by Ramsay, Hope
Molly scanned the gathering crowd. Les stood across the dance floor, staring at her with an odd, unreadable expression on his face. He didn’t look like he approved of her new look. And the idea that Les might disapprove of her getting dressed up made her feel even worse. He turned his gaze away from her and toward Ricki Wilson, who looked entirely comfortable in a girlie-girl dress. Then Les did the most amazing thing—he took Ricki’s hand and hauled her onto the dance floor.
What was up with that? When did Les ever learn how to waltz?
She tore her gaze away and followed Coach toward the table that had been assigned to him and Momma. Molly had been separately invited to the wedding and seated at a different table, but she’d promised Coach that she would stand in for Momma today. No doubt that’s why Coach abandoned her to talk football with Dale Pontius almost as soon as they started across the dance floor. Molly could certainly hold her own in any given discussion of football, but the men obviously didn’t want her company. No doubt that’s because she was wearing a dress and standing in for Momma.
Coach had been abandoning Momma at events like this for years. Molly always thought Momma allowed it because she had no interest in talking football or fishing. But maybe that wasn’t true.
And then Molly wondered why the heck Coach had even wanted her to stand in for Momma, if he was going to abandon her so quickly.
Without her so-called escort or her best friend, Molly took to the edge of the dance floor and watched the dancers. The band had picked up the tempo, and it sure looked like Ricki was teaching Les the steps to some stupid line dance.
Crap.
She missed Les. Usually she and Les hung out at dances like this. They would stand at the edges like companionable wallflowers and make fun of the dancers. Which was sort of mean, but it sure was fun.
How could Les be out there dancing? It just wasn’t part of his usual MO.
Enough. She wandered over to the bar, where she got herself a glass of wine, and then she simply went with the flow. She was standing in for Momma so she joined a group of knitters and talked about the differences between cashmere and possum yarn. The conversation was definitely good for business. She’d probably sold some possum. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was morphing into her mother, and while she loved Momma, she didn’t want to become her.
Molly was feeling pretty low by the time the bride and groom arrived and the party really got started. She took her place in line for a plate of barbecue and headed back to her assigned table, where she found Coach already chowing down as if he hadn’t had a decent meal in days.
Which was probably true, but she refused to feel guilty about it. Stone Rhodes and Lark Chaikin had been assigned to their table as well, which made perfect sense since Stone had been the famous quarterback of the 1990 championship team. Arlo Boyd and his wife, Janice, were at the table, too, since Arlo had been one of the linebackers. There were two empty seats.
Maybe the rest of the evening would be okay. Sitting with a bunch of former Rebels would be fun. These guys could talk Gamecock football until the wee hours of the morning. But right now, Stone and Daddy were too busy eating to talk—not that Sheriff Rhodes was much of a talker at any time. Arlo, on the other hand, was leaning in Lark’s direction and the two of them were having a detailed conversation about the restoration of downtown Last Chance, and Lark’s plans for the Coca-Cola building.
That’s when Molly learned that Lark had, indeed, purchased the building. And boy she sure had a bunch of plans that she intended to put into action just as soon as Simon’s lease was up at the end of August. So Molly was going to have to get her butt in gear and finish the Shelby restoration fast. Otherwise she’d be on the prowl for garage space. Again.
Her mood took another nosedive. Molly yanked the earrings off her ears and put them in her borrowed purse. The blood returned to her earlobes, making them feel hot, itchy, and abused.
If she’d been Momma, she would have engaged Janice in some inane conversation involving recipes. But Molly wasn’t Momma, and she had no earthly idea how to start a conversation with Janice.
Instead she followed Coach and Sheriff Rhodes and focused on the barbecue, which was terrific since it came from the Red Hot Pig Place. But on her first bite, she managed to spill some sauce on her dress.
She quickly stuck her napkin in her water glass and started to blot it with cold water.
“Oh, dear,” Janice said, “that’s gonna stain.”
Molly gritted her teeth. Janice was an ex-Carolina-cheerleader. And while Molly hated stereotypes, Janice kind of fit the cheerleader mold. She was perky and sweet and always dressed well. She and Arlo had several kids, and Janice was probably a complete expert on laundry and stain assessment in addition to being the chairwoman of the elementary school PTA.
Molly kept blotting and looking down. If she looked up, she was going to combust and say something nasty to Janice, who wasn’t guilty of anything except being all the things Molly wasn’t. And Molly didn’t even know why that bugged her. She needed to get out of there and compose herself. She was just slipping her feet back into her uncomfortable shoes when warm breath feathered over her cheek and a deep voice said into her ear, “Who are you?”
The anger fled, replaced with far more combustible feelings. She looked up from the spot on her dress.
Simon wore a light gray suit, a striped shirt, and a red tie. As always, he was dressed to impress. Molly envied and admired him for looking so comfortable. The apostrophes at the corners of his mouth appeared, and his dark eyes sparked with something deep and hot and wicked.
She’d seen that look in his eyes the afternoon they’d gone skinny-dipping. And she’d seen that look evaporate, too. She hadn’t seen him since that day. He worked in the early hours of the morning, and she worked in the afternoons. Whether they had been avoiding each other by chance or design was hard to say. He’d rejected her that day, and yet she could see desire in his eyes.
He put a plate of barbecue at the empty place beside her, and then Coach went and ruined everything.
“Simon,” he said with that daddy-on-a-warpath look in his eye, “you and I need to talk, and I kind of resent the fact that you’ve been avoiding my phone calls these last few days.”
“I’m sorry. I’ve been busy getting Mother’s house ready to sell. I’m happy to have that talk, but maybe not here.” Simon met Coach’s stare. The contest waged for a full fifteen seconds before Coach actually looked away.
Wow! That had never happened before.
Simon took his seat and started eating.
“How’s your mother doing?” Stone asked. And Molly wanted to give the sheriff a hug for choosing that moment to speak. Otherwise there would have been a really awkward silence.
“She’s doing as well as can be expected. I’m late to the party because I tried to get her to come with me. But she refused. She doesn’t know me or trust me much. She was sure I wanted to kidnap her and do terrible things to her.”
Stone’s eyes darkened. “I’m so sorry.” No one else said a word, and suddenly the much-dreaded awkward silence was upon them again. But Stone, who was no great conversationalist, heroically launched himself into the fray again. “I want to thank you for what you did for my nephew,” he said.
“It wasn’t anything. Jane did all the work. How’s the baby doing?”
“He’s great,” Molly said, glad to have something positive to say in the difficult situation. “He’s cute as a button. I got to hold him at the book club meeting last week, and he was at the beauty parlor today. Honestly, Stone, he’s the most perfect baby ever. And he even looks good in pink.”
Lark laughed. “Poor Jane. Everyone gave her sissy clothes at her baby shower, and she’s such a frugal soul she’s gone right ahead and used some of them.”
“Not when Clay’s looking,” Stone said, with just the smallest crack of a smile at the corner of his mouth. He turned toward Simon. “I’m still impressed by how you handled that s
ituation. I only had to deliver one baby in my life, and believe me, I don’t ever want to do that again.”
“Who’s looking after Charlotte?” Lark asked.
“She’s in good hands,” Simon said. “She’s taken a shine to my assistant, Angel Menendez—you may have met him; he’s Ruby’s tenant. He does errands for me, and he’s been helping Ricki at the Knit & Stitch.”
Coach decided to join the conversation, and not in a good way either. “Oh, everyone knows about your assistant, Simon. I gather he fits right in with the gals at the beauty shop and the Knit & Stitch.”
Stone’s effort at small talk was undone. Everyone turned back toward their meals, and the conversation faltered. Embarrassment flared through Molly. When had Coach become so intolerant? Had he always been this way? Had she just missed it? Or was he just coming completely undone without Momma to keep him on track?
She wanted to come to Angel’s defense, but picking a fight with Coach in public would be stupid, no matter how shameful his words. So she clamped her mouth shut, bowed her head, and continued to worry the spot on Rachel’s dress.
Just then, the Wild Horses struck up the song “Can I Have This Dance?” with its sappy lyrics about happily ever after and lifetime commitment. Clay Rhodes announced over the intro that this was Dash and Savannah’s song—the first one they’d ever danced to, last spring at the Easter street dance. He called the bride and groom onto the dance floor for their first dance as husband and wife.
“I declare,” Janice Boyd said, “it’s so romantic. And aren’t they perfect together? Just like Miriam Randall predicted.” She dabbed her napkin to the corner of her eye.
Molly rolled her eyes in Simon’s direction. He wasn’t smiling as he watched the bride and groom take a turn around the dance floor. Between verses, Clay called all the other waltzers up. Of course, Lord and Lady Woolham took to the floor. His Lordship had gone to cotillion classes and was always ready to show off his stuff. He and Rocky were kind of cute together.
But then Les and Ricki came out, too, leaving Molly utterly confused.
Simon stood up and turned toward Molly. “Come dance with me.”
Coach’s disapproval ran right up her back, and she worried that her daddy might jump up and physically get between her and Simon. She hated being right in the middle. “You don’t want to dance with me, Simon.”
“Molly, I sincerely would like to dance with you.” She’d have hell to pay at home if she danced with Simon. And really, what was the point?
But then Janice put her foot in it. “Oh, go on, Molly. You’re all dressed up like Cinderella at the ball. You might as well dance with someone who looks like Prince Charming, even if he is playing for the other team.”
Coach made a noise that was halfway between a grumble and a cough. His position was clear—he didn’t want any daughter of his dancing with anyone playing for the other team, or anyone playing for his team either. In fact, Coach would be happy if Molly would just lock herself up in a tower somewhere so no one would ever mess with her again.
So really, Molly had to dance with Simon. It was a matter of pride. For both of them.
She stood up and put her hand in his. His palm was warm and dry and sexy as hell. Her own hands were rough and callused. She was aware of this fact only because Jane had clucked over them the whole time she was working on Molly’s manicure.
“I sure hope I don’t trip over these shoes,” she said as they stood on the floor facing each other. He was clearly waiting to catch the beat of the dance.
“Trust me, you’ll be fine,” said Simon, looking down at the blue satin shoes she’d borrowed from Rachel. He evidently approved of them. Or maybe he was admiring her thin ankles.
He took her in his arms, and in an instant away they went, not very gracefully because Molly had no idea how to waltz or even let Simon lead. But even if she stumbled and almost turned her ankle, she discovered that dancing with Simon was fun. Way more fun than standing on the sidelines with Les making rude remarks about people.
“Molly, you are so beautiful this evening that I’m almost afraid to speak with you.”
“Ha, you’re only afraid because you know darn well Coach is over there watching us like a hawk and disapproving of every minute.”
“No. I’m not afraid of your father. But I swear, Molly, if you dressed like that on a regular basis, you’d be turning heads from one end of Palmetto Avenue to the other.”
She looked up and met his dark eyes. “Don’t tease me, please. I went to the Cut ’n Curl this morning to get my hair done, and Ruby, Jane, and Rocky Rhodes dressed me up. I think it was for their enjoyment, but I know I don’t look like me in this dress. By the way, it’s your cousin Rachel’s dress, and I think I ruined it.”
“I’m sure you look better in it than Rachel ever did.”
“Ha ha. Very funny. Your cousin is gorgeous, and I’m not. I’m odd and strange. And I’m not falling for your line again, mister. So quit. If you want to know, I feel kind of like a dressed-up Barbie or something. Not that I ever played with Barbies, but obviously Ruby, Rocky, and Jane did. I don’t even know how I got myself into this situation. I just wanted Ruby to cut my hair is all.”
“Remind me to thank Ruby.” He glanced up at her hair. “You haven’t really done anything more than pile it on your head, have you?”
“I didn’t do anything, except let Ruby mess around with it.”
“Would you let me mess with it?” he murmured.
Oh, Heaven help her. He was seductive and irresistible. And a tease. He needed to stop with the lines. She knew good and well he wasn’t going to cross Coach. No one in this town ever crossed Coach.
Except maybe Momma.
“No, you can’t mess with my hair,” she said as emphatically as she could. “You remember, don’t you? Coach told you not to mess with me. So there will be no messing with anything. Especially since he’s back there at the table glaring at you like you’re evil incarnate. And the last thing I want to do is mar Dash and Savannah’s big day with some kind of lowbrow argument. Coach is going through a really hard time right now.”
Simon nodded soberly. “I hate arguments, too.”
The waltz finished, and Molly expected Simon to escort her back to the table. But the band segued into a rousing rendition of “Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy),” and Simon snagged her hand and kept her out there on the dance floor. “There is nothing wrong with dancing at a wedding,” he said, his dark eyes intent.
He wanted to live dangerously. Molly wanted the same thing. So she got in line and followed Ricki, who seemed to know the steps to every line dance in all of creation. Before long, Molly had jettisoned her uncomfortable shoes and forgotten all about Coach and his sour mood. A mob of dancers took to the floor, and she started having a really great time.
She danced half a dozen line dances until she was out of breath. She escaped the dance floor with Simon and got herself a longneck Bud to cool off.
That’s where Coach found her. He didn’t look pleased. But it was what he deserved. After all, he had abandoned her before she had abandoned him. And besides, he’d abandoned Momma plenty over the years. So Molly was just evening the score.
“You’ll have a headache in the morning,” her father said, scowling at the beer in her hand as if he had any moral leg to stand on, given his two-day bender earlier in the week. “You know your mother disapproves of that.”
“Coach,” she said in a surprisingly calm voice, “Momma is not here. And I’m thirsty.” She raised the beer in a toast. “And it’s a special occasion. One beer is not going to put me on my butt, especially with all the dancing I’ve been doing.”
He glared, but not at her. The look he gave Simon was practically lethal. He turned back. “It’s getting late. We need to go,” he said in a business-like tone.
“It’s not even dark yet. It couldn’t be much past eight o’clock,” Molly said. “I’m not ready to go.”
“Yeah, well, we’ve got church i
n the morning.”
“Everyone here has church in the morning.”
“Well, we’re going to be the ones who show up without hangovers.” Coach put his big hands on his hips.
Damn it all to hell and back. Why did he have to be standing there like some kind of anti-godmother, forcing her from the ball before midnight? So he didn’t approve of the older, wiser Prince Charming she’d been dancing with. Since when did he have veto power over anything she did or thought or felt?
Short answer: Since always.
Molly suddenly resented the hell out of it.
But she couldn’t fight it. If she didn’t go along with Coach, he might go home and drink himself silly. Or he might take it in his mind to shove Simon into the wedding cake, which would be a freaking disaster.
She had to go. She really didn’t have a choice.
But just as she was about to give up the field, Simon changed everything. In a calm and civil voice he said, “Don’t worry, Coach, I’ll look after her.”
The two men squared off for a solid half minute of staring each other down. Simon wasn’t nearly as large as Coach, but boy he sure had a penetrating stare when he put his mind to it.
Finally Coach pointed a finger at his chest. “I’m not happy about this. And I swear, Simon, if you don’t get her home by midnight, there will be hell to pay.”
He looked at Molly. “Don’t do anything stupid.” And with that, Molly’s father turned on his heel and stalked away.
Simon didn’t remember Coach as being so hard. He remembered him as being a positive force. But something had changed. Whether it was in himself or Coach, Simon couldn’t say. But sadness welled up inside him as he watched his old mentor cross the ballroom in an uneven gait. Coach had had a few, hadn’t he?
It didn’t seem in character, somehow. Coach wanted to protect Molly. Simon understood that. But the guy was obviously not listening to his daughter. He got the feeling Coach wasn’t very supportive of Molly’s career path. And Simon knew exactly how that felt.
Simon gulped down his beer and pulled Molly back onto the dance floor. He knew a moment of complete joy when the pins holding up her hair began to fall out.
