That Wild Texas Swing

by MJ Fredrick

  That Wild Texas Swing

  By MJ Fredrick

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Epilogue

  The cowboy was a good dancer but a sloppy kisser. Liz Salazar inclined her head,feigning a laugh, to avoid his mouth as they danced across the shiny concrete floor. He tightened his grip on her waist, pulling her closer, but she used the beat of the music to spin away.

  Garcia’s Bar was hopping tonight, filled with cowboys and oilfield workers with their paychecks. The cowboy she’d chose tonight was handsome, but she’d already decided she wouldn’t be going home with him.

  “Let me buy you a drink,” he said when the song ended.

  She broke free with the ease of practice and tossed her blue-streaked hair. “I’m buying my own drinks these days, thanks.”

  He called after her, the words drowned out by conversation and the opening of the next song, and she made her escape. Bev, the manicurist at the salon Liz owned, leaned on the bar, sipping her margarita.

  “I told you the blue streaks weren’t a bad idea.”

  One of the bonuses of owning one’s own salon was the ability to experiment with styles. Some styles—like blue hair—might be a little extreme for the small town of Evansville, Texas, even for Liz. But the bold statement hadn’t deterred the cowboys from asking her to dance. The fact that she and Bev were two of fewer than a dozen women in the place might have had something to do with that.

  Liz pulled her own drink closer and made a face. “Not that one.”

  Bev laughed. “You’re getting picky in your old age.”

  “Hey! I’ve always had standards.”

  “Low standards.”

  Liz lifted her glass and Bev tapped hers to it.

  Then Bev straightened, her eyes on the door. “Who. Is. That?”

  Liz had to remind herself that Bev was fairly new to the town where Liz had lived her whole life. “That is Trace McKenna, the oldest son of the biggest ranch in three counties. The ink is barely dry on his divorce papers.” Now she straightened. “And that is Killian Dawson, the mayor.”

  Bev set her glass down hard, almost knocking it over. “That’s the mayor? The young guy?”

  The young guy she’d known since she was in elementary school, the older brother of her former best friend. He’d been an overweight bespectacled nerd, in the brass section of the marching band, sweet and funny, but girls wouldn’t give him the time of day.

  Still, the town loved him, and elected him mayor once his father retired from the job. And in the two years since his father died, Killian had started to drop the weight he’d carried all his life.

  Now…now he was looking fine.

  “Come on.” The music pulsing through her, she curled her fingers around Bev’s arm. “I’ll introduce you.” Without waiting for a response, she pulled Bev off her barstool and sauntered over to Killian.

  “Hey, Killian. Looking good.” She leaned in close and rested her hand on his flat stomach, her fingers flexing just a little against his tight abs. Killian had abs. The thought sent a thrill through her.

  “You too, Liz.” He lifted the ends of her hair so the blue tips spread across his palm. “This is different.”

  She laughed. “Just playing around. This is my friend Bev. She’s the manicurist at my salon. Bev, Killian and Trace.”

  Killian offered a warm handshake, while Trace gave a brief nod and turned his attention toward the bar.

  Bev turned Killian’s hand over in hers. “You know, men get manicures too.”

  He laughed. “Not in Evansville.”

  “You could be a trendsetter, like Liz.”

  He turned his gaze to Liz, and she could swear she saw a glint in his eyes. “No, I don’t think I could.”

  “I didn’t think you’d come to a place like Garcia’s,” Liz said. The place was an abandoned grocery store that had been turned into a bar when the oil boom started and the workers needed a place to blow off steam. Matt Garcia, the owner, had painted the windows black, set up the bar in front of the old coolers, put in a jukebox and some tables and opened for business. Very simple, but very profitable. Liz almost wished she’d had the money to do that instead of opening the salon for the wives of the men in the oilfields, bored women looking to spend money.

  “Well, until Sage’s place is ready to go, there aren’t a lot of options. Too many people at the Coyote Moon think that’s my other office. We just want to get a drink.” Killian looked past her to the bar.

  She stepped aside and swept her hand toward it in invitation, like it was hers to offer. “Save me a dance?”

  “Ah.” He opened his mouth, then closed it again, smiled, and headed to the bar behind Trace.

  “He’s delicious,” Bev said, watching the two men walk away.

  Liz felt a little odd using that word to describe her childhood friend. He’d always just been Maggie’s dorky brother, who hadn’t even teased them like older brothers were supposed to. He was just a gentle soul, and she had dismissed him throughout the years.

  Now she found it hard to dismiss him, those pretty blue eyes fringed with dark lashes, the sophisticated haircut, the suit that he wore all the time, even to Garcia’s, though at least he’d loosened the tie.

  She’d never thought suits and ties were sexy until this minute. She’d always been a jeans and snap-shirts kind of girl.

  Not tonight.

  She’d give him space to have his drink with Trace, but she’d make him aware that she was there, that she was available, and that she was interested. She was really good at that combination.

  *****

  Killian should have known Liz would be here. The Coyote was too tame for her, and Evansville didn’t have a lot of options for someone who liked to party like Liz did.

  Which made him wonder why she’d not only stuck around Evansville, but she’d started a business on the town square, a salon catering to the wives of the men who were making good money in the oilfields south and west of town.

  Even as he sipped his rum and diet soda, he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. Hell, he never had been able to, even when they were kids and she was hanging around his sister Maggie. Yeah, she was younger than him by four years, but she’d always seemed more mature, and had the flirting thing down by the time she was out of middle school.

  But never with him, never until tonight.

  Now she was looking down the bar at him through her thick lashes, making the straw she toyed with seem downright sinful, all that up and down movement as she stirred her drink. Her straight dark hair fell forward around her heart-shaped face, the blue streaks and tips catching the light. He never thought the way a woman’s hair fell against her shoulders could turn him on.

  Trace snapped his fingers in front of Killian’s face. “You here with me, man?”

  Of course he was. He’d offered to take Trace out after a particularly rough day with Trace’s soon-to-be-ex Mandy. They were fighting over custody of their daughter Vivian and today had been a vicious argument, with Mandy using her new boyfriend as the reason she should have full custody, when he was the very reason Trace didn’t want her
to have custody at all.

  He knew Trace didn’t want to talk about it, just wanted to have a drink.

  “She gets prettier every time I see her.”

  Trace rolled her eyes. “Nothing but trouble for you, my man. You’re the mayor. You can’t be messing around with a woman like that. You know her reputation.”

  He’d wondered, more than once, if he’d had the courage to act on his attraction back when she got out of school, if she’d have that reputation now. Of course, she hadn’t looked twice at the dumpy French horn player, only saw him as her best friend’s brother.

  Which gave him an opening to go talk to her.

  He picked up his drink, inclined his head for Trace to follow, and walked down the bar.

  She lifted her face and smiled, but didn’t move otherwise, like it was her due that he’d come to her.

  “Where’s Maggie tonight?” he asked, leaning on the bar.

  She wrinkled her nose. “Since she got the job at the bank, she doesn’t come out much anymore. Early hours, I guess. And she hangs out more with Cassidy these days.” She smiled past him at Trace. “Hey, Trace. How’s single life treating you?”

  Trace glowered—not much of a change in expression, honestly—and drank his beer.

  “Trace isn’t a fan of women at the moment,” Killian said, leaning in maybe a little too close and getting a whiff of Liz’s scent, something fruity and fun. She just gave off that vibe—fun. He hadn’t had fun in his life in a while.

  “I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” Liz said, still talking to Trace, her bare arms stretched out on the bar.

  The hibiscus tattoo on her shoulder was practically under Killian’s nose. Did he even know another woman with a tattoo?

  “The next time Mandy comes in the salon, I’ll strip all the color out of her hair and tell her it’s the latest style. Or I’ll give her one of those poodle perms. Or a haircut like Jim Carrey in ‘Dumb and Dumber.’”

  The corner of Trace’s mouth kicked up. “Not sure she’ll be coming back in. She and her boyfriend want to move to Dallas.”

  Liz winced in sympathy. “And take your daughter?”

  Trace’s mouth twisted in affirmation.

  “That sucks. No wonder you’re not a fan of women.” She motioned to the bartender. “Put Mr. McKenna’s drinks on my tab, on behalf of womankind.”

  Killian laughed, but Trace stepped forward. “I can’t let you do that.”

  She stood and curled her hand around the back of his head, drawing his gaze to hers. “Get shit-faced on me. I’m going to steal your friend for a few minutes.”

  She released him to take Killian’s hand, tucked it into the small of her back and guided him out onto the dance floor. He hadn’t been paying attention to the music until she turned into his arms, one hand on his shoulder.

  “Tell me you can two-step,” she said, and without waiting for an answer, started moving to the music.

  Of course he could two-step. He’d grown up in Evansville where just about every function had a dance. In addition to that, he’d been groomed to be mayor since he was in middle school, and his mother had insisted on dance lessons.

  Until now, he’d never been happy that he’d had to take them.

  The shirt Liz wore was little more a scrap of material, gathered between her shoulders, baring her long arms. And the hem was uneven, which meant when he placed his hand on her waist above her jeans, he encountered bare skin. The contact didn’t faze her, but every nerve in his body rushed to his palm, while all the blood rushed south. That he was able to lead her around the dance floor in a decent two-step was a miracle.

  She looked up at him, eyes bright. “Hey, you’re a good dancer.”

  He didn't want to tell her that he’d learned in the arms of a fifty-something woman, so he just smiled. “Comes with the job.”

  She eased a little closer, so his hand slid around to the small of her back. “Do you like it? Being mayor?”

  “Yeah, I do. It’s an exciting time to be mayor, so many changes in town. We’ve got the new grocery store coming in, and Sage’s new place, and other people who want to open businesses on the square.”

  “That’s good. I always worried you were pushed into it, you know, since your dad was the mayor for so long.”

  That she’d thought about him that much made his chest swell. Maybe it had only been a fleeting question in her mind, but it had been about him. “I had big shoes to fill, but I think I’m doing okay.”

  She cocked her head and smiled, then trailed one hand down his chest to rest on his stomach. “I think you’re doing a great job. Anyone who can stand up to Sage McKenna has my vote.”

  He laughed. Trace’s little sister was a big part of the changes happening downtown. Her dream was to change Evansville into the next bed-and-breakfast, antique-shopping mecca of Texas. He didn't know how likely that was, since Evansville was on the way to nowhere but the oilfields. Still, Sage was taking advantage of the oil money coming into town to build a bar of her own, and she owned most of the shops on the square, including Liz’s salon. She was smart, driven and stubborn.

  His mother had pushed him in that direction more than once, but he’d balked. Yes, she was from the richest ranching family in the area, yes, she was beautiful, but she was too headstrong for him. He’d been meek too long. He didn’t want to be meek in the bedroom as well.

  That thought in his head, he slipped his fingers beneath the hem of Liz’s shirt at the small of her back. Her eyes widened, then a smile settled on her lips, and she inched just a bit closer, enough that he could still maneuver on the dance floor, but the occasional brush of her breasts against his chest sent all the right signals.

  He caught sight of her friend Bev dancing with a cowboy and realized Trace was alone at the bar. He couldn’t do that to his friend, no matter how good Liz felt in his arms.

  He loosened his hold on her and eased back. “I need to get back to Trace. I brought him here because he was lonely and miserable.”

  She reached up and tapped a long finger against his jaw. “You’re a good friend, Killian.”

  He wasn’t sure what to make of that, as he made his way through the cowboys and back to Trace. But he watched Liz throughout the evening. She didn’t dance with anyone else, didn’t accept drinks from anyone. She stayed at the bar and watched her friend dance and flirt, and finally leave with some guy Killian didn’t see.

  Killian’s gut tightened a little at that. Was this how Liz spent most of her evenings? Going home with guys she didn’t really know? Was that why Maggie didn’t hang out with her anymore? He’d thought his life—a single-room apartment overlooking the town square, his only dates more business than pleasure—was lonely, but he couldn’t think of anything lonelier than that.

  “I’m ready to get out of here.” Trace slapped him on the shoulder a couple of times good-naturedly. “Shoulda taken that redhead up on her offer.”

  Redhead? For a minute, Killian’s mind went blank. Ah. Liz’s friend.

  “She’s long gone.” But Liz wasn’t. She still sat at the end of the bar. What was she waiting for?

  On the way out, Killian made a point to pass by. “Need a ride?”

  Those big brown eyes brightened. “You know, I think maybe yes, if you don’t mind.” She looked from Trace to him. “You okay?”

  “I switched to straight Diet Coke about an hour ago. You have your car?”

  “I came with Bev.”

  “And she just left you?”

  “Believe me, it’s worth it to me for her to get laid,” Liz laughed, standing. “Just let me settle my tab and we can go. Thanks.”

  “So what were you going to do if nobody offered you a ride?”

  “Call my sister. It wouldn’t be the first time.” She scrawled her name on the credit card receipt, added a tip and a smile as she handed it back to the bartender, then turned to Killian. “All set. How are you feeling, Trace?”

  His grin surprised both of them. “Mandy can go sc
rew herself.”

  “What stage of grief is that?” Liz asked Killian as she held the door open for the men.

  “That would be anger.” They crossed the asphalt to Killian’s red Thunderbird convertible—it had been his father’s, and because of that, had become the signature of the mayor. Plus, it was fun as hell to drive. On the downside, people always knew where he was.

  He opened the door. Trace crawled into the back seat, and Liz slid gracefully over the white upholstery of the front seat. He paused a moment to appreciate how good she looked in his car before closing the door and crossing to the driver’s side.

  “I’ll take him home first, if you don’t mind.”

  “Oh, I was counting on it. Are you going to put the top down?”

  He hadn’t planned to, but the May night was nicer than usual, and he had Liz Salazar in his car. He unlatched the top from the windshield, then pressed the button, and the canvas top slowly accordioned its way to settle at the back of the car.

  “Nice,” Trace said, resting his head against the back of the seat and staring up at the sky.

  Killian chuckled and put the car in gear.

  The road to the McKenna ranch was dark. Killian didn’t drive too fast because a deer or javelina darting out could do some damage to this car. He couldn’t resist sneaking a glance at Liz as she stretched her arms over her head and arched her back, as if worshiping the moon and stars above them.

  After the stuffy air of the bar, the breeze felt good against his skin, and most of the blood in his body went back to where it belonged.

  Most.

  “I’ve never been out here,” she said as he turned onto the gravel drive beneath the big metal sign of the McKenna ranch. “Fancy.”

  He drove past the main house, a limestone/adobe combination with lots of glass that reflected the lights around the house and on the driveway. Killian had spent many a night in the place, before it had been remodeled a few years back. He knew it was as “fancy,” as Liz put it, inside as out.