The True Love Quilting Club (20 page)

“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 whisper
ing something to a band member. What was his aunt up to? He got the answer 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.

He looked down into Emma’s eyes, and emotions slammed into him in such rapid succession he couldn’t sort them—melancholia, exhilaration, apprehension, hope, and raw sexual attraction. He seized on that last one. It seemed safest. It was basic, understandable. The other feelings were just too damn risky to entertain.

It had to be the tequila making him feel so sentimental. The tequila and the music and the feel of Emma in his arms. He’d learned to waltz with her in his mind, secretly hoping that one day, some way, he would waltz with her, and now that that day had come, he couldn’t believe it or trust in it.

The Horny Toad Tavern was filled with what could have been and what would never be between them. But for this precious moment in time, they were together. Waltzing. Time shifted beneath their feet. They were caught in a glorious time warp, fourteen-year-old sweethearts too young to explore their passion, now all grown up and reunited if only for a whisper of a moment. They were at once earnest kids and wary adults.

A dozen different emotions flitted across Emma’s
face, mirroring what was going on inside Sam’s head. For one brief second he could have sworn he saw a mist of tears in her eyes, but she blinked and it was gone.

They swayed to the music, their gazes welded. She sighed, and the bittersweet sound seeped through Sam, ripping any last remaining threads of his sobriety. Never mind the tequila. This intoxication came from the scent of Emma in his nostrils, the feel of her soft body pressed against him.

And then she did something that unwound him completely. She rested her head against his shoulder, buried her face in his neck.

His heart pounded. He tightened his arm around her waist. In that moment, she owned him. He felt it. The sharp throb of sexual energy bubbled up inside him. The music strummed, vibrating the air, pulsating through their bodies as they moved together in flawless harmony.

“Sam,” she murmured, her mouth brushing against the bare flesh of his collarbone.

The sweet sound of her voice, so vulnerable and tender, shivered through him. He lowered his head, gently kissed her forehead. They waltzed around the other dancers, gliding underneath the revolving crystal sphere overhead. Someone had lowered the main lights when the waltz began, and it cast silvery slants of light over them, bathing the moment in longing and faux starlight.

Her tight, compact body was melded against his. Sam could feel every curve, every angle, making him want things he had no business wanting. There was chemistry between them. A blind man could see it. But, dammit, they weren’t right for each other no matter
how badly he might want it to be so. They wanted different things from life, and he had responsibilities he could not deny.

“Emma.” He half whispered, half groaned her name.

She pulled back and looked into his face, studying him as if seeking answers to an unspoken question. Her green eyes were both innocent and worldly. Her thick copper-colored hair rolled down her shoulders, chaotic as a waterfall. The look she gave him arrowed straight through his heart and stopped his breathing.

He blinked, dazed, even as a piece of him hummed with the gift of holding her in his arms. He stared into her and she stared into him and Sam just felt wiped out.

Around them couples waltzed, the sound of boots sliding across the cement floor creating its own kind of sibilant harmony, surrounding them in a cocoon of music.

Waltzing, waltzing, waltzing.

The yeasty smell of beer and the acrid twang of burnt popcorn mingled with the odor of stale cigarette smoke and ladies’ perfumes. On his tongue, in his mouth was the taste of tequila and the sharp flavor of the past.

Emma looked up at him, splayed a palm over his heart, her eyes wide and curious. His pulse quickened. He felt as shaken as a James Bond martini.

Then the song ended and the band announced they were taking a break.

Leaving Emma and Sam standing in the middle of the dance floor in a long, awkward moment as fantasy vanished and reality returned.

The expression in Emma’s eyes had Sam’s gut in knots. Hell, what had he done? Why had he agreed to come to the Horny Toad? Why had he drunk a margarita? Why had he waltzed her across Texas? He was in trouble, treading on shaky ground.

Shit. How had he gotten here? He stared at her and wished the evening had never happened.
As long as you’re wishing, why not wish she’d never come back to town at all?

That thought made him feel even worse. Who was he kidding? From the moment he’d seen her standing on his front porch, all those old teenage fantasies had come rushing back with the intrusion of a Sherman tank.

She took a step back, jerked a thumb in the direction of the ladies’ room. “I’m gonna…you know…”

He nodded, smiled like everything was just dandy, and jammed his hands into his pockets. She was everything he shouldn’t want, but as he watched her back pockets sway as she walked away, his body burned for her.

This wasn’t good. Not good at all. He shouldn’t be throbbing like one gigantic exposed nerve. He was a professional, an animal doctor, a dad. He had too much to lose. He forced himself to stop looking at her, turned and headed for their table. The ladies from the quilting club had dispersed and he found himself sitting alone. He took a long pull of his margarita in a vain attempt to quell the fire burning inside him.

“Check out the ass on that redhead,” laughed an oversized man in coveralls and a straw cowboy hat standing at a nearby pool table. He was leaning on his pool cue, waiting his turn to shoot.

“Where?” asked his skinny companion. The guy had a ponytail that hung to his back and so many tattoos on his forearm, it looked like he was wearing a long-sleeved shirt.

“She just left the dance floor all by her lonesome.”

“You know her? I ain’t never seen her in here before.”

“Looks like she could use some company.”

“I’d like to break her over like a shotgun.” The string bean sniggered. “That’s what I’d like to do.”

“You gotta wonder on a redhead like that does the carpet match the drapes?”

The two cretins smirked and made suggestive motions with their hands.

That was all the provocation Sam needed to say something to the redneck assholes. It wasn’t like him. He was accustomed to tempering his anger with prudence and holding his tongue in the heat of the moment, but he couldn’t allow them to say such things about Emma. He fisted his hands, clenched his jaw.

At that very moment, Emma walked past the pool table on her return from the ladies’ room.

The skinny guy whistled, and the beefy one reached out and slapped her on the rump.

Sam saw red. Literally. The bar blurred into a crimson glow. Heat rushed up his neck, the veins at his temple pounded. Rage surged through him as fast and overpowering as a flash flood. He’d never experienced anything so all-consuming. He heard someone snort like a bull and realized it was he. Blindly he jumped up from his chair, pushing aside tables, knocking over glasses and beer bottles in a blind rush to get to her.

He clamped a hand on Coveralls’s shoulder. Up close the guy was the size of a Clydesdale. “Apologize to the lady,” Sam ground out through clenched teeth.

“Piss off,” snarled Coveralls while his squirrely little buddy sniggered and jumped around, swinging his pool cue like a hillbilly ninja.

The guy might be big, but he was drunk. Sam saw the punch coming long before Coveralls swung.

Sam ducked and simultaneously planted his fist in Coveralls’s gut. He might be a pacifist at heart, but he’d grown up with three brothers. He knew how to fight.

“Ooph.” Coveralls’s knees bobbled.

Crack!

Sam heard the sound first, tasted blood second, felt the blast of pain third. He jerked his head around to
see the ponytailed, tattooed string bean wielding the pool cue now broken in two.

“That’ll teach ya,” the guy said in a nasally voice. “That’ll teach ya.”

Sam wadded up his fist to swing at the guy, but the distraction had given Coveralls just enough time to recover. He launched himself at Sam, punching hard.

It was two against one, but Sam was holding his own, that is until their friends jumped in. How come he hadn’t realized they had friends?

“Take it outside, take it outside,” Earl Pringle was standing on the bar hollering.

The side door opened and people went spilling into the parking lot. Someone shoved Sam. Sam shoved back, but he couldn’t fight the flow of bodies. They were outside, the tepid night breeze blowing over his skin. Stars dotted the sky but he had no chance to notice them. He was in his first bar brawl. People were pushing and hitting and gouging and cussing. The air smelled like beer and engine exhaust. The taste of blood trickled down the back of his throat.

Someone was walking on the hood of a pickup truck in cowboy boots,
clomp
,
clomp
,
clomp
. A woman shrieked.

Where was Emma? Was she okay?

He turned his head, scanning for her, but in the melee of arms and legs coming at him, he couldn’t see. Where was she? In his effort to find her, he failed to duck when Coveralls’s meaty fist crashed into his face.

His head spun. His ears rang. His eye hurt like a son of a bitch.

“Stop hitting him, you giant jackass!” a woman hollered.

Emma.

He tried to glance around again, but between his blurry vision and his rubbery legs, his brain was having a really tough time getting any messages through.

Somebody, he didn’t see who but he suspected it was the weasely guy with the ponytail, punched him hard in the stomach.

All the air left his body. His legs went out from under him and everything turned soupy black.

Sam lay groaning softly in the glass-strewn parking lot of the Horny Toad Tavern, blood sliding down his forehead and pooling in the ridges of his old scar. The thugs who’d beaten him had packed into the pickup bed of a Ford F–150. The zigzagging red taillights winked away in the darkness. The rest of the crowd had dispersed as well.

Emma knelt beside him, her heart wrenching in her chest. He’d gotten clobbered fighting for her honor. “Sam, Sam, can you hear me?”

He didn’t answer.

Gently she slapped his cheeks in an attempt to rouse him from his stupor. “Sam? Sam? Speak to me. Please speak to me. Are you okay?”

“Honey, you better get him out of here,” said Raylene from the open doorway of the bar. “Earl’s called the cops, and unless you wanna go through a lot of rigmarole it’s best to be gone by the time they show up.”

As if to punctuate her statement, the wail of police sirens rent the night.

“Come on, Sam, you gotta wake up. We gotta get out of here unless you want to spend the night in the pokey. Look at me, Sam.”

“Huh?” He shook his head and pried his eyes open, or at least one of them. His gaze seemed fuzzy and out of focus. He wasn’t looking at her and he kept blinking. Crap, this was bad.

“Sam.” She grasped his chin in her hand. “Do you know who I am?”

“Trissy Lynn,” he slurred.

Punch drunk. The man was punch drunk.

“I like that blousss,” he said, reaching up to latch a finger at the neck of her T-shirt. “It shows off your boobies.”

“What?” Emma looked down and saw that yes indeed, bent over the way she was, he had an excellent view of her cleavage. She quickly buttoned up the pink blouse she was wearing over the tee.

“Awww, don’t put ’em away on my account.”

She snapped her fingers. “Come on. You’ve gotta concentrate. We have to get you to the Jeep before the cops show up.”

“Okay, okay, concentrating.” He furrowed his brow. “Ow, that hurts.”

The sirens wailed closer.

“Come on, hurry, I’ll help you up.”

“You are sooo pretty,” he murmured.

“I’m just going to lever you up off the ground with my shoulder,” Emma said.

“Hang on honey, I’ll help you.” Raylene minced over in her stilettos.

“What happened to Terri and Belinda and Jenny?” she asked Raylene.

“They went home before the fightin’ even started. I could kick Earl’s behind for calling the cops. I mean sure, I wouldn’t care if those other two assholes got thrown in jail, but I don’t want to see Sam in trouble.”
Then to Sam she said, “Listen to me, Sam Cheek, you gotta get with the program. Little Bit here and I ain’t that strong. You’re gonna have to help us.”

Sam shook his head vigorously as if to clear it. “I’m up, I’ve got it.” He struggled to his knees.

Raylene took one arm, Emma took the other, and they tugged him to a standing position. He swayed on his feet and put a hand to his forehead.

“Are you dizzy?” Emma asked.

“It’s passing.”

“Take him home, give him a big glass of water, clean him up, and put him to bed,” Raylene advised.

“Shouldn’t I get him to a doctor?”

Raylene stood on tiptoes, eyed the cut on Sam’s head. “Flesh wound. I’ve seen worse.”

“He could have a concussion.”

“Do you know where you are, Sam?” Raylene asked.

Sam slid Emma a chiding look. “Somewhere I shouldn’t be.”

“What your mama’s maiden name?”

“Guthery.”

“How old were you when you lost your virginity?”

“Raylene!”

“What?” Raylene shrugged. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch. I know it wasn’t with you, Emma. He’s not gonna be giving away any secrets.”

“Eighteen,” Sam answered. “My freshman year in college. Her name was Molly Hampton.”

“All you Cheek boys were late bloomers.” Raylene eyed Sam. “But bloom you did.”

“What does this have to do with anything?” Emma snorted.

“He remembers the important stuff.” Raylene patted his shoulder. “He’s fine.”

The sirens shrilled louder the closer they drew.

Raylene trotted over to the passenger side of Sam’s Jeep and flung the door open. “Y’all better go
now
.”

Emma slipped an arm around his waist. “Come on, I’ll hold you steady.”

Sam laughed then. It was a short, abbreviated sound. “Remind me not to do that,” he said. “Makes my head hurt worse.”

Somehow they managed to get him into the Jeep and out of the parking lot before the cops came pulling up. In the rearview mirror, Emma saw Raylene waving down the patrol officers.

“Whew.” She breathed. “That was a close call.”

“Are we having fun yet?” Sam asked.

She slid a glance over him. “Hey, don’t blame me. No one told you to punch the big guy in coveralls.”

Sam rested his head against the window. “He slapped you on the ass.”

“You make a habit out of this knight-in-shining-armor thing?”

“Only when it comes to you, Trixie Lynn.”

That pleased her more than it should have. These feelings she had for Sam were getting more complicated by the minute and she didn’t know how to combat them.

Who says you have to combat them? Go with the flow.

“I could have handled Coveralls, I
am
from Manhattan, but thanks for intervening.” She smiled at him. “It was sweet.”

“Sweet?” he growled. “Is that how you see me?”

“There’s nothing wrong with sweet.”

“Women go crazy for the bad boys, not for
sweet
guys.”

“Valerie didn’t.”

He made an odd noise.

Emma turned her head to look at him. “What?”

“It wasn’t like that with Valerie and me.”

“What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “I guess you could say it was marriage of comfort. She was a good person and she had Charlie, and after her husband was killed, she had no one to look after her.”

“So you just volunteered?”

“Not exactly. I mean we were friends and one day I came over to fix her dishwasher and she cooked me dinner and we drank a couple of beers and we ended up in bed together, and while the earth didn’t shatter, it was pleasant enough and we both realized that we shared the same values and that we wanted the same things in life, so we started dating. Then when the Army called Val up, she had no one to leave Charlie with. Jeff’s parents are in their eighties, so I asked her to marry me and adopted Charlie.”

“I suppose people get married for far worse reasons.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?” She kept her eyes trained on the road. She was still a novice driver.

“You ever been married?”

“No.”

“Ever been engaged?”

“Not even close.” She braked at the stoplight in front of the Albertsons even though there wasn’t another car on the road at this time of night.

“Why not? Afraid of commitment?”

“I didn’t want a relationship to derail my career. In
retrospect I can see that was shortsighted since I have no career.”

“You have a career. You’ve been in sixteen plays and—”

“All off-off-Broadway. And how do you know that?”

“The power of Google.”

“You Googled me?”

“Does that upset you?”

It pleased the hell out of her. “No, I’m just surprised that you took the time.”

“Now why would that surprise you?”

She darted a quick glance his way before hitting the accelerator again when the light turned green. “I thought you had better things to do. You’re a busy guy.”

“We make time for the things that interest us.”

“I interest you?”

Sam snorted. “I just got my head beaned over you, what do you think?”

“I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“What? You wanted Coveralls’s hands all over your ass?”

“No, I didn’t need rescuing.”

“I’m sorry, Emma, I’m not going to stand by while the woman I—” Abruptly, he broke off.

Suddenly, she was desperate to hear him finish his thought. Her ramshackle heart lurched. “What?”

“While some guy disrespects the woman I’m with,” he finished.

Somehow she didn’t think that was what he’d originally intended on saying. “You know what your problem is?”

“I didn’t realize I had a problem.”

“You’ve got blood drying on your temple, I’d say that’s a problem.”

“Okay, fine. What’s my problem?”

“You’ve got a Sir Galahad complex.”

He turned in his seat. “And you know this how, Dr. Freud?”