Country Hearts Read online

  “What is the Jarabe Tapatío, how hard is it, and does it require listening to country music?”

  “Most people refer to it as the Mexican hat dance. It originated as a courtship dance and I’d say semi-difficult to learn. It has a lot of footwork and arm motions. Once you get those down. it’s fairly easy, but we’d need a mariachi band and big colorful skirts to lift and twirl, so it’s out. Plus, this is only my third class, so I’m about your same level.”

  Before Jemma could argue that she was sure that wasn’t true, a petite woman with bronze skin and a thick head of dark, springy curls walked up to the front.

  “Hello, everyone, and welcome to country dancing aerobics.” Bright-pink lips accented a grin so wide that Jemma smiled back despite her nerves. Their instructor’s enthusiasm radiated from her, and she promised thirty minutes of dancing that wouldn’t even feel like exercise.

  “And I’m so excited to see we have a new student.”

  Everyone turned to Jemma and beamed. Over the past few days she’d slowly started getting used to how everyone she passed waved or stopped to introduce themselves and say hello. Had begun to like it, in fact.

  Right now, though, she was sort of missing her anonymity.

  “I’m Essie, and you are…?”

  “Jemma. I’ve never done any country dancing before, so I’m nervous.”

  “No worries. This is a judgment-free zone, and we’re all just here to have a good time and burn some calories. Bienvenido, Jemma.”

  With that, Essie instructed everyone to get into place, adding a clap that made them immediately scramble to hop to.

  Jemma took a few steps away from Camilla and a couple of steps back from the rest of the people so she wouldn’t accidentally kick or smack into anyone. The door in the back right corner, flush with the wall, caught her eye. There’s the emergency exit I’ve been searching for.

  But the time to flee had obviously passed so, ready or not, she was about to learn how to country dance.

  They started out clapping as they stepped side to side. Okay, this I can handle.

  Essie demonstrated the move they were about to do, something she called the country swing. It involved swinging your arms as you swayed your hips. Camilla smiled at Jemma and she returned the gesture, thinking maybe she’d actually be okay.

  “And now that we’re warmed up,” Essie called, “we’re going to increase the tempo!”

  The beat of the music increased, and Jemma struggled to keep up with the grapevine stutter step move, followed by a stomp, kick ball change move. They were supposed to repeat the sequence eight times, and during the first three she bumped into Camilla, cursing her earlier naïve confidence.

  Instead of moving away for her own safety, Camilla simply called out the moves, demonstrating and counting to the beat. By the last count of eight, she’d done it!

  But then a stream of new steps was thrown her way.

  During an extra-complicated move, Jemma looked to Camilla, but the woman simply shrugged and whispered that she still hadn’t figured out this one and always went the wrong way. So they laughed and did their best and made up a few moves on their own.

  Thirty minutes later, Jemma braced her hands on her knees, fighting the urge to fall to the floor as she gasped for breath.

  Essie had walked past a few times, always encouraging her and helping demonstrate a few of the moves she’d struggled with, and as everyone was completing the last of their stretches, she returned to check on Jemma. “You okay?”

  “I’m…” Out of breath. Exhausted. About to die. “Fine.”

  “See! So fun, you didn’t even know you were working out.”

  Not exactly how Jemma felt, but it had been more fun than expected. Definitely a workout, though, and she wanted to check her phone and see if it had truly only been thirty minutes, because it felt like longer.

  Man, I’m out of shape.

  Essie flashed that exuberant smile again. “I use a lot of the same basic moves in each routine, so each class will get easier and easier. Pretty soon, you’ll be a pro.”

  Jemma had similarly assured her students of that kind of thing before, and as they learned about new subjects and began to understand, it did get easier. Pro seemed like a stretch, and she often advised her class not to set such extreme goals that they ended up being discouraging instead of encouraging.

  Camilla asked their firecracker dance teacher a question in Spanish and she responded, their words blurring together. Jemma had always meant to learn more Spanish than the classes she’d taken in college, but they were speaking faster than she could follow, only a familiar-sounding word she couldn’t recall the meaning of here and there.

  After I finish my Masters, I’ll pick it back up and work on trying to become fluent. A couple of the students in her class spoke both English and Spanish, and she wanted to be able to understand them as best as she could, whichever language they preferred.

  She straightened and blew out her breath. Most of the other women were gathering their things, and as soon as she could walk on her Jell-O legs without them giving out on her, she’d do the same.

  Essie turned to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. “See you next week!”

  Before Jemma could respond with a “maybe,” Camilla wrapped her arm around her shoulders and said, “You definitely will!”

  Wyatt had just settled into his well-worn recliner on Friday night when the knock came at the door. He glanced at the clock, thinking it was late for company. Bailey Rae had just gone to bed, and he was exhausted from scraping stalls, repairing fence, and chopping and stacking wood so they’d be plenty prepared for the next storm.

  Maybe an hour of kicking back and watching television was too much to ask. He pushed to his feet with a groan—a mama cow had charged him this morning when he’d simply been trying to help her premature calf, the first one of the season and born just on the border of being big enough to survive. But he understood the parental protective vibe, and he should’ve remembered she was one of the most defensive of the herd.

  Now he had a physical reminder so he wouldn’t forget.

  He swung open the door, surprised to see Jemma on the other side, his escape-artist horse by her side. Unlike her usual fancy duds, she was wearing a puffy coat over sweatpants and tennis shoes. The wind swirled the dark ends of her ponytail around her pinkened cheeks.

  She ran her hand down Casper’s pale neck. “I believe this belongs to you.”

  Wyatt gaped at the two of them. “I didn’t even see him leave—and I triple-secured that gate this afternoon.”

  “Are you too smart for your own good?” Jemma asked in a soft, cooing voice, and Wyatt nearly nodded. But of course, she was talking to his horse, who nickered and nudged her arm until she renewed her petting.

  “Too spoiled is more like it. I told Mrs. Klein repeatedly that if she was going to keep feeding him, he was going to keep showing up.”

  “Well, I did let him share a meal with Señor Fluffypants, so…”

  Wyatt cocked his head, trying to make sense out of her words. “Señor Fluffypants?”

  “My bunny—they both like carrots, after all, and after his initial shock and wariness, he’s decided that Casper is all right.”

  Wyatt felt his mouth stretch into a smile, wide enough it strained his lips and cheeks a bit, thanks to too long of disuse. “You have a bunny named Señor Fluffypants? Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  “First of all, my students named him. And second of all, because I’m awesome and I have an equally awesome pet, and don’t act like you’re not jealous.”

  “It’s pretty hard not to be when your bunny probably stays put and I’m stuck with the Houdini version of a horse.”

  “Maybe it’s because you named him after a ghost. I bet he goes incorporeal and walks right through the gate. That’s why nothing can keep hi
m in.”

  With a shake of his head and more of that smiling he was unaccustomed to, he reached for the troublemaker.

  The traitor nuzzled Jemma instead.

  She giggled and snuggled Casper back, and no wonder the horse had followed her over, despite the fact that she didn’t have a bridle or a lead rope.

  Then Wyatt noticed her chattering teeth and how red the tip of her nose had become. How inconsiderate of him to stand in the doorway and banter with her without letting her step inside to warm up. “Come in. You’re freezing.”

  “No, I’m fine,” she said, a rattle of teeth biting off the words. “Okay, that’s a lie. I’m freezing. But in my defense, it’s so freaking cold here. How do you stand it?”

  “A fire helps.”

  Awe flooded her features, her eyes going cartoonishly wide. “You have a real live fire?”

  He ushered her inside and pointed her toward the crackling flames. “I’ll put Casper in his pen, quadruple secure the gate, and be right back.”

  The jolt from icy air that hit him as soon as he stepped outside was just what he needed. Not that he regretted asking Jemma inside to warm up—it was the least he could do. But he’d been a little too comfortable standing there, admiring the pink coloring her cheeks and the way her big blue eyes sparkled as she lightly teased him.

  Not to mention that joke about his horse being a ghost, as if she’d finally solved the mystery.

  With the cold startling him fully awake and kickstarting his brain, he was remembering all the reasons why he and Jemma needed to stick to neighborly and nothing more.

  A few more minutes of frigid night air, and he could go back inside and keep things on the friendly side. No thinking about how pretty she was, or how every time she laughed or gave a quick comeback, his heart picked up an extra beat.

  Jemma eyed the pictures on the large wooden mantel as she stretched her fingers closer to the dancing flames inside the stone fireplace. Frames in a mix of wood and silver displayed smiling pictures of Bailey through the years. Including a few from when she was a baby, and Jemma studied the woman holding the tiny bundle.

  Bailey was a perfect combination of her mom and dad, the same pert little nose and big brown eyes as her mom and the honey-colored hair and slightly indented chin from her dad.

  The other pictures showed her through various stages. Kindergarten, first grade, second…and assumedly her third-grade picture, which was different from the rest in more ways than just her looking a year older.

  A burst of cold air accompanied the opening of the front door. She hoped it wasn’t rude to mention the difference in pictures, but she cared about Bailey and was curious about her in general. She was so bubbly, but she didn’t seem to be as social with the other children in her class. Especially the girls. “Bailey’s not smiling in her latest picture.”

  Wyatt’s forehead crinkled.

  “I couldn’t help but notice,” she said, gesturing to the last frame in the line of pictures.

  “Ah. That. She lost her two front teeth over the summer, but they were mostly grown in by the time picture day came around. Ever since they came in, she stopped smiling as wide as she used to. I suspect one or more of her classmates said something about them being big or her slight overbite.”

  Jemma sighed. “Most of the kids are good kids. I’m not sure why they poke at each other so much. I think it’s because they’re all changing and they feel insecure and don’t know how to handle it, so they poke at other people. It gets worse in junior high.”

  “Something to look forward to,” Wyatt mumbled.

  “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but aren’t you a fan of being properly prepared?” She probably shouldn’t have added that last part, but she couldn’t help it.

  One corner of his mouth kicked up, making the worry she’d crossed a line evaporate. “Funny.”

  “I thought so.”

  He jerked his chin toward the fireplace. “Don’t you have one of these at your place?”

  Jemma bit her lip. “Well, there wasn’t a switch.” She could see Wyatt opening his mouth to say something condescending that would ruin how nice it was to talk to him and warm up by the fire, and hurried to cut it off. “Don’t worry, once I couldn’t find one, I realized it was an old-school fireplace that I’d have to start. But there were only a few logs, and I tried to light it three times. I never could get it to fully catch.”

  “You don’t know how to start a fire?”

  The incredulousness in his voice pricked her defenses. “I’ve never started one before. I wasn’t in…Fire Starters of America or whatever.”

  “We prefer Pyros of America,” he said, and a laugh burst out of her.

  She covered her mouth with her hand, glancing down the hallway where she assumed Bailey was sleeping. When she turned back, she noticed how close Wyatt was. How the flames danced in his hazel eyes, and that a tiny swing of her arm would make her skin brush his.

  Her pulse quickened, and her throat went dry.

  He grinned at her, and a mutinous flutter traveled through her belly. Tenderness softened his expression, and she thought that she’d rather deal with the gruffness. The tenderness was making every cell in her body misfire.

  “Come on. I’ll show you.” Wyatt kneeled by the fire and pointed to the corner that wasn’t lit anymore—the black logs were only partially burned. He detailed how to stack the wood in a crisscross pattern, talked about kindling, and then extended a match her way. “Care to do the honors?”

  With him right by her side, she was already feeling rather toasty, and she was pretty sure it was more than the fire. The firelight lit his features with a soft glow, showing off the strong line of his jaw and the dusting of stubble across it.

  She struck the match and touched it to the kindling.

  Both Camilla and the coffee shop owner had made it clear they thought she should go for the cowboy, and this kinder, softer version tempted her to take their advice. It went beyond him being nice to look at, or that she could tell he really was a gentleman deep down.

  Compassion had coated his words as he’d explained how to build a fire, the same gentle care she witnessed every time he talked to his daughter.

  If only there weren’t a dozen reasons that crossing lines would be a bad idea.

  “See how it’s catching?” he asked, and she reluctantly looked away from his face. “Now you can lean closer and blow. Not too hard, or it’ll go out. Just a little encouraging wind.”

  “Maybe you can talk to Mother Nature about the encouraging wind. She keeps sending the kind that rattles my windows, and that first night I was here, I was sure the roof was going to blow right off.”

  “Not sure she’d listen to me, but if it makes you feel better, that roof’s about as old as I am, and it hasn’t gone anywhere.” His eyebrows drew together. “Come to think of it, it probably needs replacing. Do you have any leaks?”

  “Not so far, but you’re not doing a very good job of comforting me.” Her lungs tightened a pinch, her fears about her old house rising to the surface. “It was like two seconds of calm before you stirred the worry pot.”

  “The worry pot?”

  “That’s the part you’re focusing on?” Her voice pitched higher. Now she was wondering how long it’d be before the roof sprung a leak, and what was she supposed to do then? Sure, she could call her landlord, but the older lady lived far away and, she assumed, without a lot of means for roof repair.

  Jemma’s salary couldn’t cover luxuries like that, either.

  Wyatt placed his hand on her shoulder, and her inner storm immediately calmed. “Hey. The roof will be fine. That’s just where my mind goes. Preventative maintenance and what needs done. Normally my brain likes to focus on that kind of worrisome stuff as soon as my head hits the pillow. That way I can’t sleep.”

  “I’ve had that proble
m before as well.” Her words came out slightly breathy, matching the skidding of her pulse. Then there was the way all her blood rushed to the spot where his hand warmed her shoulder. “Admittedly I’m sort of a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants, attack-troubles-as-they-come girl, but I’m sort of out of my league out here. It’s like learning how to adult all over again, when I thought I was doing a fairly decent job of it already.”

  He chuckled, and her stomach crawled up, up, up. “I know what you mean. And I was too hard on you that day you got stuck in the snow. I was in a hurry, and patience isn’t my strong suit. I think I’m a tad rusty at dealing with people—I’m better with animals.”

  “Well, I’m learning snow preparedness is one of the chinks in my armor, but I’m getting better at driving on the slick roads, and hey, at least now I also know how to start a fire.” She glanced at the way the orange-and-yellow blaze had caught and spread before returning her gaze to the guy next to her. “And I don’t believe you on that last part. I’ve seen the way you are with Bailey.”

  The love that crept into his features made him that much more attractive, while serving as a reminder why she shouldn’t focus on his attractiveness.

  “Bailey’s different,” he said. “She’s like pure sunshine, you know. All those colors and the bouncy, never-ending energy. It’s impossible not to feel happy around her.”

  Affection warmed her chest as she recalled her interactions with his daughter—pure sunshine was the perfect way to describe her. “She’s a great kid. And I love how she has her own sense of style. I should hire her as my wardrobe consultant.”

  They shared another smile, and Jemma’s self-preservation mechanism kicked in. If she stayed here much longer, her brain might take a backseat to the glowy goodness flooding her insides.

  Then she might forget all the complications and make a mess. She was sticking with the exciting part of the adventure and avoiding the hazards.

  Her knees creaked as she straightened, her thighs burning after being squatted down for so long—some of that was definitely from yesterday’s country dancing class and all those squat-and-kicking moves. “Thank you for letting me warm up and for the lesson on building a fire.”