songs about ten miles long, but instead, he saw just about every eighties group he’d ever heard of.
“This is an impressive collection, cowgirl.”
“What did you expect?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. A little Carrie Underwood, some Shania, maybe an undercurrent of an oldie like Hank. Definitely a bunch of yoga stuff.” He scrolled some more. “Do you have a favorite on here?”
“Depends on my mood.”
“Okay. Let me find one appropriate for a midnight dance with a charming cowboy.”
“Oh, I have a whole playlist for that. Happens all the time.”
He felt a smile crack the corners of his mouth as she visibly relaxed. “Really.”
“Absolutely.”
He scrolled and scrolled. “Wow. You have a serious eighties addiction, hon.”
“It’s a problem, yes.”
“Love it.” He tapped a few times, then put the phone back down and straightened up. He opened his arms and motioned her closer. “Come here, cowgirl. Let’s dance. Maybe I can make you forget about all of the other cowboys you’ve used this playlist with.”
She paused, and he could practically see thoughts flipping through her head. Did she already regret asking him? He stepped closer, slowly, like he would approach a scared horse.
“Dance with me, Jess.” He kept his voice low, soothing.
“Okay.” Her voice came out all breathy and low, and the sound of it hit him way down low. She stepped toward him, into his arms, gingerly leaning her cheek against his chest. He felt her quiver as he settled his arms carefully around her.
“Are you cold?”
“Kind of? Maybe?” She paused, taking a breath. “No.”
“Nervous?”
“Yes.”
He chuckled, pulling her a tiny bit closer. “It’s just me, Jess. Just me. And I promise I won’t try any of those crazy lifts or anything while we dance. I won’t even spin you.”
She laughed. “That’s a huge relief. Thank you.”
They danced around the floor in a slow circle, and as they stepped and glided and slowly spun, he felt her relax, degree by degree.
“So what do you do for fun back in Boston?” He spoke low in her ear. “I’m assuming midnight dances with cowboys are rare, even though you claim to have a playlist.”
“Or midnight rides to waterfalls?”
“Exactly. Or karaoke nights at cheesy Western bars.”
She pulled back, smiling. “I’m sorry, but Boston’s got cheesy wrapped up. We have duck boats.”
“What in the world is a duck boat?”
Jess shook her head, rolling her eyes. “It’s a bus-slash-boat that gives tours of the historic sites, then drives into the Charles River.”
“Points for uniqueness. What do you like to do when you’re not working?”
“Take duck tours.”
“Right.” He laughed. “What do you really like to do? Give me your best one-sentence online dating profile.”
Jess shrugged in his arms. “Let’s see. I’m on a continual quest to find the perfect lobster dinner, I love live jazz music, and I have a membership at the Museum of Fine Arts.”
“Yikes. Sounds like you’ve done that before.” He chuckled.
“I haven’t. Promise.” She smiled. “How about you?”
“Oh, boy. I don’t like seafood, prefer country music by a mile, and—don’t hate me—museums give me hives.”
“Well, yoga gave you hives until ten minutes ago, right?”
He squeezed her gently. “True. Maybe I’ve just never had the right museum tour guide.” He shook his head. “But jazz? Really? I would have said you liked any style but jazz.”
“I like that it has rules, but it also doesn’t.” She shrugged again. “I don’t know—it just appeals to me. Country, on the other hand—” She cringed, making him laugh as her phone switched onto a new slow song.
“And you call yourself a cowgirl?” He pulled away, mouth open in mock horror.
“No,” she laughed. “You call me a cowgirl.”
“Oh. Right. You’re actually just a poser.”
He saw her face change as he said the words, saw emotions pass over it, then get erased on a deep breath.
“You’re right,” she said. “I am just a poser.”
Chapter 16
“You just danced? That’s it?” Kyla’s eyes were wide as she angled her car into a parking space along the downtown square early Friday morning. As she looked around, Jess marveled at how bright and colorful everything looked. Pansies spilled out of big whisky barrels along the sidewalk, and the striped awnings over the storefronts looked freshly washed and welcoming.
Even the leaves on the trees in the park were bright against the blue, blue sky. Coupled with a few white, puffy clouds, the scene would have made for great postcard shots for the Montana tourism board.
Jess smiled. Or maybe it was her mood coloring everything brighter and happier.
She hugged her arms across her body, still glowing from the