“See you at the dance,” she called over her shoulder and mounted the steps of the veranda. By the time she opened the front door of the house, she heard his Jeep start and spray gravel on its way down the driveway.
Warm fuzzies lingered from that beautiful dream, as well as thoughts of C.J.’s beautiful body. She’d rather die than swim naked with a man, but, oh, that didn’t mean she couldn’t dream.
He’d stood up for her, against the Rev and Max Golden. Not only that, he’d driven all the way out here to tell her so and then had invited her to the dance.
She touched her cheek with its layer of liquid foundation, then her eyelashes with their thick coating of mascara.
Stop it. Stop thinking all these warm fuzzies. Nothing’s going to happen with C.J., not when you are too ashamed to let yourself accept who you really are, let alone him, let alone anyone, not even Hank and Amy.
She needed to get her shit together and keep it together.
AT THE POWWOW, Walter watched his son storm away, his stride long and angry.
“Max,” he said. “I wish you hadn’t told that woman she couldn’t attend.”Max hung his head and scuffed the toe of his boot in the dirt. “Sorry, Walter. I thought I was helping you.”
Walter rested his hand on Max’s shoulder. Max had a heart of gold, but his impulses were so often misguided.
“Thank you, Max, but I think we’d better set those kinds of machinations aside.”
Max nodded, suddenly sober. “You want a beer?” he mumbled.
“No.” Walter spotted Gladys on the other side of the field. “Max, you’ve done a good job. Enjoy yourself.”
He walked away, edging his way around the outside of the field until he stood behind Gladys.
“Hello,” he said.
She turned around, already smiling. “Walter.”
He forgot about Max, about the Goth girl, about C.J. He stared at the dignified woman in front of him wearing a flowered summer dress, low-heeled sandals and an oversize sunhat, and wondered how he could be so fortunate as to have her smiling at him so sweetly.
“Gladys,” he said and, with her permission, tucked her arm inside his elbow and wrapped his long fingers over hers. They strolled around the grounds.
Walter remembered seeing a local jeweler’s stand and steered them in his direction.
Would Gladys allow him to buy her something? Was that too bold? He didn’t know. He’d been too long without a female companion.
Gladys picked up a small jade heart on a thin gold chain.
“It’s the same color as your eyes,” he said.
“Is it?” She stared up at him, perhaps hoping for more, but he didn’t know how to say romantic things.
“Gladys, would you let me get it for you?” He wanted to give it to her, to have her happy with him, and to wear the necklace and think of him.
“Walter, you don’t have to buy me things.”
“I want to.”
“If you’re not careful, I’ll begin to think you’re trying to buy my affections, that you’ll expect something in return.”
He felt his eyes goggle. She thought that of him? That he would try to—“No. Never. How could you…my goodness, Gladys. I wouldn’t—”
She laughed. “Oh, Walter, you are priceless. I’m pulling your leg.”
She fingered the necklace in her hand and looked up at him. “I would love to own this necklace. I will think of you when I wear it.”
Yes!
Walter paid for the necklace and fumbled with the clasp when he tried to put it on her.
“Let me,” she said, fastening it around her neck. It looked pretty against her pale skin. Walter felt good, proud.
She took his hand in hers and led him away from the vendors and the crowds, toward the far end of the field.
“Walter, I like you.”
“Gladys, what on earth do you see in a sober old beanstalk like me?” Judging by her raised eyebrows, he’d startled her with the question. He’d startled himself, had no idea where it had come from.
“I see many things, Walter.” She toyed with the sleeve of his dark jacket. “Integrity. Caring. High morals. Solid ethics.”
She stopped and stared up at him. Way up. She was such a tiny thing.
Beyond all reason and propriety, he wanted to kiss her, here in the middle of a sunlit lawn with all of Ordinary’s citizens strolling nearby, talking, laughing, leading perfectly normal lives while he stared at Gladys’s lips and thought the most improper things.
She dragged him toward Max’s house and around to the back. In the shadows, she took off her hat and laid it on a lawn chair. Away from the sun and prying eyes, he set his hands on her shoulders, leaned toward her, and released that tension that stiffened his spine every hour. He let go of that pretension to superiority he’d carried for too many years, touched Gladys’s soft pink lips with his own and breathed in her talcum-scented peace.
He simply rested his mouth on hers and it was enough for now.
“Gladys,” he whispered and rested his forehead on hers.
“I’ve waited a whole year for this,” she said.
She had? While he’d been bumbling around in the dark, trying to figure out how to get close to her, she’d been thinking about him?
She wrapped her small hands around his wrists, stood on her tiptoes and whispered, “More, Walter.”
He pressed his lips to hers and felt her tongue touch his mouth. He jumped back.
She smiled as if she had a secret that she might share with him, but only if he was very, very good. He imagined Eve smiling just so when inviting Adam to share in her love play.
“Gladys, we shouldn’t—”
“It’s been a long time for me, Walter,” she said. “At my age, I don’t want to waste time.”
She stood on her tiptoes again and ran the tip of her tiny tongue along his lips.
“Gladys, my dear,” he breathed before he opened his mouth and let her in.
She tasted like coffee rich with cream, and endless uncounted lonely nights finally put to rest. She tasted like salvation.
Oh, you. You sweet woman.
She leaned against him, so he felt the shapes of her breasts and released her, too quickly. She stumbled and he had to catch her arms so she wouldn’t fall.
She placed her hand on his chest, where her fingers branded his skin through his shirt, reminding him where unbridled impulse led—to trouble.
He exhaled roughly. “Gladys, I can’t.”
“Oh, Walter.” Disappointment weighted her voice. “We’re too old to waste time. Think about it, dear. Do you really want only your fear and your narrow morals for company at night?”
She walked away, and it felt like losing Elaine again. He’d paid a high price the first time around with Elaine. He couldn’t do that with Gladys.
JANEY DRESSED CAREFULLY, not that she had much to choose from. She handled her clothes with a soft touch, trying to decide what she wanted against her skin tonight.
She opted for a black velvet dress she’d found in a secondhand shop. Pretty sure it wasn’t real velvet—she’d paid next to nothing for it—she liked it anyway. The fabric moved under her hands as though it had a life of its own.Stepping into it, she pulled it up over her hips and threaded her arms through the lacy sleeves, careful that she didn’t catch the lace with her nails. Boning in the bodice supported her breasts. A wide hood hung down the back. This was by far her favorite dress.
She ran her hands down the skirt. Probably someone’s old Halloween costume, but she loved it anyway.
A fresh coat of black polish sparkled on her nails. She looked at herself in the mirror. Everything in its place. Everything just right.
She pulled on her platform boots. She’d rummaged in the kitchen drawers until she’d found some black shoe polish. Her boots shone almost as brightly as her nails.
The skirt of her dress fell to just above her ankles and floated around her boots and knees as she hurried downstairs.
By the time she reached town, a layer of dust coated her boots and the hem of her dress.
On Main Street she ran into Mona, who wore a brightly patterned short dress and red on her lips to match. She looked so much younger in street clothes than in that plain blue waitress’s uniform. Maybe only twenty-six, twenty-seven.
“Hey,” Janey said, “I like your lipstick.”
Mona smiled. “Thanks. Let’s go.”
They walked down Main Street side by side. The street was bare, but Janey could hear music in the distance.
“Fiddles?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Mona answered. “Only dances they have here are country dances. You want something different, you have to head out of town.”
The music got louder as they approached the Legion hall.
“I don’t remember you coming to any of the town’s dances before. Why not?”
“I don’t know. I guess I thought I might not be welcome.”
Mona turned a surprised look Janey’s way. “Why on earth not?”
“I guess ’cause of the way I look. The way I dress.”
“Hey, only a handful of people in this town are that narrow-minded.”
“Yeah, I’m beginning to think you’re right.”
Mona smiled. “You’ll like the dancing, even if it isn’t twenty-first century. It’s fun.” She led the way into a hall swollen to the rafters with music.
C.J. grabbed Janey’s hand the second she got there. He must have been waiting for her.
“Let’s dance,” he said. No hello, just an order.
“But—” Did she really want to argue or did she want to dance? No-brainer. Dance won out.
The music stopped and people changed partners.
“C’mon.” C.J. dragged her to a group of people nearby.
“This is country, sort of like square dancing,” he said. “The caller will tell you what steps to make, but just follow whatever I do.”
A couple of people stared at her. She couldn’t tell what they were thinking. She wanted to slink back out the door, but instead straightened her shoulders.
The music started again. Fiddles. Banjos. Accordions. She’d never heard anything like it. C.J. twirled her, then handed her off to someone else in the square. Hands pushed and pulled her in the direction she was supposed to go.
The room, faces, colors whirled around her.
Everything happened so quickly, she didn’t have time to worry about being touched.
She laughed.
By the end of the song, she was breathless.
“Whew! I need a drink.”
“This way.” C.J. dragged her to the refreshment table. A few people stepped out of the way when they reached it.
“C.J., why’re you hanging around with that girl?” Some guy with a big white handlebar moustache glared at her.
C.J. turned his way, slowly, as if measuring his response. “Has Dad been talking to you?”
“He doesn’t have to. We’re good, God-fearing people. We don’t need a Satanist in our midst.”
“I’m not a Satanist,” Janey said, her jaw tight. “I don’t worship the devil.”
“Why do you dress like that?”
She looked down at herself. “I like this dress.”
This was so bogus. That she would even have to defend herself, her pretty dress against someone with such a closed mind…
“Screw you,” she said, and the man flushed. Good.
She stomped away, heard C.J. say, “Where is your spirit of tolerance Dad preaches so much about, Harold?”
“Don’t waste your breath, C.J.,” she said over her shoulder.
“Janey is a good person,” she barely heard C.J. say.
He was defending her again. Why? Because she worked for him?
At that moment, she wanted to hate the whole world, to keep all of them at arm’s length, especially C.J. for causing such crazy feelings in her.
She found an unoccupied piece of wall and leaned against it. Most people were being so nice to her except the very few over whom the Rev had influence. So why did what this guy just said bother her so much?
First, because she’d been having such a good time and second, she’d seen that glimpse of shame in herself earlier today. People like Harold made it flare up and reminded her that it sat hot and hard in her gut like a burden, and she was so tired of carrying it around.
CHAPTER TEN
C.J. HAD TO DO SOMETHING. Most folks in town weren’t bad, but Janey seemed to attract the worst of them. Still, C.J. couldn’t let the narrow-minded few define his home, nor could he let them treat Janey so badly, no matter how itchy and unsettled she made him feel.
And he couldn’t let someone like old Harold Hardisty ruin her evening.Just because she dressed weirdly didn’t mean she deserved this treatment.
“C.J., stop. Don’t get involved.” His father stepped up beside him, but instead of looking angry, he looked sad, regretful.
“Did you hear what Harold said to her?” C.J. asked.
His father nodded.
“Dad, you’re the minister here. What is our responsibility as good Christians. Huh?”
“With that tongue of hers, she can take care of herself.”
C.J. noticed that he’d dodged the question.
“She shouldn’t have to put up with this stuff just because she dresses differently.”
“Last thing you need is trouble.” Dad was right about that.
“I know, but still…”
“You’re so close.” C.J. understood what he meant, so close to the perfect life.
C.J. barked out a laugh that sounded bitter. “Am I, Dad? My son, my own flesh and blood, won’t talk to me. I don’t have a good mother to offer him. I might not even be able to save the ranch if I can’t win the rodeo or sell the store.”
He watched Janey cross the room to lean on the far wall, where she crossed her arms and slammed the sole of one foot against the wall, unladylike for a woman in a long velvet dress.
A nation unto herself. Alone. Separate.
He couldn’t leave her alone. Damned if he knew why. Maybe he was too decent.
Or maybe you want more from her.
In spite of his common sense, in spite of Janey’s crustacean-tough shell, despite her past history, C.J. knew he would help her.
“Dad, what some of the people of this town are doing is wrong.”
The Reverend hissed out a breath. “C.J.—”
“Dad, you should have seen her learning how to make candy. She was like a kid. She isn’t mean-spirited.”
As far as he could tell, her main problem was that she was overly defensive. Was there a crime against that?
“I’m introducing her to my friends.”
He searched the room for buddies who would hang out with her, who would appreciate the quirky woman she was.
Spotting a few of them in a corner of the room, he strode toward Janey and took her hand, pulling her away from the wall.
“Hey, what—”
“You’re meeting some of my friends.”
She surprised him by hanging back.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I don’t want to meet anyone. I’m going home.”
Her cheeks blazed sumac red. Her eyelids hid her eyes, but he thought he detected moisture at the corner of one of them.
He spun her around and stood in front of her, to hide her until she got herself together.
“I hate these people. All of them.” Her tone was caustic, but her fingers worried the soft fabric of her dress as though it was a lifeline to a better place. He’d noticed this about her—that when she was upset, she touched things.
“Listen,” C.J. said, “Harold Hardisty’s nothing but an unhappy old man.” He held her arm, leaning forward to try to get her to look at him. He needed to see her eyes, to find out whether this evenin
g could be salvaged for her.
Someone bumped them and she glanced up. He saw what he needed to know—that she was hurt, yes, but also angry. He needed to fix that. She thrust her chin forward. Good, he’d use that defiance she cloaked herself in to his advantage.
“Hardisty lost his wife to cancer. He owns a piece of land that God himself couldn’t raise cattle on. He blames everyone else for his misery. Don’t judge the whole town by him.”
She didn’t respond and he shook the arm he was holding. “He’s a miserable old guy. The problem is him, not you. Get it?”
Janey nodded and looked better, but there was a sullenness to her now that hadn’t been there when she’d arrived.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked.
He wondered that himself, thought to tell her it was out of the goodness of his heart, that it was strictly charity, but he knew she wouldn’t like that one bit and would probably construe it as pity. Besides, that wasn’t the whole truth, was it? He liked her, genuinely liked her. He refused to acknowledge that something stronger than liking was brewing inside of him. As long as he didn’t recognize it…
So, he told her a small bit of that truth. “I think you’re a good person who shouldn’t be treated badly by narrow-minded people.”
She watched him, assessed him, and nodded, her eyes clearing of some of the hurt. “Thanks,” she said.
“You’re going to stay and we’re going to spend time with my friends.”
The signs were subtle, but C.J. could see the fight and backbone rise in her again. “Okay,” she said, “let’s go.”
Ha! The little fighter was back in business.
He led her across the hall until they joined a group of young men.
“Guys, this is Janey. You’ve seen her around town.”
They nodded and stared at her curiously.
“Janey, this is Timm Franck.” Timm nodded.
C.J. pointed to scruffy Allen Hall, who shoved a crust of pizza into his mouth then put his hand out to shake Janey’s. “Whatever you do,” C.J. said, “don’t leave your food lying around or he’ll scarf it.”
Everyone laughed, and the corner of Janey’s mouth curved up infinitesimally.
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