Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
After dropping off the blueprints, Tully tried her best to stay away from Honky Tonk Heaven. She tried to keep her mind on her work and not think about what was happening inside the clapboard walls.
It wasn’t easy. Especially when the entire town was buzzing with the news of the Hennessys only having three months to reopen the bar or it would go to some undisclosed person.
The townsfolk loved a good mystery as much as they loved a good rumor.
They were taking bets at Mickey’s Gas Station on who that person was and if the Hennessys would be able to complete the task they’d been given and keep that person, or persons, from getting the bar.
The majority of folks thought they’d fail.
“Those Hennessys are better at destroying than building.”
“I give those ornery rascals a month and they’ll call it quits . . . just like they quit their poor old mama.”
“They might get it built in time, but it takes a lot of help to reopen a bar. I can’t see anyone in town wanting to help those demons after all the trouble they caused.”
No one, but Tully.
She wanted to help return the bar to its former glory in a bad way.
Every morning when she stopped at Grounds For Divorce for her morning latte and donuts, she got to hear about the progress being made at Honky Tonk Heaven. It was pure torture. She would spend the rest of the day with unanswered questions buzzing around in her head.
When they were clearing out the building of rubble, had they salvaged everything they could from the wreckage?
Or had they just thrown away precious pieces of the dancehall’s history because they had a little soot on them?
Now that they were replacing walls, were they sticking to the original floor plan—her and Rosie’s plan—or were they just throwing up walls willy-nilly?
The thought of changing Honky Tonk Heaven in any way just broke Tully’s heart. And after a week of all the gossip and wondering, her willpower completely deserted her. She had to see what was going on at Honky Tonk Heaven for herself or die of curiosity.
Of course, she waited until late at night when there was no chance of running into the Hennessys.
And before she pulled into the football field-sized parking lot, she made sure it was empty and there was no sign of a classic turquoise and white pick up.
Once in the parking lot, she pulled around back so anyone who did happen to be driving past this late at night wouldn’t see her patrol car.
She’d just as soon news of her being there didn’t get back to the Hennessys.
Or one Hennessy.
One tattooed fallen angel who thought she still had an infatuation with him.
She hoped her bringing the blueprints to him would set things straight. She was infatuated, but it was no longer with Jaxon.
That had ended the night he robbed the gas station.
Besides the huge construction dumpster sitting in front and the boards being taken off the window and doors, Honky Tonk Heaven didn’t look any different on the outside than it had before the Hennessys had started work. The major changes must all be inside.
She parked by the river in the shadow of the old oak. The moon was full and bright so she didn’t need her flashlight to guide her to the back door. It wasn’t locked. In fact, it didn’t even have a doorknob.
There was no way to describe the excitement that coursed through her as she stepped inside, skirting piles of lumber scraps and power tools as she took it all in.
She knew it was silly, but she couldn’t help feeling like a kid entering Disneyland for the first time.
But instead of smelling like freshly fried churros, the air smelled of fresh sawdust.
Surprisingly, there was no sign of a fire. New beams stretched across the ceiling, some of the framing in the outside walls had been replaced, and framing on the inside walls had begun.
It looked like the Hennessys were following Tully and Rosie’s plans.
A bubble of joy burst inside her and she couldn’t help imaging what it would look like when it was finished: The high-polished mahogany bar gleaming in the light of the neon beer signs that hung on the walls.
The bartenders, efficiently, grabbing bottles of liquor and glasses from the mirrored shelves behind them or standing at the taps filling glasses with frothy beer for the old cowboys bellied up to bar.
The stage with a crowd of rabid country music fans gathered in front, cheering on the live band with their tooled leather guitar straps hooked over their shoulders and Stetsons tugged low as they crooned an Alan Jackson tune.
Tables filled with cuddling couples whispering love words or celebrating football fans arguing over what team was best or groups of women giddily enjoying girls-night-out.
And finally the huge oak floor filled with high-stepping polka dancers and jaunty two-steppers and graceful waltzers.
Tully moved to the bare cement section where the dance floor would eventually be. Moonlight flooded in through the open window holes like multiple spotlights, sawdust dancing in the beams like fairy dust.
Soon, she thought as she turned in a full circle. Soon everyone in Promise Springs will be gliding across this floor.
Everyone, but her and her daddy.
They both had been born with two left feet.
Her mama had attempted to teach them, but after numerous bruised toes, she’d finally given up.
Daddy wasn’t too upset about it. Tully, on the other hand, was devastated.
Even now, she tried to dance around her apartment and dreamed of one day dancing at Honky Tonk Heaven.
One day?
She glanced around.
What about now?
Just in case the Hennessys didn’t succeed she could still say she once danced at Honky Tonk Heaven.
After casting another quick glance around, she lifted her arms and imagined a partner. A partner with broad shoulders to balance her and strong hands to right her if she stumbled.
She closed her eyes and tried to remember how to waltz. Did she start with the left or right foot? Was it two-steps or three? Quick, quick, slow? Or slow, slow, quick? Or was that the two-step?
She started awkwardly shuffling around the cement floor as she hummed Birdie’s favorite song, “The Tennessee Waltz.” She had just gotten into a semi-rhythm when a sleepy, gruff voice had her stumbling.
“What the hell are you doing?”
She caught herself before she face planted and turned to find Jaxon standing there . . . in nothing but a pair of unbuttoned blue jeans and boots. Her gaze quickly wandered over his naked chest before lifting to his moonlit eyes.
“Well?” he said.
Once again, her high-pitched voice gave away her nerves. “I was . . . patrolling.” She cleared her throat. “You shouldn’t leave all these tools in an unlocked building. Someone could easily walk right in and steal them.”
“Which is why I’m sleeping here at night.”
That explained the mussed dark hair and naked chest.
Do not look at that naked chest. Do not look at it.
She looked at it.
Lord, it was something to see. It put the romance book cover to shame.
While he had tattoos covering his forearms, he didn’t have a one on his biceps, shoulders, or chest. Just miles of smooth, tanned skin covering knots of hard, defined muscle.
In the middle of all that breathtaking manscape was a crop of jet-black chest hair that tapered into a thin trail.
A trail that headed between neat rows of abdominals and disappeared beneath the undone button of his jeans.
Was it her imagination or was the fly of his jeans growing?
She jerked her gaze up to his face. “Well, if everything is fine and dandy here, then I’ll just be on my way.” She started to leave, but he stepped in front of her.
“You weren’t here making sure no one was stealing tools. You were dancing.”
She wanted to come up with a good excuse for shuffling around the floor like an idiot, but the muscled bare chest inches away made thinking clearly impossible.
“Umm . . . I was just practicing . . . for a dance competition I’m in.”
It was easy to read the amusement in his eyes. “A dance competition, huh? I hate to point this out, honey, but you need more than practice. That was the worst dancing I’ve ever seen.” She felt insulted . . . and a little lightheaded Jaxon Hennessy had called her honey.
“Maybe I’m not great at the waltz. But I doubt you can do better. From what I saw growing up, you never asked one girl to dance.”
A smile hiked up the corner of his mouth. “And you would know, wouldn’t you, Tully Stalker?”
“I did not stalk you!” She went to shove him out of her way, but froze when her hands met hard chest. How could a man be this hard and this hot? It was like touching a cast-iron stove. Her palms felt scorched. But she didn’t pull away. She just stood there, absorbing all the virile heat.
Except for the flex of his muscles, he didn’t move either. When she lifted her gaze, those golden eyes were filled with just as much heat. They stood like that, with their gazes locked, for what felt like forever before he finally stepped back and spoke.
“The waltz isn’t that hard. You’re just drawing an imaginary box on the floor with your feet to a six count.
” He demonstrated, dancing around the floor like she had with his arms held out and counting as he went.
But while she had probably looked like an awkward oaf, he looked like a graceful Dancing with the Stars mirror ball winner.
Of course, he did.
Jaxon did everything well.
Except rob gas stations.
The thought made her remember who she was and who he was. When he glided back to her, she started to make her excuses. But her words died when he took her hand and pulled her into his arms.
“It’s a box. Just a simple box.” His fingers tightened on her hand and the upper part of her hip, the hot digits burning through her pants like mini branding irons. “Step back with your right foot first.” She stepped back and he squinted. “That’s not your right.”