Brenda Mott - Man From Montana

Kara stepped and twisted slowly to the music, helping Connor spin the chair, guiding it in a circle. Moving with the beat, she stepped forward, then back, keeping Connor beside her at all times in their own modified version of a two-step. To Derrick’s delight, Connor said something that made her laugh.

I’ll be damned.

It was the first time in—how long?—since he’d seen Connor enjoying himself.

“Pretty good, huh?” Danita said into Derrick’s ear.

“Yeah.” He wasn’t sure if she meant Kara or Connor. Either way, he was impressed.

“Come on,” Hannah said. “Let’s join them.” She grabbed Derrick’s hand and tugged him out onto the floor.

He slipped one hand into hers and put the other on her waist, taking the lead. He made sure to keep enough distance from Kara and Connor so as not to embarrass his son. God forbid.

But he was so proud of Connor. Thank you, Kara.

As the song ended, a rancher he knew cut in. Derrick handed Hannah over and tipped his hat, before going to sit down again. Beth and Danita had ordered another round of soft drinks.

A moment later, Kara accompanied Connor back to the table. She gave him a quick bow.

“Thanks, kiddo. You’re the best dance partner I’ve had in a long time.”

“Yeah, sure,” Connor said. He took a sip of his Coke, hiding his pleasure. “Hey, how about you, Dad?”

“Naw, I don’t want to dance with you.”

Connor threw a straw at him. “Dork.”

“Excuse me, ma’am.” A tall, blond cowboy wearing a pair of tight Wranglers and a belt buckle big enough to kill two ducks with one swing tipped his hat to Kara. “Would you care to dance?”

Derrick glared at the guy. To his surprise, Kara shook her head.

“Thanks, anyway,” she said. “But I’m taking a breather.”

“No problem.” The guy turned to Beth. “How about you, pretty lady?”

“Sloppy seconds, huh?”

The man’s face reddened. “No, ma’am, I—”

“I’m kidding,” Beth said, standing. “Let’s go, cowboy.”

The guy whirled her out onto the floor. Derrick wished he could have a few minutes alone with Kara, to thank her. “You’re a mighty fine dancer,” he said, hoping his eyes communicated his gratitude.

“Why, thank you.” Her smile said she got it.

Derrick glanced at his watch. Less than ten minutes left of his break. Before he could ask her to dance, the jukebox rang out a popular line dancing song, and Danita grabbed Kara by the hand.

“Come on. You’re not sitting this one out. You, too, Hannah.”

Kara gave him a “What’s a girl to do?” shrug.

“You can join us, Derrick,” Danita said.

“Naw, thanks. I’ve gotta get ready to go back on stage shortly.”

He watched as Kara moved out onto the floor, her hands tucked against her trim waist. He couldn’t take his eyes off her as she wriggled her cute butt in time to the music. He’d never much cared for line dancing, but maybe there was something to it after all. Kara looked sexy in her jeans, western-cut blouse and boots. With her hair in a French braid, she looked young enough to be carded.

Derrick still had a hard time grasping the fact she was a widow. Widows were supposed to be gray-haired senior citizens. He wondered what her husband had been like. Was he the reason Kara didn’t seem interested in dancing with any of the cowboys in the bar? The skinny guy in the spray-on jeans hadn’t been the first to ask her.

The line dance ended, and he stood. “You doing all right, son?”

“Yeah.”

“Need any more money?”

“I’m good.”

“See you next break, then.” Derrick paused beside Kara just before she reached the table.

He spoke into her ear. “Thanks for dancing with Connor.”

“Are you kidding? He’s a great kid.”

“Yeah, he is.” Derrick fought the urge to stall for time. His band was waiting. “See you in a bit.”

“Will do.”

Her smile stayed with him the rest of the night.

DERRICK FELL INTO BED, feeling the rewarding sort of exhaustion that always came after a night of performing. A glance at the clock told him he needed to be asleep. The sun would be up in about four hours, and he didn’t like sleeping in late when Connor was around. He’d rather be with his son, who’d never been the kind of kid to lie in bed ’til noon.

Derrick stretched out, lacing his hands behind his head on the pillow, letting the late-May breeze coming from the open window wash over him. He took pleasure in knowing that tonight his son slept under his roof and not Shelly’s. Still, thoughts of Kara wouldn’t let him sleep.

There was something about her that left him curious, wanting to know more.

He knew what it was, making him feel that way—that she’d lost her husband at such a young age. They’d both suffered the trauma of an unexpected accident. She’d lost her husband, and he’d lost the right to be a full-time father.

Derrick wished Shelly would give him more time with their son. Shelly had filled the primary role of raising Connor and that cut him deeply.

No matter.

He laughed dryly and pulled the blanket up over his waist. He was a living country song.

KARA GOT UP EARLY Sunday morning and dressed for church. Her attendance was sporadic, but Liz had phoned two days ago and asked if Kara would join her for this service, it being Memorial Day weekend.

“I’m just not up to driving today,” she’d said. “And you know Memorial Day was always so important to Bill.”

Evan’s father had spent years in the armed forces, and had died from health complications caused by his stint in Vietnam.

When would Liz realize she wasn’t the only grieving widow in the family, the only person with needs? But as soon as the thought was out, Kara felt guilty. The least she could do was be there for her mother-in-law, and playing chauffeur was not a lot to ask.

As Kara slipped into her old summer dress, she wondered if she wasn’t hoping to atone for her sin of the night before—thinking things about Derrick she had no business thinking. She’d been unable to get him off her mind all night. His voice had sent delicious shivers up her spine.

Being such a huge country music fan, she couldn’t believe she was lucky enough to have a neighbor who crooned to her. At least, that’s what it had felt like as Derrick sang.

What are you thinking?

Kara cringed.

She reached for her bible, then headed out the door.

Minutes later, she pulled up in front of Liz’s modest brick house. To Kara, the place always seemed swallowed by the enormous lawn—something else Kara took care of for her mother-in-law. The riding lawn mower Bill had left behind terrified the older woman.

A whiff of Chanel Number Five preceded Liz into the truck. Kara greeted her, then headed for the small, white-frame church in Sage Bend’s four-block downtown.

“Want to get a bite to eat?” Kara asked after the service.

Liz pulled a compact from her purse and checked her coral lipstick. “I don’t know…I felt a bit clammy earlier. Do you think I look pale? I was hoping this new lipstick would help put some color in my face.” She touched her cheek. “Blush, too.”

“You look fine,” Kara said.

At fifty-five, Liz was a pretty woman with a curvy figure. Her auburn hair—thick and wavy like Evan’s—was cut in a neat low-maintenance bob. Liz was as smart as a whip and, when she put her mind to it, she had a sharp sense of humor. In spite of her neediness, Liz was quite a catch. Kara was sure the many good qualities she saw in her mother-in-law were things men were also bound to notice and find attractive.