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Closing her eyes, stiffening her spine, she told herself she’d done the right thing. The hard thing, yes, but the right thing.
This time.
* * *
Bobby Joe McIntyre drove his pickup truck as far as the giant Christmas tree in the center of town. The forty-foot blue spruce was all decked out in twinkling lights against one of the darkest nights he could recall. There had been stars before, when he’d been standing outside the OK Corral with Vidalia, but clouds had blown in and not a single star looked down at him now. It was like they’d all gone out three months ago when his charmed life had come crashing down around him. He’d thought maybe seeing Vidalia again might reignite at least a couple of the luminaries that used to favor him. And it had, for a few precious seconds. But she’d shot him down, added a bucket of ice water to the star-dousing party.
It had been years ago, but he remembered it like it was yesterday.
He’d been a single, hardworking handyman. She’d been a married mother of four girls with a husband who was perpetually absent. She’d bought an abandoned motel for back taxes and hired him to help her turn it into a saloon. The OK corral.
She’d been something else back then. Hell, she still was. All of five foot two, with curves that probably still drew appreciative looks from every red-blooded male in town. He was no exception. Rich, lustrous curls as black as ebony wood, and the most fiery brown eyes ever to flash his way. Lashes like velvet fringe. Skin like caramel satin.
He’d admired her. Her work ethic. Her no-nonsense attitude. Her temper. Her steadfast morality. And the passion he sensed bubbling like a cauldron over a low flame—passion neglected by the man whose job it was to tend it. She kept that cauldron covered up tight.
They’d worked late the night before the OK Corral’s grand opening, unpacking glasses and bottles of liquor, stocking the kitchen and the shelves. By then he knew two things for sure: She had no intention of breaking her marriage vows, and she wanted him just as bad as he wanted her.
“How about a toast?” he’d asked. “To celebrate your dream coming true?”
She’d smiled—that killer smile he had never managed to get out of his head in all these years. Then she went behind the bar to pour them each a shot of top-shelf whiskey.
He’d walked over to the brand new jukebox–the same one that had been playing country Christmas songs tonight–dropped a nickel into the slot, and choseLead Me On, by Conway and Loretta. He’d never forgotten the way she’d looked as she’d come around the bar with a drink in each hand, pretending not to notice the lyrics. Beautiful. Tempted. And scared.
She handed him a glass. “To the best little saloon in Oklahoma,” she said, lifting her own.
He lifted his too. “And to the prettiest saloon owner in the entire U S of A.” He tapped the rim of his glass to the rim of hers and downed the whiskey in a single gulp. She only sipped from hers. And then he said, “Break in the dance floor with me, Vidalia?”
She lowered her eyes a little. “I should get on home. The girls–”
“Are sound asleep by now. So’s the sitter, I’ll bet. They won’t notice if you’re five minutes later.” He took her glass from her, set it on the bar beside his. “C’mon, Vi. You’ve worked hard.We’veworked hard. We deserve to celebrate, even if it’s just with one dance.” He held out his arms.
Sighing, she went into them. “Just one dance,” she said. “And that’s all.”
“That’s all.”
But when she moved up close to him, and he lowered his arms around her waist, he couldn’t help the sheer male pleasure that filled him. The scent of her perfume reached him. Vanilla and something else. Something just slightly spicy and exotic. Her body was just barely touching his, and he wanted to press her closer, but knew she’d probably slap the lust right off his face if he did. So he settled for the soft, accidental brushing of breasts to chest, and thigh to thigh every now and then.
She rested her hands on his shoulders, didn’t close them around his neck the way he wanted her to. But he didn’t push. He settled for that. They’d spent hours together, for months on end while she’d worked her perfect backside off and put every spare penny into the saloon. She’d insisted on paying him for the work he did, even though he’d offered more than once to do it for nothing. Just being around her was payment enough.
And finally the work was done, and he would have no more excuses to be with her all the time, alone, late at night. No more reason. And he knew her too well to think she might give him one.
This was a goodbye dance. And he was pretty sure she knew that as well as he did.
And then the song ended, and a miracle happened. She tipped her head up, looked right into his eyes and let him see, just for a second, the feelings she kept so closely guarded.
He couldn’t help himself. He lowered his head, and he caught her mouth with his, and she didn’t pull away. No, she kissed him back, her arms twisting tight around his neck to pull herself up higher. His heart took off like a racehorse at the sound of the starter’s pistol, and he bent over her, holding her body tight to his just like he’d been wanting to. He kissed her deeply, leaving no doubt in her mind that he’d like to do a lot more.
She kissed him right back, just as full of enthusiasm as he was. And when he finally lifted his head, wondering where they would go to do what seemed inevitable, she looked deeply into his eyes, and hers were wet.
“Are you...crying?”
“Not yet.” She put her hands on his shoulders, and firmly held them there while she took a step back. “I’m a married woman, Bobby.”
“Don’t I know it.”
She nodded. “Then you know this has to stop right here. I shouldn’t have even....” Closing her eyes, lowering her head, she said no more. Just walked over to the juke box and pulled the plug. Then she picked up her shot glass, downed its contents in a gulp. “I’m not the cheatin’ kind, Bobby. I’d hate myself if I did something like that.”
And right then, he felt the truth of those words. “I guess I know that, too.”
