Page 2 of Breaking Emily's Rules
As the big sister, it was my duty to remember Molly only served up her parade of big hits when she hurt inside. Sooner or later I would have to figure out what bug had curled up inside Molly this time and probably help her with it, too. But for now, Denial was a river we would drown in together.
Opening the door to the Silver Saddle felt a little like opening death’s door. A bit like entering a battlefield without armor. No self-respecting woman would do that, and yet, I was here.
Bertha, the broken mechanical bull, sat in the corner, warning the games were about to begin. From somewhere within, I drew a deep breath and placed an imaginary shield on my chest. There. Let someone get through that.
“Hey, it’s the Parker girls.” Thomas Aguirre sidled up to Molly. Everyone knew he’d had a crush on her since third grade.
I shoved my body between them. “We’re here to dance. And nothing else. Right, Molly?”
“Right.” Molly may have said what I wanted to hear, but her eyes saidOpen for Business.
“How about this dance?” Thomas didn’t even wait for a reply as he grabbed Molly’s hand and pulled her onto the dance floor. Molly shoved her purse in my hands before going far too willingly onto the crowded dance floor.
I had just wandered over to the bar and checked our purses in with the bartender when Jimmy Hopkins, the bar’s owner, appeared at my elbow. “Hey, girl. How about a dance?”
As luck would have it, Jimmy was a harmless sweetheart. Best of all, he was engaged to one of my oldest friends, Trish. He’d recently taken six months’ worth of dance lessons in preparation for their wedding, and Trish let him dance with any willing girl for the extra practice.
Maybe I could manage to dance with Jimmy all night. “You got it.”
Jimmy spun me around the dance floor. Without a doubt, he was the best dancer in the place. Every other guy was shuffling his feet around and grabbing his partner’s ass. This was going to work out better than I could have hoped. No ass-grabbing for me, thank you.
“Hey, are you okay, hon?” Jimmy asked between turns.
“I’m all right.” As long as I didn’t pay attention to the whispers, and with Jimmy it was easy. “I wish everyone would stop talking about me.”
“They have nothing better to talk about. This year’s been rather lean with scandal.”
“Henry stopped peeing on the gazebo?” Henry Turner, the town drunk, did his business where and when he wanted. Lately he seemed to favor the gazebo in the town square, and our mayor was up in arms about it. Apparently she wanted a new town resolution against public urination, as if the old one wasn’t good enough.
“Think he’s moved on to greener pastures, pardon the pun.” Jimmy winked.
“It would help if you and Trish would finally set a date,” I said. “Maybe wedding talk would keep them busy for a while.”
“Are you kidding? Trish still hasn’t decided on the venue, much less picked a date.”
“You are going to consider the ranch. Right?” I hadn’t made the decision to add weddings to my family’s event company so my friends could get married somewhere else.
“It’s up to Trish. But the reception is here.”
“Perks of owning a bar. Have her give me a call.”
After three dances, even Jimmy needed a break, but I was just getting started. I’d forgotten how much fun Western dancing could be. Fortunately, I had willing partners stepping up. They didn’t want to talk, just dance. One hard look and I’d managed to keep the ass-grabbing off limits, too.
Dancing turned out to be the right recipe after all, especially since I’d known these guys since grade school. None of the men inspired the slightest amount of desire in me.
But then I caught a glimpse ofhim.
He sat on a stool against the perimeter like he’d been hired to enhance the wall. Dark wavy hair curled slightly at his neckline and, even from a distance, his eyes shone steely blue. The way he gazed at me both piqued my interest and made me want to smack him. His thoughts were so clearly written on his face and in those piercing eyes. He was practically undressing me in front of all these people. And I didn’t even know the man.
Between stealing long PG-13–rated looks at me and taking sips of his beer, he spoke to Jedd, an old friend of Dylan’s and a regular at the Saddle, except tonight Jedd’s wife, Casey, was nowhere in sight. I continued to dance with anyone who asked and kept my eyes on Hot Guy. He never seemed to take his eyes off me, and it was making my neck sweat.
“We need to get home soon,” I took a moment to say into Molly’s ear as she passed by in Thomas Aguirre’s arms. Not a good sign she’d danced the entire time with one man. I would keep an eye on that scenario.
“Sure, whatever you say,” Molly sang out.
I stole another look at Mr. Studley, who now lifted his beer bottle and grimaced in the direction of the band playing Garth Brooks’s “Friends in Low Places.”
The heat pulsating all the way to the back of my knees had nothing to do with the dancing, and everything to do with that man. It wasn’t like I’d never seen his kind before, the type of man who might as well have yellow police tape draped around him to serve as warning.
