfaced after being stalked online and lured out of the house to meet the guy who’d tried to...

  Zach couldn’t think about that, actually. But later, she’d overdosed because of it. Zach had helped her relocate to the West Coast and legally change her name. Thankfully, Ellie wasn’t far from Gabriella.

  So his family had been a mess. But he’d always looked to the Finleys as a family who got it right. Their dad ran the small town for years and not because he was a crook. He was a genuinely selfless guy who had good business sense and shared that acumen to help Heartache thrive.

  “They mean well,” Heather said carefully. “I’m just ready for a change.”

  They passed through the downtown, driving by the pizza shop, the town square and the darkened storefront of Last Chance Vintage.

  “I was surprised you sold off your share of the store.” He admired the sisters’ tenacity with the shop, expanding the storefront by remodeling a property next door and connecting them. “It seemed like a good investment.”

  “Erin did most of the renovations with her own two hands. She deserved all the profits.” She kept her focus on the road. “Looks like one of the streetlights is out.” She pointed to a post near the pizza joint.

  “The mayor’s office is closed. I’m off duty tonight.”

  “Me, too. Guess we shouldn’t talk about work then.”

  He turned in time to catch her smirk.

  “Right. We could always discuss a run to the ER to get your wrist examined.”

  “In that case, maybe we should put my work life back on the table for conversation.”

  “Luckily, we’re not at a town council meeting and don’t need any complicated agendas.” He rolled his shoulders to ease away some of the tension of talking to her. “No need to be prickly.”

  “Excellent. I don’t like agendas. Complicated or otherwise.” She let go of her hair as he turned down the quiet street where she lived.

  There were still lights on at the farmhouse, but Heather’s brother Mack’s converted apartment in one of the old barns was dark. Across a meadow, the bride’s house was quiet and so was her brother Scott’s place.

  Zach pulled into the parking area behind a converted potting shed that had been their father’s home office at one time. Heather had claimed it for herself after—he’d heard—living with her sister, Erin. Now the shed looked like a Craftsman bungalow, complete with a loft window, cedar-shake siding and glowing cast-iron lamps. Her family’s construction business ensured all the Finley places looked showroom ready, even this home-in-miniature.

  “I don’t like agendas, either. Or secrets.” He shut off the engine so he could walk her to the door and bring in her suitcase.

  She turned sharply toward him. “Excuse me?”

  “I was kept in the dark about a lot of things as a kid.” His dad lived one lie. Then his sister lived a whole different one, pretending everything was okay until it wasn’t. And she wasn’t. “So I’m a big believer in transparency.”

  “Okay...sounds like t
he opening to your next campaign speech.” Her gaze darted away and she looked nervous. But then, he was probably sounding way too serious.

  “What I mean is, I don’t want to keep my goals secret from you. So I want you to know that I plan to lobby for you to stay in town.”

  Without the dashboard lights, it was tough to get a read on her expression.

  “I’m surprised you would have an opinion on it one way or another,” she said finally. Carefully. “It’s just a talent-show audition.”

  “Exactly. Yet you’re selling off your share of the business you worked hard to build? Packing up and moving in the middle of the night just a few hours after your sister gets married? It doesn’t make sense and it’s unlike you.” He was worried about her.

  Before, he’d simply planned to talk to her about the mayor’s job and maybe try to convince her to have dinner with him. But after speaking to her tonight, he sensed that something was off with her whole plan. As if she was leaving to get away from something rather than like a woman running to embrace her dreams.

  “How would you know what’s ‘like’ me? We’ve barely spoken outside the occasional town council meeting.” She shook her head. “Besides, it’s after one o’clock in the morning. I’m not having this conversation with you in my driveway.”

  He held up both hands. The gesture of surrender and placation had proven useful in small-town politics. Smile and compromise.

  “Of course. It’s late. I’ll see you at the wedding breakfast.”

  “Wedding breakfast. Right.” She smiled, her teeth a flash of white in the darkness. “If my car’s not in the driveway, maybe I can sleep through it and they’ll think I’m on the road.”

  “Because this town keeps a secret so well.” He levered open his door and walked around the car to get hers, even though she was already halfway out.

  But she was moving slowly.

  “Tired?” He held out his arm to help her, wondering about that wrist she didn’t want examined.

  “It’s been a long day.” She limped a little on the way to the door.

  “Your feet—”

  “It’s fine.” She brushed off his concern and picked up her pace. “Not everyone can do four-inch heels.”