Don't charm me, she wanted to plead as she felt the warmth of his body seep through into her own. Don't be sweet and sexy and make me forget everything that's standing between us. She had the disconcerting sense that the sounds around them were fading, the music growing still, the other voices disappearing so that it seemed as if the two of them were alone on the dance floor.
He pulled her closer and their rhythm subtly changed, no longer quite a dance but something closer to an embrace. His body felt hard and solid against hers, and she tried to summon the energy to fight her attraction to him. "Let's- let's sit down now."
"All right."
But instead of letting her go, he tucked their clasped hands between their bodies. His other hand slipped under her jacket so that only the thin silk of her dress separated her skin from his touch. Somehow her cheek seemed to find his shoulder. She leaned into it as if she had come home. Drawing in her breath,
she shut her eyes and drifted with him.
"Francie," he whispered into her hair, "we're going to have to do something about this."
She thought about pretending that she didn't understand what he meant, but at that moment coquetry
was beyond her. "It's-it's just a simple chemical attraction. If we ignore it, it'll go away."
He pulled her closer. "You sure about that?"
"Absolutely." She hoped he didn't hear the slight quaver in her voice. She was suddenly frightened, and she found herself saying, "Gracious, Dallie, this has happened to me hundreds of times before. Thousands. I'm sure it's happened to you, too."
"Yeah," he said flatly. "Thousands of times." Abruptly he stopped moving and dropped his arms. "Listen, Francie, if it's all the same to you, I don't feel too much like dancing anymore."
"Fine." She gave him her best cocktail party smile and busied her hands by straightening the front of her jacket. "That's fine with me."
"See you later." He turned to walk away.
"Yes, later," she said to his back.
Their parting was cordial. No angry words had been spoken. No warnings had been issued. But as she watched him disappear into the crowd, she had the vague feeling that a new set of battle lines had been drawn between them.
Chapter 28
Although Dallie made several halfhearted attempts to smooth his relationship with Teddy, the two of
them were like oil and water. When his father was around, Teddy bumped into furniture, broke dishes, and sulked. Dallie was quick to criticize the child, and the two of them grew increasingly miserable in
each other's company. Francesca tried to act as a conciliator, but so much tension had built up between herself and Dallie since the evening they had danced at the Roustabout that she only succeeded in losing her own temper.
The afternoon of her third and final day in Wynette, she confronted Dallie in the basement after Teddy had run upstairs and kicked a chair across the kitchen. "Couldn't you sit down and do a puzzle with him or read a book together?" she demanded. "What in God's name made you think he could learn to shoot pool with you yelling at him the entire time?"
Dallie glared at the jagged tear in the green felt that covered his pool table. "I wasn't yelling, and you stay out of this. You're leaving tomorrow, and that doesn't give me much time to make up for nine years of too much female influence."
"Only partial female influence," she retorted. "Don't forget that Holly Grace spent a lot of time with him, too."
His eyes narrowed. "And just what do you mean by that remark?"
"It means she was one hell of a better father than you'll ever be."
Dallie stalked away from her, every muscle in his body taut with belligerence, only to reappear at her side moments later. "And another thing. I thought you were going to talk to him-explain about how I'm his father."
"Teddy's not in the mood for any explanations. He's a smart kid. He'll catch on when he's ready."
His eyes raked her body with deliberate insolence. "You know what I think's wrong with you? I think you're still an immature child who can't stand not getting her own way!"
Her eyes raked him right back. "And I think you're a brainless jock who's not worth a damn without a bloody golf club in his hand!"
They threw angry words at each other like guided missiles, but even as the hostilities between them mounted, Francesca had the vague sensation that nothing either of them said was hitting its target. Their words were merely an ineffective smoke screen that did little to hide the fact that the air between them was smoldering with lust.
"It's no wonder you never got married. You're about the coldest woman I ever met in my life."
"There are a number of men who'd disagree. Real men, not glamour boys who wear their jeans so tight you have to wonder what they're trying to prove."
"It just shows where you've been putting your eyes."
"It just shows how bored I've been." The words flew around their heads like bullets, leaving both of
them seething with frustration and putting everyone else in the household on edge.
Finally Skeet Cooper had had enough. "I've got a surprise for the two of you," he said, sticking his head through the basement door. "Come on up here."
Not looking at each other, Dallie and Francesca climbed the steps to the kitchen. Skeet was waiting by
the back door holding their jackets. "Miss Sybil and Doralee are gonna take Teddy to the library. You
two are coming with me."
"Where are we going?" Francesca asked.
"I'm not in the mood," Dallie snapped.
Skeet threw a red windbreaker at Dallie's chest. "I don't give a good goddamn whether you're in the
mood or not, because I guaran-damn-tee you that you're gonna be shy one caddy if you don't hustle yourself into my car in about the next thirty seconds."
Grumbling under his breath, Dallie followed Francesca out to Skeet's Ford. "You ride in the back,"
Skeet told him. "Francie's riding up here with me." Dallie grumbled some more, but did as he was told.
Francesca did her best to drive Dallie even crazier during the ride by indulging in a pleasant conversation with Skeet and pointedly leaving him out. Skeet ignored Dallie's questions about where they were going, saying only that he had the solution to at least some of their problems. They were nearly twenty miles outside of Wynette on a road that looked vaguely familiar to Francesca, when Skeet pulled the car over
to the side.
"I've got something real interesting in the trunk of my car that I want both of you to see." Sliding up on one hip, he pulled a spare key from his pocket and tossed it back to Dallie. "You go look, too, Francie.
I think this'll make the two of you feel a whole lot better."
Dallie regarded him suspiciously, but opened the door and climbed out. Francesca zipped up her jacket and did the same. They walked along opposite sides of the car to the back, and Dallie reached toward the trunk lock with the key. Before he could touch it, however, Skeet hit the accelerator and peeled away, leaving the two of them standing at the side of the road.
Francesca stared at the rapidly vanishing car in bewilderment. "What-"
"You son of a bitch!" Dallie yelled, shaking his fist at the back end of the Ford. "I'm going to kill him! When I get my hands on him, he's gonna regret the day he was born. I should have known- That
rotten no-good-"
"I don't understand," Francesca cut in. "What's he doing? Why is he leaving us?"
"Because he can't stand listening to you argue anymore, that's why!"
"Me!"
There was a short pause before he grabbed her upper arm. "Come on."
"Where are we going?"
"My house. It's about a mile or so down the next road."
"How convenient," she said dryly. "Are you sure the two of you didn't plot this together?"
"Believe me," he snarled, starting to walk again, "the last thing in the world I want is to be stuck in that house with you. There's not even a telephone."
"Look on the bright side," she replied sarcastically. "With those Goody Two-shoes rules you've laid down, we won't be able to fight once we get in the house."