Swept Away

by Karen Templeton

  “You okay with this?” he whispered into her hair, his breath all that separated his lips from her temple.

  “Depends how you define ‘okay.’”

  But she sure didn’t seem to have anyplace else to go.

  It had been a long time since he’d held another woman close, breathed in another woman’s scent. But the expected pangs of guilt or regret or residual grief never came, much to his surprise. And relief. Instead, he pulled her a little closer, taking in the other couples in town sharing the floor with him—all the Logan men and their brides, Joe and Taylor, even the older couples like Ruby and her Jordy, huge and bald, the disco ball flashing off his dark pate, his gold tooth as he shared a joke with his wife.

  He realized Carly had lifted her head, watching him with an expression he couldn’t quite decipher. “What?” he said.

  “This isn’t real, you know.”

  He knew what she meant. Understood it, too. But no way was he going to let her fears ruin her night. Or his. So he smiled into her eyes and said, “Probably exactly what Cinderella was thinking, long about this time.”

  “Oh, Sam,” she said on an exhaled breath, looking away, and he tucked a finger underneath her chin to bring her gaze back up to his.

  “Hey. I would’ve thought if anybody knew how to live in the moment, it’d be you.”

  “But that’s the problem,” she said, and he thought, Well, hell—how do I get around that?

  Carly’s knee was killing her. But not nearly as much as her heart. Or at least, the space where her heart was rumored to be.

  She sat on a metal folding chair, picking at an assortment of food she wasn’t inclined to eat even when she was hungry, trying not to watch Sam standing a little way off, talking with a tall, good-looking blond guy with a mustache. Dr. Logan, she remembered. Ivy’s daughter’s brother-in-law. She smiled to herself, surreptitiously rubbing her knee—around here, you couldn’t describe anybody without tacking on several apostrophe s’s.

  She lowered her eyes to her plate, listlessly stabbing her plastic fork at something barbecued, wondering how she managed to get herself into these messes. The one thing she’d thought she’d been able to count on was Sam’s unwillingness to get romantically involved. Not yet, at any rate. Not until she figured out what to do and got out of there.

  So much for that. Because, unless she was further out of it than she’d thought, Sam Frazier was more than ready to move on. Which might have been cause for celebration if he hadn’t been more than ready to move on with her. If he hadn’t been the first really decent man to cross her path—whom she’d let cross her path—in a dog’s age. If he hadn’t been solid and sure and funny and kind and exuded an uncomplicated, meat-and-potatoes brand of sensuality that was driving her wild. Making love with him…she shut her eyes. There would be laughter, and tenderness, and surprises, and maybe a little awkwardness, but so much joy, it wouldn’t matter.

  In other words, nothing like her previous experiences.

  And for his sake, an experience that would have to remain solely in her imagination.

  Bummer.

  The band, which had been on a break, started up again, something vaguely punk and brain-pulverizing. Kids swarmed back onto the floor like flies at a picnic; Carly watched them, half smiling, half thinking how nice it would be to turn back the clock, start over again….

  “Carly?”

  She turned to find herself bathed in the widest, dimpled smile she’d ever seen, crowned by an explosion of blond curls.

  “I don’t think we’ve met yet, I’m Faith Andrews? My husband fixed y’all’s truck a while back?”

  “Oh, yes! I’ve seen you with your kids in the Homeland, I think.”

  “Yeah, that’s me, the crazy lady with the octopus in her cart.” She pointed to a nearby chair. “You mind if I sit?”

  Carly shook her head; the roundish young woman, around thirty or so, perched on the end of the chair, her hands folded on top of knees covered in some shiny fabric that might have been purple, it was hard to tell in this light.

  “I’ve been sent as an emissary of sorts,” she said, then glanced behind her at a huddle of women of various ages, their expressions indicating an avid interest in the outcome of this conversation. “Word’s out that you’re a dance teacher?”

  And there it was. Her destiny, all tied up in a bow. “I’m…thinking about it—”

  “What kind of dance do you teach?”

  “Well…I suppose I could manage pretty much anything. Classical ballet was my specialty. But jazz, modern, whatever. Even ballroom, if push came to shove. Why?”

  “You think you could teach us to dance the way you were doing out on the floor?” She lifted her hands, shifting her rib cage from side to side. “All those fancy moves with your hips and all?”

  Carly laughed. “Well, I suppose so, but—”

  “Good. ’Cause some of us could definitely stand to lose a little postpartum weight—” she laid one hand on her poochy belly and grimaced “—and dancin’ sure looks like a whole lot more fun than some of those godawful exercise videos! Not only that, but if you’re interested in teaching kids, I bet we could scare up a few of those, too. Shoot, I’ve got three or four you can have for starters.”

  Now she noticed the other women had drifted closer, in a clump, their expressions every bit as eager and expectant as Faith’s. And her vision of the barn, filled with laughing, bouncing kids—and adults, as well, apparently—came more clearly into focus. Became more real. More enticing.

  “I…I don’t know how long I’m staying,” she said, and Faith’s face fell.

  “That mean you won’t do it? Even if for only a little while?”

  She caught all those hopeful faces a few feet away, and blew out a breath.

  “Of course I’ll do it. It’ll be fun.”

  Faith let out a squeal and lurched forward to throw her arms around Carly’s neck, as the rest of the women surrounded her, all talking at once. Faith let go, and Carly glanced up, catching Sam’s smile, and happiness and dread collided in the pit of her stomach as she realized the whole damn town was railroading her into falling in love with…it.

  From across the room, Libby saw Faith hug Carly, saw something unspoken and loaded with meaning between her father and Carly. She sipped her punch, feeling a tiny knot lodge between her brows. Lord, Dad and Carly had just about embarrassed her to death, out on the dance floor earlier. But at the same time, they’d both looked like they were having a real good time. Dad especially. A dark thought crossed her mind, which was that if Carly hurt her father, she’d never forgive her.

  Sean’s hand slipped into hers; she gave him a smile. He looked so hot tonight, her breath hitched every time she looked at him. And he’d been so sweet about everything, having to let Daddy drive them there and all.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he whispered, his breath warm in her hair, sending a little shiver over her skin.

  “We can’t do that,” she whispered, giggling. “Daddy’ll be looking for me, you know he will.”

  “There’s like a million people in here, he’ll never know.”

  Biting her lip, she scanned the crush of bodies on the dance floor, then felt her cheeks warm with the daring of it all. “Okay, I guess. But where?”

  Sean scouted out the other end of the room, to make sure Daddy wasn’t watching, she presumed, then skimmed a finger down her cheek, his teeth flashing in the dim light in the gym. “You’ll see. Come on.”

  The hall was completely empty when they slipped out the gym door; Sean grabbed her hand again and tugged her along behind him, their laughter and the hollow clicking sound of her heels against the tile floor reverberating tinnily off rows of lockers as they ran. Sean slammed down the metal bar to the door leading outside—ka-chunk—and the crisp night air enveloped them, heightening Libby’s senses.

  “Come here,” he whispered, pushing her up against the brick wall, his hands framing her face as he lowered his mouth to hers and
kissed her slowly, completely. His tongue touched hers, over and over, delicious and scary all at once; she felt powerful in a way she’d never felt before, even as tendrils of nervousness writhed in her stomach, competing with a tingly warmth spreading even lower. Then, carefully, he touched her breast through her dress and bra, and she jerked in response, stunned at the sensation.

  “Do you like that?” he murmured into her mouth, but all she could manage was a groan of approval, deep in her throat. So he touched her some more, and kissed her a lot more, until she realized her back was freezing from being up against the frigid, rough brick.

  “I’m cold,” she whispered, and he immediately slipped out of his jacket and bundled her into it.

  “I know where it’s warmer.”

  “Yeah, let’s go back to the dance—”

  “No. Someplace better. Someplace where nobody’s going to bother us.”

  A tiny alarm went off in her head. “Um, maybe that’s not such a good idea…”

  He silenced her protest with another kiss, then entwined their fingers. And smiled. “Trust me?”

  “Sure, but—”

  He placed a finger on her lips, then led her across the courtyard to the shop building. “I’ve got a key. And nobody will think to look for us here.”

  “Sean…?”

  “It’s okay, your dad will never know.”

  “Sean, I really want to go back…” But her words fell on deaf ears as he unlocked the shop door, guided her inside. Smells of grease and oil, the sharp tang of metal, assaulted her nose; moonlight filtering through the bank of windows along one side of the vast room glanced off any number of strange, hulking shapes. Shaking her head, Libby edged back out the door.

  “I’m really not comfortable with this, okay?”

  “Shh, baby, it’s not gonna hurt, I promise. And I’ve got condoms, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  Now panic screamed in her ears. “No, you’re not listening, I don’t want to do this. Not now.” She glanced around the room. “And especially not here. Come on, let’s go back—”

  A yelp escaped from her throat when he caught her hand, then pressed it against the bulge in his pants. “This is what you do to me, baby, you can’t leave me like this, you got me in this state, this is what you wanted, remember?”

  “No!” she yelled, yanking her hand away. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize…” She tried to run, but he grabbed her from behind, his kisses sloppy and desperate, not like the ones he usually gave her, as she felt his hand slash up her thighs, underneath her dress.

  “I know you’re nervous—” came out in pants as she struggled against him “—but I’ll make it good for you, you’ll see…ow! Dammit!” His hand flew to his face where she’d slapped him; she gasped, then took off, wincing when she banged her hip against something hard and cold and unyielding as she ran.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” Sean yelled behind her.

  But by now she was too far away to hear him. Her palm stung from slapping him, her hip throbbed, but those were the least of her worries. Her lungs screaming for air, she plowed through the only open door, the one nearest to the gym, before she realized she couldn’t let anybody see her like this. Luckily the hall was empty, the ladies’ room only a few feet away: she could duck inside and hide out in one of the stalls until she pulled herself together…

  “Libby?” Blair said when they nearly collided in the bathroom doorway. “Ohmigod! Are you all right?”

  One glimpse into her friend’s worried eyes and she totally lost it.

  Chapter 11

  “S-Sam?”

  In the midst of handing out what felt like his thousandth cup of punch, Sam looked up, his grin collapsing at Blair’s distressed expression. He barely registered Carly’s hand landing on his arm, barely heard his own, “What is it?”

  “Oh, God, it’s Libby,” came out in a strangled whisper. “She’s out in the hall with Jenna, I don’t know what happened, she won’t stop crying long enough to tell us….”

  The punch geysered as Sam dropped the plastic ladle, then tore across the gym, Carly right behind him. Seconds later, Libby was in his arms, crying way too hard to make sense of anything she said. He nodded to Jenna, who led a protesting Blair away.

  “Call me?” the other teen yelled back to Libby, but Sam wasn’t even sure if Libby’d heard her.

  The door to the gym swung open, letting out a group of teens who all glanced curiously over; Sam steered Libby down the hall to the unlocked teacher’s lounge, each of his daughter’s sobs a dagger through his heart. Libby almost never cried, not even when she’d been a baby.

  “She needs another woman,” Carly said, matter-of-factly, when they all sat down on the standard issue, metal-frame sofa, gently extracting Libby from Sam’s nearly panicked grasp and wrapping her own long, slender arms around his child. Libby sagged against Carly, letting her rock her, stroke her messed-up hair out of her face, while Carly made all those soothing noises mothers have made throughout eternity for a hurting child. Except, when he tore his eyes away from his daughter long enough to glance at the woman comforting her, he caught a flash of anguish in her fine-boned face that rocked him all over again, producing an aftershock of suspicion, that Libby’s pain was somehow her own.

  Finally, in gasping fits and starts, Libby’s story came out. Not in great detail, heaven knows, but enough to leave no doubt about what happened.

  For the first time, Sam understood how an otherwise peaceful man could be driven to murder. He shot to his feet and began to pace the room, one hand braced on his hip, the other one streaking through his hair. If his heart pounded any harder, it’d come clean out of his chest.

  “I’m so sorry, Daddy,” Libby said behind him in a tiny, shaky voice.

  Sam spun around. “For what?”

  Although her sobs had trickled to hiccups, a new flood of tears crested on her lower lids. “For not listening, for thinking…” She blew her nose, then stared at her hands, knotted in her lap, before lifting red-rimmed eyes to Sam again. “For being stupid, for letting myself get in way over my head—”

  “Hey,” Carly said before Sam had a chance to. Her hands firmly on the girl’s shoulders, she held her a little apart, looking her straight in the eye. “Don’t you ever, ever let me hear you call yourself stupid, you got that? Sean had no right to try talking you into doing something you weren’t ready for—”

  “No, you don’t understand—”

  “We understand plenty, believe me,” Sam roared, making both females jump. “And so help me, the minute I catch him—”

  “Daddy, no! Don’t go after him, it wasn’t his fault, I—I led him on, got him all worked up…oh, God, I’m sorry I said anything!”

  “Libby!”

  Carly’s voice, low and feral, sliced through the tension vising the room. When she took Libby’s face in her slender hands, fury such as Sam had never seen rolled in waves off her slight frame.

  “This is not your fault. And don’t you dare believe for a single moment that it is. A real man understands when a woman says ‘no,’ that doesn’t somehow translate into ‘try harder.’ Honey, trust me,” she said, more softly now, brushing tears off the girl’s blotchy face, “just seeing a woman is enough to get some men ‘worked up.’ But no matter how turned on a guy is, or how he got that way, it never, ever gives him the right to force himself on you. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  After a moment, Libby nodded.

  “And another thing,” Carly said, rubbing Libby’s upper arms. “Be proud of yourself for having the courage to tell your father.” She hesitated, then added, “Believe me, this is one secret you don’t want to keep.”

  Another shock wave coursed through Sam’s already strained emotions. This time, he knew he wasn’t imagining Carly’s personal experience leaking through her words, her own emotions. But right now, he only had enough energy to focus on his daughter.

  He crouched in front of Libby, taking her
hand. The short-nailed, rough-skinned hand of a young lady who spent far more time in pigpens and chicken coops than she did in malls. “You got any idea where Sean is?” When she started up with the whimpering protests again, however, he said, “I promise I’m not gonna kill him. Although believe me, it’s very tempting. But I can’t let this go, Libby. I’d never be able to live with myself if I did.”

  She lowered her eyes, staring hard at her lap for several more seconds before she finally said, “I left him in the auto shop.”

  Sam squeezed her hand. “Will you be okay here with Carly for a bit?”

  Another nod. Now he allowed himself a glance over at Carly, who’d again folded the girl into her arms. “Thanks,” he mouthed over Libby’s head.

  “No problem,” she mouthed back, but not even a blind man could miss the toll the evening’s events had taken on her, too.

  However, after a quick search of the school property, as well as any number of inquiries as to the boy’s possible whereabouts, Sam realized the boy had fled, maybe hitching a ride with somebody else. Since the evening was clearly over for all of them, he found another warm body to take over his punch-pouring duties, then took Libby and Carly back home.

  Lane came into the kitchen when they straggled in through the back door, took one look at Libby’s tear-blotched face, and lifted questioning eyes to Sam. He put up a hand to stave off any questions; Lane got the hint.

  “Boys all asleep?” he asked after Carly steered his wrung-out, devastated daughter back to her bedroom to put her to bed.

  “Littlest ones, yeah. Big boys ended up at the Grangers, they said you’d already told them they could spend the night?” Sam nodded, although he’d plumb forgotten, actually. “They said to tell you they’d be back for church in the morning,” Lane added, then gave him a look that said, You gonna tell me what happened, or what?