A two-step that was popular on the radio these days came on the speakers and Carrie’s toe tapped along with the opening bars. “Hey, Quinn,” Kailey said loudly, to be heard over the music. “You wanna take a turn on the floor?”
Quinn smiled. “Why not?”
Carrie watched as Quinn and Kailey headed out to the sawdust-covered floor and started circling the perimeter with the other dancers. Kailey was laughing and Quinn was smiling. Carrie had once asked Kailey about why she didn’t date Quinn—they got along great. Kailey confessed that once, before Quinn met his wife, they’d gone out on a couple of dates and that kissing him was like kissing a brother. There just wasn’t any chemistry. Now that Quinn was a widower, they’d just stayed friends.
Carrie turned back to the table and her stomach flipped again. Duke was watching her, his gray-green eyes studying her as if he could see clear through her. She wasn’t sure if she liked the sensation or if it made her uncomfortable. Before she could decide, he took a drink of his iced tea. “So,” he said. “You and Kailey. She your wingman?”
Carrie nodded. “Yeah. Most of the time anyway. We’ve been friends a long time.”
“She’s a nice girl. I vaguely remember her from school.”
“She’s a bad influence,” Carrie admitted. “And I love her for it. She keeps me from getting too boring.”
“Are you boring, Carrie?”
She tried hard not to get lost in his eyes. “Occasionally. At least that’s what I’ve been told.”
He took a drink of his soda. “You weren’t boring as a kid. Not as I recall anyway. I still remember the day in third grade when you put the frog in Jennifer Howard’s lunch box.”
Carrie couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out of her mouth. “Oh, my gosh. I’d forgotten about that!”
“I’m sure Jennifer hasn’t. She gave you the stink eye for months. I don’t think I’ve ever heard quite that same combination of crying and grossing out since.”
She took another drink of rum and realized she needed to slow down. Carefully she put the glass back down on the table and stared at it for a few moments.
“So what changed?” Duke asked. “All work and no play? What turned that troublemaker into someone boring and responsible?”
Boring and responsible. When she’d looked at him talking to the other men earlier, those words had popped into her mind, too. Was it a case of pot meeting kettle?
She met his gaze and decided to be honest. It wasn’t as though it was a big secret after all. “My mom got sick just before I graduated. Breast cancer.”
“I’m sorry. Is she okay now?”
A lump formed in Carrie’s throat. “No. She got through the first occurrence with surgery and chemo. It came back, though, more aggressive than before. She died two years ago.”
“God.” Duke put his hand over hers for a few seconds. It was warm and rough. “I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have brought it up...”
“It’s okay.” She tried to give him a reassuring smile, but she was sure it wobbled a bit around the edges. “It is what it is, right?”
“You and your dad must miss her so much.” He slid his hand away.
And with that he scored another hit. Carrie absorbed the pain, knowing it was completely unintentional on his part. “My dad didn’t take it so well. He turned to the bottle when she was doing her first round of chemo and barely hung on during her treatment. When she was rediagnosed, he fell apart. He left, and I haven’t seen him since. In the end it was just Mom and me.”
She didn’t tell him to elicit his sympathy. She didn’t want people to feel sorry for her. She gave her shoulders a shrug, loosening them up. “Anyway, I guess I put away childish things when that happened.”
Yeah. Including disposable income. She’d gone from being a supportive daughter to assuming the mortgage for the house so the bank wouldn’t foreclose when her father quit making the payments. Not to mention the medical bills and keeping the lights on. The few evenings she spent at the Dollar was about as exciting as her life got.
“I’m really sorry,” he repeated. “How long have you been working at Crooked Valley?”
She smiled then, a genuine one, because she really did love her job. “Your grandfather hired me as a part-time hand when I was seventeen. I liked it so much I stayed on.”
“And now you’re my foreman. At thirty.”
She shrugged, not particularly caring for the reminder of her age. Kailey was twenty-eight and her mother was constantly asking when she was going to find a good man and settle down, that she wasn’t getting any younger. It was as though a woman hit thirty and it was all on the downhill slide.
She peered into his face. “What about you, Duke? What keeps you from smiling more?”
He didn’t answer, but he met her gaze and held it for a few long moments. “It’s a long story.”
She grinned. “It always is.”
“Then, let’s save it for another time.” He treated her to a rare smile, small, but definitely friendly. “This is getting a bit heavy. Maybe we should hit the dance floor instead.” He held out a hand.
Dance. With Duke. She blinked. The conversation had been serious, but the underlying attraction, at least on her part, was still there. Especially when he looked directly in her eyes like that.
“Um, okay.” Her throat felt dry, so she grabbed her glass and finished what was left in the bottom, mentally promising herself to get a glass of water after this dance. Then she put her hand in his and stood up, her heart beating a little bit faster as they weaved their way to the floor with the other two-steppers.
Quinn and Kailey shuffled by, their boots stirring up sawdust as Duke put his hand on her waist and his other clasped her palm. Before she had a chance to take a deep breath, he started them moving around the floor with the other dancers. Carrie made herself relax and settle into the steps; she didn’t want to trip over her own boots and look like an ass. Duke was a good dancer, smooth and even and confident, and with a change in pressure of his hand she knew to slide under and execute a smooth turn. When she was facing him again, he was smiling and the brilliant force of it nearly sucked the air from her lungs.
She was tipsy and dancing with her boss and thinking prurient thoughts about him. This was probably not the smartest thing to be doing on a Friday night.
They’d been late to the floor and the song ended not long after they’d begun dancing. They waited for the next, and Carrie was expecting something fast and fun. Instead the latest hot ballad boomed over the speakers and there was an awkward moment where they wondered whether to end the dance and go back to the table or carry through the next song.
“Care to?” His voice rumbled close to her ear again and she shivered.
“I guess,” she answered, giving a little nod.
The dance hold was different this time, more intimate. His wide palm rode along the small of her back and his fingers curled around hers as he held her close. His belt buckle grazed the button of her jeans as they moved their feet, and her breasts pressed lightly against his shirtfront. Duke’s shoulder was warm and hard beneath her fingertips—maybe he hadn’t been ranching, but there was no denying that what was beneath the material was rock-solid.
The song went on and they moved along the floor like every other couple, but Carrie felt different. The air between them was taut with possibility; each place where their bodies touched was hypersensitive. Duke pulled her closer and his fingers kneaded against the small of her back, barely an inch above her tailbone. It would only take the slightest movement for her to have her head curled against his shoulder, to taste the skin of his neck. Instead she closed