She left her hair natural. Her spiral-like curls hung to the top of her shoulders, a glorious wreath of dark brown, as her grandmother used to say. She felt pretty and was still buzzing inside from the great first day on the job.
Fern stood on the wooden boardwalk outside Rough Cut pub, waving as Charity crossed the street from her apartment.
“Hey, girlfriend.” Fern offered her a high five, then curled her arm with the prosthetic hand around Charity’s elbow. “Ready to trip the light fantastic?”
“Dear Lord. Someday you’re going to say one of these phrases around someone who thinks you’re poking fun at them.”
“If they used to trip the light fantastic, I doubt they’d be that hung up on semantics.” Fern tugged her forward. “Come on. There’s been a huge number of people coming in tonight. Let me reboot that— There’s been a huge number of women coming in tonight. I checked to see if there’s a special all you can drink ladies’ night or something, but nothing. We might end up having to dance with each other.”
“Not the worst punishment,” Charity pointed out. “You don’t have two left feet.”
“True that.” Fern grabbed the door and pulled it open, pressing Charity ahead of her into the dimmer light as country music swelled in volume.
Jostled by the bodies around her, Charity struggled to keep her feet. She’d been at Rough Cut when the place was full, but this was beyond anything she’d seen before.
Shoulder to shoulder with the people around her, she was pushed forward as if caught in a wave. And when the pressure broke momentarily, it spat her forward, hard, into the back of a cowboy.
He teetered, tilted. Charity fought for balance, but another bump against her rear simply sent her harder into the man. Even as she apologized, they were falling to the ground, twisting in midair.
He caught her by the arms, and when they landed, he was under her, his back to the dance floor. She bounced against his torso, air rushing from their lungs as she stared into the face of the man she’d been daydreaming about getting horizontal with. Not this way, but still…
Her cheeks heated to boiling as her focus narrowed to the small space on the dance floor where Dustin Stone lay under her in all his muscular glory.
2
It had been one hell of a weekend. It looked as if it was going to be one hell of a night, as well.
Laying on the dance floor wasn’t a good idea in the first place, and tonight it was downright dangerous. Which meant instead of taking a second to appreciate that his fancy gymnastic-like move had worked—
Don’t lie. You’re appreciating the soft curves tucked up against you, not your superhero moves…
Shit. Not a place his thoughts were allowed to go.
Dustin rose to his feet, lifting Charity with his hands around her waist. Even once they reached vertical, he kept her close because the crowd at Rough Cut was outrageous. “You okay?”
“I think?” Charity wavered, slapping a hand against his chest to catch her balance. “Sorry. Again.”
“Not your fault,” he insisted, letting his gaze dance over her. She didn’t look as if she’d been injured, but a shove forceful enough to tip him over could have hurt.
Fern Fields stepped forward, her wide-eyed gaze darting over the crowd around them. “This place is out of control.”
Charity ducked, narrowly avoiding being punched as someone enthusiastically threw their arms in the air and shouted Yee Haw.
Enough.
“Come on.” Dustin tilted his head toward the side of the dance floor, tugging Charity along for the ride.
After a quick glance proved Fern had followed, Dustin focused on keeping his feet as they wove through the crowd to the small alcove tucked to the right of the stage.
The thankfully empty alcove blocked a portion of the high-volume music and rowdy voices. The moment of relative calm was a welcome relief.
Dustin put his back to the wall and took a deep breath. “Jeez. Fucking chaos.”
“What’s going on?” Charity asked, peeking back into the mayhem. “I haven’t seen a crowd like this since the night the country singer your brother Walker did backup vocals for showed up in town and did an impromptu set.”
“I remember that night.” Fern punched Dustin in the shoulder. “You were enjoying his backup singer’s gyrations so much you stepped on my feet a dozen times while we were dancing.”
“Thanks, Fern. Of course you remember me doing something embarrassing.”
Fern patted his cheek fondly. “You can always count on your best gal pals to keep it real.”
Charity didn’t say anything, but a hint of a smile twisted her lips.
It was too tempting. Dustin rolled his eyes. “You’re thinking something terrible about me as well. I can’t catch a break with you two, can I?”
She outright grinned. “I didn’t say a word.”
“You were thinking really loud,” Dustin complained, but he offered a wink with the words. He took another glance toward the dance floor and shook his head. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m not a big enough glutton for punishment to stick around for this.”
Fern wrinkled her nose. “There’s more milling about than dancing going on.”
“Still wonder why,” Charity muttered. “It’s like a puzzle to solve.”
“Except this puzzle means stomped-on toes and bruised hips.” Fern shrugged. “Maybe it’s just a weekend thing, but I agree we should do something else for fun tonight.”
Charity looked disappointed but dipped her chin in agreement. “I’ve got the fixings for nachos.” Her gaze flicked to Dustin. “You’re welcome to join us.”
He certainly wasn’t staying here. No reason for him to head back to his room at the bunkhouse—he was trying to spend more time away from Silver Stone ranch rather than sticking around even during his nights off.
Besides, the girls were easy company. It was a simple decision to nod his agreement. “Want me to grab anything?”
“We’re good,” Fern informed him even as she pulled him off the wall and turned him toward the crowd. “We’ll use you as a defensive linebacker. Straight through, Stone. Get us to freedom in one piece, and I’ll let you put jalapeños on the nachos.”
Laughter bubbled from Charity’s lips. “Forget about running the gauntlet. Follow me.” She guided them away from the crowd. Slipping behind the stage, the volume of music swelled to deafening. Charity didn’t bother to speak, just pointed up at the illuminated exit sign tucked behind the massive speakers.
A moment later they stood in the back alley behind Rough Cut. The warm spring air was a refreshing change after the closed-in atmosphere of the pub.
Charity’s expression turned to pure contentment. “Freedom, as requested. Which also means we’ll skip the jalapeños. At least on my portion of the tray.”
Fern offered a high five. “Well done, bestie. New plan for the evening activated. Come on. Nacho time. We’ll find something to watch.”
“You are not getting me to watch that horror flick you were raving about,” Charity warned as they formed a line three across, striding down the alley away from the noise of the pub.