Rough Creek

by Kaki Warner

  “Did you check the gauge this morning?” Raney asked him.

  “It showed a slight rise in temperature, but didn’t make it into yellow.”

  “It should be fine. The technician comes next week. I’ll have him look at it.”

  Joss tossed her napkin beside her plate. “Mercy sakes. All this talk about breeding and semen reminds me we’d better get cracking or we’ll never find a parking place at the Roadhouse.”

  “Lord’s sake, Joss!” Mama scolded. “You’ll mark the baby with such talk!”

  Dalton hid a laugh behind his napkin.

  Glenn almost toppled his chair in his rush to excuse himself, Alejandro right behind him.

  “I can be the designated driver,” Dalton offered. If he had to keep an eye on these two ladies, he’d have to keep his head clear. Plus, he didn’t intend to waste his time drinking when he had Raney to dance with.

  “You can drive us out there, but we’ll let Joss drive home,” Raney suggested. “She’s off alcohol for now, and I don’t want to drink alone. We can take my truck.”

  A few minutes later, they loaded up. As expected, Joss hopped into the passenger seat. Dalton opened the back door for Raney. “I never thought our first date would include your pregnant sister,” he murmured as Raney hopped inside.

  “This isn’t a date.”

  “We’ll see.” The door slammed before Raney could think of anything to say.

  It wasn’t a long drive, but Raney was relieved they made it to the Roadhouse in one piece, since Dalton spent as much time watching her in the rearview mirror as he did watching the road. She knew this because every time he looked in the mirror, he caught her watching him. And winked.

  It promised to be a long night.

  Joss was right about the crowded parking. The closest spot they could find was at least thirty yards from the door. Because Dalton had the pockets, Joss and Raney gave him their vitals—money, credit cards, IDs—so they wouldn’t need purses.

  The night was clear and brightened by a gazillion stars but the air felt warm and humid after the storm the previous night. Raney hoped there would be enough AC to keep from getting overheated, especially since Joss had talked her into wearing a short bolero jacket over her silk blouse.

  They could feel the throb of the big bass speakers as they walked across the lot. Jerry and the Kickers were a popular semilocal band that had a pretty decent vocalist backed by a wildly enthusiastic drummer and nimble-fingered guitarist. Joss had sung with them a couple of times, mostly after she’d been drinking, and when they walked in and Jerry saw her, he announced her like visiting royalty.

  Raney was embarrassed when a sea of faces turned their way, but she smiled gamely and waved to friends she knew. Dalton stood stoically by her side. As far as she knew, this was his first big social outing since his release from prison. She figured it must be difficult for him, seeing familiar faces and wondering how many of them he could still count as friends. Some—like Suze and Buddy Anderson—were welcoming. Others watched him warily—men sizing him up, women showing muted interest. And one was openly hostile—Deputy Langers, in full uniform, posted in a corner by the bar as a reminder that the law was on duty.

  Joss immediately disappeared into the crowd. Squeals and shouts of welcome marked her progress across the cavernous room and luckily drew the press of people near the door away from Raney and Dalton.

  “How about a beer?” he shouted over the noise, leaning closer to add, “You’ll have to go with me to get it. I won’t risk losing you in this mob until I get at least one dance.” He straightened, and the look he gave her made her knees weak. If she was this flustered just standing beside him, how would she manage a dance without falling on her face?

  A waitress came by with a loaded tray. Dalton tossed a ten on it and plucked off two longnecks, then steered Raney up onto the raised mezzanine that curled in a U shape around the gigantic dance floor—the only place where alcohol could be consumed on site. After weaving through a tangle of crowded tables they found an empty one in back.

  Dalton took off his Stetson and set it on the corner of the table, then pulled out a chair for Raney next to his against the wall. They sat side by side, not touching, but close enough to talk if they shouted loud enough. Dalton sat at an angle, his long legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles, his muscular arm draped along the back of her chair. His entire posture showed relaxed assurance. The arm resting on her chair spoke of a connection between them, a claim of possession apparent to anyone who walked by. Raney thought it was amusing. And flattering.

  Harley’s Roadhouse was a dying breed—a family-friendly, old-time, rural Texas dance hall that welcomed patrons of all ages. In deference to underage guests, no alcohol was allowed on the dance floor, and minors weren’t allowed on the mezzanine. The dancers ranged in age from shuffling octogenarians like the Polaskys—in their eighties, at least—to teenagers wearing NO ALCOHOL wristbands, and a few youngsters who hadn’t even reached puberty yet. The Roadhouse was considered a safe place by Texas standards, best known for music and dancing and its hard line against drunkenness or brawling, although occasional bouts of disorderly conduct were overlooked. It helped that, although guns weren’t allowed where alcohol was served, there were plenty close at hand in the parking lot. This was Texas, after all, and by God, Texans knew how to have a good time and how to protect themselves while doing it.

  Raney slowly began to relax, relieved that Dalton wasn’t expecting her to be chatty and vivacious, and seemed content to sit quietly beside her and sip his beer. She’d never been that great at small talk, and she was tired of talking about Rosco and his training, so silence was best.

  Then Joss rushed up, her smile wide, her hazel eyes dancing. “Jerry wants me to sing with them. Isn’t that great? Best stay here. It’s really crowded up front. I’ll find you after. Wish me luck!” Then she was off again, trailed by a couple of young women Raney vaguely remembered from Joss’s high school years. She motioned Dalton closer. “Have you ever heard her sing?” she shouted over the music.

  He dipped his head down next to hers. “Say again?”

  Raney could smell his aftershave and feel the heat of him along her shoulder. His breath against her neck made the nerves beneath her skin tingle. “Have you ever heard Joss sing?” she repeated.

  He shook his head, sending a wave of glossy dark brown hair over his forehead.

  Raney fought the urge to brush it aside so she could test the softness of it and feel the warmth of his skin against her fingers. “Then you’re in for a treat.”

  The family joke was that Joss had come out of the womb singing. All Raney remembered was how noisy she was. But as soon as her baby sister could string two sounds together, it was the beginning of her singing career. From church choir, to glee club, to every talent show for miles around, Joss was a star. And when she wasn’t singing, she was writing songs. They had all expected her to be on concert tours, opening for big stars by now, but somehow, that chance had never come.

  Crystal, the aging singer Joss had been with for the last couple of years, had never risen above the dance hall and casino circuit, which hadn’t given Joss much exposure. And now that her sister was having a baby, Raney feared her big break might never materialize, which would be a shame. Joss definitely had the talent and charisma to be a star.

  Being a local favorite, Joss had the crowd eating out of her hand before she’d sung more than a few words. They went crazy, stomping and clapping and singing along with her, and pride in her sister brought tears to Raney’s eyes.

  She glanced over at Dalton’s surprised expression and laughed out loud. “I told you,” she shouted, then stood up to give her little sister the piercing, two-fingered whistle Daddy had taught all his girls.

  Joss finished to loud applause, then rushed back to plop into a chair by their table. “Was that amazing, or what? God, I’ve mis
sed singing! Isn’t it hot in here?”

  “Why haven’t you been singing?” Raney asked.

  Joss’s head swiveled as she checked out the people dancing past. “Crystal didn’t want a pregnant woman singing backup, much less opening for her. Aren’t y’all going to dance?”

  “Then what have you been doing all this time?”

  Joss bolted to her feet. “We’ll talk later. Unlike you two, I’m here to dance!” And she was off again, calling and waving as she wove through the tables toward the dance floor.

  “That’s odd.” Raney turned to Dalton. “Don’t you think that’s odd?”

  “What I find odd is driving fifteen miles to a dance hall and not dancing. You ready yet?” He held out his hand, palm up. “Sweetheart?”

  “You’re relentless.”

  “I try.”

  Raney rose and took his hand. “Lead on. And don’t whine about stomped toes.”

  * * *

  * * *

  After the first half-dozen missteps, Dalton learned to anticipate where she would stomp next and kept his feet moving. Luckily his boots had steel toes. He didn’t really mind that she danced like a heifer in heels, or spent most of her time looking down between them at her feet, or kept apologizing every time she stumbled. But it seemed to bother her a lot, so he did the only thing he could do—pulled her tight against his body, locked his arm firmly around her slender rib cage, and told her to quit trying so hard and listen to the music.

  “I’ve got you,” he shouted into her sweet-smelling hair. “I promise I won’t let you go. Just follow my lead.”

  It worked. To an extent. Raney wasn’t a woman who easily relinquished control, even on a dance floor, but somehow, they managed. After a few laps, he could feel her body begin to relax against his, and that furrow of worry between her brows went away, and her smile of happy surprise made something clench deep in his chest. She looked so beautiful, her blue eyes sparkling and her cheeks rosy from exertion, and soft, shiny curls bouncing against her shoulders. He hadn’t had so much fun in a long time.

  But it also caused a problem for him, having her firm, slim body rubbing up against his. It interfered with his ability to think. Or remember that this wasn’t a good idea. Or that he was fast becoming that guy he’d vowed not to be.

  But he persevered. Because it was Raney in his arms. And she was worth it, and he didn’t want whatever dance they had going on between them to ever end.

  But a few minutes later, it did, when Jerry announced a short break and turned the music over to the in-house DJ, who immediately opened with a quieter, slower tempo to encourage dancers to fill up on beer while they could. Good marketing ploy, Dalton thought, as he steered Raney back to their table.

  “Did I step on your toes a lot?” she asked, taking her seat.

  “You’re a great dancer,” he said loyally, scooting his chair closer so he wouldn’t have to shout. At least, that’s what he hoped she’d think, rather than accusing him of putting a move on her. Which he was.

  Raney gave him a look. “Liar. I’m terrible. But you made it fun, Dalton, and I thank you for that.”

  “I enjoyed it, too.” He leaned closer and whispered into her ear, “Especially the way you felt rubbing up against me, your hips pressed—”

  “Oh my God!”

  He flinched and sat back as Joss flopped into the chair on the other side of her sister, flushed and breathless. And not happy, it seemed. “What’s up, Buttercup?” he asked.

  Ignoring him, Joss grabbed Raney’s arm, her face tense, her words an angry hiss. “You’ll never guess who’s here!”

  CHAPTER 12

  “Hi, Raney,” a deep voice said.

  Dalton looked up, saw a tall guy, dressed like he’d be more comfortable in an accountant’s office than a Texas dance hall, smiling down at the woman beside him. Smiling in a way that implied a past history between them.

  “Hello, Trip,” Raney said, the flush of exertion Dalton had so admired fading from her cheeks.

  “Mind if I join you?” the interloper asked, smiling all around.

  Actually, Dalton did. Joss, too. But he was asking Raney, not them. To give Raney time to make the right decision and send the guy packing, Dalton stood, stretching to his full six-four so the two-inch-shorter man would have to look up to him. He stuck out his hand. “Dalton Cardwell. And you are . . . ?”

  “Trip Kaplan. I’m an old friend of Raney’s.” He studied Dalton’s face as they shook hands. “Have we met? You look familiar.”

  “Are you a lawyer? Hang around jails a lot? Consider Commissioner Adkins a close personal friend?”

  “No.”

  “Then we haven’t met.”

  Knowing it wasn’t his decision whether the guy stayed or left, Dalton said to Raney, “You want to dance, sweetheart? Or should I get us a beer?”

  She got the message. He could tell by the softening of her mouth. “A beer would be nice, Dalton. Thank you.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Joss said, and shot to her feet. As soon as they were out of earshot, she said, “You called her sweetheart.”

  “Think he noticed?”

  “Who cares. He’s an asshole. I hate him.”

  Dalton didn’t respond. If Raney wanted him to know about the guy, he’d wait for her to tell him. At least, that’s what he thought in his head. What came out of his mouth was, “Why do you hate him?”

  “I told you already. He’s an asshole.”

  “Right. Got it.”

  “And he treated Raney bad.”

  “Does he know she owns a Glock?” he asked, trying to keep it light. Maybe she had it stashed in her truck. Not that he would ever look for it. Or need it.

  “Raney’s got a handgun?”

  “Maybe.”

  They arrived at the bar. Thirsty people stood three deep waiting to order under the watchful eye of Deputy Langers, still standing in his corner, ready to defend the world against rowdy behavior and bawdy language. Another asshole.

  “You want anything?” he asked Joss.

  “Yeah. But I’m pregnant and can’t have it.”

  Dalton took that as a no. Being taller than most, he could see over the heads of those around him, and when he spotted the waitress he had overtipped earlier, he held up two fingers and another ten.

  “Trip worked in our accountant’s office,” Joss told him. “They were engaged a couple of years ago.”

  “Engaged? To that asshole?” Dalton was surprised how much that bothered him. “He looks like an accountant.” Probably afraid of horses, too.

  “I know, right? Not at all Raney’s type.”

  “Raney has a type?” Dalton wondered which category he fit into.

  “Yeah.” Joss grinned up at him. “Guys like you.”

  He grinned back, mollified.

  The waitress swung by with her loaded tray. Dalton handed her the ten, smiled his thanks, and relieved her of two longnecks. He and Joss left the bar area and went to stand by the mezzanine rail.

  He glanced over. Raney and the asshole were still talking. It didn’t look like they were having fun, so Dalton stayed out of it for now. “What happened?” he asked Joss.

  “She caught him cheating.”

  Dalton snorted. “Only an idiot would two-time a woman like your sister.”

  Joss gave him a look that reminded him of some of the looks Raney had sent his way. Impatience with a hint of disgust. A look most females mastered by puberty. “Not that kind of cheating. He was going through the ranch books.”

  “That wasn’t his job?”

  “Exactly. That wasn’t his job. Neither the ranch nor the Whitcomb Trust were on his client list. And once he saw how well the trust was doing, or rather, how well Daddy’s investments were doing, he fell instantly in love. Asshole.”

  A trust, too? What
else didn’t he know? But it explained a lot. Especially why she might think every guy was after her money. Dalton sipped his beer, which was getting warm, while in his head, all the pieces that defined Raney began to fall into place. “How did she find out about it?”

  “He let something slip just before their engagement party. When Raney confronted him, he didn’t even try to deny it. He said with him running the operation and handling the investments, they’d be rich enough to move to Dallas and hobnob with all the other Highland Park millionaires.” Joss laughed. “He actually thought she’d leave the ranch and turn everything over to him. Can you imagine that? Raney giving up the reins? No wonder she dumped him.”

  No, Dalton couldn’t imagine it. Even in the short time he’d known her, he’d realized the ranch was as important to Raney as breathing. And woe be to any man who stepped between her and Whitcomb Four Star.

  “How’d she take the breakup?” he asked.

  Joss shrugged. “You know Raney. She took it in stride. I think I was more upset about it than she was.”

  Dalton shook his head. “I doubt it. Your sister feels a lot more than you give her credit for. She just locks it all inside.”

  Joss frowned up at him. “You think?”

  “Talk to her. You might have her figured wrong.” Raney and the asshole were still talking. Neither was smiling. Dalton finished his beer and set the empty on a passing tray. “I think they’ve chatted long enough,” he decided. “Ready to head back?”

  “Only if you promise to run him off.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  When they arrived at the table, the accountant was scowling and Raney didn’t look any happier than when they’d left, which told Dalton their differences hadn’t been patched up. Excellent. “Sorry it took so long, sweetheart.” He handed Raney her warm beer.