“What part of no is confusing you, Andrew? You get hit on the head with a concrete boom or something?” Andrew had followed in his father’s footsteps and taken over the family business.
Which made me wonder… Had I been predestined to run for sheriff? Following parental footsteps like so many of my friends?
“Your dad would’ve loved to hear you sing. He was so proud of you in everything you did. Singing. Soldiering. Now running for sheriff. It’d be a great way to remember him.”
I hissed, “You suck, playing the dead-father card.”
His brown eyes softened. “I didn’t mean it that way. Wyatt was a great man, Mercy. We all miss him.”
That soothed my flash of temper. “Thanks.”
He paused for all of fifteen seconds before he started badgering me again. “So? What do you say?”
I looked around. No one was nearby. I belted out the first stanza of “There’s Your Trouble” by the Dixie Chicks and felt smug when his jaw dropped.
“Don’t sing no more, my ass,” he groused. “You oughta be ashamed, lyin’ to a gullible country boy like me.”
“That’s what you get for making me feel guilty.”
“So you’ll do it?”
“Not a chance in hell.”
Still grumbling, Andrew disappeared onto the stage behind the slide steel guitar.
People streamed in and filled up the seating area.
Dawson had his crowd. Jazinski. Robo-Barbie. My dad’s best buddy, Dean Whittaker. A couple of the guards from the jail. Business owners like Pete. Mitzi. Larry Manx, who owned the Q-Mart. Chet, from the propane company. All locals I’d have to deal with regardless if I won or lost the election. Would that be awkward? How had my dad handled knowing the names and faces of the individuals who’d opposed him?
A crush of people surrounded me. I smiled. I chatted. I anxiously shifted from foot to foot, glad I’d worn my dressiest pair of Old Gringo heeled boots instead of Geneva’s suggestion of “strappy” high heels.
Geneva dragged me aside. “Okay. This is set to start in two minutes. Need anything?”
A full flask. “Nope.”
“Good. You’ve got a lot of supporters here, Mercy.”
I looked at the crowd. No division of factions, like the separate bride’s side and groom’s side at a wedding. Good thing-it’d be mortifying if half the seats on my side were empty. Hope, Joy, Jake, and Sophie were in the audience supporting me, which actually made me more nervous.
I readjusted the belt on my newly purchased gray wool dress slacks-I loved online shopping-and snapped out the fancy French cuffs on my new white blouse. I finger-combed my hair for the tenth time, hating I’d been coerced into letting it hang loose around my shoulders instead of slicking it back into a ponytail. I didn’t feel like me. I didn’t look like me-duded up in tailored clothes, coiffed hair, and no gun.
“You ready? You’re on first.”
“Let’s do it.” I walked up to the speaker’s platform. I inhaled an uji breath and released it. “Welcome, everyone. My name is Mercy Gunderson, and I’m running for Eagle River County sheriff.”
Everything blurred after that. What I said. What Dawson said. Thank God it only lasted around thirty minutes.
Dawson and I shook hands and exited the stage to our separate camps. Geneva assured me I’d done great. Even Kit gave me a thumbs-up. I resisted the urge to flip him off.
Distortion from the speaker system made me cringe as Andrew Parker took the microphone. “Now rumor has it… that these two candidates have a secret…”
My heart raced. Don’t do it. Don’t even say it, Andrew.
“… bet going about what the loser has to do for their opponent after the election.” Andrew zeroed in on Dawson first. “Sheriff? Care to elaborate on that side bet? Something about kissing a… pig?”
Dawson laughed. “Sorry, I’m pleading the fifth.”
Andrew’s attention zoomed to me. “Mercy? How about you?”
“I’ll follow the sheriff’s lead and stay pigheaded.”
Laughter.
“How many of you would like to see a show of goodwill between these two fine candidates as they lead us in the first dance?”
Oh, hell no. I glared at that rat bastard Andrew, but the crowd didn’t notice. They were on board with the idea. They clapped, whistled, stomped their feet.
Geneva snapped, “For Christsake, what is wrong with these people?”
“No booze. If they were getting loaded right now, they wouldn’t care.”
“You have to refuse to dance with him, Mercy.”
“Now how petty would that make me look?”
“Think of how it’ll look if you and Dawson start grinding on each other,” Geneva hissed.
“Puh-lease. We are adults. We’ll behave accordingly.”
I met Dawson halfway and took his outstretched hand. He bowed and kissed my knuckles.
I pretended to punch him in the stomach.
It played well with the crowd.
The band started a cover of George Strait’s “Check Yes or No,” a tune not too fast, nor too slow. Dawson clasped my left hand in his right. He placed his palm in the middle of my back and brought me in close to his body.
I set my hand on his shoulder in proper two-step position. No harm, no foul, no sweat. I could do this. Then I looked up to see his annoying Cheshire cat-like grin. “What?”
“I’ve wanted to dance with you for months.”
“Too bad my dancing skills will probably disappoint you.”
“The only disappointment is acting as if dancing with you is a chore for me, Mercy.”
Shoot. That was really sweet. “Dawson-”
“Just keep smiling. And let me lead, will ya?”
Let him lead? Damn man always took the lead.
Wrong. You always take point and expect him to follow.
So yeah, I let him lead… but just this one time.
Dawson knew his way around the dance floor. Every muscle in my body was rigid as curious couples joined us. His nearness caused a disjointed sensation inside me. I felt like one of those magnets-both repelled and attracted.
“Relax,” he muttered.
“I am relaxed.”
“Right. You’re strung tight as a new barbed-wire fence.” He pulled me closer. “You look great tonight.”
“Hey. You’re not supposed to say stuff like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because this Fred-and-Ginger routine is all for show.”
“Not for me it isn’t.”
My face heated. “Dammit, Dawson, knock it off. This is not the time or the place-”
“Tough shit. I’ll say whatever the hell I want, and you’ll suck it up and smile.”
“Channeling your inner caveman?”
“You bring out the best in me, Sergeant Major.”
“I think you mean beast.”
Dawson chuckled. “That, too. So you’ll damn well listen to what I have to say while I have your undivided attention.”
“Or what?”
“Don’t push me, darlin’. If you’ll recall, I push back. In fact, I almost said screw it and snuck back to your cabin last night. Hell, I’m such a masochist, I looked forward to you pulling a gun on me as foreplay.”
That comment shouldn’t have made me smile, but it did.
Encouraged, he traced the ball of my thumb joint up from the inside of my wrist. The move was lazy, teasing, and seductive as hell. My heart and my feet stumbled simultaneously. I caught myself and hissed, “Stop it.”
“Not a chance.”
When he switched directions on the dance floor, his mouth grazed my ear, and he murmured, “I miss you.”
I stumbled again. My cheek brushed the smoothly shaven section of his throat between his jawline and his collar. I fought the temptation to lean into him and bury my lips in that vulnerable fragment of skin just to see him shiver.
“I’m winning you over with my caveman tactics.”
A statement. Cocky man. I laughed softly.