don’t see how dancing and kissing and finding the man of your dreams can be construed as abnormal,” Cheryl Louise said.
“The bride and the groom having their parties at the same small-time honky-tonk is what’s whacked-out. Girl, how in God’s green earth are you supposed to let your hair down with your fiancé a few feet away?”
“I don’t have enough hair to let down. Besides, this is the only place in town that has a dance floor. The Pink Cadillac is much too small for two-stepping.”
The Pink Cadillac was the only bar inside the city limits. It was a great place to get together to visit and suck down a few cold ones, but it didn’t have the party atmosphere of a real sawdust-on-the-floor, country-crooning dance hall like Cherry Blossom Junction.
The bar was owned and operated by Eden Hallsey Weston, a bad girl in her own right who’d married the town’s golden boy a few years ago. The news had shocked everyone, especially Madeline, who’d heard from Janice, who’d heard from Cheryl Louise, who’d been at the wedding. Eden had always been so outrageous while Brady had walked the straight and narrow path set forth by his conservative family. They’d been opposites, yet they’d fallen madly in love anyway. Just like in a fairy tale.
Madeline didn’t do fairy tales. Hot, hunky, badass bad boys didn’t gravitate toward shy, geeky good girls.
Which was why she’d traded in the old Madeline when she’d rolled out of Cadillac the day after Sharon’s funeral. Maddie had seen for herself how precious life was, and she’d made up her mind then and there to live it to the fullest. That meant conquering her fears and taking chances. Being a bold, brazen woman who lived for the moment rather than the shy, geeky girl who’d spent her days dreaming and baking in her father’s doughnut shop.
While she wished Eden and Brady the best of luck, she wanted more out of life than a husband and a handful of kids and a boring existence in a desperately small town.
Particularly since said town held so many bad memories. Of being a nerd and getting overlooked by the boy of her dreams, and losing her closest and dearest friend.
Her lungs constricted and she forced her attention back to her friends and the conversation.
“…could have driven to Austin,” Janice pointed out. “I know this great little club that specializes in exotic male dancers.”
“And get back at the crack of dawn? I need my beauty sleep for tomorrow.”
“Half-naked exotic male dancers,” Janice added.
“I like knowing that Jack is here.” Cheryl Louise waved again and Jack winked back before shifting his attention to his buddies.
“Cute, half-naked exotic male dancers.”
“Give it up,” Madeline told her. “G-strings don’t interest a woman who’s helplessly in love.”
“Unless it’s the man she loves wearing the G-string,” Brenda pointed out. “Cal wears one for me.”
“Come on, girls,” Cheryl Louise said. “Madeline needs to find a guy and our yapping isn’t going to help her concentrate.”
“So who wants her to concentrate?” Sarah asked. “Sorry, Madeline, but I want to win.”
“It’s just a game,” Cheryl Louise said, fingering the makeshift veil one of the girls had made for her. “A silly little game that’s supposed to be fun.”
“Girl, you say that because you’re about to trade in your bad-girl status and promise not to be bad, but there are those of us who’d like to keep our reputation.”
“You don’t have a reputation,” Cheryl Louise pointed out to Janice. “And you never had one. The only one who had anything remotely bad going for her was Sarah, and even she’s as boring as they come now. No offense, Sarah,” she said to the quiet redhead. “You’re just anxious to win so you don’t have to pick up Uncle Spur from the airport.”
“Uncle Spur’s coming to the wedding?” Madeline asked, her mind rushing back to her childhood and the ornery old man who’d come to visit Cheryl and Sharon every Christmas. He’d sat in the living room with his chewing tobacco and a soda can and offered an opinion on everything from making strawberry jam to the state of world politics. Uncle Spur had liked to talk. Even more, he’d liked being right.
“Of course he’s coming,” Cheryl Louise said. “He’s my oldest living relative. I couldn’t get married without Uncle Spur.” As though she just noticed the effect of her news, her eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong with Uncle Spur?”
“Nothing,” Madeline said. “It’s just…he’s quite a character.”
“An obnoxious character,” Brenda added.
“He spit on me the last time I saw him,” Janice said.
“He was just showing off,” Cheryl Louise explained. “He was the Waller County Spit-Off champ back then. But then the cataracts set in and he came in third to his two brothers. He never spits now. Besides, I would pick him up myself, but I don’t have time.”
“Don’t you worry about it,” Madeline told her. “One of us will do it.”
“Yep,” Janice said. “The loser gets the privilege.” She turned on Madeline. “Pick someone, or forfeit and let Sarah take her turn. She’s next in line with points if you don’t pull this off.”
But Madeline wasn’t forfeiting. It wasn’t so much about winning—while Uncle Spur wasn’t the most pleasant person, Madeline could endure a two-hour drive from the airport with him if it meant helping out a friend. Rather, this game was about conquering her fears and living life. About proving to all of her friends, and herself, that she truly had changed when she’d left the comfort of her small town for the excitement of the big city. About picking the hottest, hunkiest guy in the honky-tonk and approaching him as bold as you please.
Something the old Maddie would have been too frightened and embarrassed to do because she’d been more content to fantasize about life than actually live it.
No more.
She glanced around, found her target standing just inside the doorway and summoned her courage. Her moment of truth had finally arrived.
THIS WAS A BIG WASTE of time.
The truth echoed in Austin Jericho’s brain the minute he stepped inside Cherry Blossom Junction, the one and only dance hall in Cadillac, Texas.
Not that Austin had anything against dance halls, particularly this one. The place had character. Once a train depot near the turn of the century, Cherry Blossom Junction was far from the typical Texas honky-tonk. Beers were served up from behind the original hand-carved ticket counters. Instead of a mechanical bull, the very first engine to chug out of the station sat in the far corner. Train schedules graced the walls rather than the typical neon beer signs. And when the band cranked up the “Orange Blossom Special,” an authentic train whistle blew along with the music.
Nope, it sure-as-shootin’ wasn’t the place itself Austin had a problem with.
It’s just that if a man had set his mind to add more fruit to his
