Page 44 of Fragile Heart

Apparently going out in Denver means something different than here in Wyoming.

I’d expected to see her in a pair of jeans and a dressy top, similar to what I’d donned or what most people wore to the rodeo a couple weekends ago. Instead, she’d walked onto the porch in a black pencil skirt with a side slit nearly up to her hip and a lacy top that shows off a simple purple bralette underneath.

It’s a good thing I hadn’t gotten a chance to get out of the truck to open her door. Otherwise we probably wouldn’t have made it all the way to one of my favorite bars in Jackson.

We’ve spent the last hour or so sitting at one of the high top tables scattered around the edges of the place. And now I’ve spent the last five minutes trying to convince her to dance a bit with me. It’s not something I’ve ever had a woman resist before.

“You don’t need to know any of the steps,” I say, holding out my hand. Her gaze lands on it like it’s a snake readying to strike. “There’s tons of other people just learning how to do the dances.”

She purses her lips. I take a step closer to her as the music changes. I palm her waist and pull her into me until every inch of her torso touches mine. She’s so damn tiny.

“I’ll step on you,” she says. Her voice doesn’t have any fight in it, though.

“No you won’t,” I assure her. She cocks an eyebrow. It takes all my control to not smirk. I’ve just about convinced her. “A good partner that can lead makes all the difference.”

An emotion flashes across her face, moving too quickly for me to identify. Her look grows more brittle than before. I cup her chin and trace her lips with my thumb.

“You’ll have fun with me,” I whisper. “I promise.”

Her eyes search mine, and I hold my breath as I take a step away from her and hold my hand palm up again in silent request. She breathes a heavy sigh as she rests her palm against mine. I don’t waste a second, guiding her until we’re in the middle of the dance floor, out of the way of the more experienced dancers that’ll take up the edges.

It’s like the DJ knows I’m trying to convince her that dancing can be fun because the song slowly fades out, morphing into something slower and more sultry, clearly intended to have couples partnering up.

I wrap my arm around her waist, keeping her pressed against me, as I lead her into a simple two step. She relaxes into me after the first bit of the verse, the worry in her eyes melting away.

“How was the fire?” she asks.

“Big,” I say. “It’s been really dry this year, so it’s pretty easy for them to get out of control.”

She nods. I guide her into a spin, and she giggles for a heartbeat. I can’t help but grin, happiness lighting my chest.

“Will you have to go back out?” she asks as I gather her into my arms again.

I shrug. “Maybe. It’ll depend. My lead knows I’m not really wanting to work more than a week at a time if I can help it. Which is only something I can manage because I’ve been doing this for so long. Before we had Cam, I’d be gone all summer.”

She tilts her head but doesn’t say anything.

“So, if after my reset, it’s still needing air support, I’ll probably go back. But between now and then, lots can change. I wouldn’t be surprised if we see several more fires start before July Fourth.”

“How long is your reset?” she asks.

The song fades out, and I ease us into a dance that matches the new song’s tempo a bit better. She stumbles a bit, and I apologize. She shakes her head and bites her lip.

“A week.” I focus on answering her question because otherwise I’m going to have her pinned to the bathroom wall in the back of this place like she’s a casual fuck and not my literal soulmate. Even the thought has my dick getting interested. I search for something else to chat about.

“Camden mentioned you hung out yesterday,” I offer.

She smiles, a light in her eyes I haven’t seen before as she nods.

“You’re really comfortable with him.” I let the unasked question hang between us.

“My closest friend in Denver has twin girls. I’ve known them since they were born.” She shrugs. “I’m pretty used to being the aunt.”

She hadn’t lost a child in the wreck that killed her husband, then. Thank God.

“What about being the mom?” I ask.

She stops dead, her eyes widening. I don’t push her, don’t try to get her dancing again. But I don’t drop my arms, either, keeping as much of my skin on hers. I trace her chin with my thumb, and her throat ripples with a swallow.

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