They stood as if waiting for a table to open, watching the couple play pool. When the woman looked over at them, Stacy said, “Hi. I think we saw you Friday night. At the meeting about the ski area expansion?”
“It was so dark out there, I could hardly recognize anyone,” the man said.
“I remember those fabulous boots,” Stacy said.
The woman said, “People always remember my boots.” She offered her hand. “I’m Carly.”
“I’m Stacy, and this is Connor.”
“Forest,” the man said.
“Good to meet you,” Connor said.
“How do y’all know Shane?” Stacy asked.
“We don’t,” Forest said. “Not really.”
“We saw a notice about the meeting online,” Carly said. “We wanted to hear more about what people are doing to preserve Blaine Mountain.”
“What did you think?” Connor asked.
“I volunteered to work with a woman who is gathering signatures on a petition,” Carly said. “And we plan to show up at the rally on MLK day.”
Forest leaned over to take his next shot. “I’m not down with stuff at the resort itself,” he said. “I don’t think it’s cool to deliberately try to mess up people’s vacations.”
“I read in the local paper that people who are against the expansion have been vandalizing resort property,” Carly said. “That’s not right.”
“I heard a rumor some people were planning something big for MLK weekend,” Stacy said. “Something besides impeding traffic on the ski runs. I wondered if you heard anything like that.”
They shook their heads. “Maybe they were talking about the rally,” Carly said. “I heard there’s going to be a band and everything.”
“This sounded more sinister,” Stacy said. “Maybe involving explosives.”
“That sounds like something you ought to report to the sheriff,” Forest said.
“You’re right,” Connor said. He took Stacy’s arm. “We should do that.” He pulled her away from the table.
“What are you doing?” Stacy pulled away from him.
“Did you see the way they were looking at us?” he asked. “They’re going to be calling the sheriff themselves if you don’t stop talking about explosives.”
“I was trying to see if they’d volunteer some gossip of their own,” she said.
“You heard them—they’re definitely all about peaceful protests. And they don’t know Shane or his friends.”
She looked around the room for anyone else she recognized. “Maybe we should get a drink. Someone at the bar might have something interesting to say.” She frowned toward the bar, where people waited three deep for a drink.
“Why don’t we dance instead?” He took her arm again.
The lively two-step didn’t provide an opportunity for more conversation or for studying the crowd. Stacy told herself one dance wouldn’t hurt. It made her cover of being on a date more realistic. And Connor was as good a dancer as she remembered. He smiled at her, and she couldn’t help smiling in return. For these few minutes, at least, she could be happy, dancing in the arms of a handsome man.
The song ended, and she released his hand and started to step away, but he pulled her close as the music started again. “One more,” he said.
The song was a slow one, a love song with a soaring melody. Connor pulled her closer, and she settled against him, their clasped hands resting on his chest, his other hand at the small of her back, hers on his shoulder. The heat of him enfolded her, his scent surrounding her. “You smell so good,” she said.
He dipped his head to the curve of her neck. “So do you.”
She hadn’t had a thing to drink, but she had the same sensation of floating a little apart from her body. She turned her head, and her lips hovered beside his, tingling as if a current arced between them. They had stopped moving, other couples twirling around them, and she could no longer hear the music or the voices of the crowd. His eyes met hers, so dark they were almost black, his gaze penetrating.
