Page 7 of His Tenth Dance

Then she opened her mouth and prayed the right thing would come out.

three

Mission’s heart had been replaced with a sack of flour. His chest constricted against it, and he struggled to find a way to keep breathing. He managed to look over to Hannah too, beyond irritated that Kristie had looked to her for—what? Permission?

The seconds of silence stretched into an eternity, each one feeling like a dagger to his pride. This was why he hadn’t asked Kristie out before.

Panic surged through him, and he wished his granddad had just kept his mouth closed. He couldn’t stand to get rejected in front of his grandfather, Hannah, and everyone else at this party.

Hisparty—this was supposed to behisparty.

He whipped his hand into his pocket, where his very still and silent phone sat. “Oh, Deacon’s calling me.” He rose to his feet and turned his back on the table, the need to get away from her before she told him no like an impossible-to-reach itch.

Before he could take a step, he spun back to the table. He took a deep breath, and his courage returned. He deliberately looked past Kristie to Hannah. “And hey, I was thinkin’ me and you could go to dinner together too, Hannah. If you’d like to.”

Her eyes widened, but she said, “Sure,” easily and without hesitation, which salvaged his pride. Her gaze flicked over to Kristie, who still sat there like he’d flicked icy lemon juice in her face, and back to him.

He nodded, glared at his granddad, and wouldn’t let himself look at Kristie before he turned again. This time, he stumbled over his own blasted boots, but somehow managed to stay upright.

Curses flew through his mind, but Mission made it around the corner. His chest heaved as he pressed his back to the warmed wood there and let his eyes drift closed.

He could only imagine Kristie’s expression right now. Or the way she may have huddled together with Hannah, the two of them whispering about him.

Him.

His worst nightmare—being talked about.

Mission couldn’t stay here, and he couldn’t simply abandon the party. He opened his eyes, his gaze landing on the medical barn. He pushed away from the wall, his destination singular now.

Once inside the barn, Mission leaned against the wall, the cool, familiar scent of hay and leather surrounding him, offering a small comfort.

“Seriously,” he chastised himself. “What were you thinking?” He shrugged out of that too-tight coat and removed his cowboy hat. He ran his hand through his hair, trying to settle down enough to find the nerve to return to the party.

The weight of his insecurities pressed down on him, pancaking him into the ground. Something about Kristie had made his mouth dry for months now. Made him eat more turkey sandwiches, his thoughts stuck on the time—the only time—he’d done so with her. Made him talk about her with Granddad—and look where that had gotten him.

The sound of the door to the medical barn opening put Mission on high alert. Not that he could do anything about it; he couldn’t hide anywhere in the small barn. He straightened up, composing his features into what he hoped made a neutral expression. The last thing he needed was for someone to see him wallowing.

To his surprise, Kristie poked her head into the barn. “Mission, there you are.”

Could that be relief in her voice?

Don’t be stupid, he told himself.

She seemed to be trying to catch her breath as she pressed one hand almost to her throat, her chest rising and falling quickly. “I should’ve known.”

“You should’ve known I’d be in the medical barn?” Mission's heart rate picked up again at the saltiness in his own voice, and he raised his chin slightly. At the same time, he let his gaze draw down over her pretty purple sweater, the hip-swell of her jeans, to those cowgirl boots.

“I like your boots,” he said, his eyes darting all around now.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice crisp but kind, and that alone made Mission look at her again.

He swallowed even as the corners of her mouth tipped up. He had no idea what to do with a smile from her pointed in his direction.

“These are my favorite boots,” she said. “I?—”

Nope, not happening. “Look, Kristie, you don’t have to explain anything. Really. I understand if you’re not interested.”

Did he, though?

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