Page 17 of His Tenth Dance

“Do they?”

“Sure,” he said. “My friends; people who know me.”

She bumped him with her hip. “I guess it’s better than ‘kitten’.”

Mission made a choking sound, his hand tightening in hers. “That just came out,” he said. “I don’t….” He trailed off, a somewhat frustrated sigh seeping from between his lips a moment later.

“Well, I’d say I don’t have to call you that, but I kind of liked it.”

“What made you think of the word kitten?” She slowed as they approached the first booth, which had wood-burned crafts.

“The cats acting as sentinels in your front window,” Mission said. “And maybe a touch of panic.”

She smiled over to him and moved to the next booth. “That magazine said the music starts at nine-thirty.”

“Yeah,” he said. “If you don’t want to stay that long, it’s fine.”

“Will there be dancing?” She reached out and touched one of the dog bandanas in the next booth—everything for pets, including bedazzled collars and leashes, as well as treats for cats, dogs, and horses.

“I’m not sure,” Mission said just as casually as she’d asked. “Would you dance with me if there was?”

Her mind fractured for a moment, part of it flying back to the one and only time he’d asked her to dance at Opal Hammond’s wedding.

“Yes, I would,” she said.

“Then I hope there’s a dance floor,” he said. “You never really gave me a chance to show you my dance skills.”

“Oh, you have dance skills?”

He leaned closer, and the nearness of him made her shiver. “I have so many skills you don’t know about.” He straightened, gave her a sexy smile, and stopped in front of the next booth.

“Maybe my granddad would like a new wallet.” He picked up one such item, then set it down a moment later. “Who am I kidding? He likes to pick out his own things, and he’s very picky.”

Kristie nudged him with her hip again. “He reminds me of you.”

“You think so?” He looked over to her. “You think I’m stubborn?”

“I think you like things done a certain way.”

“On the job, sure,” he said. “There is a right way—and a procedure—for how things are done on the farm.” He shot her another grin and sauntered toward the next booth, gently tugging her along with him. “But I’m not nearly so rigid in my personal life.”

“If you say so,” she said, very aware of the teasing, flirtatious tone of her voice. Jocelyn would be so proud, and she’d never be able to tell Lennie about this shameless behavior. Harper would tell her to lay it on even thicker, and she focused on the next booth down, looking away from Mission to hopefully hide her smile.

“At the risk of me bringing up your shoes again,” he said. “You’re the one wearing…questionable footwear for dancing.”

Kristie looked down at her flowery Crocs. “I love these shoes. I can do anything in them.”

“Making a mental note of that,” Mission said, his Flirt set on high too. Kristie realized she hadn’t truly allowed herself to see any other side of him, other than the stoic, observant, quiet cowboy who’d once insulted her boots.

“Tell me what you like to do when you’re not on the farm.”

“Ah, let’s see.” Mission exhaled out and looked up into the sky. “I like to go horseback riding. Play the guitar. Find new restaurants and try them out.” He glanced over to her. “You?”

“Have you ever done the Dancing Wolves Trail—it’s horseback only, and absolutely incredible.”

Mission stopped right in the middle of the walkway, with plenty of people streaming past them on both sides. “I’ve done it a few times with Deacon. It is beautiful up there.” He tilted his head at her, curiosity burning in those dark, dreamy eyes. “Do you have a horse that can handle that trail?”

Kristie swallowed, sudden nerves bumping in the pulse in her neck. “I go with friends,” she said.

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