What Not to Were (6 page)

She fought a rush of tears. If she never had anything or anyone else, she had Ezra. “
Always-always—forever-forever
,” she repeated, her throat tight, before pulling him down the steps and heading off toward the VFW hall.

* * * *

“Wow,” Nash murmured when she met him at the front of the hall.

Yeah. Wow. She really felt wow. All while she’d gotten ready, taking her time applying her makeup, curling her hair, she’d anticipated putting the dress back on.

When she’d slipped it on again, her troubles, her fears, almost totally melted away. They’d become a distant, hazy memory. Pairing the dress with some cute, open-toed black heels, she’d felt about as close to euphoric as she ever had.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Ezra said cheerfully, clapping Nash on his broad back. “Now, you two, I’m out. Agnes is in for a big surprise when she finds out her old Jell-O nemesis is on the hunt. Be good to my girl—or you’ll have me to reckon with.”

Nash smiled down at her grandfather and offered him a hand. “You be kind to Agnes, Ezra. You know how she feels about her Jell-O. Besides, you’ll probably be too busy chasing Greta and her hot new whistle.”

Ezra’s eyes lit up, his tufts of white hair glowing around his tanned face. “Is she inside?”

Nash nodded, his black Stetson tipping downward, making him look rakish and even sexier than he already was. “She is, and she looks pretty good tonight, Ezra. All dressed up like the prom queen.”

“Woohoo!” he shouted, doing a little dance before he winked at Calla. “Gotta run, kids! I won’t leave the midnight oil burning for ya, Calla!”

Nash’s chuckle rumbled in her ears as Ezra dove through the doors to the dance. “I sure hope I’m as spry as he is when I’m…how old is he again?”

“Three hundred and six and a half.” Her grandfather was nothing if not feisty, flirtatious and always up for a little skirt chasing.

It had taken him a long time to get over her grandma Lettie’s tragic and unexpected passing fifty years ago, after she’d been killed during a full-moon run by poachers, but he was coming around these days.

Nash nodded, pulling her close. “Right. I hope I still have that kind of game when I’m even half that age.”

“Your game is right on target,” she said, a little breathless now that she was able to take in all of him. He wore a pair of jeans, tight-fitting and black, to match his hat. His crisp white T-shirt, coupled with a black sport coat, enhanced his muscles in all the right places.

He held her at arms’ length, sweeping her frame with an appraising glance. “Forget me, look at you. You look beautiful tonight. Really beautiful.”

Standing on tiptoe, she planted a kiss on his lips, lingering for a moment when he skimmed his tongue against hers. “You like?”

“I like it so much, I propose we skip the dance,” he joked in his gruff, rumbly tone, slipping an arm around her waist and pulling her close again.

She leaned back in his arms and shook a finger at him. “You’re not getting out of a two-step, buddy. Besides, I hear they have corn dogs. We both know how you feel about corn dogs.”

He let his arm fall from her waist, his eyes amused. “Oh. In that case, forget it. Get a move on, slowpoke. Better hurry before Howie Henderson eats them all. Damn warlock eats like he’s never had a meal.”

Calla giggled, following him inside the hall where laughter tinkled and music played. The hall looked incredible. Small globe lights hung from the ceiling, giving the enormous room a dreamy glowing effect. Stacks of hay bales with freshly carved pumpkins on top of them lined the walls.

Bowls of orange and yellow punch were on the serving tables, along with trays and trays of food. Miniature fall leaves fluttered to the dance floor via a machine that shot them into the air, creating a swirl of fall ambience.

Daphne squealed from behind, tugging the skirt on Calla’s dress. “You look fantastic! I’m so glad you’re here.” She pulled Calla in for a hug before setting her away from her and whistling. “That dress makes you almost glow. It’s perfect.”

Calla blushed. Daphne was gorgeous, and blonde, and had a figure she’d consider killing her for if she wasn’t so warm and friendly. She always had a kind word, and her husband Fate wasn’t too hard to look at either.

Nash tipped his Stetson at her and grinned that delicious grin that made Calla’s toes curl. “Daphne, Fate, good to see you two out and about. Miss Daphne, you look mighty pretty tonight. Fate’s a lucky man.”

Daphne fanned herself with a cocktail napkin and grinned. “How do you feel about cowboy hats, honey?” she asked her husband.

Fate reached over his wife’s petite frame and took Calla’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “After all this time, it’s nice to finally meet the woman who added ten pounds to my scale,” he said in a teasing tone.

But then he pulled away as though touching her were distasteful. The moment was brief, but it was there before he masterfully hid it behind a weak lift of his lips.

Huh.

Calla fixed a smile on her face anyway, brushing off the odd first impression. Maybe Fate was just having a bad day. When you were responsible for everyone’s future, it had to take its toll. “Nice to meet you, too. Daphne told me your preference is the orange marmalade.”

He pointed a finger to his stomach, his expression back to light and easy. “Ate every last one of the six she brought home. You have a gift, Calla Allen. Ya done good, Ryder.” Fate slapped Nash on the back and chuckled.

Daphne shooed them with a flash of her ringed fingers. “So we’re going to let you two go…er,
mingle
. C’mon, good-looking. You owe me a little dirty dancin’.”

Fate wiggled his eyebrows at his wife. “Will I always live in Patrick Swayze’s shadow, m’love?” he asked on a laugh before grabbing Daphne’s hand and twirling her toward the dance floor.

Nash pulled her close as they watched the couple melt into the crowd. “So, can I interest you in a corn dog, pretty lady?”

Calla laughed. “Duh.”

Spinning her away from him, he led her out to the dance floor, where he paused and cocked his head as the music changed. “Is that our song? Huh. Funny that.”

Calla’s heart constricted in her chest that he’d remembered. They’d been stargazing in the bed of his truck on his vast acreage one night after a picnic dinner. Nash had forgotten to buy some wine to go along with their meal, so she’d grabbed what Ezra had in the fridge, not realizing it was cheap strawberry wine until Nash opened it.

As they talked and laughed and became reacquainted with the lives they led now, ironically,
Strawberry Wine
came on the radio and he’d asked her to dance—right there in the middle of one of his pastures under a batch of twinkling stars the size of saucers.

It was the moment she knew she wanted Nash. It was the moment he’d confessed that, long ago, he’d wanted to ask her to the End of Summer Fling, but he’d stopped himself from divulging how he felt in order to let her go off to college.

But tonight, as the words to the chorus began their melancholy tune—
Like strawberry wine and seventeen; a hot July moon
—he repeated the very words he’d spoken that night in the pasture. “Would you do me the honor of dancing that dance I was damn stupid not to ask for eleven years ago?”

Her eyes filled with tears when she held out her hand and he drew her close. The subtle shudder of his chest against hers, the heat of their bodies when their hands connected and he swept her off into a slow waltz, made her stomach flutter with anticipation.

She didn’t hold her head in typical waltz pose. Instead she let it rest on his shoulder and closed her eyes, inhaling his scent, woodsy and fresh, absorbing his strength.

This thing between she and Nash was real—rich in texture; deeper, layered—more than any relationship she’d ever had to date.

This was the moment Winnie had described to Calla when she talked about her husband Ben.

This was knowing exactly what you wanted. This was accepting someone else without reservation, faults and all.

This was unconditional, passionate, mature.

This was love.

N
ash filled her wine glass, the clear liquid illuminated by the candles he’d lit by the dozen all over his house, their flickering glow turning his great room into a soft haze of muted colors.

They’d left the dance shortly after their song was over, sneaking out, if one could sneak in Paris, to hop in his truck and make the drive back to Nash’s ranch.

The ride was softly quiet, a cooler breeze blowing in from the windows he’d left cracked, pushing her hair about her face. The dashboard lights had highlighted his strong jaw and wide hands, one of which he’d entwined with hers as she sat beside him on the bench seat.

They’d slid from the truck without words, both lost in the magic they’d discovered with one another. What she loved most about Nash was, words weren’t always necessary. He knew her by her expressions, by her body language.

She knew his, too—knew how frustrating this wait had been for both of them. Tonight his body said a million things, one of which was, “Be my lover. Finally. After all this time.”

She took the wine from him and smiled, still waiting for her nerves to kick into overdrive. Yet, she was calm, ready as she settled onto his couch.

She loved this room, a room he called the great room, chock full of black-and-white pictures of his parents, now retired in Florida, and his brothers, one still in college and the other a financial advisor in Dallas. An entire wall above the stone fireplace was dedicated to his parents and siblings—a family that supported him always, through Skype, phone calls and Facebook posts.

It was one of the things she loved most about him—his sense of family. Their imprint was everywhere in this room, one that had once been his parents’ home.

He’d updated it, added touches that were all Nash, like a weathered saddle, the one his father had used when he was growing up, now mounted on the wall over the hall entryway. Warm hardwood threaded throughout the adjoining kitchen, where shiny appliances and copper pots hung above a reclaimed-wood island.

Sinking down beside her on his overstuffed couch, Nash said, “So, I guess ‘let’s get naked
now
’ would be totally unromantic?”

Calla ran her finger over the rim of the glass and giggled. “Nah. You’ve been a good egg about this, Cowboy.”

Nash ran his thumb along her lower lip before pushing her hair back over her shoulder. “It was my choice, too, Calla. I’ve waited a long time for this. I wanted it to be right.”

“Me, too…” she whispered without a single hitch in her voice, smoothing a hand over the dress.

“So, you wanna talk about what you mentioned earlier today? You know, before we see each other’s stuff?” he asked with a grin, removing his Stetson and dropping it on the long buffet table just behind the sofa.

It was now or never. Still, she didn’t experience even a shred of panic as she took his glass and set it on the end table nearest Nash and rose, pulling him up along with her and making the walk down the long hall to his bedroom, a thrill of anticipation racing along her spine.

To her surprise, it was dark, but the moment they entered, Nash snapped his fingers, creating a warm, tropical breeze and a beachfront scene in the wide set of windows. Waves lapped at the white, sandy shore, gentle and soothing, a palm tree swayed beneath a buttery moon.

It was one of the illusions Nash was so good at creating, and her heart skipped a beat that he’d remembered how much she missed the ocean.

“Ohhhh!” She murmured her pleasure, smiling up at him. He didn’t use his magic often. It was technically reserved for extreme circumstances, making his efforts even more special. “Warlocks have their advantages.”

He chuckled, a deep, sexy sound to her ears, filling them with everything Nash. “I know how much you miss water since you left Boston. I thought I’d surprise you,” he whispered against her ear from behind, circling her waist and pulling her against the shelter of his chest.

Calla leaned into him and sighed as his hands roamed over her hips and down along her thighs, humming her pleasure at the instant response he evoked between her legs.

As Nash began to move upward, his hands settled just under her breasts and that was when she turned in his arms and looked up at him. “So that talk…”

Dipping his head, he captured her lips, sliding his tongue between them, sipping at her mouth, sending wave upon wave of heat throughout her limbs. His cock was rigid against her, straining beneath his jeans. “All ears.”

Forcing herself out of his arms, she grabbed his strong hands and gave them a squeeze before she let go and took a couple of steps back, swallowing hard. “I’m just going to show you, but I want you to listen very carefully to me, Nash. If you’re upset at all, even a little, please, please be honest. And if you
can’t
say anything at all, I’ll take your silence for an answer, and leave, and we don’t ever have to speak again.”

He’d removed his blazer and dropped it on the floor, leaving only the tight stretch of his white T-shirt across his pecs as he crossed his arms over them. His eyes, so deep and blue, grew concerned. “Okay, now you’re worrying me. Never speak again? That’s insane. Are you going to shift? Because I already told you, I don’t care what you look like in shift, Calla. I’ve seen werewolves before.”

Licking her lips, she took a deep breath, her chest expanding. “No…it’s more…it’s something else.”

With that, she pulled the tie on her belt and let the most amazing dress she’d ever worn slip to the floor, leaving only her bra, panties, and heels.

Nash hissed his pleasure, a pleasure so obvious his eyes darkened in response, but he remained quiet as she’d requested.

The moment the dress hit the floor was the moment her confidence followed right behind it. Her shoulders deflated and her stomach rolled.

“Calla?”

Oh God, what had she been thinking? This was a mistake. She should have told him before doing this bizarre version of show-and-tell.

No. She’d done that before and it had exploded in her face. Seeing was so much different than hearing the words.