“You givin’ me advice now, Miz Tessa?” he asked.
“Yep, I surely am.” Tessa headed off to the other end of the bar.
The lady singer stepped back from the microphone and took her place behind a keyboard, and the male singer started singing Travis Tritt’s “T.R.O.U.B.L.E.” The lyrics had just said something about looking at what just walked through the door when Dalton caught sight of a tall woman with flaming-red hair in his peripheral vision. He turned to look and almost dropped his beer when he saw Becca coming straight toward the bar.
“You are a genius, Travis,” Dalton murmured.
Becca crossed the room, weaving her way among the line dancers, and sat down on the barstool right next to him. He waited until she ordered a beer and then tossed a bill on the counter when Tessa brought it to her.
“I’ll buy your first drink tonight in exchange for the last dance of the evening,” Dalton said.
“Good God!” Becca exclaimed. “Where did you come from?”
“Been right here the whole time.” He grinned.
“I’ll pay for my own beer,” she said.
“Too late.” Tessa pocketed the bill. “Don’t forget that you owe him the last dance.”
“I never force a woman to dance with me.” Dalton turned around to face Becca. Damn, but she was beautiful in her tight jeans, that cute little dark-blue lace shirt with the pearl snaps, and those fancy cowgirl boots. Her red hair floated on her shoulders, framing her face like a halo, and even in the dim light, her green eyes glimmered.
“I pay my debts, cowboy.” Becca took a long drink of the beer and then held it up toward him. “Thanks for this.”
“You are so welcome. Want to pay for it right now? I can teach you to two-step.” He arched an eyebrow.
“Darlin’, I’ve been in Nashville for the past ten years, and besides I was two-steppin’ when I still had a pacifier in my mouth.” She took another drink of her beer and motioned for Tessa. “Set this back until I finish showing this smartass how to dance.”
“You might ought to let me just dump it and start all over with a cold one,” Tessa teased. “It might get warm before you get him taught.”
“You got a point there.” Becca slid off the barstool and headed to the dance floor.
Dalton finished off his beer and set the empty bottle on the bar. This was his lucky night even if he had to make his own breakfast in the morning. Tessa could be wrong about meeting the right girl in a bar, he was thinking.
You met her five months ago, the pesky voice in his head reminded him.
He didn’t even bother to argue but simply held out his hand toward Becca. He’d wondered what it would be like to hold her in his arms, and he was not one bit disappointed when she moved in close to him.
“Lesson number one,” she said, “is not to hold a woman too closely on the first dance.”
“Darlin’, I know how to two-step,” he whispered into her ear.
“But do you know how to dance with a woman who’s almost as tall as you are?” she asked. “I hear that you prefer short little gals with dark hair.”
“So, you’ve been asking questions about me?” He avoided answering her question. Truth was, he had not danced with many tall women, but oh, sweet Jesus, he did like the way Becca fit into his arms. He was tempted to tip up her chin and kiss her when the male vocalist in the band started singing “Tennessee Whiskey,” but he didn’t dare push his luck.
“Don’t have to ask questions about a rounder like you, Dalton,” she answered. “The news just floats around this part of the world like dandelion fluff in the springtime. Everyone knows who and what you are.”
“And that is?” Dalton asked.
“They’d call you a player in the big cities, but in this part of the world I think you’re just referred to as a bad boy,” she told him.
“Do you like bad boys?” he asked.
“Only on Saturday night when I’m in the mood to dance, and honey, I might dance the last two-step with you to pay for that first drink, but when this place closes down, I will be going home alone, so let’s get that straight right now,” she told him.
“I bet you can’t cook up a decent breakfast for a hungry old cowboy anyway,” he teased.
“You won’t be finding that out in the morning.” She smiled up at him.
His heart melted. His pulse raced. She didn’t say that he’d never find out, but she said in the morning. Someday, he hoped, this woman would make his breakfast every single morning—or maybe he’d make the morning meal for her. He’d sure be willing to do that if it meant he would get to wake up with her in his arms.
Chapter 2
“You do not come into my kitchen with that grumpy face,” Grammie said on Sunday morning. “This is the Lord’s day, and He expects us to be happy.”
If Becca had still been in Nashville, she wouldn’t even have been up that early on Sunday morning. She would have worked a double at Tootsie’s on Saturday, gone home long after two o’clock when the place was cleaned up, and fallen into bed to sleep until sometime in the afternoon. The old cuckoo clock in the foyer had struck twice, telling everyone in Jefferson County that it was two thirty, when she had taken a quick shower and tried to go to sleep, but the sun was peeking over the far horizon when she finally drifted off.
Becca groaned as she threw her legs over the side of the bed and padded barefoot to the kitchen. “I’ve had less than three hours’ sleep.”
“And that, darlin’
