by Ava Miles
“I have a surprise for you,” he said and left her in the middle of the dance floor.
He signaled to Rye, who was standing at the edge of the room with his guitar in his hands. Keeping his gaze on his wife, Rhett took the microphone from the lead singer of the band. Abbie was already tearing up in anticipation.
“I wrote a song for my bride,” he told the crowd. “My friend, Rye Crenshaw, is going to sing it for y’all.”
When he walked back across the dance floor and took her in his arms, she squeezed him with all the love he was feeling inside.
***
Abbie had wondered if Rhett would write a song for their wedding. It was how he’d officially won her heart, after all—with Rye’s help, he’d serenaded her on a cold winter night.
As she gazed into his eyes, she raised her hand to his jaw. “I love you. So much.”
“And I love you.”
Rye strummed the guitar and started to sing the words.
My angel wife,
Sent from above,
How did you find me?
How did you hear my call?
I’ve been calling to you,
Asking for you,
Praying for you.
And now, you’re mine.
My love is strong.
You can trust it.
My heart is true.
You can count on it.
I will always be here.
You will always be mine.
And I…
Will always be yours.
When Rye finished singing, Abbie pressed her wet face against Rhett’s suit and let herself go to pieces. How was it she’d become lucky enough to fall for a man with so much love inside, who bravely gave words to it for all to hear?
“You are simply the most amazing man I’ve ever met, Rhett Butler Blaylock,” she finally composed herself enough to say.
His eyes were bright too, and he gently traced the tear tracks on her face. “I’ll give you fair warning. I plan to write a song when we have our first child.”
More tears swelled in her eyes and fell down her cheeks. Even though Dustin was a teenager, she and Rhett had talked about having more children together. They wanted to have the experience of raising children together.
“I can’t wait to hear it,” she said in a hoarse voice.
And as the band started playing the next song, she knew Rhett would be writing lots more songs about them, their children, and their life together.
She couldn’t wait to hear every one.
***
Rhett had never imagined weddings could be this fun. Of course, now that Abbie’s swanky band had turned the corner from more “appropriate” music to full-out country fun, the party was well underway.
The opening notes of “Cotton-Eye Joe” began to play, and Rhett turned to Abbie with a grin.
“Sugar, you’ve just got to dance to this one with me,” he pleaded. “It’s a classic.”
She’d already turned down his offer to dance to “Thank God I’m A Country Boy” and “Chattahoochee,” which Rye had played on the guitar with the band while singing.
She shook her head again, so he drilled his memory for a song she might actually grace with a dance. “What about ‘Achy Breaky Heart?’”
Her delicate brow rose like she thought he was totally crazy. And he was. Crazy in love, that was.
“We can’t dance to Frank Sinatra and Cole Porter all night.” One song she might like finally popped into his mind. “How about ‘Brown-Eyed Girl?’”
“Maybe,” she said, picking up her freshly topped-off champagne. “Now go dance with your mama.”
He was pulling his mama out of her chair moments later, and soon they were flying across the dance floor. Since she’d had more mint juleps at dinner, he had to keep a tight grip on her so she wouldn’t crash into the couples looping around them on the dance floor. Rye was leading Charleston around in the mad dash that was “Cotton-Eye Joe,” and before Rhett knew it, his mama had angled them over to the couple. All four of them did a little impromptu line dancing. Touch, kick, triple step.
Soon, Jill appeared next to him with Brian, who was laughing in loud bursts as his wife gave her best impression of a dancing Elly May from The Beverly Hillbillies. Even Dustin joined them, and Clayton didn’t waste any time in showing him the steps. The kid didn’t do too badly. There was hope for him yet.
Spying Mac at the edge of the crowd, Rhett danced his way over to his friend.
Mac took one look at him and said, “No way in hell.”
He didn’t dare ask Peggy, who fingered her waist like she was looking for her gun.
“I want to dance,” Keith piped in.
Peggy didn’t miss a beat. She simply responded, “Go find your Uncle Tanner.”
The band switched to “The Devil Went Down to Georgia,” and this time Charleston found him and pulled him away from his dance-averse friends. They started to twirl around the floor until his cousin tugged him over to one of the tables on the edge of the dance floor.
“Help me up,” she ordered, stepping onto one of the chairs with her high heel. “Let’s show these Yankees how we Southerners like to party.”
Usually he would be the first one to volunteer to dance on the table with her—if it could hold their combined weight, that was—but he didn’t think Abbie would approve.
“Maybe you should come on down, honey,” he drawled as she planted her other foot on the chair. “We’re not in Dixie.”
“Rhett Butler Blaylock,” she said, staring down at him with her hands on her hips. “Either clear this table, or I will break all the dishes.”
She had that dangerous look in her eye that told her she wasn’t messing. He started to gather up the glassware. The dinner plates had already been cleared, thank God. Hotel servers ran over to help him, likely at Mac’s cue, and soon Charleston was dancing on the table. A crowd gathered, clapping to the peppy tune as she twitched her skirts and threw her head back and let out a bawdy laugh like a dancehall performer at a New Orleans cat-house.
Someone slapped him on the back, and he turned his head to see his mama dancing in place by his side.
“I used to be able to do that,” she told him.
She’d retired? Thank God. He remembered her dancing at her cousin Patsy Lou’s wedding. His mama had broken a table and bruised her ample behind. It had been a memorable night.
“She’s continuing your tradition,” he told her, clapping with the other guests now. Maybe that would cheer her up in her retirement.
“Everyone knows it’s good luck,” Mama told him. “It’s a well-known fact that couples don’t divorce if I’ve danced on a table at their wedding.”
Looking over his shoulder at his bride’s shocked expression, he said, “I’ll be sure to tell Abbie that.”
And with that, he made his way through the crowd to the band leader and requested another Frank Sinatra classic next to pacify his bride—and keep things from getting further out of hand. When the band transitioned into the new number, the crowd gave an audible groan. Rye graciously helped Charleston off the table, and the servers breathed a sigh of relief.
Rhett made his way back to Abbie.
“How about this song, sugar?” he asked.
She didn’t say anything, only placed her hand on his proffered arm. The dance floor was as empty as a picnic spread after an ant attack.
“Your family is as crazy as you described them,” she said softly, for only his ears.
“I warned you, sugar,” he said, swaying with her to “All The Way.”
“I like everyone’s…spirit,” she hastily explained. “I’m just…not someone who dances on tables.”
He told her about his mama’s belief that table dancing at weddings somehow prevented divorce. And hastily added that she had retired.
“She should have gone on the road with her act,” his bride said with a smile.
Now that was the smile that had made him fall in love with her. It wa
s sweet and slightly embarrassed and filled with a restrained humor he found endearing.
“I can see the headlines now. ‘Hire Mama Blaylock. Table Dancing Ensures Life-Long Marriage. Don’t Miss Out On Her Wedding Reception Special.’”
They both laughed more easily.
“I guess it’s a good thing she retired,” he told her, leading her around the near-empty floor.
“Everyone hates my music,” she said with a frown.
Rhett cast a glance at the only other couple who still shared the dance floor with them. “Arthur doesn’t. He seems to be dancing pretty close to his date if you ask me.”
Arthur and Joanie were the only people in the room who’d been alive when ol’ Blue Eyes had recorded this classic.
“Oh, Rhett,” she said with a heartfelt sigh. “When this song finishes, please tell the band leader I won’t be an old fuddy duddy who denies the guests their fun.”
He waggled his brows at her. “That’s mighty kind of you, sugar. How about I teach you how to dance to ‘Sweet Georgia Brown?’”
“How does one dance to that? Isn’t it a song preferred by strippers?”
It was, but he wasn’t going to tell her he knew that. Those days were behind him. “You dance to it with a lot of hip action.” He pulled her close to his frame. “See what I mean.”
She gave him a knowing glance, the fires in her eyes warming with each brush of his body against hers. “I do, yes. Thanks for pointing that out.”
Swinging her around, he dipped her dramatically. “I plan to point out a few other things when we finally find ourselves alone tonight.”
“Funny,” she said, running a single finger across his jaw. “I was thinking the same thing.”
“Great minds,” he said and gave her a soft kiss.
“Go talk to the band leader so we don’t have a riot on our hands.” She straightened her dress when he stood her back on her feet.
“Be right back,” he said with a wink.
When the band began to play a jazzy, New Orleans-inspired “Sweet Georgia Brown,” his mama let out a cry.
“Glory, Hallelujah, how I adore this song. I just have to dance to this one on a table. It is my son’s wedding, after all.”
Then, before he knew it, Charleston was helping his mama onto the table she’d vacated the dance before, making him wince in fright. He prayed it would hold her weight.
Rye, God bless him, hopped up on one of the chairs and grabbed his mama’s hand to help keep her balanced. He didn’t know if Rye would be strong enough to keep Mama from falling, but at least he could break her fall if she came tumbling down.
“It looks like she just came out of retirement for us,” Abbie said, clapping in that elegant way of hers beside him. “Is your family always like this?”
“Yes,” he replied with a shrug. “I did warn you.”
“You did,” she shouted over the crowd noise. “It’s different though, seeing it in real life.”
“Don’t be surprised if we end up with a kid or two who ends up dancing on tables,” he felt compelled to say. “As you can see, it runs in the family.”
“So long as it doesn’t involve a pole, I can handle that.”
He snuggled her closer, ignoring the fact that his mama had just tossed one of her handkerchiefs into the crowd. It was about to get ugly. A shoe soon followed, which Clayton deftly caught.
Turning away from the spectacle seemed wise. Better not to look. “Why, Abbie Maven Blaylock, did you just make a joke?”
Touching a finger to her lips in a rather saucy and unexpected way, she said, “I think I did.”
“Good,” he said, pulling her close. “Make some more.”
And she laughed long and loud as his mama danced on the table to ensure they would have a long and lasting marriage.
Not that he had any doubts about that.
To learn more about my upcoming releases, sign up for my newsletter here. These include my Dare Valley Meets Paris Billionaire mini-series; Lucy and Andy's story called THE CALENDAR OF NEW BEGINNINGS; Susannah and Jake's story in Dare River called THE PROMISE OF RAINBOWS; and Jordan and Grace's story in my new series, Once Upon A Dare, called THE GATE TO EVERYTHING.
And if you somehow missed any of the full-length novels that led to DARING BRIDES, stay tuned for the excerpts with links so you can remedy that right now!
Dear Reader,
This book has been so special to produce. First, you are the reason I wrote this short story collection of the weddings of our earliest Dare Valley couples. So many of you have written me to describe how much you love these characters and how they've become a part of your family. I hope you enjoyed their special days. I know I did, especially Rhett's mama and cousin dancing on the table. You can expect to see more of Rhett's mama and cousin in the future as well as the intriguing Asher Harrington, Tanner's best man. I have a feeling he's going to make some special heroine swoon with that sexy British accent of his.
Second, I was able to work with my incredible sister, Michelle Khamis, who was chosen as Best Wedding Planner of the Year. She's making brides' dreams come true far and wide at Dream Your Vision Event Planning. Come check out the vision boards she created for each couple's wedding and our special Daring Brides Pinterest Board.
If you enjoyed this book, I would love for you to post a review since it helps more readers want to read my story. You can write one here or on Goodreads. When you post one, kindly let me know at [email protected] so I can personally thank you.
To keep up with all my new releases, please sign up for my newsletter and connect with me on Facebook. I continue to post about lots of fun stuff, so come and join our Dare family party.
I hope you'll also check out my Dare Valley Meets Paris mini-series about billionaire inventor, Evan Michaels, and Dare Valley's own, Margie Lancaster, who's opening up Hot Cross Buns Bakery.
Thank you from the deepest part of my heart for expressing your love for Dare Valley in countless ways.
Lots of light and blessing,
Ava
Sign up for Ava's newsletter so you don't miss any news.
The following books by Ava Miles are also available now.
The Dare Valley series:
NORA ROBERTS LAND (Meredith & Tanner)
FRENCH ROAST (Jill & Brian)
THE GRAND OPENING (Peggy & Mac)
THE HOLIDAY SERENADE (Abbie & Rhett)
THE TOWN SQUARE (Arthur & Harriet)
THE PARK OF SUNSET DREAMS (Jane & Matt)
THE PERFECT INGREDINT (Elizabeth & Terrance)
THE BRIDGE TO A BETTER LIFE (Natalie & Blake)
DARING BRIDES (a short story collection)
The Dare River series (connected to Dare Valley):
COUNTRY HEAVEN (Tory & Rye)
COUNTRY HEAVEN SONG BOOK
COUNTRY HEAVEN COOKBOOK
THE CHOCOLATE GARDEN (Tammy & John Parker)
THE CHOCOLATE GARDEN: A MAGICAL TALE (children's book)
FIREFLIES AND MAGNOLIAS (Amelia Ann & Clayton)
Looking for Dare Valley Swag? Ava has a Zazzle Store now where you can buy a coffee mug from Don't Soy With Me and other fun items. Come check it out.
And here are the excerpts…
NORA ROBERTS LAND
Meredith Hale scanned the bookstore window. There it was-the new Nora Roberts book-the cover a bold, powerful landscape of sky and water.
Her superhero alter ego, Divorcée Woman, couldn't override the rash of goosebumps on her arms or her knotted stomach. Meredith patted the red lace La Perla bustier hidden under her black suit jacket and took one hesitant step closer to the glass, her breath hitching as she scanned Nora's prominent display. She imagined Divorcée Woman telling her to suck it up. It was only a bookstore after all. It wasn't like she had to take a bullet for the president or anything.
She'd gone cold turkey on Nora's books a year ago, when her ex-husband, Rick-the-Dick, threw Black Hills at the wall, snarling that her favorite author had given h
er an unrealistic view of love. “Our marital problems are her fault,” he said. “She's made you believe in happily ever after-something any adult knows is a myth. Grow up.” Then he packed his custom-tailored suits and slammed out the door of their swanky Manhattan apartment.
At first she'd thought maybe he was right. But she missed Nora's books. And not reading them hadn't made the whole divorce thing any easier on her. It hadn't made the panic attacks go away.
She wanted her Nora Roberts back, dammit. It was time to reclaim her life.
Unfortunately, just looking at the cover had her hovering on the edge of a panic attack. Her hands grew clammy. She wiped them on her black suit and dug into her matching purse for her cell phone. Her sister would be able to talk her into going into the store. After all, Jill could talk anyone into anything.
“Hey, Mere,” Jill greeted, the ever-present sound of her favorite band, Abba, in the background. Jill wanted to live life like a dancing queen.
“Hey,” she said, making sure to sound calmer than she was. “How's business at the coffee shop?”
“Well, after a regional dairy salesman tried to talk me into changing my store's name from Don't Soy With Me to Don't Milk Me, I'm about ready to bash my head against the espresso machine. He was so dense. I tried to explain it's a play on words, but he just blinked like one of those dairy cows and went, 'Oh.'”
Meredith's panic slowly eased. Jill and her stories were always a comfort. “Being in New York, I don't run into too many milk salesmen. Does he wear a special outfit?”
“No, thank God. Speaking of milk, did you get my present?”
Ducking closer to the store window so she wouldn't be mowed down by a rush of pedestrians, Meredith said, “You mean the coffee mug with the line, 'You're My Udder One'?”
“Yes. I tried to appease the milk guy by telling him I'd put those mugs out for display, but he wouldn't leave. He even offered to teach me how to milk a cow. I think he was hitting on me.”
