Dream a Little Dream

by Melinda Curtis

  Two of Darcy’s friends, Mary Margaret Sneed and Lola Taylor, entered Shaw’s, chattering as if they hadn’t seen each other in weeks. They headed toward their usual booth near the pool table.

  “Lost your nerve to ride, have you?” Iggy was a no-holds-barred friend, having gone to school with Jason since kindergarten. “Does that mean no more hopping on our bulls?” Which they sometimes did for fun. They were adults but still boyish at heart.

  “I have plenty of nerve,” Jason said, hackles up, palm instinctively pressing into his scar. “I miss bull riding. But don’t forget I had two surgeries on this leg within the past year, leaving enough metal to set off airport security.” Not to mention his heart was cracked and safety-pinned together. He wasn’t ready to return. “I can let the youngsters have a go at some early prize money while my leg strengthens.”

  And besides, his eighteen-year-old protégé was competing this weekend at a rodeo in Phoenix. If Mark won, it’d almost be like Jason taking home the prize. Almost.

  “You want me to believe your bones are creakier than your nerve? Or that pins in your leg are keeping you in town?” Iggy scoffed. “Dude, you’ve got connectors in your shoulder where they reattached your arm. Staples on your spleen. Play me a violin. Additional metal has never deterred you before. You received the all clear from Doc Janney a month ago.”

  Jason’s hand moved across his thigh again. “Yeah, but…”

  The door to Shaw’s opened. Jason strained to see who was entering. Iggy’s big head was in the way.

  “Don’t give me any buts, Petrie. I know why you’re hanging around town. It’s your Achilles’ heel. Judge Harper died the same day as your medical release.” Iggy smirked. Oh, he knew Jason. He knew him too well. “Darcy’s like good wine. She was just widowed. You have to let her breathe.”

  It was the same message Mims had delivered—Darcy was temporarily off-limits.

  But she wasn’t off-limits to Jason.

  She was his wife.

  Chapter Three

  The moment Darcy entered Shaw’s, she knew Jason was there. Her skin prickled the way it did during a lightning storm.

  Ignoring her ex and the Widows Club board, Darcy walked across the bar to join Mary Margaret and Lola at their usual booth in back.

  She pretended she didn’t remember the strength of Jason’s arms or the heat of his kiss. She pretended she hadn’t seen a woman kiss him a year ago on the very television mounted on Shaw’s wall. But one thing required no pretending. She was no longer unemployed. She was a judge.

  And this makes you unhappy? George was apparently still in her head. I wouldn’t complain.

  Jeez, George. Don’t dog me here.

  Shaw’s was a place to come to forget your troubles, not a place to be pestered by her husband’s spirit. It was an institution in Sunshine that was as big as a barn, with exposed beams, a large bar in the middle, and a stage up front.

  “How’d it go at the courthouse?” Mary Margaret tucked her long red hair behind her ears, her engagement ring twinkling.

  Darcy fiddled with her wedding ring. The band featured a one-carat stone and sent out all the wrong messages to her detractors. But if she took it off too soon it would only add to the impression that she’d married George to sit on the bench.

  What does it matter? You know the truth, George said.

  “Are you okay?” Lola scooted over in the booth to make room for Darcy on her side. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “More like hearing one.” Darcy tugged an ear. “It’s George. It’s like he’s in my head today.”

  “They say some people grieve like that.” Lola should know. She did hair and makeup at the mortuary. “Sometimes I imagine I hear them talking while I’m getting them ready for services, sometimes from people I didn’t know when they were alive. Don’t worry about it.”

  “That makes me feel better.” Darcy let out a deep, relieved breath.

  Avery burst into the bar and hurried over to join them. “What’d I miss?” She looked Darcy up and down. “Other than this fashion faux pas. Girl, you’re in mourning, not dead.”

  The bar wasn’t crowded. The Widows Club board chuckled as if they’d been listening. Darcy slouched in her seat, certain Jason had heard every word too.

  Tell Ms. Blackstone that you look like a judge, George groused.

  Darcy sighed. After her wedding, she’d made a concerted effort to look and act like the staid wife of an elder statesman. But her efforts always felt like a big fail, and Avery was never shy about telling her so.

  “Avery,” Lola chastised, putting her arm around Darcy’s shoulders, “leave it.”

  “No.” Avery’s head quivered quickly from side to side, sending her long black hair rippling about her shoulders. “My grandmother has the exact same pair of shoes Darcy’s got on. She wears them to church every Sunday in summer.” Avery slid in next to Mary Margaret, but she wasn’t done. “And that blazer is so twenty years ago. The least you can do is pick an era, like Bitsy or Clarice, and stick to it.”

  Bitsy was an eighties girl, and Clarice was Bohemian seventies.

  “You don’t understand,” Darcy said wearily. “Darcy Jones Harper wouldn’t dress like you.”

  “Like me?” Avery laughed, glancing down, presumably seeing her fashionable black blouse and narrow-legged jeans. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Pipe down. Both of you,” Mary Margaret cautioned. “Jason’s watching from over by the door. Don’t make it worse.”

  Avery tsk-tsked, continuing at a lower volume. “Darcy’s wearing granny sandals, a business suit that says she has no style, and her hair in an unflattering bun like she’s run out of hair product. It can’t get any worse than this.”

  “Unless Jason comes over and offers to buy me a drink,” Darcy whispered fiercely. “You think I like dressing like this? You think I should have dressed like a trophy wife? That would have made things ten times worse.”

  Avery drew back, tilting her head as she considered Darcy’s words. “Is this a trick question? I think it’s a trick question. A year ago, you dressed like Jason’s would-be trophy wife, which I wholeheartedly approved of. You rocked it. When you married George, you changed your appearance…and your…your everything. Hardly any drinks with the girls at Shaw’s, certainly not on Sundays. And no clothes shopping trips with us to Greeley. Why?”

  “I need a drink.” Darcy didn’t answer Avery. She’d already said too much. “Don’t you need a drink, Lola? Let’s all have a drink.” She signaled Noah for a round of their usuals.

  “I take it the courthouse thing didn’t go well,” Mary Margaret said tentatively. “Who’s the new judge?”

  “Yeah. Which of the Harpers was sworn in?” Avery asked.

  Darcy hesitated.

  “Maybe Darcy can’t tell us until it’s official,” Lola said sympathetically. “You know, she’s always so good at keeping other people’s secrets.”

  And my own.

  There was no way to sugarcoat the truth. “I was sworn in. I’m the new Judge Harper.”

  Darcy’s announcement was met with silence.

  Mary Margaret cleared her throat. “That’s…great?”

  “If unexpected.” Lola’s expression was as sorrowful as when she’d learned George had died. “Is this what you want? You were going to leave town and become a public defender.”

  “Darcy can’t leave town now that she’s a judge.” Avery smiled. “But at least the robes will cover most of that.” She made a circle in Darcy’s direction with her hand. “I may be nagging you about your fashion style, but just so we’re clear—I’m not giving your Louboutins back when you decide to embrace the real Darcy.”

  Embrace. Darcy wanted nothing more than to have a pair of strong arms embrace her, tell her she’d done the right thing both in marrying George and in taking the oath of office. Her gaze drifted toward Jason once more.

  She’d only ever dated Jason. All through school and after. He was
the man who knew almost all her secrets. The man who’d held her when her mother skipped town to evade a federal fraud charge. The man she’d turned to each time her father and brother were arrested. The man who’d celebrated with her when she’d graduated from law school, although her head pounded just remembering that hangover.

  For nearly twenty years, Jason had been the love of her life. He had a square jaw balanced by a set of deep dimples high on his cheeks. His hair was a bright blond and his eyes a deep blue. And when he held her, she didn’t feel like she was from the wrong side of town. She felt like a woman who’d found home.

  “No, no.” Mary Margaret snapped her fingers midair in front of Darcy. “Now is not the time to fall back on bad habits.”

  Her friend had no idea how far back she was falling—back to the Jones way of capitalizing upon opportunities that fell in their path. She should have refused to become judge. What did acceptance say about her moral fiber?

  That I thought highly of it, George snapped.

  Noah delivered a chardonnay for Mary Margaret, a cabernet for Lola, a red zinfandel for Avery, and a beer for Darcy. Although Darcy sometimes ordered wine, the irony of her drink of choice wasn’t lost on her. She was blue collar, through and through.

  Up until her wedding, she’d relied on her friends to help her shop for clothes, which might explain her fashion miss when attempting to present herself as Mrs. George Harper. What did it matter? The right career wardrobe gave a girl a big dose of confidence, but so did the right friends.

  Darcy raised her glass. “Here’s to me making something of myself.” Hopefully it wasn’t a fool.

  They clinked their glasses.

  “You were sworn in?” Avery sipped her wine. “On a Bible and everything?”

  Darcy nodded.

  “You’ve got to live by the letter of the law now,” Mary Margaret pointed out. The voice of experience, since she was marrying the mayor. “No more speeding to Greeley for early-bird Black Friday sales.”

  “No more sneaking in alcohol to the midnight showing at the movies,” Avery said mournfully, which was ironic since she managed the movie theater.

  “No more making out in cars at the overlook near Saddle Horn Pass,” Lola said wistfully.

  That announcement brought the conversation to a screeching halt.

  “You’re married,” Darcy said, stating what seemed to be the obvious. “You don’t have to make out in cars.”

  “You try finding private time with a six-year-old at home.” Lola smiled impishly. “Besides, the point is that you have to be the judge, 24/7.”

  “Sadly, I think this is what George trained me for.” Things he’d said and done in their year together were starting to make more sense. “No more acting up or acting out.” No more wild hairs or wild nights. Which meant she absolutely, positively could not hook up again with Jason.

  That cowboy, like her old wardrobe, wouldn’t buy her respectability.

  But that fact couldn’t stop the girl from the wrong side of the tracks from dreaming.

  * * *

  “What is this doing here?” Iggy tapped the love advice column Mims had left. “Don’t tell me you’re doing that again. That won’t win Darcy back. I’m embarrassed for you.”

  Jason glanced over to Darcy. “That’s not—”

  “Look.” Clarice sat down next to Jason, using what for her was probably a whisper. “Here’s how it’s done.” She propped her walking stick against the table and then handed Jason her cell phone, sideways.

  Jason was no good with tech. Never had been. He took the phone with a firm grip, the way he would grab a rope on a bull. The screen went blank.

  “Are you giving him bedroom tips?” Iggy grinned and leaned toward the center of the table. “Lemme see.”

  “Jason, you’re all thumbs.” Clarice reclaimed her phone, worked some magic, and then showed him a video of a woman giving relationship advice. That is, if the subtitle was correct. Jason wasn’t entirely sure, since Clarice was talking over the audio. “You want to understand where people are coming from, especially if this is the second—or fourth—time around for someone.” Clarice nodded to Bitsy as she passed their table and headed for the one the Widows Club board had taken. “Listening is a form of investment in relationships, and conversely, relationship advice. Garbage in. Garbage out.” Clarice toggled around to something else. “He’s good too.”

  A boy of about nine or ten grinned onscreen and said, “Let me tell you how easy it is to get a girlfriend. First, always open a door for her.”

  Iggy howled. “Priceless.”

  Jason eased Clarice’s phone back into her space, somehow managing to shut off the future Dr. Phil on her screen. “I get the idea. A printed love advice column is outdated.” His agent had told him it wasn’t well received anyway. But Ken had also said Jason’s sponsors were getting antsy. To keep his endorsement paychecks coming, he needed media exposure, a return to the circuit, or both.

  “Now, you can do the written word if you also do video.” Clarice swiped her finger over her screen, bringing up a flowery banner—Love Advice for Today’s Singles. “But above all, you have to have something relevant to say.”

  “Amen, sister.” Iggy couldn’t seem to stop laughing. “Folks like to hear from a modern, sensitive man.”

  “Which excludes me.” Jason put his hand over her screen, creating a cascade of pop-ups. “I’m a cowboy, and if my reputation was based on fact”—which it wasn’t—“a player.”

  Iggy laughed so hard that he fell over on the bench seat. He knew Jason was only serious about one woman.

  “Being a cowboy is what makes you unique.” Clarice frowned at her phone. “I could help you. However, the message has to come from a genuine place of caring, not hurt.”

  Was she calling him out on the whole Darcy thing in the column?

  “Hang on.” Iggy righted himself and nodded toward Clarice. “You mean, with a little help from you, that Jason’s love advice could catch on?”

  “Yep.” With a press of a button, Clarice cleared her screen. “Hashtag trending.”

  “No.” Jason hurried to put the kibosh on that idea, even though his agent might approve of the buzz. He shook his finger at Iggy. “I will not embarrass myself any further by pretending to know the female mind.” If he had any real knowledge about women, he’d have seen Darcy’s marriage to the judge coming. He’d have made sure she knew of their Vegas vows sooner.

  “You’re too young to understand women.” Clarice tucked her cell phone in the bib of her overalls. “That doesn’t mean you couldn’t dispense insightful advice on any topic. But if it’s love, I could prompt you.”

  “No,” Jason said again. “I’m not a puppet.”

  “Don’t throw the baby out with the bathwater. Clarice is offering to help.” Iggy’s grin meant trouble. “And I sense an increase in sales corresponding to this venture. How do we make this happen?”

  Jason sucked down his beer, staring over the rim of his glass at Darcy, who looked no happier than he felt. She might have been with her friends but there was a furrow in her brow. She often wore her heart on her sleeve, and he could tell she was worried about something. He could ease her mind if she let him. He could release her dark-blond hair, hold her gently, run a hand along her soft curves, and whisper words of reassurance.

  “We’d have to find the right room to record,” Clarice was saying. “I’ve had success producing your mother’s knitting vlog from her shop’s storage room.”

  Both men were struck mute. Presumably, Iggy was as dumbfounded as Jason to learn Clarice was a video producer and that his mother had an online knitting show.

  “Then it’s settled,” Clarice said. “I’m free on Saturday afternoon. All we need now is a topic.”

  Iggy grinned at Jason.

  “Please.” Jason wiped a hand over his face. “If it’s expertise you’re looking for, I’ll talk about bull riding.”

  Clarice and Iggy shook their heads. Clarice gl
anced in the direction of Darcy. Iggy turned that way too. And then the pair looked at each other and nodded.

  “You have another area of expertise,” Clarice said.

  “Women.” Iggy snickered.

  “Charming women.” Clarice nodded sagely. “It’s what you do best.”

  Jason stared at his wife. “That’s where you’re wrong. Whatever charm I had, I lost.”

  When he’d lost Darcy.

  * * *

  “I thought you were resigning from the club,” Mims told Bitsy when she joined her at Shaw’s.

  Bitsy tugged at the shoulder pads of her sweater set, which had fallen off center, the same as her spirits. She wasn’t sure why she’d come to Shaw’s after walking out on their poker game earlier.

  Oh, that was a lie.

  Bitsy sat down. She wanted to know what had happened after she left. Had they taken up her cause or not?

  She and Mims were alone. Clarice was sitting with Jason and Iggy. Edith was over saying hello to her granddaughter Mary Margaret, who sat with Darcy.

  Bitsy’s hands rested on her small black tweed handbag, which sat in her lap, ready for her to stay or go. Irrationally, she wanted to do both. “I’m twitchy,” she admitted miserably. “It just came on all of a sudden.”

  Mims didn’t bat an eye. “It’s been coming on for the past year.” She’d obviously noticed what Bitsy had missed.

  Bitsy clutched her purse to her chest. “I can’t do this again.” Fall in love. “I can’t lose someone again.” Bury him.

  “You know how love works.” Mims’s fingers clung to the edge of the table as if she too was troubled by Bitsy’s twitchiness. “It’s a chance. A risk. A gamble. Especially at our age.”

  Shiitake mushrooms. Her friends weren’t going to help Bitsy find true love. “You didn’t play poker at all, did you? You’ve started on Darcy and Jason.”