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She thought about Dal Blake’s poisonous comments about her last two red dresses and she flushed with anger. He was always insulting these days, no matter what she said or did, or wore. She wondered why he was so antagonistic. She hadn’t done anything to deserve such treatment. God knew, she hid her feelings for him so well that nobody around her suspected that she even liked him. But he went out of his way to insult her.
She tried not to think back to the last Christmas dance she’d attended, when her father was alive. That dance, when Dal had kissed her so hungrily under the mistletoe, had colored her whole life ever since. She couldn’t forget it. She’d had some crazy idea that he felt something for her as well, those few endless, poignant seconds when she felt his hard mouth on hers.
Of course, he’d been drinking. And he’d made sarcastic remarks afterward. When the drunk man had tried to come onto her and spilled the contents of the punch bowl over her, Dal had thrown back his head and roared with laughter. He hadn’t even been sympathetic as she stood there with punch dripping off her beautiful dress, humiliated beyond belief.
Her father, bless him, had taken her home. He’d had some harsh words to say about, and to, Dal Blake afterward. He told Meadow that the man was never going to be welcome in his home again, not after that.
Meadow had said that it didn’t matter. She lived far away and Dal was kind to her father, even if he wasn’t kind to her. Sometimes, she said philosophically, people just developed dislikes for other people. It wasn’t logical, but there it was. The plain fact was that Dal Blake didn’t like Meadow Dawson. Period.
Yes, he’d kissed her under the mistletoe, but he’d been drinking. Men under the influence often did strange things. A veteran law enforcement officer, Meadow knew that better than many people.
She’d had to cope with drunken husbands beating up wives, children, even pets during rampages while she was with the St. Louis police department. Sadly, her clumsiness had caused some issues there, long before she went with the FBI.
She was steady under fire. She never lost her calm, no matter how heated things got on the job. But she did have balance issues. She thought back to something Dal had said, about her many falls.
In fact, she’d wondered herself if there wasn’t a physical reason for her clumsiness. She thought that, after the new year, she might have a doctor do some tests, just to be sure. She’d had a very bad fall while she was in high school, thrown from a horse, and she’d hit her head. She’d been dazed. Her mother had taken her to the doctor, but no tests had been done. The kindly old man did a cursory examination and assured her and her mother that it was just a light bump, barely a concussion. Nothing to worry about.
But Meadow had read that even slight head injuries could produce problems later in life. She wanted to know if she had an issue that should trouble her. That was what she’d do. She’d see a doctor. Just in case.
Thinking about Dal’s comments brought back another memory, the incredible hunger in his mouth when he’d kissed her just outside her front door, when she’d come home from that first date with Jeff. She flushed involuntarily. He’d done that, and he hadn’t been drinking.
She forced her mind away from Dal Blake. Two kisses, years apart, didn’t make a relationship. Especially not with a rounder like Dal.
Chapter 8
Jeff wore a navy blue suit to the dance, with a spotless white shirt and blue paisley tie. He looked very elegant, his blond hair shining like gold under the lights in the Raven Springs community center.
Beside him, Meadow looked unusually seductive. The dark-haired, dark-eyed man standing at the punch bowl found himself staring helplessly at her, drinking in the way she looked in that close-fitting red dress. He’d taunted her about the dresses because he couldn’t forget the way she tasted. That last Christmas dance she’d attended, when he’d kissed her, had colored his life since. Even Dana, with all her wiles, couldn’t erase the memory. Or the pleasure. The kiss they’d shared after her date with Jeff worked on his mind even more because it was fresher in his mind. He’d wanted her for a long time. Lately, it was getting worse.
And there she was, with Jeff, clinging to his arm, looking as if she belonged to him. He hated even the idea that she was sleeping with him. He wondered if she was. She looked . . . loved.
“Why are you glaring at Jeff’s new deputy?” Dana chided.
“She looks ridiculous in that dress,” he lied. “Like a prostitute looking for a street corner.”
Dana’s eyebrows arched. That was acrimonious, even for Dal. But she shrugged it off. Everybody knew that he couldn’t stand Meadow. His cat kept going to her house, as her dog kept going to his. Someone should do something about those animals.
“She needs to keep that dog on a chain,” Dana muttered.
“What dog?” he asked, his eyes still glued to Meadow.
“Her dog! That husky.”
“Oh. Snow lives inside.”
“Well, she gets out, doesn’t she?” Dana asked haughtily. “And every time, she runs straight to you.”
“She likes me.”
Dana pressed close to his side. “I like you, too.”
He shrugged. “I did suggest that she nail the dog door shut at night.”
“Did she do it?”
“I guess,” Dal replied. “Snow hasn’t come calling anymore.”
She noticed that he’d already filled a second glass with whiskey and soda. “You don’t usually drink so much,” she pointed out.
