by Lori Wilde
He walked around the table and took the seat opposite her.
“So,” she said, unrolling the silverware from the napkin, and then settling the napkin in her lap. “So.”
“At a loss for words?” His smirk was back and he lifted an eyebrow.
“Yes,” she admitted. “This place is—”
“Rustic.”
“I was going to say quaint, but rustic applies as well.”
“Tourists love the Funny Farm.”
“I can see that.” Emma nodded at a family sitting near them. Mom, Dad, sister, two brothers. They had sunburned noses and windblown hair, as if they’d spent the day on the lake, and they all wore identical T-shirts that said: “I’ve Done Time at the Funny Farm.”
Sam’s grin widened.
“Whimsical,” she said.
“That’s Twilight.”
“I’m amazed by how much the town hasn’t changed. It feels like I’ve stepped back in time thirty years.”
“We’re not that backward.”
She held up both palms. “Hey, it’s a good thing. I like Twilight.”
He cocked his head, angled her a speculative look. She was so aware of him—his size, his scent, his sinew and bones. She thought about that afternoon in the theater loft when they’d stared up at the stars together, and she gulped. She felt the movement slide all the way down her throat, leaving her feeling parched and restless.
“Yes,” the waitress was saying to the twinsy family, “we do serve fried pickles.”
Emma wrinkled her nose. “Fried pickles?”
“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”
She shifted her legs, felt her knees brush against Sam’s underneath the table. Oops. Quickly, she moved her legs away, but her gaze went straight to his face. Had he felt that? Did he think she’d touched him on purpose? Should she apologize for bumping into him or just let it go? “Should we order some?” she asked. “Fried pickles, I mean.”
“Are you kidding? They’re disgusting.”
Dammit, she couldn’t stop staring at him, couldn’t stop watching his angular lips open and close as he spoke. “But you said—”
“I was merely making a point.”
“That being?”
“You shouldn’t make judgments until all the facts are in. Even then, you should be careful, there are always unknown factors.”
She propped an elbow on the arm of her chair. “Not everyone can be as studied and controlled as you. Some of us just like to make our mistakes and get it over with.”
“But if you took time to ponder, you might not make so many mistakes.”
“Sometimes pondering can be a mistake in and of itself. For example, say a runaway truck was speeding toward you. Me, I’d just get out of the way. You’d stand there pondering and more than likely get squashed.” What are you doing? Why are you acting like such a goofball? You’re on a date with Sam. You shouldn’t be dreaming up whacky what-if scenarios.
“That’s a bad example,” he said.
“How so?”
“For one thing, what caused the truck to be runaway?”
“I don’t know. The driver forgot to engage the brake?”
“If the driver forgot to engage the brakes, how come it’s speeding and not just simply rolling back?”
“It’s on a very steep hill.”
“And the driver forgot to engage the brakes?”
“That’s right.”
“Then he’s either intoxicated or a total dumbass and deserves to be sued.”
“What happened to the pondering and withholding judgment? You’ve already sued the guy. What if he was really distracted? What if his kid was sick?”
“It’s not a real guy, it’s just a hypothetical situation you cooked up.”
“So you agree?”
He looked confused. “About what?”
“I would have leaped to safety and you’d be a pancake.”
“I agree to no such thing.”
“Look, in the time it took for you to analyze and question me, you could have jumped to safety.”
“Except for the fact there is no stupid, drunken driver with a sick kid, no runaway truck.”
“But there could be.”
“You’ve got some kind of imagination. You know that?”
“So I’ve been told.”
“What’ll y’all have to drink?” asked the perky waitress who sashayed up to their table. She had her hair pulled back with a red kerchief and wore a red gingham apron over her short-skirted uniform. She looked like a milkmaid, which Emma supposed was the idea.
“I’ll have iced tea,” Sam said.
“Nothing alcoholic?” Emma asked.
Sam shook his head. “I don’t drink much.”
“Ah, but this is Saturday night and a special occasion.”
He shrugged. “Okay. I’ll have a beer, whatever you’ve got on tap.”
“And for you, ma’am?” The waitress stood poised.
“I’ll have the same.”
“Gotcha. Two beers coming right up.”
Sam gazed into Emma’s eyes as if he could see straight through to her soul. Unnerved, she moistened her lips, but the dryness hung on. Where was the waitress with that beer?
Quick, think of something to say.
“So,” she said, picking up her menu. “What’s good here?”
“I always get the roast beef. Charlie likes the chicken-fried steak.”
The waitress returned with their beers and took their food orders and they tried again for light conversation, but the mood felt awkward. This wasn’t the way she’d wanted their first date to go.
He reached across the table, touched her hand. “I want to thank you for more than just getting Charlie to talk.”
“Oh?” she said lightly, her pulse fluttering as he looked into her eyes.
“You’ve helped me to see that I was holding myself back, and by holding myself back, I was holding Charlie back as well. I’ve decided it’s time to stretch the dimensions of my world.”
“That’s wonderful,” she said.
“You make me feel alive in a way I haven’t felt in a long time.”
You do the same for me.
And then just like that the awkwardness passed and they connected with a click. He was changing her, she realized, in ways too unsettling to examine. She was getting too close to him, and she knew it, but she couldn’t think of how to stop. She’d tried staying away and that hadn’t worked at all.
Their meal arrived, and as they ate, they talked. About their childhood, their pasts. She told Sam funny stories about New York. He matched them with tales from the life of a small-town veterinarian. She found herself telling him things she’d never told anyone. About her doubts and fears. About the loneliness she tried so hard to keep hidden.
Sam let her talk. He stroked her knuckles with his fingers, but he didn’t offer any commentary.
And yet, the more she revealed to him, the more her chest tightened with tension. She was deeply drawn to him, but in that path lay danger. The closer she got, the more her independence slipped away. She was going to get hurt. She knew it, but couldn’t help the fall.
So when he said, “Would you like to go somewhere after dinner?” she answered, “I never thought you’d ask.”
The parking lot of the Horny Toad Tavern was packed with pickup trucks, SUVs, and a car or two. Sam parked the Jeep under the vapor lamp. After dinner, they’d walked back to his house to pick it up. He hadn’t set foot in the tavern since his college days, and even then, he hadn’t been much of a partyer. He’d simply gone along with his brothers and friends. He rarely drank. He didn’t care for the taste of liquor or the way it made him feel, so he would order a beer and nurse it all night. He quickly figured out his friends asked him along so he could be their designated driver. That was okay with Sam. Just as long as no one expected him to be the life of the party. He left the spotlight to those who enjoyed it. Like Emma.
Except tonight.
She seemed determined to drag him into the spotlight with her. The minute they walked through the door, her hips started twitching in time to the music. Over on the dance floor boots were scooting to the live band playing “Little Miss Honky Tonk.” She turned, took his hand, and started walking backward to the dance floor.
He pulled his hand back, held up his palms. “Whoa,” he said. “I’m going to need a little loosening up before you can convince me to get out there and make a fool of myself.”
She canted her head and looked as if she might argue with him, but then she nodded. “You need fore-play before the floor play.”
“I wouldn’t put it like that…” He couldn’t help grinning.
“I would.” She grinned back. “Come on. Let’s go see if we can find a table.”
He scanned the room, but the place was packed. “Maybe we should come back another time when it’s not so crowded.”
“I’m not letting you off the hook that easily, Doc. Oh, look.” She pointed. “It’s some of the women from the quilting club and they’re waving us over.”
Sam groaned.
Emma nudged him with an elbow. “Don’t be such a grumpy old hermit. Socializing will do you a world of good.”
“In what universe?” he muttered under his breath.
“In my universe,” she said, and took his hand again.
Feeling like a dinghy being towed by a flashy speedboat, he followed her to the big table in the corner near the pool tables, where the women were already shifting to make a space for them.
“Hey, Emma, hey, Sam,” the group—consisting of his aunt Belinda, his sister Jenny, Terri Longoria, and Dotty Mae Densmore—greeted them.
“Hey, everybody.” Emma plunked down and patted the seat of the empty chair beside her.
“Evenin’, ladies,” Sam said, and eased down beside Emma. “Where are your menfolk?”
“Girls’ night out,” Terry said. “Ted’s on call.”
“Harvey’s watching the kids.” Belinda took a pull of her strawberry daiquiri.
“Dean’s holding down the fort at the B&B.” Jenny raked a hand through her hair.
“Whatcha all up to?” asked Dotty Mae.
“We’re out on the town celebrating Charlie’s accomplishment,” Emma said.
“Why, isn’t that nice,” Belinda said. “You are going to take Emma for a spin around the dance floor, aren’t you, Sam?”
“I am,” Sam surprised himself by saying.
“Well, lookee here.” Raylene Pringle sashayed over. She came up behind Sam and rested a hand on his shoulder. “I haven’t seen you in the Horny Toad since that time your brother Ben broke up with his girlfriend, got drunk, and punched a hole in my Wurlitzer with his bare fist.”
“That was almost ten years ago,” Jenny said.
Raylene tapped her temple with an index finger. “I got a good memory and I’ve been known to hold a grudge, especially when it costs me money. So what’ll you have?”
“You waitin’ tables tonight, Raylene?” Terri asked.
Raylene rolled her eyes. “That Holloway girl we hired called in sick, but I heard through the grapevine she’s preggers by one of the Townsends. Those boys are pure rascals.”
“That they are.” Dotty Mae nodded.
“I’ll have a beer,” Sam said. He wasn’t much on gossip. “And Emma will have a…” He paused, looked at her.
“Beer?” Emma said. “I thought you were going to live a little.”
“For me this is living a little.”
“How ’bout a margarita,” Raylene said. “They’re not too sweet the way Sonny makes them.”
Emma rubbed his arm. “Come on, let down your guard a little. It’s okay to let loose once in a while. Charlie’s with his grandparents, Maddie’s out of town. For one night you have no one to answer to. You deserve to have a little fun.”
Sam looked over at Emma. Her eyes glowed with a devilish light. Copper-colored curls bounced around her shoulders when she turned her head, giving her a pert, girl-next-door appearance. The pink linen blouse she wore complemented her peaches and cream complexion. And the gloss she’d applied made her lips look wet and shiny. God, she was gorgeous.
“I’ll have one of those margaritas, Raylene.” Emma held his gaze, visually daring him to go for it.
What the hell? If he was going to get out on that dance floor, maybe being halfway lit wasn’t such a bad idea. Sam didn’t look away. “Bring me one too.”
“I’ll be right back.” Raylene sauntered off.
Emma smiled at him, and it felt like the sun had finally come out after a long winter storm.
The whole table hooted their approval.
“I don’t know what magic you’ve worked on him.” Jenny raised both thumbs in the air. “But anyone who can get my little brother out of the house and the animal clinic gets my vote.”
“I’m not that entrenched,” Sam protested.
“The hell you’re not.” Jenny wagged her head.
“Okay, so I’m a stick-in-the-mud. But I’m out now and I’m ordering margaritas and”—he cast a glance over his shoulder—“contemplating line dancing. So I don’t want to hear more lip from anyone. Got it?”
“Yes sir.” Jenny saluted him with a smirk.
Emma stacked her hands on the table in front of her and leaned forward, unwittingly exposing her cleavage. “So have you guys hit the dance floor yet?”
Sam just happened to be looking down at just the right time. He didn’t intend to ogle, but hell, a man would have to be stone-cold numb beneath the waist not to notice a pair of tits like that. Round and firm and ripe like Texas peaches in mid-July.
He lounged back in his chair to get a better view and couldn’t help grinning to himself. He had to admit, he liked the way she made him feel. Lusty. Alive.
“Here you are. Two margaritas on the rocks.” Raylene slid the drinks in front of Sam and Emma. “You wanna start a tab?”
“I think one will be enough for me.” Sam pulled a twenty from his pocket and handed it to Raylene.
“Yes,” Jenny said. “Heaven forbid, Sam have two drinks.”
“What? Do you want me to get drunk?”
“Might be interesting. I’ve never seen you drunk.” His sister stuck out her tongue at him.
“That’s because I’ve never been drunk.”
“Seriously?” Emma swung her head around to take his measure.
“It’s not my style.”
“Here’s to Sam having a style all his own,” Emma said, and lifted her glass.
“To Sam,” everyone else chimed in, and they all clinked glasses.
Except for Sam. He was embarrassed. “How perverse is this?” he asked. “Drinking to sobriety?”
“Come on,” Emma egged him on. “Take a sip.”
He took a sip of the lime-flavored drink. It packed a wallop. “How big was that tequila jigger, Raylene?”
“Big enough, cowboy.” Raylene patted him on the head. “Let me know if you change your mind about wanting another.”
“You women are ganging up on me,” he said as the liquid slid smoothly down his throat. “One big sister is bad enough—”
“It’s what happens when you crash girls’ night out.” Jenny winked.
“You ready for that dance now?” Emma asked. “It’s beginning to look like the lesser of two evils.”
“You got a point.” Sam took another swig of the margarita to help fortify himself.
“Could I just scooch out?” Belinda asked, getting to her feet.
“Sure, sure.” Sam scooted back his chair, and after Belinda slipped by him and disappeared into the crowd, he got to his feet and held out his hand to Emma. “May I have this dance?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” She sank her delicate little hand into his, and he felt like a hulking oaf. She was so petite. Just as they reached the dance floor the song ended. He caught a glimpse of Belinda whispering something to a band member. What was his aunt up to? He got the answe
r to his question a second later. Belinda couldn’t help herself. Matchmaking was in her DNA. He should have been irritated. Normally, he would have been irritated. Instead, he was touched, and for the life of him, he didn’t know why.
“We’re gonna mix things up, folks,” said the lead guitarist. “This one’s a waltz, and it’s going out to all you couples out there who ended up with your high school sweethearts and still love ’em.”
“Oops,” Emma said, “maybe we should sit this one out.” She turned to head back to her seat as people shifted, some going to the dance floor, others stepping away.
“Whoa.” Sam snagged her elbow. “You aren’t running out on me now. You asked for a dance, I’m giving you a dance.”
“But this is a waltz.”
“And?”
“It’s dedicated to lovers.”
“And?”
“We’re not lovers.”
“No, but we were once high school sweethearts.”
“Not really. We were more friends than anything else, until…well…you know.”
“Yeah.” He lowered his eyelids and his voice. “I know.”
The pulse at the hollow of her neck fluttered fast and she ducked her head, tugged against his grip. “Let’s wait for something livelier.”
“You’ve been poking at me to get out and live a little, and just when I’m ready to do that, you get cold feet and try to take off on me.”
“A waltz is intimate.”
“And what’s wrong with that?”
The column of her throat moved as she swallowed.
The band started up the opening strains of “Waltz Across Texas.” At the sound of the unofficial honky-tonk anthem of Texas, even more people got up and headed for the dance floor. Belinda had requested a good one. As the man at the mike sang the lyrics, Sam swept Emma into his arms. It was a song about a man who got his storybook ending with the starry-eyed woman he loved, and all he wanted to do was waltz her across Texas.
