A Slow Dance Holiday

by Carolyn Brown

  “Honey, if we come home drunk, we’ll just stagger in here from the bar.” He laughed. “I guess the original Honky Tonk always had the front door and back door, but when they built on this apartment, they decided to make it accessible through the parking lot. Now are we ready?”

  She sat back down and nodded. “Laissez les bon temps rouler.”

  “Let the good times roll.” He interpreted what she’d said.

  She had her hand in the popcorn bowl when Home Alone started instead of one of the two that they’d talked about. “I love this, but…”

  He covered her hand with his. “I figured we were starting our own traditions. Besides, if we watch what we used to see with our families, we’d get homesick. This one will make us laugh. We will watch it every Christmas and remember what a good time we had on our first Christmas together.”

  “So, you think we’ll be together for years on down the road?” She slid her hand out from under his and filled her mouth with popcorn.

  “Yep, I do.” He picked up a few kernels and popped them into his mouth.

  “We should take pictures of Frank James and our tree and decorations in the bar and even our apartment,” she said. “I’ll make a scrapbook to keep them all in…” She stopped and stared at the television. “This is my favorite part. Someday I’m going to have a son like Kevin.”

  “Are you going to forget him when you fly to Paris?” Cameron teased.

  “Hell, no! To begin with, I’ll have a bar to run, so I won’t even be flying to Paris, Texas, much less to the one across the big pond,” she answered as she fluffed up his pillow and leaned an elbow on it.

  “What about all the other kids? Are you going to let them call him FedEx?” Cameron chuckled.

  “Nope, and what makes you think there’s going to be other children?” she asked.

  “A boy needs siblings,” Cameron said. “Someone to fight with and stand up with when someone else picks a fight.”

  “That’s something to think about later. Right now, I don’t want to miss a minute of this movie,” she told him.

  * * *

  Cameron awoke to nothing but a blank television screen staring at him. Home Alone 2 had ended, the credits had rolled, and the digital clock on the DVD player told him that it was three thirty in the morning. He was stretched out on the front side of the bed. Jorja was spooned right up to his back and had one leg thrown over him. Her arm was tucked tightly around his chest as if she was afraid that she would fall off the back side of the bed. He wished he had a picture of the two of them to put in her scrapbook, but there was no way he could reach his phone without waking her. He managed to pick up the remote and turn off the television, and then he closed his hand around hers and went back to sleep.

  He was awakened again at ten o’clock in the morning when she gasped and jumped off the bed. He rolled to the wrong side and wound up on the floor about the same time that a spider rappelled down from the ceiling and hung suspended about six inches above his nose, and then another one swung down right beside it, so now there were two of the monsters staring at him as if he was going to be their supper.

  “Jorja, a little help here,” he whispered.

  “Help nothing!” she said loudly. “I’m making sure I’ve still got all my clothes on the right way. We didn’t…” She leaned over and stared right past the evil creatures dancing the mambo right above his head. “…did we?”

  “We slept together.” He was surprised that he could move his lips to speak. “We didn’t do any more than that. Would you please kill these two varmints so I can see if I broke any bones when I fell off the bed?”

  “What are you talking about? Is there a snake?” She headed in the direction of her chest of drawers to get her gun.

  “No snake,” he whispered. “It’s damn spiders. Please don’t try to kill them with a bullet. You might miss and hit me.”

  “Well, why didn’t you say so?” she asked as she leaned over the bed, grabbed both webs, and brought the dangling devils her way. Once she cleared the bed, she lowered the things to the floor and stomped on them. “Two of them. Do you believe what I’ve been telling you about signs now?”

  “I’m a believer.” He sat up. “Evidently even spiders and snakes need partners.”

  “You can check for broken bones. Do I need to take you to the hospital?” she asked. “I’m not good at driving on slick roads, but I’ll do my best.”

  He sat up and shook his head. “Everything seems fine, but we’re damn sure having this place exterminated as soon as we can get a man out here to do it.”

  She sat down on the edge of his bed. “Let’s don’t make this a part of our Christmas tradition.”

  “What? Falling asleep together or the spiders?” he asked as he got up and moved his bed back to its usual place.

  She opened her mouth to say something but abruptly whipped around and went to the stove. “I’m making cinnamon rolls for breakfast. They won’t be the fancy kind like Mama makes in Hurricane Mills, but they’ll be what we have on Christmas morning.”

  “What can I do to help?” he asked, “and honey, I didn’t mean to embarrass you. Who knows where we’ll be next year at Christmas, but I really think it would be all right if we made it a tradition of falling asleep together. I liked the feeling of waking up in the middle of the night with you keeping me warm.”

  “You can get out the brown sugar, butter, and cinnamon. I’m just going to roll out some biscuits from a can.” She tried to sidestep replying to what he had said, but it didn’t work. “And I had a wonderful Christmas Eve. Thank you for making me laugh, for dancing with me, taking me out to eat, and for…”—she stopped and looked up into his eyes—“and for just sleeping with me.”

  “What does that mean?” He brought out the ingredients she’d asked for.

  “It means thank you for being a gentleman,” she answered.

  “Like I said before, I’m not afraid of snakes, bullies or redheaded women, but I am afraid of spiders and my mama, even though I’m thirty-one years old. I’m glad you’re here to kill the spiders for me, but honey, not even you with your cute little pistol could protect me from my mama if I was anything less than a gentleman. And just for the record, I’m more afraid of her than I would be of any tarantula,” he said.

  Her smile turned into a giggle. That soon became laughter, and then they were both guffawing. Cameron grabbed up a dish towel and dried her eyes with it and then his own. “You might think I’m kiddin’, but that, darlin’, is the gospel truth.”

  “I would like your mama,” Jorja said.

  “You’ll have to meet her someday.” He moved to the other end of the short cabinet and put on a pot of coffee. His mother would love to see her baby boy settled down, and there was no doubt that she would adore Jorja’s sass.

  Holy smokin’ hell! What was the matter with him? He’d been runnin’ from commitment and serious relationships since he was a teenager. He’d known Jorja less than a week, and he didn’t even stumble or stutter when he thought about “settling down.”

  Chapter 9

  “I was right, wasn’t I?” Chigger grinned as she leaned in between two cowboys on barstools and ordered a pitcher of beer. “Christmas is over, and folks are ready to get out of the house. They’re tired of turkey and fixin’s, and they’re probably like me and just want some good old greasy burgers and fries.”

  “Christmas isn’t over until midnight.” Jorja set two burger baskets in front of the guys at the bar. “But you were sure enough right. Did you have a good Christmas?”

  Chigger flashed a diamond ring at her. “Frankie and I are engaged. I said yes, but the wedding ain’t happenin’ for a long time.”

  “Why’s that?” Cameron handed her the pitcher of beer.

  “It took five years for me to say yes to the ring. I’m in no hurry to say yes to the wedding cake or the dr
ess either one.” Chigger grinned. “Did y’all have a good Christmas?”

  “The best,” Jorja answered and went back to work on the next order.

  “Really?” Cameron asked. “We didn’t even have presents.”

  “Yes, we did,” she protested with a bump of her hip against his. “I killed spiders on Christmas morning for you, and you made me laugh. Those things are more important than material things.”

  “Does that mean we’re not giving gifts next year?” he asked.

  “Hell, no! I still believe in Santa, so he’d better bring me something next year, and I do like my Santa in a Stetson,” she flirted.

  He chuckled. “What do you think you’ll give Santa next year?”

  “A can of bug spray to start with,” she answered, “and a fly swatter.”

  “Sounds good to me.” He set two shot glasses on the bar and poured them full of Jack Daniel’s.

  “I’ll be your Santa, darlin’.” One of the cowboys winked and tipped his black cowboy hat toward Jorja. “I’ve got the hat, and I’ll get you a big, beautiful present.”

  “That’s so sweet, but from that ring on your finger, darlin’, I’d say you better be saving all your pennies to get your wife something big and beautiful,” she told him.

  “Busted!” The cowboy laughed.

  “Good catch,” Cameron whispered.

  Jorja had settled into her new job so effortlessly that she wondered if she hadn’t owned a bar in a past life—if reincarnation even existed. She felt like she’d been right there, working beside Cameron for months, not days. There had to be a logical explanation for it, but she was too busy to give it much thought. She finished up the order she was working on, put it on a tray, and took it out to a table with four young women. They were all dressed in what looked like brand-new blinged-out jeans, cowgirl boots, and western shirts. Their Santa Claus had certainly been good to them that year, and before the night was over, they just might have a little more luck in their lives.

  The idea of luck brought Haggard’s song back to her mind, and as fate would have it, someone played it on the jukebox. Jorja had to weave in and out among the people on the crowded dance floor to get back to the bar. Folks must really like that song, she thought. Everyone was dancing except for one blonde who was sitting on a stool with her back turned. She looked vaguely familiar, which meant that she’d probably been in the Honky Tonk earlier in the week. Someday Jorja would be able to put names with faces.

  She rounded the end of the bar and turned around. “What can I get you?” she asked without really looking at the woman.

  “A suitcase to pack your things in,” Abigail said.

  Jorja jerked her head up to see her sister glaring right at her. “Merry Christmas to you, too.”

  “I’m in no mood for your sass. Mama sent me to bring you home. I got an Uber from the airport and it was a horrible trip, so come out from there, and let’s start packing. I’ll be riding with you in your car on the way back.” Abigail’s mouth was set in a thin line that said she wasn’t taking no for an answer.

  Jorja flipped two meat patties onto the grill and filled the deep fry basket with onion rings. “You must be hungry.”

  “I am starving, but you won’t change my mind with a burger basket. I’m not going home without you,” Abigail declared.

  Jorja wouldn’t argue with her sister right there in her place of business, but she wasn’t going anywhere—most of all not back to Hurricane Mills.

  She motioned for Cameron to come to her end of the bar. “Need some help?” he called out over the top of the noise.

  “Yes, I do.” Jorja tried to let him know with her expression that he was walking into something worse than a whole nest of spiders.

  “What can I do?” He stopped right in front of her.

  “You can meet my sister, Abigail, who for some crazy reason thinks I’m going to let her drive my car back to Tennessee,” she answered.

  “Pleased to meet you.” Cameron nodded toward Abigail and then turned his focus back to Jorja. “Honey, if she needs your car, we’ve still got my pickup. We’ll be fine with one vehicle.”

  “She thinks I’m going to be in the car with her, daw…lin’.” Jorja dragged out the endearment like a native of southern Louisiana.

  “Oh, well now, that poses a real problem.” Cameron chuckled. “I can’t run this place by myself. You have superpowers and protect me from spiders and make me believe in signs, miracles, and magic.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but Jorja is not going to disgrace the family by owning or working in a place like this. Call it an intervention or a kidnapping or whatever you want, but if I have to hog tie you and strap you to the top of your car, I will take you home.” Abigail shot daggers by turn at each of them.

  Jorja finished making the food and set it in front of Abigail. “Eat this and then go through that door right there and take a nap on my bed. You’ll know which one it is by the look of it. We’ll talk at two o’clock when Cameron and I close up the place and, honey, the universe has spoken to me. Who am I to refuse to listen when something that big and important tells me this is where I belong.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Abigail bit into a hot onion ring. “I don’t trust you not to go somewhere and hide, and what do you mean, I’ll know your bed? Are you sleeping in the same room with this man?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I am, and I think I remember telling you that already,” Jorja answered.

  Chigger sat down on the stool right beside Abigail and nudged her with her shoulder. “I’m Chigger and, honey, if she wasn’t sharing the Honky Tonk apartment with Cameron, I’d give my brand-new engagement ring back to Frankie and offer to share more than a room with him. Jorja, darlin’, would you get me and Frankie an order of fries? We done worked up an appetite out there on the dance floor.”

  The grease sizzled when Jorja sank the basket of frozen fries into it, but it couldn’t possibly sizzle as much as the temper she was holding inside of her. How dare her sister show up and think she could control her life! Jorja was almost thirty years old, by damn, and she’d lived on her own for more than a decade. No one had come to Nashville and tried to force her to go back to Hurricane Mills when she took the job with an obscure country music label.

  “What are you going to do?” Cameron whispered as he got two longneck Coors from the refrigerator.

  “My job,” Jorja answered, “and ignore my sister. If she wants to get blisters on her butt sitting there, then she can live with the pain of them all the way back to Tennessee. Maybe enough drunk cowboys will hit on her that she’ll give up and go take a nap.”

  Nothing or no one could have convinced Jorja more quickly that she was right where she needed to be, and where she intended to stay, than Abigail showing up and making her demands. Jorja liked working with Cameron, loved living with him, and really liked the way his kisses jacked up her pulse. The devil himself, wearing a black Stetson and tight blue jeans, and riding a big white horse would have a fight on his hands if he even thought he could drag Jorja back to Tennessee.

  Jorja and Cameron were swamped for the next four hours. She didn’t have time to talk to Abigail, and her sister didn’t budge off the stool—not even to make a trip to the ladies’ room. Only a few die-hards were still at the bar when Cameron pointed at the clock.

  “Time to close, guys. Wishing all y’all one more Merry Christmas,” Cameron said.

  They stumbled to the coatrack beside the door and retrieved their jackets. Cameron locked the door behind them and then sank down in a chair as far away from the bar as possible.

  Traitor, Jorja thought, you could come on over here and give me some support.

  “Why don’t y’all get something cold to drink, and we’ll visit?” he said.

  Abigail’s high heels sounded like pops from a .22 rifle as she made her way acros
s the wooden floor. Jorja grabbed a diet root beer and two bottles of Coors from the refrigerator and carried them to the table.

  “I’m not leaving.” Jorja set the drinks down and pulled a chair over closer to Cameron.

  “I hate to admit it, but I understand.” Abigail sighed.

  “Are you drunk or sleep-deprived?” Jorja asked.

  “No, I just got my eyes opened tonight.” Abigail got up and hugged her sister. “Cameron, would you mind if Jorja and I talked privately?”

  “Not one bit.” He picked up one of the beers. “I’ll go get my shower while you ladies visit, and I’ll be glad to sleep on the sofa in the office if Abigail wants to spend the night.”

  “Thank you.” Abigail nodded.

  Jorja waited until he was out of the room before she glared at her sister. “What did you and Mama think gave you the right to do something like this? I’m a grown woman, and I can make my own decisions.”

  “We love you, and this seemed so”—Abigail struggled with the right word—“so crazy. Hanging out in a bar in the middle of nowhere in Texas with a man you’d never met before, and that’s before we even knew y’all were living together. What would you have done if you had a daughter and she was doing this?”

  “I hope I would trust her enough to make her own decisions and support her in them.” Jorja twisted the cap off her beer and took a long drink.

  “Well, I hope one of my girls never puts me to this test.” Abigail eyed the beer, but finally took a sip of her root beer. “I’m not staying here tonight. I’m going back to Fort Worth as soon as I finish this root beer and use the ladies’ room.”

  “Why? What changed your mind?” Jorja asked.

  “You’ll think I’m crazy if I tell you.” Abigail’s cheeks turned slightly red.

  “Probably, but I already think you’re insane for flying out here on Christmas with the intention of kidnapping me, so spit it out,” Jorja said.