He studied my expression. “Seems to me, you could fit in a dance or two and still make it home to write at least one story before Milagro’s doors open for dinner.”
I hopped out and waltzed around the SUV to his window. “Thanks for letting me tag along.”
With a touch of his hat and a nod of his chin his only good-bye, he began to drive slowly down the street until I could no longer see him for the vendor booths, tourists, and other vehicles.
I smiled in spite of myself, enjoying the afterglow of his acceptance, wondering how many people he trusted with that surprisingly playful side of his personality.
A few staff members from Milagro were clearing the warmers, tablecloths, plates, and cutlery from the folding tables we’d set up on the sidewalk. During the day’s festivities we’d sold tamales, tacos, pecan praline candies, sodas, and Jarritos, a popular Mexican soda, to the passing foot traffic. Anthony and another waiter folded the tables and started carrying them around to the parking lot, where Uncle Eddie’s truck waited with the tailgate open.
“You need any help?” I called to Anthony.
“No, Miss Josie. We’re almost finished here.”
I waved and turned toward the gazebo and possibly a dance or two with a familiar partner.
“Don’t stay late,” Anthony called. “We still have dinner service to prep.”
“Don’t worry. I have a feeling my date may have hit the road for greener pastures.”
With a shake of his head, Anthony drew closer. “You’re too hard on yourself, just like my Lucinda. And she is muy beautiful.”
“Watch it.” I laughed and turned toward the gazebo and a dance. “I’m not giving you my tables, bucko.” Behind me in the distance, I heard him laugh.
Though it was May, the cool night air from the mountains would make for good sleeping weather as it blew through the screen in my open bedroom window.
“Muy beautiful, my Aunt Fanny,” I muttered. Anthony had a huge heart, so he probably meant it. It didn’t hurt that I had helped get the sheriff off his case when Dixie Honeycutt was killed.
I thought of Lightfoot and smiled. Who would have thought a serious-minded Native American detective from New Mexico would appreciate the sophisticated investigative skills of Nancy Drew? But the real question was this: Was he attracted to Nancy’s intelligence and simple girl-next-door beauty?
Chapter 15
Ryan Dances with Another Woman
I had left the dance floor and town square with a flight of butterflies in my stomach, but the Gold Rush break-in had driven them away. Something about the crime was off. Why would someone want to steal a computer charger? And, more importantly, who? This who might know something that would lead us to Lucky’s killer. This someone might be Lucky’s killer.
I sighed as I approached the center of Main Street and the makeshift stage. The butterflies came back with their cousins. Ryan hadn’t done more than ask me to dance. I needed to get a serious grip because I’d known him for all of my adult life. We’d been much more than friends in college, but now we got on each other’s nerves like siblings.
Thing was, this adult Ryan might have forgotten that I only act tough. He might have forgotten how lonely I could get—so lonely, in fact, that I might take his casual invitation to twirl on a crowded dance floor in front of God, Mayor Cogburn, and the entire town of Broken Boot the wrong way.
I ran my fingers through my hair, and wiped under my eyes just in case mascara had smeared underneath. I bit my lips and pinched my cheeks. Wait. Since when was I so Scarlett O’Hara? I’d obviously lost my mind.
I gave myself a mental slap.
Flashback to the skating rink in sixth grade. The in-house DJ was playing “Sugar, Sugar” by the Archies—an oldie, but always appropriate to the skating rink vibe. Girls were on one side and the boys were on the other. “Boys pick.”
And someone had picked me. In the half dark of the concrete-block skating rink, the disco lights, and the sonorous music, I held that boy’s sweaty palm and felt those butterflies come a-calling. Of course, he had a wart on the back of his hand, and of course I never spoke to him. Or skated with him again. But that feeling. That feeling was always welcome.
Not all the serious stuff that could follow, but those butterflies were welcome.
I stepped into the square and slowly picked my way through the crowd that stood along the dance floor, gabbing about their day and a few about Lucky’s untimely death.
The band played “Desperados Waiting for a Train,” couples slow-danced, Anthony and Lily’s younger brother and sister slow-danced hand in hand, half skipping, half lunging, adding the occasional twirl for dramatic flair. And I tried to look cool.
“Hey, Josie, who you looking for?” The mayor and his wife danced closer. So much for avoiding the unavoidable.
“Want to cut in?” Mr. Mayor asked as the two of them continued to move in perfect rhythm.
“Hah.” I laughed just in case he was serious.
“Eat your heart out, youngster.” They whirled into the flow of a circle of dancers two-stepping around the edge of the dance floor, twirling every eight counts.
Convinced that meeting up with Ryan was beyond stupid, I glanced around for a final time. Then I saw Ryan’s cowboy hat in the very center of the dance floor. I couldn’t see whom he was talking to because of the press all around him. I took a deep breath. Here goes nothing.
The song changed to “Whisper,” the music more sultry and heartbroken.
Mr. and Mrs. Cho from the dry cleaners danced with her head upon his shoulder. As I passed, she raised her head and gave me a nod. P.J. Pratt, who had tried to bully Uncle Eddie from the town council over a few head of Herefords, and
