Jimmy laughs. “Oh, he’s stepped in some shit if she’s texting you.”
Mary Lou raises her brow at me. “I see, youarethe reason she wants her auntie to come help, huh?”
“She’s pissed at me about Cloud.”
“You still won’t let her ride?”
I shake my head. “No. He’s unstable.”
Jimmy snorts. “Like you, then?”
I flip him off. “Shut up, asshole.”
Mary Lou chimes in. “Okay, so if not Cloud, then why not another horse?”
My stomach drops, because this is the same argument everyone has. “She’s not ready for that either.”
More like I’m not ready. I’ll never be ready, even though I know I can’t stop her forever.
If I’m honest, I’m shocked she hasn’t done it behind my back already. Maybe she has and I don’t know, but Sadie isn’t that way. She gets mad, blusters at me, fights about how stupid I am, but she’s never been outwardly defiant.
Our relationship has always been close, and I have to trust that if she was riding any horse behind my back, she wouldn’t be fighting me so hard to allow her to.
“I see,” Mary Lou notes with a smirk. “I’m here now, and I’ll fix your fuckup, Tristan Stone.”
“I’m going to bet that’s not possible.”
“Maybe not, but I’ll at least try. Now you can return my unending generosity and kindness by dancing with me,” Mary Lou informs me.
I look at the dance floor, which Lark has left, and back to her. “It’s a couples dance.”
“As most good country line dances are. Now up you go.” She looks to Jimmy. “You too. Suzanne is over there, and she needs a partner.”
Suzanne was dancing with Lark. I should’ve guessed that they all came together. Lark, Mary Lou, and Suzanne were always close friends. If Mary Lou is back, she’d of course want to come out for drinks and dancing.
“I’m sure there are plenty of men who would dance with you,” I tell her.
“Yes, there are, but I picked you, lucky bastard you are.”
Where Emmy Jo was sweet and timid, her sister is the complete opposite. Mary Lou is wild, unpredictable, and a little bit of a mess, but she has a heart as big as the sky and she doesn’t take no for an answer.
Regardless of my lack of desire to dance, we both know I’m going to cave. I might as well look like a man when doing it.
“One dance,” I tell her.
Her smile grows, as does the ache in my chest. She looks like her sister, all wild blond hair and big doe eyes, and I fucking hate it.
Forcing down the thoughts, I extend my hand and lead her out to the dance floor. Just then the song ends, and the bar shifts into a version of a barn dance.
“No,” I say quickly, hating this fucking dance more than anything.
You form two circles, with men on the inside ring, women on the outside, facing each other. You take a couple of steps, and then the women’s ring circles to the right, forcing us all to dance with as many people as we can for a three-minute song—if the DJ is nice that night. Normally they extend it, so the fucking dance never ends.
“Oh, stop being such a baby. It’s a dance. You know everyone here, and there are always more women than men. Suck it up, big brother.”
I’m going to make her pay for this.
She takes both my hands in hers, grinning in her triumph as the song begins. Holding Mary Lou’s hand, I take two steps to the right. Two steps to the left. Then I stop, kick my right ankle, then my left, face to the right, bump hips, and spin her to the next man in line.
