Last Chance Knit & Stitch (26 page)

Simon nodded soberly. “I hate arguments, too.”

The waltz finished, and Molly expected Simon to escort her back to the table. But the band segued into a rousing rendition of “Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy),” and Simon snagged her hand and kept her out there on the dance floor. “There is nothing wrong with dancing at a wedding,” he said, his dark eyes intent.

He wanted to live dangerously. Molly wanted the same thing. So she got in line and followed Ricki, who seemed to know the steps to every line dance in all of creation. Before long, Molly had jettisoned her uncomfortable shoes and forgotten all about Coach and his sour mood. A mob of dancers took to the floor, and she started having a really great time.

She danced half a dozen line dances until she was out of breath. She escaped the dance floor with Simon and got herself a longneck Bud to cool off.

That’s where Coach found her. He didn’t look pleased. But it was what he deserved. After all, he had abandoned her before she had abandoned him. And besides, he’d abandoned Momma plenty over the years. So Molly was just evening the score.

“You’ll have a headache in the morning,” her father
said, scowling at the beer in her hand as if he had any moral leg to stand on, given his two-day bender earlier in the week. “You know your mother disapproves of that.”

“Coach,” she said in a surprisingly calm voice, “Momma is not here. And I’m thirsty.” She raised the beer in a toast. “And it’s a special occasion. One beer is not going to put me on my butt, especially with all the dancing I’ve been doing.”

He glared, but not at her. The look he gave Simon was practically lethal. He turned back. “It’s getting late. We need to go,” he said in a business-like tone.

“It’s not even dark yet. It couldn’t be much past eight o’clock,” Molly said. “I’m not ready to go.”

“Yeah, well, we’ve got church in the morning.”

“Everyone here has church in the morning.”

“Well, we’re going to be the ones who show up without hangovers.” Coach put his big hands on his hips.

Damn it all to hell and back. Why did he have to be standing there like some kind of anti-godmother, forcing her from the ball
before
midnight? So he didn’t approve of the older, wiser Prince Charming she’d been dancing with. Since when did he have veto power over anything she did or thought or felt?

Short answer: Since always.

Molly suddenly resented the hell out of it.

But she couldn’t fight it. If she didn’t go along with Coach, he might go home and drink himself silly. Or he might take it in his mind to shove Simon into the wedding cake, which would be a freaking disaster.

She had to go. She really didn’t have a choice.

But just as she was about to give up the field, Simon
changed everything. In a calm and civil voice he said, “Don’t worry, Coach, I’ll look after her.”

The two men squared off for a solid half minute of staring each other down. Simon wasn’t nearly as large as Coach, but boy he sure had a penetrating stare when he put his mind to it.

Finally Coach pointed a finger at his chest. “I’m not happy about this. And I swear, Simon, if you don’t get her home by midnight, there will be hell to pay.”

He looked at Molly. “Don’t do anything stupid.” And with that, Molly’s father turned on his heel and stalked away.

Simon didn’t remember Coach as being so hard. He remembered him as being a positive force. But something had changed. Whether it was in himself or Coach, Simon couldn’t say. But sadness welled up inside him as he watched his old mentor cross the ballroom in an uneven gait. Coach had had a few, hadn’t he?

It didn’t seem in character, somehow. Coach wanted to protect Molly. Simon understood that. But the guy was obviously not listening to his daughter. He got the feeling Coach wasn’t very supportive of Molly’s career path. And Simon knew exactly how that felt.

Simon gulped down his beer and pulled Molly back onto the dance floor. He knew a moment of complete joy when the pins holding up her hair began to fall out.

They danced for a long time, and when the last light of day began to fade, he took her by the hand and tugged her away from the tent. She came willingly, a fresh beer in her hand and no shoes on her feet. They strolled up a rolling hill behind the main stable far away from the party, which was beginning to wind down a little.

The cake had been cut. The bouquet had been tossed. The bride and groom had been sent off in a shower of rice. The old folks had gone home, but the Wild Horses kept right on playing music, and the young folks kept right on dancing. They would dance until the bar shut down, and knowing Dash, that wouldn’t be for some time yet.

But it was quiet here a little ways away from the tent. And they had a great view of a red sunset sky.

“Red sky at night, sailor’s delight,” she said, taking a sip of her beer. “Want some?” She offered it to him.

He accepted the bottle and took a sip, letting the yeasty tang fill his mouth. It was cool, and he was thirsty. “I should have gotten one for myself.”

“There’s more where that came from.”

“I’m sorry about the way your father acted before. I get the feeling he’s not one hundred percent behind what you want to do with the Shelby. I find that kind of interesting, seeing as you two used to be inseparable.”

She let go of a long, sad sigh. “That was before the twins were born. Back when you were a Rebel, I was a boy, and Coach was happy with me.”

He chuckled. “You were a boy? You want to explain that?”

“I was allowed to do all kinds of boy stuff. I could climb trees, go fishing, and ride my bike on a hot day without a shirt on.”

“I’d like to see you do that now.”

She rolled her beautiful eyes in his direction. The purple sky made them look almost huckleberry blue. It was so amazing the way her eyes changed color all the time.

“Why is it that when I’m alone with you for five minutes the conversation always ends up being about one or
the other of us getting naked?” She snagged her beer back and took a long swig.

“Don’t get huffy with me. You were explaining about how you were once a boy.”

“Yeah, I was. I mean I didn’t know there was any difference between boys and girls. And then my brothers came along. And my innocence was lost.”

“Your innocence?”

“Yeah. I realized they had something different than I had. And then Daddy got the wild notion to paint my room pink and buy me a bunch of Barbies. And suddenly, I wasn’t allowed to run around without my shirt.”

“I’m sorry.”

She sighed. “I guess I made him semi-happy today. I got all dressed up for him. But this isn’t me.” She gestured to the dress.

“Sure it is. You’re you, Molly. In all your glorious contradictions. And regardless of what you happen to be wearing … Or not.”

“Contradictions?”

“You’re a walking contradiction. A woman who can restore a car and knit a sweater, too. All that makes you unique and wonderful.”

He took her hand in his. “You know, when I was a little boy, I used to work in the garden with my mother. I learned all the names of the flowers, and we used to talk about colors. And no one thought there was anything wrong with me enjoying the garden. And then I turned eight. And suddenly Mother didn’t want me in the garden. And Daddy wanted me to play sports and be tough.”

He gave her a mournful kind of smile. “I’m not complaining. I liked sports. I loved to swim out in the river
with Luke. I liked playing soccer. Of course, my father never regarded soccer as a real American sport. I guess I gained back a little respect when I was recruited for the varsity football team. But I wasn’t much of a football player. At least I wasn’t the kind of player my father wanted me to be.”

“You’re kidding, right? Simon, you’re the one who won the championship with that field goal. You were the hero of the game.”

“No, Stone was the hero. He masterminded that final drive in the closing minutes. I just kicked the ball.”

“But still, you probably hold all the Rebel records for field goals and PATs in a single season. You never missed. Ever. And we won games because you were always so steady.”

“How can you remember this? You were like four.”

“I don’t really remember. But I’ve been a Rebels fan all my life. I know what’s in the record books. And if you look up placekicker, you find your name after every record. Without you, that team would never have gone all the way.”

He laughed, suddenly embarrassed. She certainly remembered things differently than he did. All he remembered was the anxiety every time he walked onto the field to do his job. He knew damn well that any miss would be remarked upon at home, and he was terrified of being tackled by some of the bruisers on special teams. It wasn’t that he doubted his ability, he just didn’t enjoy American football. Soccer was fun. But no one cared about soccer.

The only thing that held him together week by week was his faith in Coach and Coach’s faith in him. He loved Red Canaday. That man had given him more confidence
than any other teacher. And of course there had been Molly, Coach’s daughter—and his good-luck charm.

“I rubbed your head for luck before every kick. And you would look up at me with those incredible big eyes of yours, and I knew I had to succeed because I couldn’t imagine disappointing you.”

He reached out to touch her hair. It was halfway piled up on top of her head, and his hand connected with the last remaining hairpins. He couldn’t help himself. He started taking them out. One by one, unwinding the thick curly tresses. His heart started pounding. What was it about Molly’s hair that turned him on? “Your hair was short then, and curly,” he said.

He had to take a deep breath. Touching her hair was extremely arousing. And by this time, he’d divested it of all the pins. He ran his fingers through it, reveling in the texture. She shook her head to loosen it. It fell down, past her shoulders, like a glossy dark veil.

It was sexy as hell.

In the distance, Clay Rhodes was playing a sweet, mournful fiddle tune. The band was down to playing ballads for the remaining couples who wanted to slow dance.

He pulled her against his chest, tucking her head under his chin. She snaked her arms around his neck. They danced, out where no one could see them. The night grew dark, and the crickets harmonized to the distant fiddle.

When the song drew to a close, she looked up at him, moonlight in her eyes. He should stay away from her. Coach had warned him off. And even if Coach was less than what Simon remembered, he was still Coach. And this was still Coach’s daughter. And he’d given Coach his word.

He should back away. He should take her home.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t help himself. He let the southern moonlight and Clay’s fiddle carry him away.

And then he kissed her, and when his lips touched hers, he lost control.

M
olly closed her eyes and drank in the sensations. Simon’s mouth was warm and inviting. His hair flowed through her hands like silk as she pulled him closer, deepening his initial kiss.

Hunger of a kind she’d never known seized her. She wanted to eat him up, devour his sweet lips, taste the warm skin on his throat and his cheeks and his ears. She wanted to get closer.

His shirt and tie and jacket were in the way. And so was her dress, even though there wasn’t all that much of it. She remembered the way his body had felt under her hands for those few moments in the river.

But it had been freezing cold then. And it wasn’t now. The night had turned humid and balmy, as only an early-June night could. The moon was shining high above the Carolina pines. It was perfect in every way. Molly just needed to get Simon to spread his jacket on the sword grass at their feet so they could lie down.

She was about to make that suggestion when the Wild
Horses struck up “The Watermelon Crawl.” The music boomed up in their direction, reminding her that they were hardly alone or in a private place.

He drew back slightly. “You want to dance?”

He was going to get noble again, wasn’t he? He had told Coach that she’d be home by midnight, and it sure looked like he was going to make good on that promise.

She couldn’t let that happen. For one thing, she was weary of having to follow Coach’s orders all the time. And for another, Simon looked like a great adventure worth having.

He was experienced and older. He could probably teach her things. She just needed to jump in and take control. She needed to take a leap of faith or something.

So she smiled up at him, trying to channel a true, southern
femme fatale
. “Are you talking about vertical dancing or the horizontal kind?” She let her voice go low and husky.

This earned her a sultry grin. “Either is fine with me.”

Was he giving up that easily? She pressed the point. “You ever seen the insides of the Peach Blossom Motor Court?”

He sobered. “I’m not going to have sex with you at the Peach Blossom. You can put that right out of your mind.”

Damn. That was a definite misstep. Of course he wasn’t about to take Coach’s daughter to the Peach Blossom. “Is that a no to the sex or no to the motel?” What was she going to do if he told her he was putting the kibosh on getting naked?

He chuckled. “Uh, well, I don’t have any objections to getting horizontal.” With that, he swooped in and kissed her again. This kiss was in a whole different
league than the one he’d just given her. He moved in like a marauder invading her mouth with the heat and energy of his tongue. She stopped worrying about the idea that he wasn’t interested in sex.

She brought her hands up to the back of his head and pressed him into the kiss, hungry for the rasp of his stubble against her skin, yearning for something deeper, harder, and more intense. She arched back and gave him access to her throat, and he took advantage.

He traced her jaw, the pad of his thumb sending heat and shivers through her. Her knees almost buckled as he ran his fingers across her throat and then followed them with a string of searing kisses that made her feel feverish and alive.

His mouth trailed down to the hollow of her neck and then he bit her again, kind of hard and just wickedly good enough to make her buck against him, like something wild and untamed. That love bite awakened the tides inside her, and she ached for him down deep in her core.