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Alice frantically began her silent chant (short, short, long . . . short, short, long), but holy guacamole, she hardly had to concentrate. Dancing with Beau was like gliding on ice. Were his feet even on the floor?

“Relax, darlin’. You’re awful tense.”

“Am I?”

“Do you want to lead? I feel like you’re trying to lead.”

“No. I don’t want to lead. Although, honestly, why do men always lead? Why can’t women do it?” This was a bit of patriarchal nonsense that had totally escaped her until now.

“I imagine it’s because women are typically shorter. It makes sense for the person moving forward to be the one who can see where he’s going.”

JD and Gabriel danced by, and JD, the taller of the two, was leading.

“Oh,” she said. “That makes sense.”

“But you can still be mad about it if you want.”

Alice grinned and didn’t feel mad at all.

“You ready to go for a ride?” Beau asked.

“What do you mean?”

“We’re going to do some turns.”

“Wait. I’ve never done turns before.”

“Good. You can add it to your bucket list and cross it off.”

“But I don’t know how—”

Suddenly they were turning. One turn. Two turns. Three turns. Alice’s tummy flopped. Then it flipped. She was a little dizzy, but there was a grin on her face—she could feel it—and before long, she was giggling uncontrollably. Actually, it was beyond giggling. She was laughing. And she hadn’t laughed like this since skinny-dipping in the Rio Verde.

Beau turned her into someone else. Someone fun and adventurous and—oh! He’d let go of her back and loosened his hold. “I’m going to spin you now.”

Alice gasped. “No. I don’t think—”

She was spinning! And then she was back in his arms as if nothing had happened.

“Again?” he asked. But before she could answer, she was spinning again. Spinning and giggling.

Then she was back in his arms. Closer than before. “You did that very well,” he said.

“I’m pretty sure that was you,” she said. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Must feel weird. You always seem to know what you’re doing.”

That wasn’t true, and Alice started to say so, but the song was nearly over and Beau apparently wanted to finish big, because they were turning again. Faster and faster, and then everyone was applauding. Whistles rang out. Some folks hollered a few good-natured compliments and jabs. Show her how it’s done, Beau! and Boy, you still got them two left feet!

The song ended, and Beau performed a polite bow before giving Alice one more twirl.

“That was beautiful, darlin’!” Bryce hollered, giving her a thumbs-up.

“Solid ten,” Worth shouted, holding up all ten fingers.

Alice’s heart was pounding. She was hot and sweaty. Who knew dancing could be such a workout? She didn’t think she’d ever had so much fun in her life. And to think, it wasn’t that long ago that she’d felt that she didn’t belong in a place like Tony’s. Not because she was too good for it, but because she just didn’t, well, belong. Period.

The jukebox started up again, and the lights dimmed—they did that for the slow songs. Beau pulled her close. Real close. She turned her head so that her cheek rested against his chest as if it were the most natural thing in the world. All of the other couples on the dance floor seemed to melt into each other, and seamlessly, she and Beau did the same.

The beautiful melody of a steel guitar rang out, and Alice recognized the song immediately. It was George Strait, or King George, as JD called him, singing his beautiful old classic “The Chair.”

Her breath hitched. This was the song that had been playing that night at the VFW hall. The night Beau had asked her to dance on a dare. She closed her eyes, but she could still see the boys laughing behind him, holding up dollar bills, watching to see if he’d go through with it.

Did he remember? She thought his body had tensed slightly at the first note, but maybe that was her imagination. The night had probably slipped from Beau’s memory years ago.

It was ridiculous to hold on to the hurt for so long. Especially now that she’d gotten to know Beau better. He was kind and patient and sweet. A bit of a playboy, for sure. But none of the women he’d been with spoke ill of him. Not that she knew of, anyway.

She thought of the meditative exercises she did to let go of the things that caused pain. Generally, she wasn’t especially good at it. But right now, in Beau’s arms, she had no trouble letting it go. The pain from that night floated up and away . . .

Beau led her slowly to the center of the dance floor, and it was so smooth and effortless that she forgot to do her silent chant. He let go of her hand and wrapped his arms around her waist, and without even thinking, she wrapped hers around his neck. He was so solid. So strong. Like an anchor.

The people swaying around them were like small waves on an ocean. Next to them, Malcolm Ojeda’s hand drifted down to Tina Wilson’s butt, where it slipped inside the back pocket of her rhinestone-studded jeans.

Surely, Beau wouldn’t try anything like—

His hand moved lower, and Alice’s tummy fluttered as if an entire kaleidoscope of butterflies—that’s what a group of butterflies was called—bounced around inside. She exhaled as his hand settled just above her back pocket. He didn’t try to slip his hand in, but she wouldn’t have stopped him if he had. She wanted his hands all over her. She was overcome with the same frantic need she’d felt when they’d made out in the back of his truck. Actually, need was an understatement.

She was starving. She wanted Beau to touch her in all the places she’d never been touched.

He tilted his head so that both their faces were shadowed by the brim of his Stetson, and as his warm breath brushed her cheek, he squeezed her even closer.