by Hebby Roman
“True. Ollie has never heeded my advice in the romance arena.”
“The heart wants what it wants.”
“And how is it going?”
“I really like him, Skye,” Celeste said, her voice sounding dreamy.
“Then I’m happy for you.”
“I’ll let you in on another secret—I’ve liked him since we were kids.”
Welcome to the club. Maybe she should tell Celeste about her years-long crush on Joe Carrigan, but at this point the entire subject seemed moot.
Thankfully, Celeste changed the subject. “Did you check the closet in your old room? Maybe you left something behind that you could wear tonight.”
Skye went to the closet and flipped the light on. The walk-in was the best feature of this room, and she’d begged her parents to let her have this oasis when she was five years old, even though Ollie was older. Her mom had been using it as a guest room until that time. This was the biggest bedroom besides the master and by all rights, the eldest child should have had it. But Skye’s begging had finally worn them down, and in spite of Ollie’s grumbling—this room was better located to the stairs and hence had made sneaking out of the house better; even at a young age Ollie had been cognizant of this feature—they let her have it.
Tucking the cellphone against her ear with her shoulder, she began to flick through the clothes, the rhythmic scraping of hangars signaling her progress. A lot of it was obviously her mom’s because Skye was certain she would never wear red paisley or a magenta sweater decorated with sequins. Hiding in the back, however, was something covered in a plastic bag. Grabbing it, she headed to the bed and laid it out.
She switched her phone to speaker and tossed it onto the bedcovers.
“I think I might have found something,” Skye said.
“Yeah?” A crunching sound came from Celeste.
“What are you eating?” Skye untied the knot in the plastic bag at the bottom and pushed it up to reveal a blast from the past.
“Carrots. Why?”
Skye eyed the treasure she’d just unearthed. “You’ve always had such good snacking habits.”
“Thank you.” More crunching.
“I found my prom dress.” Skye unhooked the tight burgundy number from the hangar and held it against her chest.
“Oh, wow!” Celeste stopped her munching. “I loved that dress. You looked so pretty that night.”
Skye almost blurted out that when she’d bought it, she had been thinking about Carrigan, had secretly harbored a fervent hope that he would return, admit he’d been a fool the year before, sweep her off her feet, and take her to her Senior Prom, despite him already having graduated. Instead, she’d finally accepted Mark Anderson’s offer because he’d been the only one still allowing himself to be strung along at the eleventh hour.
Celeste started eating again. “Okay, so don’t take this the wrong way, because you look freaking awesome these days, but … do you think you can squeeze into it?”
Skye twirled back and forth before the long mirror hanging on the back of her bedroom door, trying to determine if it would fit. The irony wasn’t lost on her that she would finally be able to wear it for the male she’d had in mind when purchasing it.
“Give me a sec so I can get it on,” Skye said.
She searched her suitcase but soon realized she’d only brought one bra with her, and it wasn’t a low-cut lacy one, but rather a practical, tan-colored one meant to be worn underneath a t-shirt. More digging through her clothes only turned up a somewhat tattered sports bra.
“Damn,” she said.
“What’s wrong?” Celeste asked.
“I don’t have the right bra.”
“If I’m remembering right, isn’t the bust already tight? I’ll bet you could get away without one. How about pasties? Do you have any?”
“Do you really think I thought to bring those?” Skye disrobed, dropping her shirt and jeans onto the bed.
“Maybe your mom has some.” Celeste slurped loudly.
“Ugh. I’m not asking her that. And you’re a very noisy eater, by the way.”
“Sorry. I skipped breakfast.”
Skye shimmied into the dress and was only able to zip up the back halfway. She eyed herself. She was showing a bit more cleavage than when she was eighteen, but maybe it could work. Besides, it would serve Carrigan right to be forced to look at the luscious swell of her bosom all night. She snorted at the thought.
“What’s going on?” Celeste asked.
“Hang on.” Skye grabbed her phone. “I’ll take a pic and show you.” She snapped a selfie in the mirror and texted it to Celeste.
Twenty seconds later, Celeste cooed. “Oooo, it looks good, girl. But what about shoes?”
Skye went back into her closet and searched the floor and shelves for shoeboxes. After flipping the lid on several, she found the original black heels she’d worn with the dress. Jamming her feet into them, she wobbled as she walked back into the bedroom.
“I can still get my feet into my high school heels,” she said.
“For real?” Celeste exclaimed. “You’re lucky. I’m pretty sure I’m a whole shoe size bigger than my teenage self.”
“Well, it’s tight. I don’t have any pantyhose though.”
“It’s all right. Hose are out for now unless you’re in the royal family.”
“I know, but it’s arctic out there.”
“Hey, nobody said being a woman was easy.”
Chapter Six
Carrigan took the porch steps two at a time, opened the screen decorated with a Christmas wreath, and knocked on the Mallorys’ front door, which opened seconds later.
Mr. Mallory greeted him, wearing a coat and tie. “Joey, you look great.”
“Thank you, sir. You too.” Joe stepped inside. He had on the nicest suit he owned, the one he’d worn to his father’s funeral. He hadn’t imagined he would have another opportunity to wear it again so soon, but maybe it was for the best. Losing his dad had been a turning point in his life, and now it felt like Skye might be a part of that shift as well.
As he was driving over, nerves had gripped him. What if Skye backed out?
He had tried to call her to let her know that the Ball hadn’t been called off due to weather, in case she had assumed it was, but it had gone straight to voicemail.
Mr. Mallory waved him into the living room. “No, don’t take off your shoes. Livvy is a bit neurotic about that, but it’s more that she doesn’t want horse and cow shit in the house. I’m sure your dress shoes are fine.”
Joe nodded and decided to leave his black wool coat on as well. With hope, Skye wouldn’t make him wait too long and send him into overheat mode. “Do you and Mrs. Mallory want to ride with us?”
Skye’s dad shook his head. “Nah. You kids head on over. We might want to leave early, and we wouldn’t want to cramp your style.”
“I’ll be careful on the roads,” Joe assured him.
“It stopped snowing two hours ago, and I’m sure the plows are out clearing the way. But if it gets late and the roads seem icy, then stay put. Don’t risk it.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll take care of her.” Joe hesitated. “Is she here? I wasn’t sure if she still wanted to go.”
Mr. Mallory chuckled. “She’s upstairs. Shouldn’t be long now.”
Skye’s mom breezed into the room, wearing a black gown trimmed with red, her graying hair pinned away from her face.
“You look beautiful, Mrs. Mallory,” Joe said.
She giggled and patted his arm. “Thank you. It’s fun to get dressed up. And I love that the event benefits the women’s shelter. You cut quite the figure, Joey.” She added in a low voice, “You and Skye make such a great couple.”
He didn’t know what to say. The attention shifted to the stairs at the sound of heels tapping on wood. Skye entered and halted abruptly.
There was a pregnant pause while everyone froze in the
ir positions.
In high school, Skye had been on the tomboyish side, her frame more athletic than voluptuous, but it was clear that the ensuing years had rounded out those burgeoning curves. She looked stunning in a maroon dress, revealing an ample swell of her breasts. He flicked his eyes back to her face, aware that he’d been staring.
His mouth went dry. It was like he’d never seen a woman before.
“Is there something wrong?” Skye asked.
“Is that your old prom dress?” Mrs. Mallory’s question caused Skye’s face to pinch into a grimace.
“It was all I could find on such short notice.”
Her makeup accentuated her already creamy complexion, and the dark lipstick put Joe in mind of a temptress.
Bewildered, his mind went blank.
“Shall we go?” she prompted.
He cleared his throat, snapping out of his stupor. “Let me start the Bronco,” he said, feeling a little tongue-tied, “so I can get the heat going.” The double innuendo hung in the air as he headed out the door.
Damn. He was in trouble.
* * *
Bundled into her mom’s wool coat, Skye held her hands up to the nearest vent as Joe drove onto the highway in the day’s draining light. The snow was cleared from the roadway and shoved to either side into high berms.
She sighed as the chill in her fingers abated. Her feet were comfy and toasty in a pair of snow boots—she planned to change into her heels once they arrived at the country club.
Skye tried her best not to look at Joe. She’d never imagined he could clean up so well. He was a cowboy through and through, but in his black suit with a blue shirt and festive tie, he appeared like something out of a James Bond movie. For a moment she indulged the fantasy that they were about to dive into danger and romance, and her heart pounded in anticipation.
“Who’d you go to prom with?” Joe asked, his jaw set in a hard line.
“Mark Anderson.”
“Anderson?” He threw her a surprised glance.
“Yes. So?”
“Skinny Anderson?” He had the nerve to laugh.
She watched the road. “He was slender.”
“I heard a gust of wind blew him off his horse once.”
She shook her head. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You know what his life motto was, right?”
Forcing herself to look at Carrigan, she waited with an expectant expression for him to further criticize her high school dating choices.
“When in doubt, chicken out,” he said.
She frowned.
“So did he?” Carrigan continued.
“Did he what?”
“Chicken out at prom.”
Understanding the implication, she pressed her lips together. “Don’t be crude.”
His dark demeanor suddenly shifted to dazzling charm as he grinned. “He did chicken out,” he said.
She crossed her arms. “That’s none of your business.” The memory of Mark’s fumbling attempts to kiss her at the end of the evening surfaced, making her feel bad again that she’d rejected him. She’d had no interest in Anderson, or any high school boy, beyond friendship, but she wasn’t about to admit that to Carrigan.
“How about college?” Joe asked. “Anybody serious?”
“I had boyfriends, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“But no one current?”
“Maybe,” she hedged. “I meet a lot of men in my profession.”
That didn’t come out right. It made her sound like a prostitute. Carrigan’s cheery countenance downshifted into a glower.
“But no one serious,” she added, though she had no idea why she would throw Carrigan a bone, except that his mood swings were giving her whiplash. “I’m sure you’re never lonely,” she muttered, looking out the window as she spoke in case she hadn’t sufficiently hidden her despair over his rejection of her nine years ago. She didn’t want him to see it in her eyes.
“I made some mistakes in high school,” he admitted.
You don’t say.
“I should’ve taken you to prom instead of ...”
Skye glared at him. Did the man seriously not remember who he took to prom? “Sara Neville,” she supplied through gritted teeth. Unfortunately, she remembered every girl he had been tied to during his four years at Durango High. “You went to junior prom with Pam Oleander.”
“Oh, yeah. Now I remember. I put sex appeal over friendship.”
And there it was.
“You were a good friend, Skye, and I’m sorry I trampled over it.”
She couldn’t believe it. She knew she was in the friend zone, but did he need to point it out like an ugly blemish on her face?
“Can we listen to the radio?” she managed to say before her throat closed and tears threatened to ruin her makeup. She returned her gaze to the passing scenery of trees and snow.
So much for thinking she could handle being his friend.
He switched on the music, and to the steady beat of “Satisfaction” by the Stones, Skye contemplated how quickly she could get out of this evening.
Chapter Seven
Joe escorted Skye into the ballroom at the San Juan Country Club. A festive atmosphere greeted them along with several Christmas trees decked out in ribbons, ornaments, and pine cones. Colorful lights adorned the walls and dinner tables surrounded a dance floor, while Bing Crosby crooned “White Christmas.”
Skye headed straight for the bar on the far side, and Joe struggled to keep up with her, surprised at her speed considering the heels she wore. He had hoped to catch her under the mistletoe in the lobby, but she blew right past it.
“Can I have a gin and tonic?” she ordered.
He leaned an elbow on the counter and looked at her profile. “Since when do you drink gin and tonics?” For a nanosecond, he indulged a glance at her cleavage, then he turned to the bartender. “Whiskey neat.”
She arched an eyebrow. “No beer for the cowboy?”
“I’m not always a hick, Skye.”
Her prickly demeanor confounded him. Something had happened during the car ride, but he had no idea what. Or why she was acting so standoffish.
Ollie and Celeste appeared looking well-dressed in formal attire, Celeste’s green dress dazzling when it caught the light. Tina was right behind her, hanging back. Joe ran a hand behind his neck. Damn. In her modest black dress, she wasn’t an unattractive woman, but mousy kept running through his head.
He’d been hoping that Celeste had taken the hint when he’d told her that he was taking Skye tonight, but the implied message hadn’t gotten through because Celeste somehow maneuvered Tina to his side, and the woman gave him an uncertain smile.
Apparently he needed to be more forthright.
But he didn’t want to be rude either. “You look very nice, Tina.”
“Thanks.”
“Can I get you a drink?”
“A white wine would be nice.”
He stepped away to place the order, noticing out of the corner of his eye that Skye was now speaking with a tall man on her right. Jealousy flashed through him.
Ollie came up on his left and said quietly, “You and Skye make a striking pair.”
Joe was taken aback by the frosty glare Skye’s brother gave him. He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved that someone finally realized how he felt about Skye or laugh because her brother looked about ready to challenge him to a fight.
Grabbing his whiskey, Joe took a drink, then said, “I think you should tell Celeste.”
Ollie narrowed his gaze. “And what exactly should I tell her?”
“That this is a real date with Skye.” Joe finished his drink and gave a nod for another.
Ollie gave a snort of disdain. “That’s not what Skye told her.”
They’d managed to keep their conversation private, but when the bartender placed the white wine on the counter, Joe couldn’t ignore Tina any
longer. He returned to her and handed her the drink, as Ollie gave a frozen concoction to Celeste.
“Who’s that talking to Skye?” Joe asked.
“That’s Mark Anderson,” Celeste said. “He went to high school with us.”
The man’s ears must be burning, considering that Joe and Skye had been talking about him earlier. While annoyed that Skye’s attention had shifted so completely to another man, the saving grace for Anderson was that he appeared to have a date at his side, a woman Joe didn’t recognize and to whom Skye was speaking with equal congeniality. He wondered if Anderson recognized Skye’s dress, the very one he’d probably tried to finagle her out of all those years ago.
Skye was far too alluring in that old prom gown, and no doubt Anderson was reliving the last time he’d seen her in that dress, current date or not. Joe contemplated shedding his jacket to cover Skye’s distracting attributes.
“What are your plans for Christmas?” Tina asked him.
Reluctantly, he turned his attention to the mousy woman. “I’ll spend it with my mom.”
“It’ll be the first one without your dad,” Celeste said. “I’m sure it will be difficult for you both. Tina will be headed out-of-town.”
“And where’s that?” Joe asked, keeping Skye in his line of sight.
“Albuquerque.”
“I thought you were from Dallas.”
“I am,” Tina replied, “but my dad lives in New Mexico now.”
“You’ll be driving?” He’d emptied his second whiskey, so he set the glass on the counter. He planned to have a clear head tonight, not something he’d always practiced in high school.
Tina nodded. “Yes. It’s not too far. Hopefully these storms will stop.”
“One of my ranch hands is also headed that way,” Joe said. “His name is Kyle. Maybe you two can drive together.”
“Sure. I’ll give you my number,” she added, a little too enthusiastically.
Shit. She’d misread his suggestion, which was that Kyle was single and possibly better suited for her.
A waiter approached and asked if everyone would be seated for dinner, saving Joe from sticking his foot in his mouth any further. Skye—still chatting with Anderson and his date—moved away from him, and it was crystal clear she had no intention of sitting with him.
