Read Online One True Love (Cupid, Texas 0.5) by Lori Wilde - Free Book Online Page B

their disapproving stares. I was acting unseemly. Not just for a maid, but for any young lady.
    “The muscle’s still cramping. I can see it twitching.”
    “John,” I said, through gritted teeth. “Stop rubbing my leg, we’re being glared at.”
    He raised his head. “Oh.” He straightened. “That’s the Baptist minister’s wife.”
    “She looks like she’s got a bee in her bonnet.”
    “Ignore her.”
    John put an arm on my shoulder and we swayed together to “I’ll See You in My Dreams,” in no way keeping time to the beat.
    We talked during those long hours. About everything under the sun. I told him what it was like to grow up the eldest of seven children with a mother who tended toward poor health. We talked of holidays spent with family, favorite Christmas gifts we’d received. Mine was a cornhusk doll, his a gold-plated kaleidoscope.
    John regaled me with stories of his childhood, including the time his father had put him on a horse when he was nine and took him to the top of the Cupid water tower and said, “As far as your eye can see, Johnny, all this land is yours. You’re a Fant. People will look to you for direction. When I’m gone, it’s all up to you to guide the town to its destiny.”
    “I can’t imagine it.”
    “I remember being completely overwhelmed,” John said.
    “You shouldered the responsibility like a prizewinning ox.”
    He laughed.
    “Are you making fun of me?”
    “Not at all. I love your idioms.”
    That word made me feel like a hick. It sounded a whole like “idiot.” “What’s an idiom?”
    “An idiom refers to the way a person phrases things.”
    “Oh,” I said. But that word underscored the differences between us. He was an educated man of the world and I was an apple knocker.
    By midnight, my legs felt as if they were set in cement, heavy hunks that couldn’t move. The biddies had left, as had most of the spectators. Twenty couples and twelve hours remained.
    At the next break we downed two cups of strong coffee with extra sugar stirred in. The caffeine and sugar jolt carried us through fifteen minutes before we were back to hanging on to each other and swaying to keep each other up.
    “Stamina,” I murmured at one point.
    “What?” John blinked, bleary-eyed.
    “You’ve got lots of stamina.”
    “So do you.”
    We grinned at each other and that pepped us up for another few minutes.
    By four in the morning, every part of me ached and it felt as if someone had thrust cactus in my eyes. Fresh blood from my blistered toes had oozed through the bandages and dried.
    John didn’t look much better. His tie was askew and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to the elbow. His hair was mussed, lying every which way. But he looked rakishly handsome with his guard down. I’d seen so many facets of this man—the somber businessman gently breaking bad news, the earthy cowboy who worked the land, the adoring uncle, loyal brother, and now this charming madcap dancer. John Fant was perfect.
    My throat clutched. I didn’t care about the aches and pains. In fact, they were a badge of honor. I was glad I had blisters. John and I were here together. I would never have an opportunity like this again and I was determined to enjoy every miserably wonderful second of it.
    All around us, dancers wilted like hydrangeas in the desert. One couple fell asleep on the dance floor, started snoring and stopped moving. A sideline spotter blew a whistle and the couple were out. Forty-two down, thirteen to go.
    By five A.M. another couple threw in the towel. Now it was an even dozen. The stands were completely empty, except for one man stretched out sleeping, a fedora cocked over his face.
    Only the diligent spotters looked alert.
    We were so exhausted. I wasn’t thinking straight. I just wanted to stop dancing, but at the same time dreaded the end.
    “You can rest your head on me,” John invited, and patted his shoulder.
    All the other couples were doing it, but John and I weren’t