Dances Under the Harvest Moon (Heartache, TN 3)

by Joanne Rock

  “Heather, you’re incredibly talented.”

  “I know.” She gestured for him to sit on the couch. “Not to brag, but I do know. I could get on that show, and maybe even win. But I don’t want a life where the focus is on fame more than the music. I’m a musician. I want to entertain. Play. Sing. But I’m also a good teacher, and I don’t want to turn my back on that. Because the only thing better than making good music is helping other people make good music.”

  Zach felt the rightness of the plan. It protected her health, in addition to helping her use her gifts. But would it be enough for her? He knew it was more than enough for him. Now that Gabriella was finally going to report what had happened to her, and there was a chance they already had her stalker in custody, Zach felt as if he could move forward with his own life. He was more than ready.

  “What do you see as the right dream now?” Zach hoped against hope that his name came up often in this next part.

  It was killing him not to drag her to bed and adore every inch of her. But he needed to make sure they had a plan. That she could be happy in a future that involved him.

  “I’m not entirely sure. But I want you in my life all the time, so I’d like to sit with that idea for a while and figure out how I can have more music in my life and you, too.”

  Zach opened his mouth to say how much he loved her. How much he wanted her in his life, too. But the day had been too emotional, and he didn’t trust himself to speak. The pressure on his chest clogged his throat, making him...

  He pulled her into his arms. Covered her face with kisses. Possibly a tear or two, but if she noticed, she was too sweet to say so. He pulled her onto his lap and held her tight, burying his face in her hair.

  “I love you so much, Heather Finley.” God, what had he ever done to deserve her? He wasn’t sure, but he intended to do his best to be worthy of her trust.

  “I love you, too, Mayor.” She kissed all over his face, happiness pouring out of her. Radiant.

  “We’re going to come up with the best dreams.” He touched her with a reverence he knew he would always feel. “And then we’re going to make them all come true.”

  “I have one that involves my bed,” she whispered very irreverently in his ear, her kisses as damp as his.

  He liked the sound of that. “I have one that involves getting you naked. See how well those two go together already?”

  “We’re really good at this.” She wound her arms around his neck.

  He scooped her off the couch and headed for the stairs leading to her loft, where her bed shone in a moonbeam spotlight.

  “It’s only going to get better,” he promised, a promise he would work every day to keep.

  “Have I told you lately you make the best campaign speeches?” She traced his mouth, careful of the cut on his lip.

  “Did I tell you how the mayor is assigned absolute power in times of crisis?” He climbed the stairs slowly, savoring every moment of having her all to himself.

  Forever.

  “You might have mentioned it. But I do love seeing you exert your authority, so why don’t you remind me what that entails.”

  Settling her in the middle of the bed, Zach admired her right where he’d wanted for a long, long time. Yanking off his shirt, he tossed it to the floor.

  “How about I show you instead?”

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from COWBOY DADDY by Angel Smits.

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  Cowboy Daddy

  by Angel Smits

  CHAPTER ONE

  HE LOVED HER. He’d always loved her. He couldn’t imagine not loving her. But she wasn’t for him. Leaning back on the bar stool, Lane Beaumont stared into the mirror behind the well-stocked bar. Between the whiskey and vodka bottles, he could see the entirety of the Lucky Chance Bar, all three thousand square feet of wood and country décor. Still, his vision narrowed to her.

  Just her.

  Amanda Hawkins sat with three of her friends in a booth toward the back. The live music hadn’t started yet, so he caught snatches of their conversation and every once in a while, a snippet of her laughter.

  That laughter—sweet and warm—first had hit him way back during that summer between his junior and senior years of high school, the summer she’d spent working at her grandfather’s ranch. Right away, that sweet, husky sound had grabbed him and pulled him to her.

  Their eyes met just then in the mirror, and Lane forced himself to be the first to turn away. Going for the casual, “I don’t give a damn” look, he took a deep swallow of his beer. He’d allowed himself only one drink, and this was it, so he intended to make the most of it.

  “Hello, Lane.”

  Her voice washed over him, and he mentally cursed. He didn’t need the temptation tonight.

  “Hey, Mandy.” He didn’t look at her. He didn’t have to. He could see her—every beautiful inch—inside his head, in his memories. And felt her gaze roam over him. “Slumming again?”

  “Don’t be a jerk.” She leaned against the bar. “Hey, Sam. Can we get one more round?” She gave the bartender—another member of their old summer crowd—a grin and a wink as she handed him an empty serving tray.

  “Must be some celebration,” Lane said before the next swallow. “That’s your third trip up here.”

  “You counting my drinks, cowboy?” She glared at Lane, then turned back to Sam and the four glasses of assorted drinks settled on the serving tray. Mandy had worked here one summer a while back—she knew how to carry a tray like a pro.

  Mandy curled her long, slender fingers around the edge of the tray, her knuckles flashing white for an instant. Turning to lift it off the bar, she brushed against Lane’s shoulder, sending a shaft of something he refused to identify zinging through him. “Maybe you should ask why we’re here instead.”

  Lane knew better than to ask anything that specific of Mandy Hawkins. He’d been down that rabbit hole before, and they didn’t serve tea at that Mad Hatter’s party. He shook his head and she carried the tray back to the table, a sweet little sway in her hips and long chestnut hair. He watched. Every. Single. Step.

  “She’s not stupid, Lane,” Sam said as he filled more glasses on the other side of the bar.

  “I never said she was.”

  Sam’s right eyebrow shot up. “Then why do you ignore everything she throws at you?”

  Lane wasn’t going to answer that. Sam needed to keep his nose in his own business, but Lane wouldn’t voice that thought, either. Something about protesting too loudly flitted through his mind. “So, what’s the occasion?”

  “Trina’s moving to Chicago. Some new job. Some new guy, too.”

  Lane picked Trina out of the group. He’d never liked her. Not when she’d been the head of cheer squad in high school, and even less when she’d dragged Matt Halloran down the aisle the summer after graduation.

  Two years later, his friend Matt had found himself working double shifts at some big box store in Dallas in order to make the child support and alimony payments. So Trina could live in LA in the style Matt had never been able to provide.

  Why Ma
ndy had ever become friends with her, he had no idea.

  Yet another reason to keep his distance.

  Yeah, if he kept telling himself that he might start to believe he actually could. Sam walked away shaking his head, and Lane returned his gaze to the mirror.

  Mandy looked good tonight. Pretty as always. But there was something off that he couldn’t peg. He frowned. Her smile seemed slightly dimmed. Her eyes—he looked harder—were distant.

  Those eyes turned to him, caught him watching her in the mirror. And held. Why was she here?

  Lane tilted his glass and finished his beer. He tossed a couple of bills on the bar to pay the tab. Time to go. He had a half dozen other places to hit tonight. Hank hadn’t shown up here, and his phone was oddly silent.

  But it was early still. Maybe the old man hadn’t hit that mean drunk stage yet, wherever he was. Lane headed to the door, listening as the band warmed up on the miniscule stage. Some pseudo-country band that thought adding a fiddle and harmonica meant they could call what they played country music.

  “Where you headed?” Mandy’s voice found him at the door.

  He wasn’t interested in sharing his schedule with her tonight. He took a few more steps, her perfume following him.

  “Go back to your friends, Mandy.” He hit the metal crash bar and stepped out into the night. Drizzle fell from the sky, making a mud puddle out of the parking lot. Great. Just great. He didn’t need this. He had too much to do.

  He’d just reached his old truck when a soft hand touched his arm. What the—? “Mandy? What are you doing?”

  “Something I should have done months ago.”

  She must be drunk, he reasoned as she stepped in close. At the thought, his stomach churned. God, no. But when her lips found his, she didn’t taste like alcohol.

  She tasted like the spring breeze wafting over the prairie, fresh and sweet. Welcoming. His arms instinctively went around her, holding tight, letting himself go—for just a minute—to the one place in the world he wanted to be. Lord, he’d missed her. Missed this.

  His senses quickly returned, and he reluctantly removed her arms from around his neck and stepped away. “You want to explain what the hell this is about? I thought you’d decided we were finished.”

  He looked closer. Her eyes glittered with damp. Tears? Mandy Hawkins was the only girl he’d ever known who didn’t know how to cry. “What’s wrong?” Deja vu slithered over him as rain fell in earnest.

  “No...nothing.”

  “Like hell.” He yanked open the door of his truck and lifted her in. The battered bench seat could take the damp. He climbed in after her. “Explain.” He pinned her with a stare and a stiff arm, keeping her from leaning against him. He couldn’t refuse her more than once a night. He wasn’t that good a man.

  “DJ...” She hiccupped.

  Her brother? The marine? “What happened?” He didn’t really want to know. He’d always respected DJ Hawkins. They’d even become friends over time. Even after he and Wyatt, her oldest brother, had beat the crap out of him that summer for, as they’d put it, “thinking about doing the deed with their little sister.” He hadn’t had the ability to tell them, “Too late.” His lip had been too swollen from meeting DJ’s fist. At least they hadn’t looked much better when all had been said and done.

  “He...” She moved toward Lane, resting her head on his shoulder.

  Lane leaned back against the side window, trying to keep his distance, praying the cool glass would jolt his system into a lower gear. Instead, the glass steamed over. “Tell me.” He needed to keep her talking. Take his mind off the close confines of the cab....

  “He’s been in Afghanistan... There was an explosion.” She hiccupped again. “He’s in a hospital in Germany. In a coma.”

  “Ah, hon.” How could he push her away? How could he refuse to pull her into his arms? She snuggled into him, bringing his body and his brain to life.

  “Help me forget, Lane. Just tonight. Help me forget,” she whispered before reaching for him again. He cursed. He’d be there for her...again...and after he helped her forget, helped her get back on an even keel, she’d leave him with another haunting memory to torment him—until the next time she needed something.

  Last time she’d shown up in his neck of the woods had been a couple months ago, the day after her mother died. She’d looked shattered and beautiful, just like now. Just like that summer night back in high school.

  Lane groaned. The memories assaulted him. Reality drowned in the storm and her. His lips found hers, drinking her in, grinding against her, tasting the salty sweet of her tears. Wanting to erase anything, everything that had ever hurt her.

  * * *

  THIS WAS NOT why Amanda had come here. But, oh, she wanted it. Wanted it bad. Her world was falling apart and she needed Lane to fix it.

  Would he even notice? Would he feel the difference in her? The smidge of extra weight, the new curves? Or could she count on the cloud of lust he felt for her to blind him?

  “Lane?”

  “Mmm?”

  Her next words disappeared between his lips, and her thoughts evaporated as his hands slid up to cup her full breasts. She ached, everywhere, but more so where his hands touched her.

  She had so much to tell him, but not yet. Later. After. After he’d eased all the aches and hurts. Heat permeated her palms where her hands met the solid contours of his chest. Too much shirt. She wanted it off. Now. The neat little pearl buttons slid easily through the worn buttonholes. Feeling hot skin under her fingertips tore a groan from somewhere deep in her chest.

  “Easy, honey.” Lane pulled back, dragging in ragged breaths. “This old truck isn’t the best place—”

  His words splashed over her as effectively as if the rain had slipped inside, abruptly waking her out from her reverie. Mandy quickly scooted away as if the cowboy stretched out in front of her was afire. The denim work shirt lay open, the neon lights of the bar glinting off the light sheen of sweat trailing down...

  His Wrangler jeans, worn too thin in places, hid nothing. He wanted her. Her mouth went dry and she swallowed. The only thing about him that looked undisturbed was the black Stetson still snugged down over his brow.

  “And that old hay loft in high school was a better choice?” she asked.

  He winced and moved farther away from her.

  “We need to talk—” She settled on the seat, her hands clasped tight, just in case she couldn’t resist touching him again.

  “I’m not rehashing the past—”

  “Lane!” Someone with a meaty fist pounded on the window behind him. He jumped and cursed.

  “What?” he yelled.

  “Hurry! Hank’s here. He’s lit.” The disembodied voice cut through the rain as well as the cloud of want within the cab. The cool night air erased the rest when Lane shoved the door open with a curse.

  He didn’t bother closing it as he jumped out, as if he expected her to follow. A glance back was all she got—she couldn’t read his expression through the shadows. His boots slapped in the mud as he took off at a run.

  Amanda stared after him. No. Not yet. He couldn’t leave now. She hadn’t told him. It had taken her weeks to get up the nerve to come here. And nearly as many hours figuring out what she was going to say. Her fear and hurt for DJ had been the last straw to push her here. To Lane.

  The rain pounded down in earnest now, beating on the roof and hood of the metal truck. As she sat there, the roar only grew. A flash of white light came from behind her, and as she huddled in the cab, she counted. Only a few seconds passed before thunder rumbled and shook the world. She closed her eyes, convincing herself it was the childhood fear of storms she was shutting out.

  Not the hurt that came with the realization that Lane had left her like this. In his beat-up, secondhand truck. In th
e mud-filled parking lot of a hick bar. In the pouring rain. Alone.

  For what? She had no idea. What had that guy said to him? She couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter.

  Damn it. Slowly, she shoved open the passenger door and climbed out. Open-toed shoes had been a stupid choice for a country bar, and even stupider for walking through mud. But what choice did she have? She tromped through the thick gooey slop. At least they weren’t expensive shoes.

  “Amanda?” A woman’s voice came through the darkness. “Mandy? Where’d you go?”

  Trina was the last person Amanda wanted to talk to right now. They’d been friends since they were kids, and no matter how long between visits, Trina could pick up on her mood. She wouldn’t give up until she’d wormed every painful detail from deep inside her. But the secret Amanda held now wasn’t for public consumption.

  She loved her friend, but the only reason she’d come out tonight was in hopes of seeing Lane, telling him.

  Breaking into a semi run, Amanda wound her way through the crowded parking lot. Finally, she reached her car on the edge of the dirt. She’d been frustrated having to park so far away because she’d been running late. Now she was thankful for the quick getaway.

  Struggling, she pried her car key out of her sodden jean pocket. Taking a purse into a bar where there was dancing and drinking was pure folly. She’d locked it in her trunk, claiming the key and a few dollars before going inside.

  Now it made escape easy.

  As long as the tires didn’t sink into the mud.

  She stumbled, falling against the hard fender. Her hip hit a sharp edge and she gasped. Oh, God. No. She took several deep breaths, waiting, hoping and praying she hadn’t hurt anything. She pressed a hand to her abdomen, feeling the gentle swell. When she looked in her mirror each morning, she could barely see a difference, but she felt it. Inside and out.