Heatherly Bell - Breaking Emily's Rules

“Well, your biological clock is ticking.” Molly followed.

“It. Is. Not. Ticking!” Emily could give as good as she got with her sister, even if her blond hair wasn’t the slightest shade of red. Even if she’d always had to look out for the little squirt.

“You’re twenty-eight. I think it’s started to tick.”

“Twenty-eight is the new eighteen.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means if fifty is the new forty, and forty is the new thirty, then what the hell do you think the new twenty-eight is?” Emily spoke loud enough some of the patrons hanging outside the entrance turned to stare at them.

Emily grabbed her sister’s hand and pulled her toward the entrance. “I’m doing this on one condition. All we’re doing is dancing, and then we’re going home. Alone. I don’t go home with anybody, and neither do you.”

As the big sister, it was Emily’s duty to remember Molly only served up her parade of big hits when she hurt inside. Sooner or later Emily would have to figure out what bug had curled up inside Molly this time and probably help her with it, too. But for now, Denial was a river they would drown in together.

Opening the door to the Silver Saddle felt a little like opening death’s door. A bit like entering a battlefield without armor. No self-respecting woman would do that, and yet, Emily was here.

Bertha, the broken mechanical bull, sat in the corner, warning the games were about to begin. From somewhere within, Emily drew a deep breath and placed an imaginary shield on her chest. There. Let someone get through that.

“Hey, it’s the Parker girls.” Thomas Aguirre sidled up to Molly. Everyone knew he’d had a crush on her since third grade.

Emily shoved her body between them. “We’re here to dance. And nothing else. Right, Molly?”

“Right.” Molly may have said what Emily wanted to hear, but her eyes said Open for Business.

“How about this dance?” Thomas didn’t even wait for a reply as he grabbed Molly’s hand and pulled her onto the dance floor. Molly shoved her purse in Emily’s hands before going far too willingly onto the crowded dance floor.

Emily had just wandered over to the bar and checked their purses in with the bartender when Jimmy Hopkins, the bar’s owner, appeared at her elbow. “Hey, girl. How about a dance?”

As luck would have it, Jimmy was a harmless sweetheart. Best of all, he was engaged to one of her oldest friends, Trish. He’d recently taken six months’ worth of dance lessons in preparation for their wedding, and Trish let him dance with any willing girl for the extra practice.

Maybe she could manage to dance with Jimmy all night. “You got it.”

Jimmy spun her around the dance floor. Without a doubt, he was the best dancer in the place. Every other guy was shuffling his feet around and grabbing his partner’s ass. This was going to work out better than she could have hoped. No ass-grabbing for Emily.

“Hey, are you okay, hon?” Jimmy asked between turns.

“I’m all right.” As long as she didn’t pay attention to the whispers, and with Jimmy it was easy. “I wish everyone would stop talking about me.”

“They have nothing better to talk about. This year’s been rather lean with scandal.”

“Henry stopped peeing on the gazebo?” Henry Turner, the town drunk, did his business where and when he wanted. Lately he seemed to favor the gazebo in the town square, and their mayor was up in arms about it. Apparently she wanted a new town resolution against public urination, as if the old one wasn’t good enough.

“Think he’s moved on to greener pastures, pardon the pun.” Jimmy winked.

“It would help if you and Trish would finally set a date,” Emily said. “Maybe wedding talk would keep them busy for a while.”

“Are you kidding? Trish still hasn’t decided on the venue, much less picked a date.”

“You are going to consider the ranch. Right?” She hadn’t made the decision to add weddings to her family’s event company so her friends could get married somewhere else.

“It’s up to Trish. But the reception is here.”

“Perks of owning a bar. Have her give me a call.”

After three dances, even Jimmy needed a break, but Emily was just getting started. She’d forgotten how much fun Western dancing could be. Fortunately, she had willing partners stepping up. They didn’t want to talk, just dance. One hard look and she’d managed to keep the ass-grabbing off limits, too.

Dancing turned out to be the right recipe after all, especially since she’d known these guys since grade school. None of the men inspired the slightest amount of desire in her.

But then she caught a glimpse of him.

He sat on a stool against the perimeter like he’d been hired to enhance the wall. Dark wavy hair curled slightly at his neckline and, even from a distance, his eyes shone steely blue. The way he gazed at her both piqued her interest and made her want to smack him. His thoughts were so clearly written on his face and in those piercing eyes. He was practically undressing her in front of all these people. And she didn’t even know the man.

Between stealing long PG-13–rated looks at her and taking sips of his beer, he spoke to Jedd, an old friend of Dylan’s and a regular at the Saddle, except tonight Jedd’s wife, Casey, was nowhere in sight. Emily continued to dance with anyone who asked and occasionally peeked at Hot Guy. He never seemed to take his eyes off her, and it was making her neck sweat.

“We need to get home soon,” Emily took a moment to say into Molly’s ear as she passed by in Thomas Aguirre’s arms. Not a good sign she’d danced the entire time with one man. She’d keep an eye on that scenario.

“Sure, whatever you say,” Molly sang out.

Emily stole another look at Mr. Studley, who now lifted his beer bottle and grimaced in the direction of the band playing Garth Brooks’s “Friends in Low Places.”

The heat pulsating all the way to the back of her knees had nothing to do with the dancing, and everything to do with that man. It wasn’t like she’d never seen his kind before, the type of man who might as well have yellow police tape draped around him to serve as warning.

But for twenty-eight years, she’d stayed away from his kind, and she wouldn’t likely end that streak tonight.

* * *

SHIT. I KNEW this was a bad idea.

Stone Mcallister sat nursing his beer at a bar someone had the moxie to name the Silver Saddle. Everything in this town had whimsical names like The Hair-Em, and The Drip. It felt like he’d been dropped in the middle of Whoville. And even after he’d avoided this joint for six months, tonight his luck had run out. Jedd, his mechanic, wouldn’t take no for an answer. So now he was stuck staring at the blonde with the wavy hair that seemed to dance as much as she did. Dressed in a short white dress, showing off the best pair of legs he’d seen in years and wearing a pair of blue cowboy boots, she had the attention of every male in the place.

She tempted the hell out of him. Something he didn’t need.

What he did need right now was some financial hocus pocus, and sitting here staring at the girl wasn’t going to help.

She was tearing up the place, dancing with anyone who asked. None of his business. He didn’t plan on staying in town for long. That reason, more than any other, made him wonder if maybe he should introduce himself to the young lady. Women were more trouble than he could handle right now, but if the girl wanted a warm bed for the night, he certainly had one. Jedd brought him another beer though he still wasn’t done with the first one. Stone set the old one aside and grabbed the cold one.

“Thanks for coming out with me, boss,” Jedd shouted over the live band playing some kind of nonsense song about friends in low places. Another thing he could barely stomach about this place. Country music.