Fancy Pants (Wynette, Texas #1)(137)

Francesca turned toward Dallie and, after a moment's hesitation, went into his arms. He caught her against him, and she had the unsettling feeling that she'd been pitched back ten years to the time when this man had formed the center of her world.

“Damn, it feels funny to be dancing with somebody who's wearing a dress,” he said. “You got shoulder pads in that jacket?”

His tone was soft, gentle with amusement. It felt so good to be close to him. Much too good.

“Don't you let Holly Grace hurt your feelings,” he said quietly. “She just needs some time.”

Dallie's sympathy, under the circumstances, surprised her. She managed to reply, “Her friendship means a lot to me.”

“If you ask me, the way that old commie lover has taken advantage of her is bothering her more than anything.”

Francesca realized that Dallie didn't understand the true nature of the trouble between Holly Grace and Gerry, and she decided it wasn't her place to enlighten him.

“Sooner or later, she'll come around,” he went on. “And I know she'd appreciate it if you'd be there waiting for her. Now, how 'bout you stop worrying about Holly Grace and concentrate on the music so we can get down to some serious dancing?”

Francesca tried to oblige, but she was so aware of him that serious dancing was beyond her. The music slowed into a romantic country ballad. His jaw brushed the top of her head.

“You look awful pretty tonight, Francie.”

His voice held a trace of huskiness that unnerved her. He drew her infinitesimally closer. “You're such a tiny little thing. I forgot how little you are.”

Don't charm me, she wanted to plead as she felt the warmth of his body seep through into her own. Don't be sweet and sexy and make me forget everything that's standing between us. She had the disconcerting sense that the sounds around them were fading, the music growing still, the other voices disappearing so that it seemed as if the two of them were alone on the dance floor.

He pulled her closer and their rhythm subtly changed, no longer quite a dance but something closer to an embrace. His body felt hard and solid against hers, and she tried to summon the energy to fight her attraction to him. “Let's— let's sit down now.”

“All right.”

But instead of letting her go, he tucked their clasped hands between their bodies. His other hand slipped under her jacket so that only the thin silk of her dress separated her skin from his touch. Somehow her cheek seemed to find his shoulder. She leaned into it as if she had come home. Drawing in her breath, she shut her eyes and drifted with him.

“Francie,” he whispered into her hair, “we're going to have to do something about this.”

She thought about pretending that she didn't understand what he meant, but at that moment coquetry was beyond her. “It's—it's just a simple chemical attraction. If we ignore it, it'll go away.”

He pulled her closer. “You sure about that?”

“Absolutely.” She hoped he didn't hear the slight quaver in her voice. She was suddenly frightened, and she found herself saying, “Gracious, Dallie, this has happened to me hundreds of times before. Thousands. I'm sure it's happened to you, too.”

“Yeah,” he said flatly. “Thousands of times.” Abruptly he stopped moving and dropped his arms. “Listen, Francie, if it's all the same to you, I don't feel too much like dancing anymore.”

“Fine.” She gave him her best cocktail party smile and busied her hands by straightening the front of her jacket. “That's fine with me.”

“See you later.” He turned to walk away.

“Yes, later,” she said to his back.

Their parting was cordial. No angry words had been spoken. No warnings had been issued. But as she watched him disappear into the crowd, she had the vague feeling that a new set of battle lines had been drawn between them.





Chapter

28



Although Dallie made several halfhearted attempts to smooth his relationship with Teddy, the two of them were like oil and water. When his father was around, Teddy bumped into furniture, broke dishes, and sulked. Dallie was quick to criticize the child, and the two of them grew increasingly miserable in each other's company. Francesca tried to act as a conciliator, but so much tension had built up between herself and Dallie since the evening they had danced at the Roustabout that she only succeeded in losing her own temper.

The afternoon of her third and final day in Wynette, she confronted Dallie in the basement after Teddy had run upstairs and kicked a chair across the kitchen. “Couldn't you sit down and do a puzzle with him or read a book together?” she demanded. “What in God's name made you think he could learn to shoot pool with you yelling at him the entire time?”

Dallie glared at the jagged tear in the green felt that covered his pool table. “I wasn't yelling, and you stay out of this. You're leaving tomorrow, and that doesn't give me much time to make up for nine years of too much female influence.”

“Only partial female influence,” she retorted. “Don't forget that Holly Grace spent a lot of time with him, too.”

His eyes narrowed. “And just what do you mean by that remark?”

“It means she was one hell of a better father than you'll ever be.”