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She made her way to the punch bowl, hoping someone had had the good sense to spike it. She wished now that she’d joined the men on the tailgate. Mrs. Doughtery, a local widow and well in her eighties, was serving up the drink. She smiled sweetly and handed Candy a small glass cup.
Candy hadn’t taken more than a swallow when she saw Carl Saks walk through the doorway. He’d come. He’d actually had the audacity to show up. He stood there bold as could be, hands on his hips, looking around. Whether he expected to find her or not, Candy didn’t know. When he did see her, she sure didn’t want him to find her standing next to the punch bowl, looking like a dejected wallflower.
Slim had the misfortune of strolling past. Candy knew a gift horse when she saw one and latched on to his arm. “Dance with me,” she instructed.
Slim looked at her as though she’d suggested they mud wrestle together.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to step on your toes.”
“Maybe not, but my wife may not take kindly to me dancing with another woman.”
“I’ll explain everything to Patty later,” Candy promised, half dragging him onto the dance floor.
He went with a decided lack of enthusiasm. He shuffled his feet back and forth while Candy threw herself into the dance as if she were auditioning for a Broadway musical. She kicked up her heels, threw her arms in the air and twirled around until the room spun hopelessly.
When the music stopped, she clapped boisterously and kissed Slim’s cheek.
Her partner’s face flushed red and he whispered, “You better go tell Patty you were the one who insisted on the dance, otherwise I’m gonna be in all kinds of trouble.”
“I said I would,” Candy muttered under her breath, and then with a good deal of show, she stepped off the dance floor, greeting people as she went. With her hand over her heart, breathing heavily, she made her way toward Slim’s wife. Patty Daniels glared at her husband.
“How about a dance, Candy?”
She looked up to find Derrick Showberg looming over her, preventing her from reaching Slim’s wife. Derrick had a problem with booze and was known to have a bad temper. His wife had recently divorced him and claimed spousal abuse. Candy didn’t doubt it was true.
“It shouldn’t be such a hard decision,” he said, his eyes holding hers.
Candy froze, not knowing what to do.
“I believe this dance is mine.” Carl positioned himself between her and Derrick. “Candy promised it to me earlier. You can dance with her another time.”
Derrick’s eyes grew hard as flint. “I asked her first.”
“I…I don’t think it’s necessary to—”
Carl cut Candy off before she could say anything more. “I said this dance is mine.”
“That’s too bad,” Derrick said, his eyes narrowing, “because Candy seems to have forgotten all about her promise. She prefers to dance with me.”
“Candy isn’t easily bullied,” Carl said evenly. He reached for her hand.
Candy jerked it free. She could see a fight in the making and stepped between the two men, her back to Carl. “I don’t think it would be a problem if I had one dance with Derrick,” she said, willing to comply if it meant avoiding a scene. Already the three of them had generated interest in the room.
Derrick tossed Carl a triumphant look and steered Candy toward the dance floor. After the fast pace of the previous number, the four-piece local band opted to play a slow dance. Her partner securely wrapped his arms around her waist.
His grip was uncomfortably tight as he snuggled up to her, nuzzling her neck with his nose. Against her will, Candy was forced against his hard, unyielding chest.
“You’re lookup real pretty,” he whispered in her ear.
“Thanks,” Candy answered without enthusiasm.
“I always said you’d be one heck of a woman if you ever decided to be one.”
Candy stiffened. “I beg your pardon?”
“Don’t go getting all riled up on me now. I meant it as a compliment.” He pressed his cheek to hers and she smelled the liquor on his breath. Great, just great. Derrick had been drinking, and he was a mean drunk.
“You and me have a lot in common, you know.”
