Page 18 of One Night Flame

Cord didn’t speak right away. Just watched me like the word itself told him something. Then, without breaking eye contact, he shoved back from the table and stood. “Let’s go.”

My brows lifted. “Go where?”

“You said you miss dancing.” He extended his hand. “Let’s go fix that.”

I stared at his hand, then back up at him. “Is this a line?”

His grin was a little lopsided. “If it were, it’d be smoother.”

A laugh caught in my chest as I took his hand. And the night stopped feeling like a one-off and started feeling like something else entirely.

SEVEN

CORD

The tires crunched over gravel as I pulled into the lot behind Doc Holliday’s, headlights skimming over the faded hitching post out front and the string lights that always looked like they’d been hung by a drunk cowboy with a ladder phobia. The old neon sign buzzed above the door, casting a warm red glow that made the wooden façade look almost inviting. If you liked your bars with a side of saloon cosplay.

From the passenger seat, Lucy leaned forward, brow arching as she took it all in. “Wait. We’re going here?”

I threw her a sideways glance and smirked. “You said dancing. I deliver.”

She gave a little laugh, low and surprised, as I killed the engine. When I stepped out, she followed without hesitation. I grabbed her hand at the front of the truck, pleased when her fingers curled around mine.

“This place looks likeTombstoneandNashvillehad a love child,” she murmured.

“Never been before?”

She shook her head, and I wondered how it was she’d lived here a year and hadn’t hit up two of the biggest hang out spots intown. But I didn’t want to kill the mood, so I didn’t ask and dragged her inside instead.

That smile she’d been wearing all night kicked up a notch as she took in the swinging half doors. The iron lantern-style sconces. The oversized poster of Val Kilmer as Doc himself framed on one wall like sacred art. She looked at the place like it was a damn theme park. Like she’d found something she didn’t even know she was missing. That grin alone was worth the detour. And hell if it didn’t make me want to find more ways to earn another one just like it.

Inside was loud and warm and alive in that way Doc Holliday’s always managed—somewhere between dive bar and honky tonk, with just enough crushed peanut shells underfoot to make boots feel like the perfect footwear.

The band was already mid-song, the fiddler going hard and the lead singer belting something about heartbreak and whiskey over a steady two-step rhythm. The place was packed with locals, regulars, tourists who’d stumbled in and decided to stay.

I felt Lucy slow beside me, that hesitation tightening her shoulders. She scanned the crowd, taking it all in, her fingers twitching slightly in mine.

“Been a while?” I asked, leaning close so she could hear me over the music.

She gave a sheepish nod. “I don’t even remember the steps.”

“That’s all right.” I stopped near the edge of the dance floor and squeezed her hand. “Just follow me.”

She looked at our joined hands like they were a test she hadn’t studied for. Then, slowly, she stepped toward me.

I guided her in close—just enough to feel the heat of her body, the tension coiled in it—and started us into the rhythm. Nothing fancy. Just the basic two-step. One, two, quick-quick. Simple.

Her steps were hesitant, her movements tight. I let hersettle. Gave her room to figure it out. We made a slow circle near the edge of the dance floor, and I kept my hand firm at her waist, steady enough that she didn’t have to overthink.

On the second pass, she stumbled, just a little, and immediately flushed, eyes darting up to mine.

“Sorry—”

“Hey.” I gave her the kind of smile I’d learned could calm a lot more than nerves. “You’re doing great.”

She didn’t say anything. But she didn’t pull back either, just kept following my lead.

The song shifted into something slower, easier. Less about fancy footwork, more about feel. A steel guitar eased into the lead, the bass rolling smooth beneath it, and I felt the change ripple through her.

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