"You wanna go?" I look up and meet those blue eyes that are so damn easy to get lost in. "You know there's a formal dinner, right? Black tie."

"I know, stupid," she whips her bar towel so it snaps against my arm. "Everybody knows about the Expo. Just tell me what days, so I can get them off work."

"We'll drive out on Thursday, come home Sunday. Dinner's on Friday night, but there's stuff going on all weekend, so bring a couple changes of clothes-- and uh, your dress."

She's already typing the dates into the schedule on the computer. Mercy's been working here since the place opened, she's got seniority. If she wants the dates off, she'll get 'em.

This is when I realize how fucked I really am.

A full weekend away with Mercy Jean by my side without touching her any of the ways I want to.

At least we'll have separate rooms at the hotel.

It's gonna hurt, but at least I won't die.

Probably.

Chapter Two

Mercy

The annual expo over in Waterford Plains gets a lot of talk every year. It's a small event that's only open to the members of the regional Farm and Ranch Association-- which counts for a lot of Slow River's population, but not everyone.

Scoring a ticket is cause for bragging. Unless, of course, you're one of the members who get to go every year. Or, like Lance, your family is one of thefoundingmembers of the association and you don't justgetto go-- you're expected to.

He grumbled all the way here, while I enjoyed the four hour road trip, having full control over the music that I blasted from the speakers in Lance's truck.

Despite his grumbling about being "voluntold" that he was representing his family's ranch at the event this year, I can tell he's more excited than he's letting on.

Lance and I have been friends a long time. There's not much I don't know about him. Except for why he refuses to date.

I've offered to set him up with a couple of girls from work a few times-- lord knows enough of my co-workers pester me about introducing them to my "hot, cowboy friend," as they keep putting it-- but he always refuses.

So then I offered to set him up with a couple ofguysI know-- which went over like a squeeze of wet hay. Lance assured me repeatedly that's not the reason I've never seen him with a girl. Other than me, that is, but I don't count. We're just friends.

Which is good, because I'm playing with the idea that maybe I could meet someone this weekend. Somebody who's not from Slow River. Some guy who doesn't just see me as the same tomboy with skinned knees and a chipped tooth that he's known his whole life.

Someone who sees me as a woman.

Because I'm not getting any younger, and there's not any sense in holding out when the only guy I've ever considered thinks of me as just another one of the guys.

"So you're gonna wear a tux, eh?" I can't resist the urge to peek inside the heavy garment bag he has hanging on the hook behind my seat along with the one that holds my dress.

Lance grunts as he turns into the hotel parking lot.

"Yeah, that's what guys wear to formal shit. Your dress is long, right?"

As we gather our things for the short stay in Waterford, I take the opportunity to kick him in the shin since my hands are full.

"Duh. I know what formal means. I looked up pictures from last year's dinner online and asked Singer Kelly for pointers. I got my end covered. Just making sure your idea of 'formal' isn't a pair of black Wranglers and a bolo tie."

Lance hip checks me in return as we walk into the hotel lobby.

"It's a tux, smart ass. With a real bow tie."

I give him a low whistle, "A'real'bow tie? I'm impressed."

The hotel is a nice one-- for Waterford. It has four floors and was built in the early nineteen hundreds, shortly after the town was established, although there's a plaque in the lobby that saysit was fully remodeled twenty years ago and now features "all modern conveniences."