A holler rises to the rafters and people flood the dance floor. Holy shit. We’re doing this? In Petty’s Mill? All right. Let’s wobble.
The caller sets down his mic and takes a swig from a water bottle. Everyone knows the steps to this one apparently. We all fall in line as a dude growls at us from the speakers to back it up and drop it down.
I back it all the way up, and drop it all the way down.
Damn. I’ve done this dance at weddings, but never surrounded by boomers and rednecks in big silver belt buckles and cowboy hats.
I’m having so much fun, legit fun for the first time in I don’t know how long. I kind of forget about Forty and Steel Bones, and I get lost in my body, the burn in my thighs, the scuff and tap of my boots. Crista’s beside me dancing, too, watching my feet, and it feels great, being the one who knows what to do.
Her cheeks are pink, and she’s lost that jumpy vibe. She seems younger somehow. She’s really pretty when she’s relaxed.
“You doin’ all right?” I ask.
She nods.
“Having a good time?”
She shrugs and smiles softly. Score! I got Crista Holt to smile.
I go back to shaking my ass in dramatic, mind-boggling fashion, and then the song is over and the music slows.
“Now grab your girls, fellas,” the man in the bolo tie says.
I turn to check on Crista, but Scrap is there. Red Beard ambles over and holds out his hand. I take it. Why not? He pulls me a little closer than I want, but I love this song, and we’re in the middle of a dance floor. I focus on the feet of a lady nearby. I’m not really familiar with the two-step, and the caller isn’t helping on this one either.
“Just follow my lead, sweetheart,” Red Beard purrs into my ear, and when he steps forward, his thigh slides between my legs. What? Gross.
I kind of hop backwards, but he’s wound his arm around my back like a vise, and he’s lunging forward. This is not what I want.
I scan the dance floor for Crista or Fay-Lee to give her them “rescue me” look, but I swivel my head too fast, and my hair flies in my face. I’m pushing curls out of my eyes while simultaneously ducking Red Beard’s invading leg when I see Scrap leading Crista off the dance floor.
She looks terrified, but she’s holding his hand. She catches my eye, and her brow furrows with concern.
Oh, she’s being brave. My heart fizzes. I can handle Red Beard. I wave and blow her a kiss.
A new song starts, and I try to ease away, but Red Beard’s not taking the hint. He’s grappling me closer when an enormous hand clamps down on my shoulder, squeezing hard.
The hand yanks me back as Nickel and Creech appear on either side of Red Beard. They don’t need to touch him. Red Beard sure as hell notices them now, and he backs off like his pants are on fire. I catch it all in the nanosecond before Heavy spins me to face him.
“What the fuck are you doing, Nevaeh?”
My back is to Forty now, and I resist the urge to search for him over my shoulder. He’s made himself clear. I don’t exist. Instead, I tilt my head up and up to glare at a glowering, righteously pissed off Heavy Ruth.
My stomach drops. Shit. This just got real.
Heavy Ruth is a giant. Like a literal giant from a fantasy novel. His hair’s longer, blacker, and wilder than mine, and usually, his face is unnaturally calm. Inscrutable behind a thick, black beard. He’s the mastermind of Steel Bones. Not in this moment, though. Right now, his mouth is twisted in a snarl, and there’s pure disgust in his eyes.
“A wise woman builds her home, but a foolish woman tears it down with her own hands,’” he quotes.
I see he’s still in the habit of reciting Scripture. He used to have us rolling when we smoked up by the bonfire. Every moving thing that liveth shall be meat for you; even as the green herb have I given you all things.
“A wise man fucks off and minds his own damn business.” As established, when backed into a corner, I don’t get smarter. Panic sweat breaks out behind my knees.
“No one’s interested in watching you show off. You need to get gone, Nevaeh.”
“You’re not the boss of me.” Seriously? I’ve got great comebacks tonight. At least my voice doesn’t break.
“We can make a scene if that’s what you want. I know you crave the attention.”
Ouch. That one hits a little close to home.
“You’re the one making this an issue. I’m only dancing. This town’s big enough for the both of us.”
Okay. So now I’m a sheriff about to have a shootout on Main Street?
Heavy drops his voice and steps to me, toe to toe. “This is my town, and you’re not welcome in it. You can make this easy, or you can make this hard. Please. Make it hard.” He smiles, and I swear, his teeth are pointed like a wolf’s. My gaze skitters around the room, searching for a friendly face. Fay-Lee. My old school bus driver.
Everyone’s backed away and staring. The music’s playing, but only the totally jaded old timers are still two-stepping. Shit. This is a scene.
And Forty’s nowhere to be seen. Guess he left his brothers to do his dirty work. My heart kind of falls and splats like a deflated ball.
“What are you gonna do, Heavy? Pick me up and throw me out in front of half of Petty’s Mill? Everybody’s gonna be really impressed at the big, strong man tossing around a hundred-twenty-pound woman.” I haven’t weighed one-twenty since high school, but I’m exaggerating for effect here.
“Nobody’ll say a word. You’re nothin’, Nevaeh. You’re no one. You should pack up and go back to Pyle. There’s no place here for a woman who’d fuck around on her man when he’s off servin’ his country.”
There’s an audible gasp from a middle-aged couple pretending not to eavesdrop nearby. Heavy’s purposefully projecting his voice. My scarlet A’s getting polished tonight. Damn.
“Back off, Heavy. Live your life, and let me live mine.”
He leans closer, looms over me. I want to curl into a ball, but I puff my chest and fold my arms. There’s no way he’s going to hurt me in a public place. Probably.
“You ain’t gonna strut around this town again, fuckin’ with my boy’s head. He sacrificed for his country. You get that at all? He almost died. He’s home now. And he’s not gonna have to deal with you, I promise you that. Game’s over, sweetheart.”
And then he grabs my upper arm, not too tight that it hurts, but tight enough that I have no hope of wriggling loose.
“Time to go home.” He frog-marches me toward the door, my feet tripping to keep up. It happens so quickly, I’ve got no time to fight or comply. I’m being herded along toward the back exit like a toddler. The crowd parts to let us through.
Oh, crap. There’s always scads of smokers out front. Out back? I’m gonna be all alone. Would Steel Bones hurt me if there are no witnesses? I don’t know anymore.
Why do I keep getting myself into these kinds of situations? I have a death wish. That must be it.
As we near the hall to the bathrooms, I start to struggle in earnest, scrabbling against the wood floors, trying to dig in my heels. When that doesn’t work, I go limp. Hot damn. My arms are going to pop out of my shoulder sockets. I open my mouth to scream, painfully aware of how futile that’s going to be, when a solid figure blocks our path.