Her?She barely knew how to do small talk, unless it came with a regulation handbook and a polite nod expected of ladies at formal functions, that she’d pretty much mastered by the age of twelve.But she could watch the stockmen—how they moved from table to table, especially those that talked in the shadows.
She narrowed her eyes at Stone, unconvinced, while quite comfortable sitting here.‘Are you going to stand on my toes or rip the hem of my gown?’
‘Nope.Just a dance.’Stone’s grin widened.
Amara crossed her arms, leaning back in her chair.‘How can I trust that it’s not some ruse?’
This was Stone, after all—the squad’s teaser and general office menace.He’d once swapped out her mouse for a rubber snake.And the week before that, he’d rearranged her filing labels into movie quotes.Trust wasn’t exactly their thing.
‘Unless you want me to fall to my knees and pretend I’m proposing to you in front of the entire room, Duchess, take my hand now.’
‘Go on, Montrose, I’ll have your back if he tries anything.’Porter gave a nod.
She hesitantly placed her hand in Stone’s and reluctantly let him guide her onto the dance floor—a wide timber platform laid out beneath the stars.It was ringed with fairy lights, crowded with couples and a few line dancers doing their thing.
‘How are you liking the small-town ball?’
‘It’s not what I expected.’
‘Obviously, if you’re wearing a ballgown worth more than a wedding dress,’ Stone murmured, his voice low enough to blend with the music.
Amara shot him a glare, even as he steered her through a gentle turn.‘And you spend your time flicking through bridal magazines to know the prices, huh?’
Stone grinned like he was enjoying this a little too much.‘Hanging out with Porter is good for you.You’re starting to lighten up.’
Her steps faltered.She didn’t know how to respond to that.When she’d thought Stone was showing small, teeny increments of improvement by being with Romy.
Instead, she glanced around the room, searching for a distraction, but Stone’s hand stayed firm at her back, guiding her through the next slow turn.
‘Made any friends yet?’he asked, his tone casual, even as he smoothly sidestepped a passing couple.
She shrugged.‘This isn’t really my crowd.’Too many memories of nights like these, and none of them fond ones either.
‘Look, I’m sorry about your horse.Just know, we’ll do everything we can to get him back.’
Amara’s throat tightened as they moved around the dance floor.‘I can’t keep him,’ she muttered the bitter tasting words.‘Lot 728 has to go back to his owners in Queensland.’A harsh lesson to never get attached again.
‘I know about your other horses.The ones that were stolen.’His voice softened, while his hold on her remained steady.‘It’s why you became a cop, right?’
She nodded, unable to look at him.
‘It’s what makes you a good one, too, Amara.’
‘Where’s the Duchess nametag?’He rarely said her name, unless he wanted something.
Stone smirked, leading her through another smooth sweep across the dance floor with his hand at her waist, effortlessly keeping her upright.He’d been trained well.
‘What’s the joke?’she hissed.
‘No joke.You’ve got something Craig and I don’t have—you’re a bona fide officer of the law.’Stone guided her through another smooth turn with ease.‘You also know station work, but from the unique point of view of the managers’ and owners’ side—where you can relate to the families that way.And you know how to chase paperwork, people, and clues.Without you?This squad wouldn’t run half as smooth.’
‘Who are you?’
Stone shrugged, with that grin curling back into place.‘Listen, Duchess—’
‘Yes, Pebbles?’She narrowed her eyes.
He chuckled.‘Knew you had a sense of humour in there somewhere.And for the record, I only call you Duchess as a compliment.If it bothers you—well, sorry.’
