The Country Duet(16)
Teale slaps the tabletop. “Yes, sweetie, what can she get you?”
I shake my head, not wanting some damn catfight to ruin this night. “Mountain Dew and you, baby?”
I lay extra emphasis on the word baby, causing Teale to beam with pride.
“Shirley Temple.”
The waitress leaves as quickly as she raced over to us, defeated.
“No beer for you?” I turn to Teale, laying my arm around the top of her shoulders. “I can drive you home.”
“I don’t drink,” she blurts out.
“Ever?” I ask.
“Used to, but not now. What about you?”
I notice her fingers fidgeting and her whole body is growing anxious.
“Don’t mind a cold beer every once in a while,” I admit.
“I really, really like Shirley Temples.” Her radiant smile lights her face up.
“Then, baby, you can get drunk on them tonight.”
“And drunk on you,” she whispers.
Our lips meet, knowing exactly what to do. I kiss the hell out of her, wrapping a hand in her hair and pulling her closer to me. I curse the damn table for being in our way because I’d give anything for her to be straddling my lap right now.
Someone clears their throat and we both glance over to the waitress with our drinks. There’s no small talk or flirty smiles this time as she sets them down on the table, not impressed in the least.
An old Brooks & Dunn song comes blaring out of the speakers in the bar. Teale squeals and jumps up in her seat, knocking the tops of her knees underneath the table.
“We have to dance. This is my favorite song.”
“Never knew you were so country, Darlin’.”
“I’m not. Just want to be.” Teale reaches up, running the pad of her finger along the brim of my black Stetson cowboy hat.
“That hat turn you on, yeah?” I wink at her.
“Maybe.” She shrugs then pushes on my shoulder. “Move your ass and dance with me.”
The song “My Maria”, is not slow enough to sway to and not quite a swinging song, so I grab her by the hip, pulling our chests together and clutch her other hand. Teale’s eyes flare in amazement as I lead her in a two-step. Her body molds and moves right along with mine. My hand sneaks down with a mind of its own until it’s relaxing on the swell of her ass. We dance song after song with me swinging Teale around the floor, and her laughter floating around the bar. Several men try to cut in and I swear my inner Dave comes out when the urge to growl at them strikes. Teale’s always polite and shakes her head no.
“Bar at the End of the World” by Kenny Chesney begins jamming. Teale separates from me, shaking her hips while smiling wide. She doesn’t stay gone too long before coming back to me. We move in unison, getting a little more risky with our moves. Before I know what I’m doing, I take my Stetson off and plop it down on her head then wrap my arms low around Teale’s waist. The heavy crowd around us curtains us in, creating our own slice of privacy. My hands cup her ass until her front is grinding against mine.
“Yeehaw,” Teale hoots out over the crowd.
The song is cut off, then the bar begins counting down the seconds to midnight. Teale joins in, pumping her arm up in the air with each shout. Her other hand is securely on the top of my Stetson as she celebrates with the crowd, and I’m just mesmerized by her. I don’t have the heart to tell her she’s screwing up the shape of it and that shit is sacred to a cowboy. Actually, it’s the first law in the cowboy handbook. I’ll just re-shape it at home, not wanting to ruin this memory.
After she shouts one and before she has the chance to bellow Happy New Year, I whirl her around in my arms. The three words she was ready to shout drown in my mouth as our tongues intertwine. Everyone in the bar disappears, the sound muting, just leaving us wrapped up in each other.
You never can tell what the New Year holds in store for you. It’s a silent promise of hope or a curse of doom and grief to ensue. If only I knew my entire life was going to be shattered in the matter of three hundred and sixty-five days.
Chapter 7
Hunter
“I'm gonna be something one of these days.” –Patsy Cline
It took several minutes to coax Dave out of the house. It’s Saturday again and my day to work, but I’ve learned Dave doesn’t want to work if it’s too damn cold. Winter in northern Idaho is always fucking cold.
He has me getting parts ready to restore an old tractor, which I consider a big step up from sorting rusty nuts and bolts. I look up at the shelf where that messy stack lays that he had me put up there a while ago and just shake my head. Even though there may be shit strewn everywhere, the man has everything labeled. Not just marked with the words scrawled across the front, but everything is wrapped in tape, and then he labels it.
Right now, I’m staring at a can of yellow paint. It’s wrapped in tape all the way around with no label showing.
Dave hasn’t stopped bitching about how cold it is in the shop or quit looking over my shoulder to make sure I’m doing it his way. If I wasn’t still riding the high from my first date with Teale a few weeks ago, I may have up and quit. A man can only take so much nit picking before he blows. The thing Dave hasn’t understood or even begins to comprehend yet is that I’m just as hard-headed as him. I have a feeling he’s soon going to learn this lesson.