It wasn’t a tentative kiss like that first one on the veranda. Or a tenderly sweet one like the more forceful bathroom kiss. It was the kiss of a man who had been without kisses as long as she had, and needed them as much as she did. Like he was sealing a promise. Branding his woman. Staking his claim. Every overblown cliché in Joss’s songs swirled through Raney’s mind, but now she finally understood what they meant. And she reveled in it.
When at last he lifted his head, she was glad he kept his arms around her because she wasn’t sure her legs would hold her. She was also surprised to realize her arms were wrapped around his waist and holding on to him just a little too tightly.
Dropping his forehead against hers, he let out a deep breath that smelled of strawberries and ruffled her eyelashes. “Do you still think I’m gay?”
It was a moment before she could speak. “No. I never did.”
He pulled back and looked at her. “Then why did you say I was?”
That tingly, weak-kneed feeling faded. She took her arms from around his waist and tried to put space between them but his big hands stayed on her ribs. “It was just a stupid remark, Dalton. I’m sorry I said it.”
He waited, eyes locked on hers.
“I only did it to make Mama leave me alone.” She tried to sound offhand, but the warmth of the hands almost spanning her rib cage was starting to make her sweat.
“What’s your mother got to do with it?”
“She keeps trying to foist me off on you.” There. She’d said it. Now he would know she was so pitiful her own mother was trying to pimp her out. Sort of.
He didn’t respond.
When she got the nerve to look at him, she saw mischief in his eyes. His lips—soft, yet utterly masculine, and ringed by a slight stubble of dark whiskers—widened in a grin. “Smart lady.”
Relief spread through her. Teasing she could handle. It was emotion that flustered her. “Don’t take it personally,” she told him. “She tries to pass me off on any man old enough to father children.”
His grin faded. But he kept his hands where they were, still holding her captive and making her sweat. “Why? You’re beautiful. Sexy. Smart—”
“Don’t forget rich,” she piped in, hoping her bitterness didn’t show. After one disastrous near-marriage, she’d learned the hard truth: forget honey—what really drew men was money.
He didn’t laugh with her. In fact, he almost looked angry.
This time, when she stepped back, he let her go. Unsettled by his intense scrutiny, she started walking again, following a faint game trail worn into the grass along the bank. He fell in beside her. “But I’m also almost thirty,” she went on. “Still unmarried and childless.”
“So? That’s your business. Not hers.”
Raney felt a swell of gratitude. No one ever took her side against Mama. “Tell that to my mother. She thinks if she doesn’t intervene, I’ll end up alone with a ratty, fur-covered lap blanket and twenty cats for company.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Sadly, no.”
He laughed. “Then, sweetheart, you can tell your mother that her worries are over.” He spread his big hands wide. “’Cause here I am. Every mama’s dream.”
CHAPTER 11
Naturally, Joss didn’t give up on the idea of going to Harley’s Roadhouse the following Saturday. And naturally, Mama was all for it. She even insisted they take either Dalton or Alejandro along for protection—which was code for “chaperone.” Mama wasn’t a big fan of women going unescorted to dance halls, taverns, or bars.
Alejandro was still negotiating with his Honduran amada for custody of numero Uno, so he had an excuse not to go. Dalton didn’t need one. He was all in. Raney realized she didn’t want an excuse, either. She was actually getting excited about going out, catching up with old friends, and doing something other than ranch work for a change. Like dancing with Dalton.
On Friday night, a rumbling thunderstorm came through, dumped three inches of much-needed rain on the thirsty ground within an hour, caused a one-hour power outage, then moved on. Luckily, the barns and paddocks were on higher ground and when the creek flooded overnight, they weren’t threatened.
When Raney got up on Saturday morning, it was as if nothing had happened, except for the water swirling around the trunks of the trees beside the creek. But by noon, the water started to recede, and by midafternoon, the cloudless sky was so clear and clean it was almost the same turquoise blue as the blouse Raney chose to wear to the dance hall that night.
A few minutes before supper, Joss came in to offer her critique of Raney’s outfit. Did everybody in her family think she was incapable of dressing herself?
“You’re wearing jeans? You’ll roast. Do you think I look pregnant in this outfit?”
“You are pregnant.”
“That doesn’t mean I want to look pregnant.” Joss twirled, her handkerchief-hemmed skirt swinging around her tall fringed boots. “What do you think?”
Raney thought she looked like something in a ’60s hippie catalog. But knowing Joss wouldn’t want to hear that, she gave her a thorough once-over. The full peasant blouse disguised the slight bulge of her belly, and the short suede vest with six-inch fringe provided additional camouflage. The layers of beads and bangles hanging around her neck would also draw the eye away from her thicker waistline, as would the multicolored hair and dangling earrings. And those boots would certainly keep the illusion going. Each individual garment was a testament to poor taste. But put together, and considering they were headed to a raucous Texas honky-tonk, the ensemble was inspired. “You look like a lady out for a fun evening,” Raney announced.
Joss clapped her hands. “Perfect! Now let’s work on you. You need a skirt.”
“I don’t have one that will go with this blouse.”
“I might.” Joss swept out and returned a few minutes later with a slinky floral skirt
