Page 5 of More Than an Ex-Girlfriend

He taps the table. “Maybe one day you can ask your ex about it. You know, if you bump into her somewhere. Possibly.”

I can’t imagine any scenario where I’d even see my ex from afar, let alone bump into her. “I’m not going to bump into her. Since my grandma’s funeral, I haven’t been back to my hometown. No reason to go there anymore. So there’s no chance I’ll see Lettie.” I take a swig of my beer. “You going to dance? There are a few ladies who have been watching you since we walked in here.”

As soon as I utter the words, one of the women who has been eyeing Dag walks up behind him and rubs her hands all over him. They wander off to the dance floor, and I slide my phone out of my pocket.

Crocheting-Cowboy: You inspired me. I’m actually out with a friend tonight instead of sitting at home alone. I don’t think an ideal world exists. The real world is a mix of good and bad, and I just hope that there is more of the good.

And to your question, chatting with me absolutely counts. Bravery isn’t always fighting dragons. Sometimes it’s just picking up the phone.

I’m proud of you for taking steps.

So when you aren’t working early in the morning or moving on from your bad choice, what do you like to do?

Just as I hit send, Dag comes back to the table. Goldie is here on a date, so that causes a bit of awkwardness, but Dag handles it like a gentleman. Mostly. Now that she’s out dancing with her date, Dag’s staring, his jealousy obvious to everyone except himself and Goldie.

That’s when I decide I’m not going to sit on this barstool all night.

When I stand, Dag raises an eyebrow.

“I’m going to ask someone to dance. You good?”

He nods. “I’m just watching out for Goldie. In case she needs me. Have fun.” After a quick survey of the room, he asks, “Who you going to ask?”

I spot a woman probably old enough to be my grandmother. She’s standing next to a table, wiggling her hips to the music. It’s likely she’ll say yes and also that she won’t expect me to call her after a couple turns around the dance floor, which is exactly what I want. So I nod in her direction. “I’m thinking that lady.”

Dag shakes his head. “You’re crazy. I’d stay far away from her if I were you. You are young and good-looking. You don’t need to ask old ladies to dance. Lots of women here would say yes. If you want, I can introduce you to Regina.”

“Not interested.” I haven’t dated lots of women, but that woman is trouble with a capital T.

I wander over to the white-haired lady. I’ve seen her around town. The other ranch hands are terrified of her, but she’s never done or said anything offensive to me.

“Evening, ma’am. Would you care to dance?”

Her eyes light up, and a wide smile shows off creases, making me think she smiles often. “I would absolutely love that.”

She’s short, and I have to lean down a little, but we fall into rhythm and two-step to the music.

After three songs, I lead her back to her table. “Thank you. Can I buy you a drink?” I figure that’s a polite thing to do.

“No thanks. I’m headed out soon. Thank you for dancing with me. Most nights, I get to watch other people do what I enjoy, so this was a treat.” She inches closer. “And I don’t believe I’ve ever had the chance to ask you. How would you feel about taking off that shirt and letting someone photograph you for one of my book covers. Young cowboys are hot right now.” She laughs. “Dallas will have my hide if he finds out I’m asking another one of his friends about pictures.”

Now I know why she’s familiar. And why the other guys make themselves scarce when she’s around.

But my reasons for saying no are completely different from my fellow ranch hands. And I try to mask my inner turmoil as I answer. “No one would want to see pictures of me with my shirt off. I enjoyed dancing with you. Have a good night.” Losing my parents as a boy was hard. Seeing a reminder of it every day is even harder.

She catches my arm, concern etched on her face. “Sometimes my mouth runs faster than my brain. And I’m sorry for what flickered in your eyes. I didn’t mean to cause you any pain.”

“No need to blame yourself. You didn’t know. And I won’t mention it to Dallas.” I give her a nudge and a wink, hoping to end our interaction in a lighthearted way.

“I like you...” She trails off the last word, squinting.

“Excuse my manners, ma’am. I’m Archer.”

“Please call me Tandy. Ma’am makes me feel old. Shoot. Getting out of bed makes me feel old some days.” Mischief twinkles in her eyes, and she pats my arm. “If you ever need relationship help, you come find me. I have a knack for matchmaking.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

She wiggles her finger. “Don’t just say that to be polite. I mean it. You can ask Kent and Poppy. They’ll tell you.”

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