Page 19 of His Tenth Dance

Because she was with him.

The song ended, and another began. This one had a faster tempo, and Mission stepped back, a sly grin on his face. “Can you really dance in those Crocs?”

She put her hands in his, ready for the swing dance several other couples had already begun. “I told you, these are my dancing shoes.”

“Let’s see then.” Mission pulled her toward him, whooping like the pure country cowboy he was. Kristie laughed, the noise flowing out of her mouth in a steady stream that honestly barely sounded like her.

She hadn’t danced like this in a long time, as she thought she’d gone past the age where she could let loose in a public park and do so. But dance she did, grinning as Mission spun her effortlessly and always, always brought her right back to him. Even if she’d stumbled, Mission wouldn’t have let her fall.

Her phone rang again just as the song ended, and she ignored it once more as she fell into Mission’s arms, trying to catch her breath.

“Well, those shoes passed the test, kitten.” He swept his lips along her temple. “Answer your phone, okay? It’s making me anxious, and I don’t believe it’s not bothering you too.”

“It’s probably nothing,” she said, as several minutes had passed between calls. The moment she stopped speaking, her phone buzzed again.

“I’m going to take it out of your pocket,” he said, and it sounded like a warning.

She gaped at him. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I don’t care if you answer it.”

The new song that had started was a piano solo, and Kristie tugged her phone out of her pocket and edged off the dance floor. She frowned at the name on the screen—Johnny Clovis—and she tilted it toward Mission, who’d come with her.

“What could he want?”

“Another man you never answered?” Mission teased, though he had to know Johnny was ten years older than him and happily married. “Answer him.” He pointed to the screen. “He’s called three times.”

Kristie swiped on the call, her heartbeat suddenly flinging itself against her ribcage. “Johnny?” she asked. “What’s going on?”

“Praise the Lord you answered,” he breathed out. “I’ve got a mare in labor, and the placenta appeared before the foal.”

Kristie turned and started walking away immediately. “How long ago?” He’d called three times, and regret lanced through her like a hot knife. “We knew she was going into labor about fifteen minutes ago, but Alan just now saw the placenta.”

“I’m in downtown Ivory Peaks,” she said, glancing over when Mission caught up to her. “I can be there in ten minutes, and I’ll stay on the phone with you and Alan to direct you.”

Mission jogged ahead of her to get the truck door’s unlocked and himself in the driver’s seat. “Put gloves on,” she said as she ran to catch up. She didn’t want to leave the lights and music behind, but she couldn’t stay on a date when a mare and her foal could possibly pass away.

“You need to sterilize a pair of scissors, and?—”

“I know what to do,” Johnny said. “I still want you here as fast as possible, but we’ll try to get the foal out as quick as we can.”

“I’ll get there as fast as I can,” she promised, and she launched herself into Mission’s truck and slammed the door. “Tell me everything you’re doing; everything you see.” She nodded to Mission, who wasted no time in getting them away from the Summer Stroll.

Kristie hated that their first date had to end this way, but she hoped she could still somehow get another dinner and dancing invitation from Mission once she delivered this foal and made sure the mama mare was okay.

seven

Opal Crow stood in her kitchen, a small smile on her face as she stirred the potato salad one final time. She’d been up since five that morning baking, chopping, and preparing the perfect Sabbath Day feast. The smell of slow-roasted beef filled the farmhouse kitchen, mingling with the scent of fresh-baked rolls and the apple pie cooling in the windowsill—just the way her grandma Hammond had done.

“Steele just texted to say they’ve left,” Tag said, his Alabama drawl wrapping around her like a warm blanket as he came up behind her and slid one hand along her waist.

“Great,” she said, abandoning the potato salad as it didn’t need to be stirred anyway. “Deacon’s bringing Mission, and Tuck and Bobbie Jo have Tarr with them.”

“Sounds like your idea of a great time.” Tag grinned at her as she faced him. “You feelin’ okay, honeybee?”

She nodded, though the scent of the mixed mayo and mustard had made her stomach turn that morning. And eggs? Forget about it. Opal would never eat another egg again.

His hand drifted down to rest lightly on her tiny baby bump, the one she’d kept covered with loose T-shirts and blouses in thepast couple of weeks. “Are you going to wait until we’re done eating to tell everyone?”

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