Vivian Arend: Rocky Mountain Desire

Hope pointed at the wig on her head. “Which works well for me trying to stay undercover. Only, a mermaid? Really, Trish? When did you expand the costume selection from hard-working women into the fantasy realm?”

Trish patted her cheek teasingly then handed over a sparkling, sequined half mask. “Be thankful I didn’t turn you into an elven princess for the night, pointed ears and all. No one will be staring at your face, anyway.”

True. Hope arranged the mask over her eyes before sneaking another peek downward. Right about then, her sense of the ridiculous got the better of her. She had more than enough hips and ass for the guys to stare at. More than she wanted there to be, but the soft curves refused to diminish no matter how many workouts she put in. Not that she had much time for an exercise routine these days with everything she had to accomplish around the shop.

Trish kept babbling, but Hope had lost interest in listening. Just one step at a time. She was going to go out on that stage, shake her boobs at the gathered men. With the extra cash from tonight added to what she had scrimped together, she’d hit the bank on Monday and make her shop mortgage payment by the deadline. Done.

Of course, that to-do list didn’t mention the paperwork she still had to complete when she got home tonight. Or the new stock she had to put out in the morning. But if she started thinking about her workload, she’d have no energy to dance, and after all Trish’s hard work to glue this costume on her that would be such a pity.

She snorted at her own twisted joke. Hope glanced at the mirror again and fought back giggles. At least her concern that she’d be recognized had lessened now that her costume and mask were in place. Maybe that’s why Trish had scheduled her to dance near the end—give the boys enough time to drink and the alcohol blur would help cover her features.

Money, that’s all this was about.

The most intriguing part of this gig was the shimmering silver wig. She’d worn her hair short during high school, but over the past couple years she’d grown it out so she could wear it back in a ponytail. Dealing with a fancy do while working with customers or bending over a sewing machine was impractical. Still, silver instead of red? Her real colour was probably her favourite feature, but the instant change was amusing. She pulled on the kimono-style cover-up Trish had provided, then made a slow rotation to watch the artificial hip-length hair swirl around her.

Hmm, this could be enjoyable after all.

Another of the girls left the back room, the third to go. Schoolgirl Shelly was back, and she wiggled past Hope, laughing under her breath. “Hot damn—I wish I’d known who’d made the booking before I picked my costume for the night. That was fun, but more embarrassing than usual.”

If Shelly thought taking off most of her clothes and swinging her hips for money was embarrassing, she was in the wrong line of work. Hope had never regretted her dancing days, even if it wasn’t what she intended for her future. “Why more embarrassing?”

Shelly winked. “Because the bachelor’s hooking up with a teacher.”

Okay, that made sense. “You’re kidding. Too funny.”

“Hilarious, but you know what? There’s enough Colemans out there you’re bound to find a profession—”

“Colemans?” Oh shoot. She’d been so focused on the offer of the instant cash she desperately needed, the one question Hope hadn’t thought to ask Trish was the name of tonight’s client.

She snuck a glance through the doorframe. Familiar faces greeted her. Guys she’d gone to school with, guys she saw on a daily basis all over town. That part wasn’t a surprise—she’d figured the crowd would be locals, but damn… Why had she thought this was a good idea?

The money. Every bit helped.

Staring into a sea of Colemans wasn’t what she needed. And when she instinctively managed to find Matt in the crowd, life got just that much stinkier.

“You’re up, Hope. Go give them what for.” Trish’s firm push between the shoulders was the only thing that stopped her from turning tail and racing from the bar without a backward glance.

Matt sat to the side of the room, laughing with his brothers as they joined together in that wall of impenetrable camaraderie she’d always admired. That’s what family was supposed to be like, not cutthroat and undermining.

She only had a second to take him in. His dark hair was longer now, and a neatly trimmed beard and mustache covered his chin and upper lip. Oh God, he’d grown a mustache.

She loved what he looked like with facial hair.

Hope snapped her gaze to the ground and stepped forward in time to the music, resisting the urge to glance up and discover Matt’s response. Of anyone in the crowd, he’d be the most likely to recognize her.

Ignoring the fluttering sensation in her belly, she lifted her arms to start her portion of the show. She had to concentrate on what she was doing or, substitute dancer or not, the guys would only be so forgiving. She shimmied her hips, forcing the front of her robe to gap, and the whistling began.

It wasn’t difficult to get back into the swing of things. She still sang and sashayed around the shop when there were no customers—moving to a beat made her happy even though her days of dirty dancing were supposedly behind her.

She turned her back to the group before allowing another tease of skin to show, baring one shoulder. The robe clung intimately as the heat of the lights brought a slick to her skin. There had always been something ego-stroking about watching men respond. Even if the one guy she truly wanted was stamped off-limits.

“Oh, darling, shake them hips over this way.”

“Strip, baby.”

The suggestions got raunchier, and the pulse in her veins increased in tempo. When she let the robe slip to her waist, revealing the tiny fabric seashells barely covering her breasts, the roof shook with their shouts.

The heavy weight of the silvery wig’s long strands caressed her as she twirled and allowed the silk to puddle to the floor.

“Sweet Jesus.”

Matt’s voice. Even in the crowd she recognized it. Hope lowered her eyelids to nearly closed, forcing the room to fade until individual faces blurred into nondescript, unidentifiable ovals.

If she didn’t know where he was, she wasn’t dancing her heart out for him, right?

Daniel passed him another beer, but Matt didn’t think he could swallow. Holy shit was the only thing currently filling his brain. The mug bumped his fingers, and he curled his fingers around the glass to stop it from tipping.

“You never seen a woman before, Matt? Because I think you’re drooling.”

“For a minute I thought…” He was seeing things. It had been six months since Helen had hightailed it out of Rocky Mountain House, swearing she never wanted to see a country road or smell a hay bale again for the rest of her life. But for a moment, just a moment, when the dancer had turned on the stage? He’d seen his ex-lover, her familiar body displayed to the noisy crowd of his kin.

Daniel leaned in front of him, forehead furrowed. “You okay? You look flushed.”

“Tell me I’m imaging things—that’s not Helen up there, is it?”

Daniel snorted in disbelief before he turned to examine the dancer. He shook his head. “It’s not Helen. Trust me, the woman said she wasn’t going to set foot in Rocky ever again. Why the hell would she turn up now on the stage shaking her tits for us?”

Matt chugged half the mug of beer to resist responding. Daniel didn’t need to know that last part wouldn’t surprise him. Helen had no issues putting her wares on display for more than one guy at a time. Even if her lover wasn’t around, which had made their breakup easier in a way.