by Rachel Lee
“I sell a lot of mine. There’s a market for the milk, but also for their hair. Mine are angoras, and their hair is something you’d recognize as mohair.”
“Really.” She smiled at that. “And their meat?”
“There’s a cultural market for that, too. So I really have no trouble making enough off them to pay for them with a little left over. But as a major operation?” He shook his head. “I’d need a lot more than two hands.”
“Well, I thought they were neat just to have around. If a few is enough for you, there’s nothing wrong with that. I actually liked them better than the sheep.”
“They’re a lot more amusing, to me anyway. Very smart and full of high jinks. It’s a good thing I have the dogs to keep them in line.”
The diner was beginning to fill up with people. Cassie looked around, trying to make friendly eye contact, but noticed that a few of the people avoided her gaze. She pushed her pie to one side.
“Don’t let them get to you,” Linc said quietly. “Stick it out a little longer.”
“How’s that going to help?”
“I’m here with you. More than any of them, I’m in a position to know whether the gossip is true. Hang in there, Cassie.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she said firmly. “But my appetite died.”
“Just be sure to take the pie with you.”
“Must not offend, huh?”
“You got it.”
It was hard not to keep looking at him when he sat right across the table from her. Staring down at her cup didn’t feel like the right thing to do, either. The people looking her way could interpret that to mean that she was feeling defensive.
Too much education in psychology, she thought with weary amusement. So here she was, caught between the devil and pair of deep blue eyes, to mangle a metaphor. She could send challenging looks around the room, if anyone was staring, or she could give up and just drink in Linc with her eyes.
She knew what she wanted to do. Seizing on the first straw she could find, she asked him, “Do you have a Celtic heritage?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because that was the first thing that occurred to me when I saw you. Blue eyes, dark hair.” Not to mention an incredibly perfect build from what she could tell. She skipped the part about thinking he resembled a warrior, though. That was definitely over-the-top, a female fantasy not to be shared.
“I guess I do,” he said. “My mother always said she was black Irish.”
“That would explain it. I’m mostly mutt myself.”
He laughed. “You look like anything but a mongrel.”
She felt her cheeks flush, but only faintly, thank goodness. “I really don’t know much about my family. My dad left when I was three, never to be heard from again, and my mother steadily sank into alcohol.”
“Damn, that must have been tough.”
She acknowledged it with a nod. “There were good times, too. It wasn’t all bad. If I can say nothing else for my mom, it’s that I always knew she loved me. No matter what.”
“I take it she’s gone?”
“A couple of years ago. Cirrhosis.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No need. It’s a horrible addiction and I watched her struggle with it. It was sad to watch, because she tried so hard up until near the end, but it was like watching someone in tennis shoes try to scale the steep side of an icy mountain.”
“That’s some image,” he said quietly.
“That’s how it seemed. Like no matter how hard she struggled, she could never quite get her footing. That’s why I don’t drink much. I’m afraid of it.”
“I can see why. I guess I’ve been lucky, because I never really had to think about it. I can enjoy a beer or two on a weekend, or a glass of wine with dinner, but that’s enough for me. I got rousingly drunk once in college and the hangover cured me of any desire to repeat it.”
She had to smile. “I hear they’re awful.”
“I got drunk on wine with some friends. I couldn’t stand the smell of the stuff for years. And the morning after...” He shook his head. “Never again.”
“I don’t like things that make my head feel messed up. I prefer it to be clear.”
“Then I guess it would be safe to take you dancing at one of our roadhouses.” He winked.
Her heart slammed into high gear. Take her dancing? Surely he was joking. He had to be. “Why? Because I wouldn’t drink too much?”
“You wouldn’t trample my feet,” he joked. He appeared to hesitate and then volunteered something she sensed was still a sore spot with him. “My former...girlfriend wasn’t much of a drinker until we’d go out to do some line-dancing at a roadhouse just outside of town. Then she claimed the dancing made her thirsty. There was more than one occasion when I practically had to pour her into the truck.”
Cassie screwed up her face. “How awful. I’m sorry.”
“I made excuses for her. She was just cutting loose, and everyone needs to do that at times. But in retrospect, maybe I should have made fewer excuses.”
His face darkened, and she lowered her gaze, deciding to leave him alone. Definitely a sore spot, so why persist? If he wanted to say more, he could.
He surprised her with his next words. “I like to dance. Do you?”
“I’m not very good.” Mainly because she hadn’t had much opportunity to learn or practice.
“I can help you. Why don’t we go tonight, if you can stand the country music? And I promise to get you out of there before things get too rowdy.”
She almost gaped at him. Last night he’d kissed her then backed away as if he felt it was a mistake, and now he wanted to take her dancing? Was he asking her for a date?
No, that wasn’t possible. Maybe he just wanted to work off some steam dancing. He said he liked it, and while she imagined he could find women to dance with at the roadhouse, maybe he preferred not to do that. So perhaps he just saw her as a safe dance partner since she was a colleague. “I don’t know,” she said hesitantly.
“It’ll be fun,” he assured her. “And it’s a part of this county you’re not going to see on your own, not if you’re wise.”
“What does wisdom have to do with it?”
“A lot of people are cutting loose. Like I said, I’ll get you out of there before it gets too rowdy.”
She got the message, and her curiosity was piqued. She had to admit she wouldn’t go to a bar or a roadhouse by herself, and she was willing to bet the flavor of nightspots around here was different than other places she had lived.
Curiosity trumped caution. She had no idea why he’d asked her to go dancing, and feared she might be stepping into something she knew nothing about, but she’d never been afraid to take a little risk. If she had been, she never would have taken this job. “Okay,” she said. “But I’m a lousy dancer.”
“So are a lot of other people. You won’t be alone.”
“No practice tonight?”
He shook his head. “We have a game tomorrow. I like the players to have the night off right before when it’s possible. I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty.”
After he dropped her off at home, with directions to wear jeans and comfortable shoes, she puttered around, trying to keep busy while she pondered this strange turn of affairs.
What in the world was going on? Date? Not date? A rescue attempt against the forces of gossip?
She wished she knew.
Linc wished he knew, too. What had possessed him? Last night he’d barely escaped a temptation that had threatened to drown him, and now he was proposing to take the woman dancing?
He’d lost it.
Out in the pastures, tending to his animals and listening to a coyote howl in the distance, he decided he might be getting himself into trouble, which just proved that a grown man could repeat his mistakes, even after painful lessons.
Nor did it make him feel any wiser to remember that she’d been reluctant. Reluctant about dancing, he was sure,
but he suspected she was equally reluctant to go with him. He’d had women jump all over such an opportunity before, and he damn well knew when one wasn’t jumping.
So maybe it would all be okay. He was doing the neighborly thing, showing her around a bit, at least to places she wouldn’t find on her own, like his ranch and a roadhouse. He half expected the atmosphere of the roadhouse would turn her off even more. Smokey, crowded, men talking too loud and telling off-color jokes. She seemed to be the type who’d prefer other amusements. She’d mentioned museums and plays, after all. None of that around here.
So he might as well give her the rest of the county’s cold bath: the roadhouse. Which was not to say he had anything against them. After a long, hard week, he didn’t see anything wrong with people wanting to unwind in a boisterous atmosphere with a few beers, some twangy music and some dancing. It wasn’t as if there was a whole heck of a lot else to do. Church socials if you ran that way, but he didn’t, at least not very often. A certain comedian’s impression of church ladies hadn’t been far from the mark, at least in the church he attended.
Maybe he ought to change that, too.
With goats and dogs nudging him, he almost laughed at himself. Change. That was what he was pining for. At least getting out for a few hours of dancing would be a change from the last couple of years.
It would certainly make some tongues wag in a new way. Everybody around here knew Martha had been his last girlfriend, and everybody seemed to know how it had ended. Martha sure hadn’t made a secret of it.
He could imagine the heads shaking as Linc Blair once again took up with an outsider, and by Sunday morning some biddy was bound to suggest he ought to date a local girl. He almost relished the prospect.
Even though the biddy would probably be right.
Aw, what the hell, he thought after he was done tending the animals and had showered and changed. He sat on the back porch for a little while, booted feet up on the railing, and watched twilight take the world.
Almost time to go. He might not know what he was getting himself into here, but there was an unmistakable sense of adventure filling him.
The ranch would never desert him, he thought with amusement. Nor he it. The foundation and cornerstone of his life would always be here, unless he made a stupid financial decision. You really couldn’t ask more from life than that.
Everything was chancy by nature, but as long as he had this place, he could take the rest.
Peace filled him, right alongside anticipation. The evening would be fun, even if it never became any more than that. He’d have a chance to watch Cassie in the world she was trying to adopt, and she’d get to see parts of it she might otherwise never really know about.
That might be all it took to snap this fascination he kept feeling for her.
Or not. As usual, only time would tell.
Dropping his feet with a thud, he rose and tugged his keys out of his jeans pocket. Time to go show a lady a good time.
* * *
Dusty’s Inn didn’t look like much of an inn. The large log building was girdled in garish neon announcing any number of brands of beer along with Dancing and Live Music Saturday. The parking lot, consisting of dirt and gravel, held a dozen or so pickups and a couple of cars, leaving room for many more.
“It isn’t really busy yet,” Linc said as they tooled into a spot next to a pickup that looked older than his. “It’ll give you time to ramp up.”
She grinned at the expression even though she didn’t know exactly what he meant. Excitement and nerves both filled her. “Ramp up?”
“Get used to it. The volume gets a lot worse as the crowd grows. With everyone yammering, Dusty turns up the volume on the music, which makes everyone talk louder. Interesting feedback loop, but I’ve never been able to convince him there’s a point of diminishing return.”
Cassie giggled. “Do I need ear protectors?”
“In an hour or two. For now it won’t be so bad and I won’t keep you past the point where it does.”
Keep her? Interesting turn of phrase, she thought as he helped her out of the truck. Did he feel like he was keeping her from something else? Or was that some colloquialism she hadn’t yet noticed? Then she reminded herself to quit analyzing and just absorb the experience.
She could hear the music already, even though they hadn’t reached the door. The crunch of the gravel beneath her feet made her wish for a sturdy boot rather than her jogging shoes. Judging by the way Linc was dressed, she might well be the only person in the place without a decent pair of boots.
Still it was fun. She was going to a roadhouse in Wyoming on the arm of a cowboy—well, a rancher actually, but tonight she wasn’t going to quibble. Not with anything. Some of her old friends would swoon at the mere thought.
Linc always dressed in Western clothes except the couple of times when she’d seen him wearing sweats like the football team. But tonight he’d replaced his battered hat with one in pristine shape, and she thought the toes of his boots looked polished.
Wow. Putting on the fancy duds, she supposed. It tickled her, especially when he had told her to essentially dress down. She had, however, worn her newest jeans, and a satiny green blouse.
She could feel the throb of bass as they drew closer to the building and wondered if it would already be too loud inside.
A plank door opened and a beefy guy in a red T-shirt blazoned with Dusty’s welcomed them inside. “It’s been a while, Linc.” The guy’s gaze dragged over Cassie with obvious approval.
“Cassie, this is Glenn. He does his best to maintain order.”
Glenn winked at her. “It can be a trial. Nice to see a new face.”
They stepped through a second door and the music hit her like a strong wave. It wasn’t deafening by any means, but it was loud. A few couples were already making their way around the huge dance floor, while others sat to one side at tables. A handful dotted stools at the bar that ran around two sides of the room. Through a large doorway to her right, she could see billiard tables.
“This place has everything,” she said to Linc.
“Well, it has enough. Let’s get a table.”
She was glad he didn’t immediately suggest taking her onto the dance floor. So few people were out there, she felt she’d be embarrassed. Of course, once it got crowded, she’d probably stick out like a sore thumb.
Then she wondered why she should feel embarrassed at all. Everyone had to learn some time, as she told her students often, and everybody made mistakes.
Linc ordered soft drinks and an appetizer for them.
“You can have a beer,” she protested.
“I’m the designated driver.”
“And I don’t want a beer before I learn how to dance.”
He laughed, his eyes crinkling. “A beer might loosen you up.”
“How loose do I need to be?”
“For the Cotton Eye Joe? Not a lot. It’s an easy dance and a lot of fun. More fun with more people.”
“I’m nervous,” she admitted.
He reached out and touched her hand lightly. Sparks immediately zinged through her. “It’s not hard, I swear. Just watch them dance for a little while and you’ll start to feel the rhythm of it. Then I’ll show you the steps.”
The colas came in huge red plastic glasses, the appetizer in a paper-covered plastic basket. No frills here. She rather liked that. Frills would have seemed so out of place.
“I should have told you to wear smooth-soled shoes,” he remarked. “It would be easier.”
“Well, I don’t have to dance at all.”
His blue eyes laughed at her. “You’re not getting out of it.”
The place slowly filled up with people of all ages. From her limited experience of nightclubs, that surprised her. The few she had visited had seemed to be age-segregated, catering to younger people. This one had the whole range of ages from twenties to sixties or maybe older. She liked that.
As the floor sprouted more dancers, s
he found her courage. Not that she could have escaped. Linc reached for her hand and pulled her that way.
“It’s easy,” he said. “Really easy.” Keeping her at the edge of the floor, he said, “The first step is stomp-kick-triple step.”
She gaped at him, then watched as he did it several times. She could feel eyes on her, but when she glanced around people seemed to be busy with their own companions.
“Now you.”
She bit her lower lip and tried to imitate him. The music seemed to help, giving her the rhythm. She made a couple of mistakes, but in a relatively short time thought she had it down reasonably well.
Maybe so, because then he taught her the next part, the shuffle. “Wow,” she said finally, “that feels almost natural with the music.”
“The whole dance does,” he assured her. He slipped an arm around her waist. “Now let’s try it. This dance is done side-by-side.”
She’d already gathered that part. Feeling a little more confident, she let him guide her around the edge of the dance floor. With only a few missteps, she made it around the entire circumference. The song changed and they were off again, and pretty soon she stopped thinking about her feet and started thinking about the man whose arm so casually cradled her waist. Stealing a look at other couples, she realized that wasn’t a one-way street, so she slipped her arm around his waist.
Wow! It felt so good that she almost closed her eyes with pleasure. Holding him, being held, moving with the music, it all seemed to meld into one wonderful experience.
She was startled back to awareness as she felt an arm link with her free arm. She looked and saw another couple. The man smiled at her and danced alongside her.
Before she knew it, she was part of a line that was pivoting around the dance floor. Then everything shifted, and the whole line was moving straight across the floor, first forward and then backward.
Beneath the loud music, she heard herself laugh. Her head came up, she tossed her hair and grinned at Linc. He grinned back.
She had no idea how long she danced. The songs changed but she didn’t count the changes. She was having too much fun. At last, just as she started to feel parched, Linc eased them out of the line and guided her back to the table.