A Creed in Stone Creek - Linda Lael Miller [98]
How Delia had loved a community dance—looked forward to it all week long. Wore her freshly shampooed hair up in rollers all day Saturday, and often squeezed the cost of a dime-store lipstick out of the grocery budget because, as she put it, a new shade always made her feel prettier. Delia had favored dresses with full skirts, the better for twirling, and she’d primp in front of the mirror on top of her bureau, as if she was practicing her smile for the upcoming occasion.
Or maybe she wasn’t practicing for the dance at all, but for the men she’d meet after she got on the bus one day and left Stone Creek—and her family—behind for good.
Melissa sighed. Delia was gone now; she’d died of hard living and the effects of long-term alcohol use a couple of years ago. By then, the woman had been a stranger for so long that the loss felt impersonal; Melissa had done the bulk of her grieving as a small child.
Back then, Melissa’s dad, a quiet man, thoughtful and maybe a little shy, had watched Delia’s antics with smiling admiration glowing in his eyes, as if he’d never seen a more beautiful picture than the one his wife made, spinning to make the hem of her dress fly out around her shapely legs.
Whole families had attended the dances in those days—not just the mothers and the fathers, but babies and kids of all ages, and old folks, too. Melissa recalled running wildly around the Grange Hall, inside and out, with her brother and sisters and a flock of other local children, until they all finally ran down.
As the evening wore on, the younger kids would collapse from sheer delighted exhaustion, one by one, and, lie down to rest on a makeshift bed, usually consisting of horse blankets or suit coats, to be carried out to the family rig around midnight, when the festivities ended.
For a moment, Melissa was back there—she could smell her dad’s aftershave and the fresh-air scent of the jacket he wore for dress-up, feel the warmth and strength of his shoulder, where her head rested. He’d carried her in one arm and Ashley in the other, and remembering brought a lump to Melissa’s throat and a sting to the back of her eyes.
Steven paid the modest price of admission—the money collected went partly to the band and partly to the local historical society—and she knew he’d picked up on her mood by the way his eyes narrowed slightly when he looked at her.
He moved nearer to her and, since the noise was intense, leaned close to her ear to ask, “You look a little peaked. Are you okay?”
She nodded, swallowed. She felt a little deflated, though, the way she always did when she remembered the demise of her parents’ marriage and the vast emptiness left behind when it was over. “I’m fine,” she told him, but it was herself she wanted to convince.
It was a long time ago, she thought. Let it go.
Melissa was good at shaking things off—and it helped when she spotted Olivia and Tanner waltzing on the other side of the hall, lost in each other’s eyes, seemingly oblivious to the fast song the band was thrumming out and the dancers spinning and gyrating around them.
Her sister and brother-in-law were happy together, as were Ashley and Jack and Brad and Meg. There was no antilove curse looming over the O’Ballivan family.
When the band struck up a slow tune, Steven drew Melissa into his arms and claimed a space for them on the crowded dance floor.
Melissa drew in the delicious, fresh-air-and-green-grass scent of his skin and hair. Reveled in the hard heat of him, though the sensation wasn’t about sexual attraction—though God knew there was plenty of that—but instead came from a sense of being protected and even cherished.
Steven’s breath was like a balmy breeze against her ear. “I’m issuing a blanket apology, in advance,” he told her, with a note of laughter in his voice. “I’ve never been much of a dancer, and if I step on your feet, please assume it’s unintentional.”
She smiled, tilted her head back to look up at him. She could see the underside of his chin, the