A Slow Dance Holiday Page 3

  Surely to God, she’d seen a naked man before, he thought, and he had apologized. What more did she want?

  When he finished brushing his teeth, running a razor over his face, and getting dressed, he scanned every inch of the Christmas-tree box for more spiders, and then picked it up and carried it out of the apartment. Jorja was busy hanging lights around the edge of one of the pool tables. He could imagine some old cowboy making a wrong shot with a cue stick and breaking one of the bulbs, but he didn’t say a word. He dropped the box on the floor and followed his nose to the back side of the bar and the coffeepot.

  He poured a cup and sat down on a stool with his back to the bar. He expected her to bring up his nakedness again, but to his surprise, she just turned around and said, “When you finish that cup, you can take the tree out of the box and put it together. It’s one of those old ones that you have to stick every branch in a separate hole. We don’t have time to buy a new one for this year, so it will have to do. I vote that when we take it down, we trash it and hit an after-Christmas sale for a new one for next year.”

  “You plannin’ on stickin’ around that long, are you?” he asked and then took his first sip of coffee. “This is really good. You know how to make a decent brew.”

  “My granny says that if you can see the bottom of the cup, it isn’t nothin’ but murdered water. Good coffee is black and strong,” she said as she started stringing lights around the second pool table. “When you get the tree out and ready to decorate, then you can put tinsel up over the bar. I’m too short to do that.”

  “Your granny is a smart woman.” He glanced out the window. Snow was coming down even harder now. She’d be disappointed later when no one showed up, but he damn sure wasn’t going to argue with her about it right then. Besides, he hoped a few folks would come out since she was working so hard to decorate the place.

  “Yep, she is,” Jorja said.

  * * *

  Jorja’s face was still hot when Cameron brought the tree out into the bar area. She didn’t even have to close her eyes to envision his sexy naked body, but she damn sure wasn’t going to say a single word about it. That would be opening a can of worms that she wasn’t sure she wanted to deal with. No doubt about it, he’d ask her if she liked what she’d seen, and then she’d have to tell a lie. He’d think she was flirting if she said, “Damn straight!” She could tell him that she’d seen better on a twelve-year-old boy, but the devil would claim her soul for a lie that big. She thought it was best to leave the whole incident completely alone.

  He finished his coffee, slid the pitiful-looking tree base out of the box, and set the trunk in place. “There, I’ve done my part,” he said.

  “In your dreams, cowboy,” she told him. “Now you get out the limbs and match the color on the stems to those holes in the base. We might have this place looking like Christmas by the time we open the doors tonight.”

  Someone rapped hard on the outside door before he could say anything, and he left the bare pole and headed that way. He unlocked the door and eased it open.

  “Beer delivery,” a deep male voice said.

  Cameron slung the door wide open, and for a minute, Jorja thought she was looking at the abominable snowman. The guy pushing the dolly in with cases of beer on it was taller than Cameron and covered with snow from the hood on his head down to his rubber boots. He stood on the rug just inside the door, removed his coveralls, and hung them on one of the hooks meant for hats. Then he jerked a bright-red stocking hat off his head, revealing a mop of gray hair that hung on the collar of his red flannel shirt.

  “For a cup of that coffee, I’ll gladly get y’all all stocked and put the rest in the storage room.” He pushed the dolly across the floor to the bar. “I’m not making any more deliveries today. My boss thought I could make my run, but if I get home to Gordon, I’ll be doing good, and that’s less than four miles from here. I stocked up my truck in Stephenville a couple of hours ago and dropped off my first load at the convenience store in Huckabay.”

  Cameron poured the guy a cup of coffee and set it on the bar. He warmed his hands with it before he took the first sip. “My name is Frankie Dermott. Me and my girlfriend, Chigger, come in here pretty often on the weekends. This coffee damn sure hits the spot. Y’all the new owners? I heard Merle was havin’ a tough time gettin’ folks to manage the place and was sellin’ out to new owners.”

  Jorja stuck out her hand. “Do you know George and Lila Jenks? I’m their granddaughter and the new co-owner.”

  Frankie shook hands with her and then extended his to Cameron. “And you are Mr. Jenks?”

  Cameron smiled and shook his head. “No, I’m Cameron Walsh. My grandparents are Maria and Walter Walsh from down around Stephenville. You might have met them here at the Honky Tonk. They’re good friends of Merle’s.”

  “Yep, know them very well. Me and Chigger know most of the folks that come around here. Years ago, she managed this place, but that was back before me and her got together. She was married to Jim Bob back then. They had a couple of kids, but Jim Bob got to take them to his place this Christmas, so she’s down and depressed,” Frankie said. “Guess we’d better get after puttin’ this beer away. She’s goin’ to be worried about me. I called her an hour ago and said after this delivery I was on my way home.”

  Jorja took over the job of putting the Christmas tree together while Frankie and Cameron situated the beer in the right spots. She had sorted all the limbs by the color on their tips when she heard Cameron call out to her.

  “Hey, business lady, where’s the checkbook?” he asked.

  “In the office,” she answered.

  “Where would that be?”

  She laid down the limbs she was holding and headed across the floor. Merle had sent her a hand-drawn map of the place. Too bad she didn’t have an eye for size. From the drawing, Jorja had figured the apartment would be twice the size it turned out to be. The office could be anywhere from the size of a broom closet to as big as the entire Honky Tonk.

  When she swung open the door, she found a nice-sized room, but it made the apartment look like a five-star hotel suite. Papers, invoices, and unopened junk mail covered the top of a huge oak desk. The antique chair pushed up under the kneehole was stacked high with newspapers and magazines.

  “Hallelujah!” Jorja shouted when she saw the checkbook lying on the top of a four-drawer file cabinet in the corner. She latched onto it like it was a lifeline and carried it out to the bar. Frankie handed her the invoice for the beer, and she wrote out the first check that had both her name and Cameron’s on it.

  “That’s why the checkbook was on the top,” she muttered.

  “What was that?” Frankie was busy tugging his coveralls up over his beer belly.

  She handed him the check. “Nothing, just thinking out loud.”

  “Thanks, honey. Me and Chigger will be in soon as this weather clears up a little. We don’t mind drivin’ when the snow is on the ground, but Chigger don’t like to get out in it when it’s blowin’ her hair every which way.” He tugged his stocking hat down over his head, waved, and rolled the dolly out of the bar.

  “We’ll look forward to seeing you,” Cameron said before Frankie closed the door.

  “What was that squeal I heard out of you when you went into the office?” Cameron asked.

  “Go look for yourself,” she told him as she headed back toward the Christmas tree. “Since I cleaned up the apartment, it’s only fair that you do that room.”

  “Holy crap!” he gasped when he peeked inside. “I wouldn’t even know where to start, and besides, you’re the one with the business degree. You’ll know what to keep and what to throw away.”

  She shot a smile his way. “But you’ve managed a bar for years. You’ll know what’s important.”

  “How about we tackle it together,” he suggested as he shook his head. “But where do
we even start?”

  “I suggest that we get these decorations up and worry about that mess tomorrow,” she told him.

  He eased the door shut and nodded. “Great idea. You wanted me to hang some garland over the bar, right? I’d rather do that than face off with cleaning that desk on our first day. Which box do you figure it’s in?”

  “I can’t know. Just start opening them,” she answered. “The only one I’m sure about is the tree. The others just say Christmas decorations. I was lucky enough to find the lights in the first one I opened.”

  He reached into a front pocket of his jeans and brought out a pocketknife. The first box was strings of lights that needed bulbs, the next held strings of bulbs that had the big old-fashioned lights in them, and the third one was filled with garland—red, blue, silver, gold, and even pink. Right there, on the top of the garland like they were in a nest, two cute little white doves were sitting inside a silver circle.

  “Which color?” he asked, holding fistfuls of garland up. “Do you reckon this is for the top of the tree?”

  She turned from the tree and said, “Blue and silver roped together for the bar. I’ll use the gold and red on the tree. And that’s not for the top of the tree. It’s going right above the bar with garland coming out from both sides. I wonder where they used that pink stuff.”

  “Probably in the bathroom.” He chuckled.

  “Great idea!” She smiled. “We’ll drape it over the mirror in the ladies’ room, and if there’s any left, I’ll use it in our apartment bathroom to spruce it up for the holidays.”

  “You can’t be serious,” he groaned.

  “Of course, I’m not.” She turned back toward the tree. “Pink wouldn’t match the shower curtain. If we have any red left over, I’ll use it.”

  If Cameron Walsh thought he could get ahead of her, then he wasn’t nearly as smart as he was sexy.

  Chapter 3

  Cameron rolled up his sleeves, plugged five dollars into the jukebox to get the music started, and opened the doors at exactly six o’clock. He fully well expected the parking lot to be empty, even if the blizzard-like conditions earlier that day had moved on toward the east. Six inches of snow covered the ground. The state folks would make sure Interstate 20 was graded, but Palo Pinto County wouldn’t have the resources to clear off all the back roads around Mingus and Thurber.

  He and Jorja had worked hard all day long, barely stopping long enough for a sandwich in the middle of the afternoon. He hated to admit it, but the Honky Tonk had taken on a brand-new look with all the decorations. She had plugged in all the lights. Mistletoe hung from the ceiling in four places, and the eight-foot tree looked like something out of a magazine. He’d made damn sure every inch of garland was strung up somewhere in the bar so he wouldn’t have to fight with the stuff in the apartment bathroom. The room was tiny enough and already had a Christmas shower curtain. He could imagine getting tangled up in garland every time he got out of the shower.

  “We are officially open for our first night of business,” Jorja said from behind the bar.

  “Yep, and I don’t see people rushing through the doors, even though we’ve got music and plenty of beer and bourbon,” he told her.

  Jorja moved around the bar to sit on a stool. He followed her lead but left a seat between them when he chose a place to sit. If they did get customers, he’d be on his feet for the next eight hours, and he’d learned long ago to rest a few minutes when he had a chance.

  “You ever worked in a bar?” he asked.

  “Nope, but I’ve been in my fair share of them in Nashville,” she answered. “If you can hold down the back side, I reckon I can run the grill and ring up charges.”

  “Hey, we made it.” Frankie pushed his way through the door behind a tall redhead who was all decked out in tight jeans and a sweatshirt with Rudolph on the front—and his nose was lit up. Two big bluetick hound dogs ran in with them, and both the animals were wearing Rudolph antlers. “This here is my girlfriend, Chigger. That’s Jorja”—he pointed across the room as they hung up their coats and hats—“and the guy beside her is Cameron. Them dogs don’t belong to us. They’re Luke Thomas’s huntin’ dogs.”

  Frankie whistled shrilly and the dogs ran out the door as if they’d caught the scent of a coyote out in the parking lot. “They come by the bar every few days to see if anyone will buy them a beer.”

  “You’re kiddin’, right?” Jorja asked.

  “Nope,” Chigger answered for him. “Luke says that they hunt better after they’ve had a beer. He likes to dress them up, even when he takes them huntin’.” Chigger turned and winked at Cameron. “Oh. My. Goodness. It’s a good thing I’m not twenty years younger, or I’d take that cowboy away from you, Jorja.”

  “You can have him, but not until after closing time.” Jorja slid off the stool. Not only did she not usually take risks, but she also didn’t believe in signs and omens. Yet, there had been two doves and then, of all things, two hound dogs. She shrugged off the idea that the universe might be trying to tell her something and asked Chigger, “What can we get you?”

  “We want bacon cheeseburger baskets and two beers—Coors, longnecks,” Frankie answered. “And me and my girl here will do some two-steppin’ while you get it ready. She said she was bored, so we got out the four-wheeler to get here tonight. If Mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy, most of all this old bowlegged cowboy.”

  He grabbed Chigger by the hand and swung her around, then brought her back to his chest for some fancy two-stepping to “Anymore” by Travis Tritt. For such a big man, Frankie sure was a smooth dancer. While Cameron filled a basket with french fries and lowered it into the hot grease, he wondered how it would be to dance with Jorja. Did she even know how to two-step, or was she one of those city girls who went to bars that played loud rock music?

  When the song ended, Frankie kept Chigger’s hand in his and led her to a nearby table. The burgers and fries were done, so Jorja arranged them in baskets, set them on a tray with two bottles of Coors, and carried them out.

  “Y’all enjoy,” Jorja said.

  “You ain’t busy yet, so sit with us a spell.” Chigger motioned to an empty chair.

  “Yet?” Jorja asked.

  “Like Frankie said, I was bored today so I talked to lots of the folks around here on the phone. You’ll have a full house by eight o’clock. Tell me about yourself. Frankie tells me that Lila and George Jenks are your grandparents. They talk about you all the time when they come up here for some dancin’. But”—she dipped a fry in ketchup—“I can’t imagine why you’d ever leave Nashville and move to Mingus.”

  “I was tired of the rat race and needed a change of scenery,” Jorja answered.

  “Well, honey, you can see all of Mingus in a two-minute tour.” Chigger giggled and then lowered her voice. “But if I was you, I’d just park my butt in this place and stare at the scenery in here.” She glanced toward Cameron and chuckled again. “That is a fine hunk of cowboy behind the bar, and you’ll have to keep a tight rope on him, or else all the single women in Palo Pinto County will be findin’ a way to get next to him. I been down in the dumps all week because this is the year my ex gets my kids for two weeks, but I’m already feelin’ better now that I’m here.”

  “I’m sorry, but I’m glad you’re feelin’ better now, and just how many women would that be?” Jorja teased.

  “I’d guess maybe a lot, because some of them that ain’t single right now might be by the time New Year’s gets here once they get a look at him,” Chigger answered.

  “Well, that’s between him and them,” Jorja said but a little rush of jealousy filled her heart. She told herself it was because she damn sure didn’t want to sleep on the sofa in the office if he had a woman in the apartment, but the voice in her head said that wasn’t the only reason.

  “Honey, there won’t be nothing between him and them but
sweat if the women I know have their way about it,” Chigger said.

  “Is Chigger your real name?” Jorja changed the subject.

  “No, it’s not,” Frankie answered for her. “But she says that only her mama—who has been dead for years—and God know what name is on her birth certificate. That’s why she won’t marry me. She’s afraid I’ll find out her real name.”

  She raised an eyebrow at Frankie. “My name is Chigger. I gave myself that name when I was a teenager and figured out how much fun sex could be. Until I got a little older, I could put an itch in a man’s britches that made him feel like he’d been in a patch of chiggers, but I could relieve that itch with a romp in the sheets.”

  Jorja’s cheeks burned for the second time that day.

  “Don’t blush, darlin’.” Chigger giggled again. “I was ownin’ my sexuality long before women figured out they had the right to like it every bit as much as a man. I hear a couple of doors slammin’. Things are about to start hoppin’ in here. Nice visitin’ with you, and anytime you want to get away from here, you just give me a call, and I’ll make supper for you and the cowboy.”

  “Thank you.” Jorja pushed the chair back and headed toward the bar.

  “You’re blushin’,” Cameron said. “I don’t see that often in women your age.”

  “Just how old do you think I am?” She picked up an apron and tied it around her waist.

  “You want to bring the ties to the front,” Cameron said.

  “Why?” she questioned.

  “Because a feller won’t mess with them if they’re in the front. That’s too personal. But if they’re in the back, you’ll spend half the night pickin’ up your apron. They’ll untie it every chance they get,” he answered. “And you’ll want to hang a bar towel out of your hip pocket. It’s a lot easier to grab for it and wipe up a spill than to try to find one,” he told her. “As far as your age, honey, I’d guess more than twenty and less than fifty.”