Chapter 37
[Taxi]
Stone nearly lifts me off my feet. With his hands around my lower back and his mouth on me, I’m on my tiptoes once again, feeling light, feeling airy, almost giddy. He’s so playful tonight, so carefree and honest.
Everything he’s wished for.
Everything he never thought he’d have.
Every word was the same as my hopes, and all I hear now is the rushing of my blood and the hammering of my heart.
He wants me. He wants me to stay.
I hate that he questioned what we are, who we should be, and as much as I no longer feel threatened by Emerson Milton, I’m a little angry on Stone’s behalf that he was used like that. As arm candy, as a plaything. Not sexually, just publicly.
Stone deserves happiness, and I want that happiness to be me.
“Now we’re really making a statement,” he teases, pulling his lips from mine and placing me back on my feet, but I stumble on the uneven grass. Could also be because my knees tremble a little bit, my heart beating off kilter.
Stone Sylver has that effect on me.
“Giddy up,” I tease, tugging his hat from his head one more time.
Save the horse, ride the sheriff.
I didn’t think he was telling me the full truth about parking his truck on the edge of the lot, nor about the small-town stuff he’d been discussing with Emerson the other night, like heightened security, but I didn’t pry.
If Stone wanted to share sheriff business, I’d listen, but I also sense his hesitation to share that part of him with me, because of him.
Because he knows how I feel about the law in general.
And now, I hope he knows how I feel about him.
He makes me want to stay. And it does scare me. Not enough to run, but enough to dig in my heels and plant in one place.
But tonight, I want my date, just like him, so I loop my arm back through his, and we approach the barn, with its sliding doors wide open on each side of the entrance. The place looks like Pandora’s box, a warm yellow glow beaming out of the opening. A hint of magic and mystic inside.
The outside of the structure remains rustic and worn, while the inside is an explosion of light pine, like new construction happened within the aging confines.
Support beams and columns hold small light bulbs on wires, giving the place the country ambiance it deserves.
Speakers are tucked into corners, and a live band plays on a raised platform.
Completing the atmosphere are hay bales in corners as decoration and lined against the wall for seating.
A bar runs the length of one wall, minus stools, allowing for standing room only.
“It looks like a Hallmark movie set,” I whisper a little in awe. “Hallmark on steroids.”
To my surprise, the female singer with the band starts singing about Texas, her voice throaty and rich, sounding exactly like Beyonce, while she cantors her tune.
I let out a little squeak of excitement and break into the trendy line dance associated with “Texas Hold ‘Em”.
Stone stands beside me a second, a smirk on his face as I bounce to the left and take one step to the right, but when the song mentions only wanting to slow dance with her partner, Stone shocks me.
His hand grabs mine, and I’m twirling underneath his arm. Spun away from him and then tugged back, lining us up hip to hip, my back to his chest. He dips his knee, and my body follows his lead, as we rock right then left. His arm is tightly secured around my chest.
We move like we’ve always been dance partners.
Like a couple who enjoyed a quiet connection in an empty bar once upon a time, and now we’ve landed here. In a crowded bar, but still acting like we only see each other.
Feeling as light as bubbles in champagne, I giggle as we finish the dance. Stone is a bit more rigid, less fluid than me. Stone and Taxi. We make excellent dance partners.
When the song ends, I’m still feeling a little high and lean heavily into Stone’s chest. “That was fun.”
He chuckles, a little breathless himself. “Sure was.” He gives me that sheepish smile I’ve grown to love.
Love? Is it really possible? Falling for him might be one of the easiest things I could ever do, and that scares me, like I told him. But that fear isn’t causing me to run, like he thought I might before we entered the barn, when panic danced in his blue eyes.
That buzzing sense of fear has me a little excited about possibilities. About the next season in my life. About him.
“Drink?” Stone asks, nodding toward the long length of the bar not yet crowded by the dance attendees.
“Absolutely,” I say, looping my arm with his once again, making it known to anyone who questions it that I’m with him. He is mine. And I’ve never laid claim to anyone in my life before.
When we reach the bar, Stone quickly makes eye contact with the bartender and points at me to place my order.
“Whiskey sour,” I say, wanting something sweet to match this dizzying sensation inside me. A warm hum. A crackling buzz. Just an all-over good feeling.
Stone orders a whiskey neat, then nudges my shoulder as we both lean against the bar. “Where’d you learn to dance like that?”
“Where did you?” I chuckle.
“You’ve seen the dance competitions between my nieces and nephew,” Stone reminds me. “Zelle likes to rope me in, forcing me to learn the latest TikTok trend.”
“Oh, she forces you?” I tease, leaning into his arm near mine and staring at him over my shoulder. “She’s what . . . ten years old?”
“She’s eleven. And persuasive.” He smiles fondly. His nieces mean the world to him. Hell, his entire family means everything to me. He’s told me such, but I see it too in every sheepish grin and warm hug. He’d lay down his life for his family. In some ways, he already has.
Devoted. What a heady thought that he could be that devoted to me?
“What other dances has Zelle wrangled you to learn?” I ask, curious about more.
“A man can’t give away all his secrets,” he teases, wiggling his thick brows.
But I want them. I want all of him.
Our drinks are delivered quickly and Stone salutes me. “To the prettiest woman in the room.”
My cheeks heat, and I tap my glass against his, taking a sip of my drink as a snide, mountain-drawling voice comes from behind us.
“Well, that was some display.”
Stone and I both twist to see Emory Milton standing with Aunt Trudy beside her.
Trudy looks surprisingly well, but I know she’ll tire easily.
She was rather excited to attend the dance, needing to get out of her house as much as I’ve needed to lately.
She isn’t used to being cooped up any more than me, even if her travels only take her around this small town.
Trudy misses her work as a real estate agent.
“Emory,” Trudy snarls under her breath at her short, blond-bobbed friend.
As witness to their friendship, one I still don’t understand, I’ve seen these two women in action. One poised and polished, and insisting on respect, while the other grounds the first, reminding her she’s as fallible and mortal as the rest of us.
“What?” Emory accentuates that drawl, like she’s from the deeper South, but also like she’s a teenager pretending she doesn’t know what she’s saying.
“You look beautiful, Tallulah,” Trudy addresses me, ignoring her friend. “You do too, Stone.”
Trudy has become a lot bolder with her compliments, flirting with Stone being a big surprise. Then again, teasing him is too easy, especially when the apples of his cheeks pinken, that warm color spreading to the tips of his ears.
“He sure does look fine. Just like his daddy always did,” Emory states.
Emory’s comment startles me and I glance at Stone, taking in the sudden stiffness in his shoulders.
His chin rises a little higher. He doesn’t like the intended compliment, and I understand why in many ways.
Stone doesn’t want to be associated with a man who lost his heart and then exorcised that ache on his children.
He’s a forgiving man, but not a forgetting one. He’s better than me on so many levels.
“Mrs. Milton,” he addresses her, polite and contained, like I’ve seen him on occasion.
He’s courteous, dipping his hat in acknowledgement, but the edge in his jaw says he’s offering his actions out of propriety, not earned respect.
He’s a gentleman, but he isn’t blind to this older woman’s behavior.
Stone leans toward Trudy next, easily offering her a kiss on the cheek, almost like tacking up a sign about the distinction between the two women. One he tolerates, the other he adores.
My heart expands in my chest when I consider how good he’s been to Trudy over the years. Both Stone and Judd have taken care of her, when I should have been more present.
This woman has raised me. What have I done to deserve her? What have I done to show her how important she is to me?
“Now, you know you can call me Emory.” Emory’s voice simpers, cutting into my thoughts. “I’m practically a second mama to you.”
Emory lays her hand on Stone’s forearm, and I see red. A deep crimson color, blinding my vision for a second. Stone’s hand comes to my back, running up my spine and squeezing at my exposed nape. Maybe he’s touching me to steady himself, or hold me back before I pounce on this old lady.
“I was almost your mother-in—”
“Emory Aloysius Milton.” Trudy hisses, shaking her head and tsking. I know that tone. I know that head shake. Trudy is not pleased.
Emory’s hand leaves Stone’s arm and comes to her throat, clutching at a set of pearls.
Pearls? At a barn dance.
“Did you just middle name me?” Emory asks Trudy, like a petulant teen.
Trudy glances at me and rolls her eyes before fixing me with a stare. A warning not to listen to Emory Milton.
I know the truth. Apparently, Emory hasn’t gotten the memo.
To further prove my point, Emory continues. “Emerson is here tonight.” She strains her neck, twisting her head side to side, as if looking for Emerson will make her appear out of thin air.
I return an eye roll to Trudy, while Stone gently tugs me by my nape into his chest.
Again, not certain if I’m shielding him, or he’s toggling me in place before I strangle my aunt’s friend.
“So is half the town,” Trudy grumbles toward Emory.
Those two really do play off each other, like some poorly written comedy act.
“Yes, but Emerson and Stone are—”
“Just friends,” Stone interjects over Emory, his tone suggesting he’s done with this charade. Authority rings in that quiet tenor, enough that Emory straightens and Trudy fights a smile. I lift my drink, taking another sip to disguise my own grin.
He squeezes the back of my neck. “Now, ladies, if you’ll excuse me. I’m going to dance with my date again.”
The gentle pressure on my nape has me turning my head and looking up at him, meeting the sparkle in his blue eyes and the soft curl of his mouth.
His date. That’s me. Prettiest girl in the room, he said. Everything he’s waited for.
We leave our drinks on the bar as Stone takes my hand and leads me back to the dance floor. He’s still a little stiff, tense maybe.
“You okay?” I ask him.
He glances down at me. With his arm around my back and his hand holding mine near his chest, we mirror the position we once had back in Tennessee.
How time has passed. How much of it I’ve lost by not being with him.
Still, I’m here now, and his gaze is fixated on me.
“You know better than to listen to the BS, right?”
“I know,” I offer him a confident smile. Because I know him.
His mouth is slowly twitching upward when he stumbles toward me, forcing me backward a step.
Stone turns his head, holding tighter to me, while addressing the person behind him.
“What the—”
Sharp feminine laughter coming from Stone’s sister cuts off his sudden irritation.
“She made me do it.” Stone glances from his giggling sister to the man holding her in his arms.
“What are you, thirteen again?” Stone bristles a little bit, shuddering almost as a thought occurs to him.
I understand there’s an age gap between Cortland and Vale. One Stone struggles to ignore, knowing Cort once changed Vale’s diapers. I shiver a little at the thought as well.
Cort narrows his eyes at Stone’s sharp tone, and Vale breaks out of her partner’s dance hold.
“Easy there, cowboy big brother,” she teases, her eyes lifting to the hat on Stone’s head. “Are you trying to steal the title from Ford?”
Stone stares at his sister, blinking a second, before a low snort leaves him.
I can only surmise Vale means the playful nickname Cadence has for their brother. His wife is full of irony as she’s the country singer and he was a professional baseball player. I haven’t seen a hint that Ford is a cowboy at heart.
Other irony in the hat-wearing situation . . . Cortland is wearing a similar cowboy hat, but in black suede.
“You okay?” Cort asks Stone, sensing something in his old friend.
I glance from one man to another, knowing their history. The pain still lingering inside Stone. The sense of loss possibly deeper than the betrayal.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Stone snaps back, exhaling deeply afterward, mustering patience I sense he’s struggling to find.
With my hand still in his, I squeeze, drawing his attention to me. Suddenly, I’m feeling very protective of him, wanting to wrap my arm around him and get him the hell out of here. Or step in front of Stone and shield him from whatever he’s feeling in Cortland’s presence.
Instead, Vale has her arm tucked into Stone’s, and she’s practically dragging him off the dance floor.
He glances back at me, not wanting to make any more of a scene than his sister is already making.
Cortland and I remain on the dance floor another second.
“If they break into a Ross and Rachel dance montage, I’m out of here,” I mutter, hoping to lessen the tension, despite the irritation brewing in me.
Cort snorts, getting the joke about siblings on the popular show Friends.
I turn toward him. “And if you hurt him again, I’ll be the wrath of that damn monkey.”
Cort assesses me a moment before understanding, remembering that annoying pet Ross once had on the show. He dips his head, acknowledging my warning.
I don’t let anyone mess with mine.
And Stone Sylver belongs with me.