Joss immediately disappeared into the crowd. Squeals and shouts of welcome marked her progress across the cavernous room and luckily drew the press of people near the door away from Raney and Dalton.
“How about a beer?” he shouted over the noise, leaning closer to add, “You’ll have to go with me to get it. I won’t risk losing you in this mob until I get at least one dance.” He straightened, and the look he gave her made her knees weak. If she was this flustered just standing beside him, how would she manage a dance without falling on her face?
A waitress came by with a loaded tray. Dalton tossed a ten on it and plucked off two longnecks, then steered Raney up onto the raised mezzanine that curled in a U shape around the gigantic dance floor—the only place where alcohol could be consumed on site. After weaving through a tangle of crowded tables they found an empty one in back.
Dalton took off his Stetson and set it on the corner of the table, then pulled out a chair for Raney next to his against the wall. They sat side by side, not touching, but close enough to talk if they shouted loud enough. Dalton sat at an angle, his long legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles, his muscular arm draped along the back of her chair. His entire posture showed relaxed assurance. The arm resting on her chair spoke of a connection between them, a claim of possession apparent to anyone who walked by. Raney thought it was amusing. And flattering.
Harley’s Roadhouse was a dying breed—a family-friendly, old-time, rural Texas dance hall that welcomed patrons of all ages. In deference to underage guests, no alcohol was allowed on the dance floor, and minors weren’t allowed on the mezzanine. The dancers ranged in age from shuffling octogenarians like the Polaskys—in their eighties, at least—to teenagers wearing NO ALCOHOL wristbands, and a few youngsters who hadn’t even reached puberty yet. The Roadhouse was considered a safe place by Texas standards, best known for music and dancing and its hard line against drunkenness or brawling, although occasional bouts of disorderly conduct were overlooked. It helped that, although guns weren’t allowed where alcohol was served, there were plenty close at hand in the parking lot. This was Texas, after all, and by God, Texans knew how to have a good time and how to protect themselves while doing it.
Raney slowly began to relax, relieved that Dalton wasn’t expecting her to be chatty and vivacious, and seemed content to sit quietly beside her and sip his beer. She’d never been that great at small talk, and she was tired of talking about Rosco and his training, so silence was best.
Then Joss rushed up, her smile wide, her hazel eyes dancing. “Jerry wants me to sing with them. Isn’t that great? Best stay here. It’s really crowded up front. I’ll find you after. Wish me luck!” Then she was off again, trailed by a couple of young women Raney vaguely remembered from Joss’s high school years. She motioned Dalton closer. “Have you ever heard her sing?” she shouted over the music.
He dipped his head down next to hers. “Say again?”
Raney could smell his aftershave and feel the heat of him along her shoulder. His breath against her neck made the nerves beneath her skin tingle. “Have you ever heard Joss sing?” she repeated.
He shook his head, sending a wave of glossy dark brown hair over his forehead.
Raney fought the urge to brush it aside so she could test the softness of it and feel the warmth of his skin against her fingers. “Then you’re in for a treat.”
The family joke was that Joss had come out of the womb singing. All Raney remembered was how noisy she was. But as soon as her baby sister could string two sounds together, it was the beginning of her singing career. From church choir, to glee club, to every talent show for miles around, Joss was a star. And when she wasn’t singing, she was writing songs. They had all expected her to be on concert tours, opening for big stars by now, but somehow, that chance had never come.
Crystal, the aging singer Joss had been with for the last couple of years, had never risen above the dance hall and casino circuit, which hadn’t given Joss much exposure. And now that her sister was having a baby, Raney feared her big break might never materialize, which would be a shame. Joss definitely had the talent and charisma to be a star.
Being a local favorite, Joss had the crowd eating out of her hand before she’d sung more than a few words. They went crazy, stomping and clapping and singing along with her, and pride in her sister brought tears to Raney’s eyes.
She glanced over at Dalton’s surprised expression and laughed out loud. “I told you,” she shouted, then stood up to give her little sister the piercing, two-fingered whistle Daddy had taught all his girls.
Joss finished to loud applause, then rushed back to plop into a chair by their table. “Was that amazing, or what? God, I’ve missed singing! Isn’t it hot in here?”
“Why haven’t you been singing?” Raney asked.
Joss’s head swiveled as she checked out the people dancing past. “Crystal didn’t want a pregnant woman singing backup, much less opening for her. Aren’t y’all going to dance?”
“Then what have you been doing all this time?”
Joss bolted to her feet. “We’ll talk later. Unlike you two, I’m here to dance!” And she was off again, calling and waving as she wove through the tables toward the dance floor.
“That’s odd.” Raney turned to Dalton. “Don’t you think that’s odd?”
“What I find odd is
