Chapter Ten
Considering how many dresses Alice pulled out of her now small closet, anyone would think she was still in high school and this was her class dance instead of her being a full-grown adult with grandchildren.
A whistle sounded behind her. “Looking good.” Her son Preston stood in the doorway smiling. “Don’t think I’ve seen you this dressed up since, well, I don’t remember when.”
“Thank you.” She took one last look in the mirror and decided she wouldn’t embarrass anyone in her family, as long as she didn’t trip over her own two feet. Hopefully walking on four inch heels would be like riding a bike—you never forget.
“For what it’s worth, your date is waiting downstairs.”
“My what?” She spun around.
“Clint.”
Rolling her eyes, she shook her head at her son. “Really, Preston.”
“Hey, you razzed us enough when we were in high school. I figure this is probably my last chance.”
Sons. She doubted they’d ever outgrow that locker room humor. “Making you wear your tie straight and combing your hair does not count as razzing.”
Smiling like a young boy with that glint in his eyes, he merely shrugged before pushing away from the door jamb. “Seriously, Mom. You look great.”
“Thank you.”
At the bottom of the stairs, Clint stood chatting with Cassie.
Like every ranch hand on the planet, the man wore jeans and boots and cotton shirts, flannel in the winter.
Tonight, he had on boots, but these were unscuffed and polished, and a jacket and tie.
What was commonly known as the Texas tuxedo.
And boy did this man know how to wear it.
“Ready to face the den of teenagers?” His smile was slight, and his voice smooth as honey.
“As ready as I’m going to be.”
“Where’s Garret? Thought he was meeting us here to ride together.”
She shook her head. “He and Jackie left early. Said they’d meet us there.”
Clint nodded and to her surprise, extended his elbow to her. “Shall we?”
For some reason, it took longer than it should have to extend her hand and curl her fingers around his forearm.
It was silly, really. The gesture meant nothing more than old-fashioned chivalry, like helping an old woman across the street.
But still, it felt somehow very personal.
Once they reached the truck, Clint opened the door for her, something he’d done more than once in the many months he’d worked on the ranch, and yet, just like the extended arm, this felt really different.
Not awkward, not unpleasant, just, different—and nice.
The conversation in the truck went like any other chit-chat any other day. There was no mention of anything serious; not Ray, not Brooklyn, not the financial challenges, nothing.
“I had no idea you were so talented.” Clint kept his eyes on the road.
“Doesn’t take a lot of talent to paint a few fish and waves.”
“Depends on how you look at it. I could have painted the waves. There would have been one shade of blue and that would have been it. Maybe I would have painted one cutout a darker shade and another a lighter shade, but I promise you there would not be shadows, and white froth or anything else to make the waves look like we were standing on a beach in Galveston or Padre.”
She shrugged. “Art was a favorite class of mine in high school. Mrs. Halinan, now that woman had talent. Not the paint waves and fish kind but the sell your paintings in an art show kind of talent. If not for her patience, and instructions, and interest, my waves would have been plain just like yours.”
“I guess that explains the fish too.”
This time she chuckled. “I think it’s safe to say we can give Mrs. Halinan the credit for that too.”
“Did you help your kids with their art projects?” He stole a quick glance in her direction before returning his attention to the road ahead.
“Not really. With six kids, they usually helped each other. Charlie and I would help with math and science, but art wasn’t a big thing.
” They arrived at the school and Clint pulled around to the teacher’s parking lot as Alice suggested.
She really had enjoyed working on the gym yesterday.
Maybe she should take up painting, not walls, but pictures, for a hobby.
She shook her head at her own thoughts—who the heck had time for a hobby?
Clint met her on the passenger side of the truck. “What’s wrong?”
“Wrong?”
“You’re shaking your head.”
“Oh.” She chuckled. “Don’t let that worry you. I spend a lot of my spare time talking myself out of all sorts of crazy ideas.”
This time he didn’t extend his arm, and to her surprise, she felt a bit…
disappointed. Thankfully, the disappointment disappeared the minute she crossed the threshold into the old gym.
She’d thought everything looked great when they’d left yesterday, but tonight, with the overhead lights off and only dim lights on the perimeter and colored lights directed and the floating fish and urchins hanging over head, the place looked magical.
Maybe she would find some time to paint. Maybe.
“Holy cow. Did it look this good when we left last night?” Clint cast a quick glance from one end of the gym to the other.
The place looked spectacular. Better than the movie they were trying to mimic.
Though he had to do a double take at the attendees.
Many of the girls seemed to have fallen out of the original movie, wearing form-fitting dresses with wide skirts that twirled when they danced.
Alice Sweet shook her head. “I think it’s just the magic of the night.”
She had a point. This place held the kind of magic you only saw in movies, and certainly not something he’d expected from a handful of high schoolers.
Still. “You, Mrs. Sweet, are too humble. But I have to agree, there is some sort of magic in the air tonight. I hope these kids appreciate the hard work that you and the other kids put in.”
“And you,” she added.
He bobbed his head. “And me.”
“Martin did a good job with the spotlights,” Alice murmured beside him, a soft smile on her face.
Colored lights played across the waves he’d cut, shadows lifting and falling like the ocean was breathing.
Alice’s seahorses floated above, a little parade that made even the teachers smile when they looked up.
“He did,” Clint agreed, though his gaze was less on the decorations and more on Alice.
He’d seen her covered in mud, paint, and hay.
He’d seen her work until her back ached and her hands were raw.
But this—this polished, graceful woman—was a side of her he’d not seen before.
Not even during the last-minute receptions for a couple of her kids.
Music thumped, then slid into something old he remembered from his grandmother’s record collection. Garret appeared at their side. “I know this isn’t Mom’s first turn at chaperone, but just in case, what you need to look for is—”
Clint cut him off. “Unusual activity around the punch bowl, huddles in the corner, both of which can mean there’s liquor around, and, of course, the Noah’s Ark effect.”
It took Garret a few minutes to connect the dots and burst out in a single loud laugh. “Never heard it put quite that way.”
“When I was in high school and my mom would let me have a party, her post was usually by the main floor bathroom. I can still see her standing arms crossed, shaking her head, smiling, and repeating, ‘Only one at a time.’”
“Okay. Then I’m off to wander the grounds and the parking lot. Make sure Noah isn’t busy out there either.” Walking away, Garret continued to chuckle to himself.
“The bathroom, huh?” Alice smiled up at him.
He shrugged. “What can I tell you, kids weren’t too bright in my day.”
Her gaze shifted to the kids on the dance floor and she barely shook her head. “Somehow, I doubt that.”
Twenty minutes in, the music shifted to the unofficial anthem of the fifties—“Rock Around the Clock.” A few brave souls ventured onto the dance floor, awkwardly trying steps that hadn’t been popular for decades.
Clint found himself tapping his foot, memories of his mother teaching him to dance in their kitchen surfacing unexpectedly.
That’s when he spotted them—two boys lingering by the refreshment table, looking around with exaggerated casualness that screamed up to no good.
One nudged the other, and a small silver flask appeared from inside a jacket.
Clint moved without hurry, positioning himself beside them before they could make their move. “Evening, gentlemen.”
The boys froze, the flask hastily disappearing back into the jacket.
“Evening,” the taller boy attempted nonchalance. “Great decorations.”
“Thanks. Put those waves together myself.” He nodded toward the boy’s jacket. “That wouldn’t happen to be something you’re planning to add to the punch, would it?”
Their expressions would have been comical if he weren’t genuinely concerned. The shorter boy looked ready to bolt, while the taller one’s face cycled through denial, defiance, and finally, resignation.
“Look,” Clint lowered his voice, “I’m not going to drag you to the principal or call your parents.” He extended his hand, palm up. “But I can’t let you spike the punch.”
After a moment’s hesitation, the flask appeared and with clear reluctance, was paced firmly in Clint’s open hand.
“You ever been drunk, boys?” Clint pocketed the flask.
They exchanged glances, then shook their heads.
“First time’s never as fun as you think it’ll be.” He smiled slightly. “Especially not when you’re surrounded by teachers and parents.”
“You gonna tell our folks?” the shorter boy asked.
Clint considered this. “No. But I expect to see you both at the Sweet Ranch next Saturday morning. I’ve got some fence posts that need painting. Six hours ought to cover it.”
Relief washed over their faces, followed by confusion. “That’s it?” the taller one asked.
“That’s it. Now go ask some girls to dance. That takes more courage than drinking ever will.”
As they walked away, looking chastened but not humiliated, Clint wondered if Jason had ever tried something similar.
A familiar pang of loss hit him, sharper than usual.
He’d missed so much. He should have been there for his son.
To chaperone the dances, coach the ball games, give advice on girls, cheer at graduations, toast his first job, first promotion. Shoulda, coulda, woulda.
“Everything all right?” Alice’s voice broke through his thoughts.
“Fine.” He straightened. “Just preventing a punch bowl disaster.” He held up the confiscated flask. “This’ll stay with me for now. The two culprits will be doing chores at the ranch this Saturday.”
“Well handled.” Her gaze followed the direction he discreetly pointed to two boys hovering along the edge of the dance floor. “I’ll make sure their parents know they’ll be expected at the ranch. Sometimes kids need consequences, but not always public humiliation.”
The song changed, another number that Clint recognized from his grandparents’ record collection—“Earth Angel.” Several couples moved to the center of the floor, arms awkwardly wrapped around each other, swaying more than dancing.
“Would you like to dance?” The question was out before he could think better of it.
Alice’s eyes widened slightly, but her smile never faltered. “I would.”
Holding her hand in his should have been more awkward.
His other hand around her waist, and the entire stance felt oddly at home.
The first step, and he realized immediately that Alice Sweet, among other things, knew how to dance.
They sashayed around the floor, twirling her out and in a few times, always returning her to the fold of his arms.
“You’re very good. Better than Charlie. Bless that man, so many qualities, dancing wasn’t his best.”
“My grandmother will thank you. She insisted she’d taught my dad how to dance and she could teach me. And so she did.”
“And quite well.” The song came to an end and Alice stepped back. “We’d better get back to making sure these kids stay on the straight and narrow.”
He bobbed his head. “You go left, I’ll bank right.”
Her chin dipped as her smile widened. “See you around.”
The rest of the evening flew by with little trouble.
Though if he were honest with himself, he’d kept hoping for another opportunity for at least one more dance.
He hadn’t danced in years, decades more like it, but tonight he’d had more fun over a single dance than he could remember.
Apparently, there was a lot about Alice Sweet and her family that was contributing to the best life he’d ever had.
On the ride home they shared stories of mean girls, nice girls, daring boys, and the reassuring idea that for the most part, chivalry is not dead in this part of Texas.
Spitting up gravel despite the slow ride down the front drive, he pulled the truck to a stop in front of the Sweet home.
Circling the hood of the vehicle, he managed to get to Alice’s door before she climbed out.
Or maybe she’d waited for him. He wasn’t totally sure.
Tempering his smile, he took a step back. “Thanks for including me tonight.”
“My pleasure. I had a nice time. Thank you.”
“Any time.” He recognized he not only meant it, but hoped she’d take him up on it. And how foolish was that?