Chapter 22
Chapter
Twenty-Two
NEVER MISS A GOOD CHANCE TO SHUT UP
Dallas
I finished the historical romance audiobook and started in on another one, Nailing and Caulking the Fixer-Upper.
This one is right up my alley and also from this century.
Maybe the reason my grand gesture failed is because I was basing it off of Victorian England, and this is the American South.
Let’s hope I’m on the right path this time because everything has been going so well with Shelby. I can’t see a future without her in it.
And not as my best friend.
As my everything.
It’s the opening day for the annual Knockers County Fair in Hornville. We’ll take Ryder to it this weekend when he’s back from his mom’s. Shelby and I have been going to this thing together since we were fifteen.
Ridge refused to come because Tiff is still gone, though he doesn’t normally come even when she is in town.
He’s at his best friend, Korbin’s, house, checking out a new horse.
Skye hitched a ride with us, decked out in a saloon girl outfit that had Pops cringing.
Fathers never like to see their baby girls in bustiers and feathers, but Pops was smart enough not to say a word.
Frankie and Morgan came in their own vehicle and are waiting for us outside the turnstiles to enter the fair.
“Are we ready to eat all the fried foods ’til we puke?
” Frankie hollers, drawing chuckles from several people around us.
Morgan claps, egging on her wife, which is highly inadvisable.
As someone who grew up with Frankie, I know she doesn’t need any encouragement to be ridiculous. She thrives on eye rolls.
“I think I’ll stick to the chicken on a stick,” Shelby responds.
“Slap some deep-fried butter on it first,” Frankie adds. “And follow it with a deep-fried Twinkie.”
“I want to see if I can push my way up to the front of the stage,” Skye says, changing the subject and taking her ticket out of the front of her corset. “That lead singer of the opening band is gorgeous!”
“Girl, with those boobs on display, you can take over the world,” Morgan agrees, linking her arm through Frankie’s and handing their tickets to the poor teen manning the turnstile.
He’s got his gaze fixed on my sister’s cleavage.
I clear my throat, and he snaps out of it, his face going bright red when he takes Skye’s ticket.
“I really wish Houston would come home. The estrogen-testosterone balance is off,” I mutter to Shelby, handing two tickets to the teen and waiting for Shelby to go through the turnstile before following her.
She turns back to wait for me and slides her hand into mine like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Any word that he might?”
I swallow down the frustration with my twin. Tonight’s supposed to be about fun, not worrying about the ranch or picking fights with my family. “Not yet.”
Shelby must sense my reluctance to talk about it because she lets the subject drop. “What’s first? Rides, food, or music?”
I lift our conjoined hands and spin her around like we’re on a dance floor. She grins, falling into my chest. I dip my head and press a kiss to her lips that’s not totally decent out in public. Thank goodness for cowboy hats that provide a little screening.
“I have a session at the photography booth reserved for us,” I manage to say when we come up for air. My family must have wandered off to find their own fun, as evidenced by the lack of squawking from my sisters.
“You do?” Shelby looks up at me, eyes wide. She’s so damn pretty today with her painted-on jeans and black blouse with a fringe that swings whenever she moves. Turquoise jewelry covers her fingers, throat, and wrists.
“Sure do, honey.” I tug her down the first row of tents, knowing exactly where I’m headed. I already stopped by this morning to set the scene. Amazing what a vendor will let you do when you slip them a few twenties and shoot the shit for a bit.
When we get to the photography booth, I twirl Shelby around again, just to see that fringe spread out and hear her giggle. When she’s stable on her feet, I step behind her and put my hands over her eyes.
“What are you doing, Dallas Gamble?” she asks pertly, hands going to her hips. She doesn’t pull away though, so I know she’s all bark and no bite.
“Step into the tent, Sweetness,” I whisper in her ear. I feel her shiver against me before she follows my directions. I wait until she’s square in the center of the tent and the photographer has given me a wink and stepped out the back, leaving us alone.
I pull my hands away from her eyes. “Shelby and Dallas. Throughout the years.”
Shelby’s mouth drops open as her head swivels right and left. Covering every single wall is a pinned picture of her and me, both at this fair and every other event we’ve gone to together. Every available surface has a candle, the dancing flames lighting up the tent like a fancy restaurant.
The photo I had blown up into a poster size is from the night we made our pact and posed in this very booth.
In the photo, Shelby’s staring up at me in a western dress that did amazing things to her boobs.
I’m standing in a long leather coat, one hand on a rifle, the other wrapped around Shelby’s waist. The picture is in sepia, drained of color, but sparking with an energy between us that I tried to ignore back then. It’s clear as day to me now.
Shelby and I have always had chemistry. More than that, we’ve always loved each other. Just took me a few decades to figure out I’m in love with her too.
“Dally,” Shelby breathes, taking it all in. When she finally turns to me, there are tears in her eyes. “I remember that year.”
We both turn to look at the poster of us. “You remember us getting drunk as skunks after the fair?”
Shelby laughs. “I do.”
Fuck, I can’t hide how much hearing her say those words affects me. I want to hear them from her mouth in a different kind of setting. Where she’s in white, and I’m promising to love her forever.
I step forward and take her hand, voice raspy with emotion I’m not sure she’s ready to hear about yet. “Let’s get into costume and add another photo to our history.”
Shelby gives me the kind of smile I tuck away in my memory banks.
There’s a softness in her eyes as she gazes up at me that matches how I feel about her.
I’ve finally done something right. Which is why I have to ruin the moment by slapping her on her gorgeous ass. She yelps and swats my chest playfully.
“Go on, get dressed, woman.” I add a little extra twang to my voice just to get into character.
While Shelby steps behind the trifold partition to change into the dress I already placed there for her, I slide into the long leather jacket, pull a heavy-duty gunslinger belt around my waist, and loop a turquoise bolo tie through my collar.
“Umm…” Shelby’s voice comes from behind the partition.
“Something wrong, honey?” I ask, knowing full well what she’s thinking.
Most of the material of that barmaid dress is in the long skirt, not the top.
The lace will just barely cover her breasts.
This is why I paid the photographer handsomely to keep everyone else away so our photoshoot would be private.
“So…” Shelby comes out from behind the partition, looking so stunningly beautiful I choke on my own spit and have to cough my way to having a voice again. “Where’s the rest of it?”
“Goddamn, Sweetness.” I walk over to her, gazing down at all those curves on display just for me. “You are the pertiest woman I’ve ever seen.”
Shelby blushes but tries to brush off the compliment.
I grab her hands, pull her over to the backdrop, and have a seat on the barstool.
She plops down on my lap due to the momentum, just like I wanted her to.
I band my arms around her waist and tell myself I won’t bury my face in her cleavage.
At forty years old, I must have a small bit of self-control by now, right?
I whistle, and the photographer comes back inside the booth. “All ready for your photos?” The guy is old, the same photographer from when we were kids, except now he’s missing a few teeth and most of his hair. Somehow, he still has the bellbottom pants though.
“I can’t believe you did this,” Shelby whispers, looking over at me.
I squeeze her waist, wanting so badly to kiss her right now. “Have to document every year with my best friend.”
She smiles softly, and I get lost in her eyes. I think about twenty years from now, still tricking her into falling into my lap. The teasing. The support. The love that’s never failed, even after all these years.
God, I’ve been an idiot not to see this woman right in front of me.
“Just like that, you lovebirds,” the photographer rasps.
We both jolt, clearly having forgotten where we are.
He gives us directions for a few more ridiculous poses.
We’re done in fifteen minutes, assured he got some great shots of us together.
Shelby trips over the bearskin rug on her way to change out of the barmaid costume. I drop the rifle to steady her.
“Oh, sweet mother of moondust,” the photographer deadpans from behind us.
We both look over in time to see that the rifle has knocked over one of the candles.
A great whooshing noise fills the tent, and suddenly the bearskin is up in flames.
Shelby gasps, and I lunge into action, trying to kick the bearskin out of the tent before the whole structure catches fire.
I don’t manage it, though. The flap of material at the entry catches a bit of the flame.
Sadly, the tent material is clearly synthetic and lights on fire like I sprayed lighter fluid on it.
“Get out!” I shout over my shoulder.