A Justified Murder (Medlar Mystery #2)(61)

“You are destroying my manhood.”

“I think there’s enough of it that you can afford to lose a bit.”

He started to speak, but laughed instead. “Is it possible that there was a compliment in that?”

“I think you should stop the loquaciousness, feed me, then dance my legs off. I need movement. I need to clear my overworked brain.”

Jack twirled her out to arm’s length. “Did I ever tell you that you are what I’ve always dreamed of in a woman?”

“But I’m not blonde.”

When the music stopped, Jack was laughing.

“Hey, Jack!” the lead guitarist called. “Sing with us.”

“Gotta feed my girl, then maybe.”

To one side four firemen were sitting at a table. They had on tight T-shirts and jeans and they were so fit, so muscular, they looked like they were ready for their calendar photo shoot.

When Kate smiled warmly at them, they lifted their beers in salute to her. “If you want to sing, I’ll be fine. Really and truly fine.”

Jack put his hand firmly on the small of her back and half pushed her to their booth.

On their way there, they passed two old men sitting at the bar. One grabbed Jack’s arm.

“She’s Randal’s daughter and you’re Roy’s son.”

The second man smirked. “Lock up your women and your jewels.”

Kate saw that the remarks made Jack angry. She stepped between him and the men—who looked a bit drunk. She put on the most flirtatious manner she could conjure. “Roy’s son has learned to combine them both and I can assure you, gentlemen, that he never locks me up.” She winked at them. “Not too often anyway.”

“Really?” Jack asked as soon as they were back to the booth. “My reputation isn’t bad enough without you adding to it?”

“From the way everyone in this place greeted you, they certainly seem to like you. Did you ever think those men were teasing you just to see the infamous Wyatt temper flare up?”

Jack opened and closed his mouth before turning red and looking down at his beer. “No, actually, I didn’t.”

“Well you should.” The band was playing “Summer Nights” from Grease. “Can you sing that song?”

“Sure.”

“You know all the words?”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“Yes. You know that I can’t stand to be around you.”

Jack started to frown but then smiled. Since Kate had arrived months ago, they’d hardly been apart. “I guess you want me to show you.”

“I do rather like your voice. In singing, that is.”

With a chuckle, he got up, went to the band, and picked up the microphone. He came in midverse in the song and immediately, the dance floor filled. From the reactions of the patrons, Jack singing with the band was a regular occurrence—and a welcome one.

Minutes later, Chris came to the booth, held out his hand to Kate, and she took it. When she was on the dance floor with him, she saw Jack, singing away, glower. She mouthed “Wyatt” and he shook his head at her. As she started to dance, Jack put more energy into his voice, more emotion into the song. And when he started a sexy, gyrating dance, the women broke away from their partners, stopped moving, and gave their attention to Jack.

But Kate didn’t want to stop dancing. Chris raised his eyebrows in question and she shook her head. She didn’t want to stop. The other dancers stepped back and formed a circle around the edge of the dance floor. When all of them looked toward the table of firemen and started clapping, she knew something was up.

One of the men, about Jack’s age, downed half his beer, then stood up, and did a stretch. His T-shirt strained against muscles. He had on suspenders and they looked good.

Kate had no idea what was going on, but Chris did. He let go of Kate and stepped back. It looked like he was turning her over to the other man.

“Name’s Garth,” the man said over the music, then took Kate in his arms.

To say that Garth was a good dancer was an understatement. Think Patrick Swayze in Dirty Dancing. Think Channing Tatum. Kate thought that she loved dancing so much because she’d been deprived of it when growing up. It was inconceivable that she would have been allowed to go to a high school dance. Her religious-fanatic uncles forbade it.

When she got to college, it was as though all that pent-up movement came out. Her required physical classes were all in dance. Garth, as limber as though he were made of soft plastic, brought out the best in her. Add that to Jack’s singing, which grew in tempo and ferocity as it went on, and it was a three-way show. Kate and Garth on the floor, surrounded by clapping and cheering couples, Jack on the stage, his voice throaty and suggestive and powerful.

After a very long dance session, Kate was out of breath and she could practically see Garth’s heart pounding through his tight shirt. Abruptly, Jack changed to a slow song, the other dancers filled the floor, and Garth pulled Kate to him. His cheek was next to hers.

“So you like Chris, do you?” Garth asked.

“Nice guy. So why’s he single?”

“Same as Jack, I guess. He can’t find a woman who is sweet, pretty, and mentally stable.”

“Oooooh. Sounds like he’s had a hard time.”

“He has. Ask anybody about Bridget. He hasn’t had it as bad as Gil, but—”