Who the hell cared?
Disengaging from him, she picked up her tea and the discarded sugar packet, throwing the garbage away in a nearby can.
“Violet,” he said again.
“It’s done,” she said, going down the steps to the street itself, where they threaded through the crowd. “Your mom said her piece. Big deal.”
“It is a big deal.” He caught up to her, taking her by the elbow. “Talk to me, Vi.”
“And what would I say? That it was fun to be reminded of why I’m back here? That she wasn’t wrong about most of it?”
She moved on, walking slower now, and he let go of her elbow. There was no getting through to Violet right now. She’d been flayed, and apparently the last thing she wanted was to rehash the drama.
So be it, he thought. But he wasn’t dropping the subject forever.
They were still weaving through people, passing the tents, heading toward the town square, which had gone quiet except for the mayor’s echoing voice preparing everyone for the dance marathon. Maybe she wanted to take her mind off what had just happened by listening to the DJ’s music and watching the contestants for a while.
It rankled Davis that she was blowing the confrontation off, as if talking to him about it was the last thing she wanted to do. He didn’t like being set aside that easily—it reminded him of being discarded when she’d gone off to L.A. without him.
They came to the town square, which was bright with fairy lights strung through trees. A dance area had been roped off, and nine couples were there, listening to the mayor’s instructions: hourly breaks for seven minutes, the last couple standing at dawn wins, although if they came to the end and there was no clear winner, there’d be a dance-off.
By now, it seemed as if Violet had flushed the incident from her mind as she sipped her tea, her gaze traveling the square.
“Next year,” she finally said to him, “after the Amati story comes out, you won’t be able to move, there’ll be so many people here. There’ll finally be something to tell them about old Tony.”
Had she turned to optimism because it didn’t hurt nearly as much as his mom’s words had?
A male voice interrupted from behind them. “We could use more couples out there.”
Davis and Violet turned around, finding Aaron Rhodes standing there. He’d pulled his dark, shoulder-length hair back into a band; his whiskers covered his angled face, and he seemed nothing like the president of the Chamber of Commerce.
“Looks like it won’t be much of a contest as it is,” Davis said, thinking that he’d get Violet to communicate with him later. Come to think of it, for a reporter, communication had never been her strong suit, even when they were young. Violet had always been good at wrapping herself up in her books and her academic pursuits, and that was probably why winning her over had been such a teenaged thrill for him.
Until it’d turned into a whole lot more.
Aaron’s gaze had brightened. “I’m glad you agree that the field is a little sparse, Davis.”
Next thing he knew, Aaron was pushing Violet and him toward the ropes, yelling to the mayor to wait.
“We’ve got a late entry!”
Davis glanced down at Violet, who was holding her tea in front of her like a shield.
“I’ve got to get back to work,” she said, motioning down to the waitressing apron she was still wearing. The Queen of Hearts card logo stood out against the red-and-white-striped background.
Aaron undid the rope and ushered them through. “I saw Mabel Holloway around—she’s one of your waitresses.”
“She got off at three.”
“Then, being a good citizen, I’m sure she won’t mind covering for you if the saloon needs it. We’ve got to get more people out here. Your town needs you, Violet.”
Davis chuffed as Aaron positioned them near the center of the floor. “Then you get your ass out here.”
“I’m running this event.” Aaron shrugged and took Violet’s tea from her. “What can I say—volunteering has its perks.”
“Social misfit,” Davis muttered, even though he knew Aaron was anything but. If there was a man in this town who dated half as much as Davis, it was Aaron.
“I’ve got your entry fee covered, and Violet—I’d keep that apron on. We’ll say that the Queen of Hearts sponsored you. Good advertising.” His friend grinned as he sauntered away toward the judges’ table to register them.
“Can he do this?” Violet asked.
“Shanghai us? I guess so.”
“But—”
His pride had been dented already with the entire “friend” farce, then the failed conversation about his mom. Her protests were the last straw. “The town needs us, Vi.”
He’d known that would get to her, and as Aaron went to the microphone and announced that there were still a few minutes left for late entrants to come onto the floor, Violet stood with Davis toe-to-toe.
“I know that when you set your mind to something you can be as stubborn as a donkey, so I shouldn’t even bother to argue.”
“I recall hearing something like that about ten thousand times from my editor on the school paper.”
Her gaze misted, as if she were remembering those days, too. The flirting disguised as fighting, the “accidental” brushes of their arms while they laid out the paper, the time after school when he’d rashly kissed her and everything had changed…
Four more couples had come onto the dance floor, and the mayor announced that the contest was closed.
As he counted down to the start of it, Davis put his hands on Violet’s waist. She closed her eyes, then opened them, seemingly in shock.
“Five!” shouted the mayor.
Davis drew her closer.
—“Four!”—
He reached over, finding her hand, lifting it to his shoulder.
—“Three!”—
Violet didn’t move, as if she was wondering if there was still time to leave.
Don’t go, Davis thought. Not this time…
—“Two!”—
She still had that look in her eyes.
—“One!”—
Then, it happened.
She rested her other hand on his shoulder. He could feel every finger embossed into him, every crackle of tension between the small space that separated them now.
The DJ put on “Dance Time in Texas,” a fast George Strait song, and a cheer rose up from the crowd as the other dancers swung into action.
Davis smiled down at Violet, and she smiled back, all his for the time being.
He twirled her, and away they went, whirling, swinging in time to the music, Violet laughing in a soul- cleansing sound that lifted him high.
As they danced, him leading her in the steps she’d either never really known or had completely forgotten in the city, they kept laughing.
The time passed in a whir while they two-stepped, line-danced, took part in another swing…
Then a slow song came on.
After a pause, they eased together, their breaths evening out, matching, as she wrapped her arms around his neck.
A melt of warmth and need flowed through him.
Perfect. They were so perfect together. Why wouldn’t she see that when he so clearly could?
When she stifled a yawn, he realized that she was more tired than even she would admit. Yet she would never drape herself over him as another woman might’ve done, and she would never give in to defeat, whether it was in a dance marathon or her determination to keep a safe distance from him.
But by the end of the night, it was going to be different, Davis thought. Forget the “friend” idea. There was more here, and he wasn’t about to let it go.
Hell, no—by the end of this marathon, he’d make sure that she’d be holding on to him, without caring that she had other plans outside St. Valentine once she got back on her feet.
Chapter Eight
Violet was trying her damnedest not to give in.
Leaning against him would be a clear signal to Davis that she couldn’t afford. It would encourage him, sending him the impression that she was going back on everything she had stood for—making her own way out in the world, living up to her promise to her great-aunt Jeanne that she was going to pursue her dreams and live up to all her potential, whatever it took.
But, at this instant, as she moved to the beat of a song about needing you now, it felt as if all her dreams were tied up in a soul-searching, knee-buckling dance with her first love.
She held her breath as his hand rested at the curve of her back. He fit so well there. But why not anywhere else in her life?
“Looks like I was wrong,” he murmured, his words warming her ear, stirring the hair there and sending a cascade of delicious wanting through her.
“Wrong about what?”
“Dancing.” He tightened his grip on her hand. “You’ve obviously done it many times before.”
“You’re just being nice.” She would have been a disaster during the swinging and two-step if it wasn’t for him. He knew how to lead her.
Always had.
He laughed, and it rumbled through his chest. Even a heartbeat away from him, she could feel the vibration.
“Vi, I think you were practicing with someone all these years.”
Practicing. He wasn’t talking about dancing anymore, and the territory he was treading was more than friendly.
She decided to be honest about this. “I wasn’t a nun, Davis. You weren’t a monk, either.”
“So you’ve been listening to gossip.”
“Is it false?”
“No.” This time, his laugh was softer, right by her ear again. “A guy like me needs an appropriate partner for charity events, for grand openings. For company.”
It felt as if she was running, her heart hammering, even though she wasn’t getting anywhere. “I wanted company, too.”
Had his fingers tightened in hers? “Anyone in particular?”
“Not…really.” That wasn’t quite true. “I told you I was busy. But there was someone else, I guess… A sportswriter named Jon. He was just as career-driven as I am. There were times I thought that things with him would take a turn for the serious, and I wasn’t sure how we were going to handle that, but neither of us quite made it there. He ended up moving east about a year ago for a job at ESPN.”
“You didn’t mind?”
“I…” She pressed her lips together, then just came out with it. “It didn’t break my heart. We weren’t ever willing to commit to anything, and that said a lot about what we were to each other. As I said, he’s a lot like me—myopic, focused to the point of oblivion sometimes.”
Davis firmed his grip on her hand, as if he was claiming her in some way.
“That’s good to hear,” he said. “About how you’re totally free now.”
He swept her into the dance.
As she swayed with him, she thought how right this was—she never followed the beat like this with anyone else.
But why now?
Why at all?
The first hour had flown by, and after the song ended, the mayor announced a break. Davis didn’t let go of Violet, and as the couples around them abandoned the dance floor, it was just the two of them standing there, still holding each other.
“Davis?” she asked, her heart in her throat.
He grinned down at her, and she saw a resolve in his gaze that hadn’t been there earlier.
Tonight, it said. No more dancing around the real subject; no more fooling ourselves.
This time, he wasn’t letting her get away, and a sense of panic mixed with excitement stirred her.
He put his hand on her upper back and guided her to the edge of the floor, where volunteers were waiting with water. A lot of the couples had plopped onto the ground, resting.
But someone was waiting for Violet and Davis.
“Still standing?” asked her dad, as he handed two sweating bottles of water to them.
Violet wanted to sink into the ground, right there and then, but Davis didn’t seem so inclined. He accepted the bottles from Dad and handed one to her.
“We got roped in to this,” Davis said, “but we’re making the most of it.”
Her father’s mouth was in a tight line.
“Thanks, Dad,” Violet said, hoping he wouldn’t pull a Mrs. Jackson on them and start pointing out all the reasons they shouldn’t be within speaking distance of each other. She unscrewed the lid on her bottle and took a swig.
Then, to cut the silence, she said, “Aaron Rhodes said he would make sure you were covered with the restaurant. You need any help?”
“We’re fine.” Dad’s chin went up a notch. He apparently didn’t want Violet to mention that this weekend would be a financial disappointment.
Pride. Her dad had so much of it. Mom had told her once that the Helping Hand Foundation had offered him assistance, but he’d turned them down flat. No way would he ever have taken a penny from the richies.
She had the same debilitating pride, didn’t she? Not necessarily about finances, but in so many other areas—like the one that had protected her, sending her into a working frenzy after she’d left Davis.
Dad gestured toward the ground. “Maybe you both should take a sit.” Then, to Davis, “Make sure she doesn’t overdo it. She has a tendency.”
“I’ve noticed,” Davis said. He was wary, as if expecting a replay from earlier, too, when his mom had come on the scene.
Dad sent Violet his own cautious look, pulling her aside. “Do you know what you’re doing?” he whispered.
She smiled at him. “I’m okay, Dad.”
More than okay, to tell the truth.
Then, after a moment of consideration, the lines around his mouth loosened, and he nodded at Davis. “You two kids have fun.”
“We will,” Violet said, hardly believing that there hadn’t been some kind of explosion.
One last, meaningful glance passed between the men, and Davis smiled. A serious smile that told Dad Violet would be in good hands.
A truce?
What had Dad seen between her and Davis that had urged him to come to terms with the man he’d always held such suspicions about?
The mayor gave a one-minute warning, and Davis extended his hand to help Violet to her feet—feet that were sore but ready to dance again.
Inexplicably, undoubtedly ready to dance with Davis.
“That was interesting,” he said.
“Yeah, I don’t know what just went on, but let’s consider it a reprieve.”
Soon, they were back on the floor, in the middle of another fast song, laughing. Violet had definitely gotten her second wind.
And, as the night went on, she got her third, just as Davis said she would. Then her fourth.
Other couples had started dropping out around the three-hour mark, and by the time the night sky was at its deepest velvet blue, only four couples were left.
But it was as if time didn’t matter to Violet or Davis—in any way.
In the end, at dawn, as she slow-danced with him, her head on his shoulder now, no distance between them, the mayor cut off the DJ and announced the contest finished.
Fuzzily, Violet realized that she and Davis were already the last couple standing.
There was applause from the early Sunday morning crowd as the mayor gave Violet and Davis little trophies, each with a happy, dancing couple silv
ered in glory. But the image faded under her eyelids as she leaned against Davis again, even though there wasn’t any music.
She smiled, exhaustion overtaking her, after what might’ve been one of the happiest nights of her life.
* * *
She bolted awake.
The backseat of an old car…white vinyl upholstery…
And the sight of Davis pulling away from her, his hands up as he let go of the blanket he’d been laying over her and got out of the backseat.
“Sorry,” he said. The sun was shining, making his hair golden, burnishing his skin in half shadow. “Didn’t mean to wake you up.”
She assumed he’d been putting her in the backseat to sleep while he took her home. As she sat up and looked around, she saw that his restored Rambler Marlin was in a small paved lot near the newspaper office, surrounded by other vehicles.
Groggily, she started to fold the blanket that he’d tucked around her. “The marathon’s over.”
“Way over. I brought you here for some rest while I helped shut down some of the festival.”
Then it came back to her—the trophies, then sleep taking her under after a long, long day.
But she was awake now, so she climbed out of the back and went to the front while Davis chuckled and assumed the driver’s seat.
“I caught a ride with my parents,” she said. “Do you mind taking me home?” She had an early afternoon shift, but she might as well get some sleep in her cabin.
He nodded and handed her a bottle of water. She drank from it. Energy zinged through her. Davis made her feel awake.
Alive.
He started the car, then drove her home, the radio on, reminding her of their long, wonderful night.
Magic. Or the closest she’d felt to it in ages.
She didn’t want to think about how long it would last with Davis. Hopefully, it’d wear off soon so they could get back to the business of living. Last night had no doubt only been a flight of fancy, an indulgence she could get away with just this one time… .
After he drove onto her family’s ranch property, down the dirt road and to the main house, she asked him to pull in by her guest cabin.
Courted by the Texas Millionaire Page 11