an uncanny way of reading her thoughts. Now, he stepped back, relinquishing his hold. “Well, you’ve certainly come a long way since rodeo camp.”
His slow, appraising glance skimmed over her like a caress.
“I always knew you would. You put on a great show tonight.” His smile widened into a teasing grin. “I guess you hear that all the time.”
“Not so often anymore, but you always did say the nicest things.”
Her sarcasm surprised Amanda almost as much as the embarrassed look that passed quickly over Mitch’s face. Her throat tightened, and she cleared it. His smile had dredged up memories of the kisses they’d shared…and the hurt that had followed. She raced to think of a topic that might steer the conversation away from painful adolescent memories.
“I guess you stuck with the plan and went into law.” She gestured toward the crowd of bar association members who stood around in tight knots, waiting for the dance to start. “What’s your specialty?”
“I’m with the district attorney’s office.”
His answer explained the air of authority he carried on his wide shoulders. She nodded, understanding why they hadn’t run into each other. So far, her work hadn’t required a visit to the courthouse’s criminal division.
Before she had a chance to mention her own practice, the band finished their warm-ups and ran through the opening bars of “Arkansas Traveler.” On the plywood stage, Mark Jansen, president of the bar association, stepped to the microphone. Throughout the barn, chatter quieted, except when someone in the back yelled “Let’s hear some music!” The call echoed off the rafters.
Jansen grinned, waiting until a spate of laughter died down before promising to keep his remarks brief. After assuring everyone that their contributions would appear in the next edition of the Bar News, he revealed the amount they’d raised for charities catering to at-risk children. The evening’s total was impressive enough that several wolf whistles punctuated a round of applause.
“That’s four thousand more than we raised last year. In this economy, you’ve truly outdone yourselves.” He signaled the band. “And now, our own Mitchell Goodwin will lead tonight’s star performer, Mandy Markette, in the first dance. Ya’ll join in, y’hear.”
Her hand tucked in Mitch’s grasp, Amanda followed the good-looking attorney out onto the straw-covered dance floor. She’d barely turned to face him before the fiddle player led them into a slow rendition of “Rodeo Moon.”
“Shall we?” Mitch bowed ever so slightly.
With a reminder that the night was all about charity, Amanda plastered on a broad smile and ignored her misgivings about stepping into Mitch’s arms again. She told herself they certainly wouldn’t fit together as well as they had one long-ago summer. She was a different person from the girl he’d known back then. Plus, in the intervening years Mitch had grown several inches taller. At six-feet-something, he now towered over her compact frame.
But two measures into the waltz, Mitch slipped his arm around her waist. The gentle press of his hand sent familiar tingles up and down her spine.
Struggling to hide a rush of heat, Amanda pressed her cheek to his chest. His woodsy aftershave mingled with a faint powdery smell she couldn’t quite identify. Whatever it was, it triggered a wave of longing for the home her childhood on the road had never included. She inhaled deeper while the singer belted out a song that made the rodeo circuit sound far more romantic than the life she’d known.
All too soon, the notes of the first number faded. Mitch’s smoldering eyes met hers, and Amanda knew with one glance that he wanted to continue their time together. When he motioned toward one of the barn’s big doors, she barely hesitated. She ducked outside, feeling giddy, while he grabbed two cups of punch from a table decked out like a chuck wagon. They moved into the shadows beyond the light that spilled from the door, not stopping until they’d left the acrid odor of several cigarette smokers behind. In a quiet spot, they leaned against a hitching rail.
“I can’t believe you’re really here. I’d planned to ask your dad about you after the show, but seeing you is so much better.” Concern dimmed the light in Mitch’s eyes. “He ever straighten up? Become the father you needed him to be?”
Amanda stifled an angry reply. No matter how much she’d changed, some things remained the same—and her dad was one of them. After her mom died, he’d dumped Amanda in rodeo camp and toured the country, preferring to rope and ride alone than help her deal with her grief. Meeting Mitch had been the only bright spot that terrible summer, and her dad had been the topic of more than one conversation between them.
She rolled her eyes. “He’s still up to the same old tricks. He backed out of the Saddle Up Stampede at the last minute, conned me into riding in his place. How about yourself? Did you go back to Camp Bridle Catch the next year?”
“Nah, that was the last in a long line of summer camps. It was all college prep and internships after that.”
Their lives couldn’t have been more different. For her, the next few years had been about winning a gold buckle in Las Vegas.
Amanda drained the cup Mitch handed her and set it aside. Talking to him brought back all her old hurts. It was as if she’d been asleep for years and had now been shaken awake, her adrenaline pumping for a fight. The urge to give Mitch a piece of her mind warred with the desire to grab him and hug him. She wasn’t sure where to start. In the end, she decided to rip the bandage off by tackling their breakup.
“I waited for you in the stables like we’d planned that last day of camp. You never showed.”
Mitch propped his arms on the top rail beside hers. “I couldn’t. My parents were furious—and probably embarrassed—that Ben and I had gotten into a fight. They refused to listen when I tried to explain. Instead, they marched us to the car. We were halfway to the Grand Canyon before I got a chance to state my case.”
“You never called. Never wrote.”
“I wanted to. I scoured the internet for the Markette Ropin’ Team. What little information I could find was always about where you’d been, not where you were headed. I’m sorry we never got to say goodbye.”
Amanda nodded, finally understanding why Mitch had left her alone and confused and, after an hour, madder than a wet cat.
“What was that all about, anyway? I never understood why you and your brother got into it like that.”
“Guy stuff.” Mitch shrugged. “Teen guy stuff,” he corrected. “Ben made some crack about my hot girlfriend. Before I knew it, he was on the ground and I was standing there, daring him to get up.”
Amanda laughed when Mitch gently elbowed her ribs.
“Oh. So, your brother thought I was hot, did he?”
His quiet “You still are” made her heart beat double time. Not quite ready to pick up where they’d left off as teenagers, she reminded herself that she didn’t know the man he’d become. She changed the subject.
“How’d you wind up in Melbourne? I thought you’d settle in Savannah near your folks.” As a teen, Mitch had talked about joining the family law practice.
“I did for a while. Almost made partner in Goodwin
