Terry-Joe nodded toward the dance floor. “Come on.”
“What, dance?”
“Sure. Trust me.”
Bronwyn let Terry-Joe take the crutches away and prop them against the wall. Hopping on her good leg, she moved with him to the dance floor. The other couples gave them room and plenty of encouraging smiles. His hand went around her waist and pulled her close, forcing her to again look into his eyes.
He’s seventeen, and he’s never been out of the valley, she told herself. He’s a child, and not just legally.
He leaned close. She felt his breath on her cheek. “My wings can hold us,” he said like the wind sighing through the trees.
Emaline continued to sing:
It reminded Bronwyn how glorious being a Tufa could be. The music formed around them like a physical entity dancing on sparkling wings. And then they, too, danced on wings that left trails of sparkles in the air as they swooped and twirled in time to the tune, merging with the music to become magical, timeless beings. Bronwyn’s leg, unburdened by her physical self, no longer ached with the weight of injury and age.
And Terry-Joe was magical, too. He bore her into the music with the gracefulness of a true rider of the night wind. He may not have been a pureblood Tufa, but he was awfully close. His body felt hot and solid beneath her hands, and his fingers along her skin, even through her clothes, left little tingling trails. He brought her body to life like sunlight opening a morning glory blossom, banishing all traces of the numbness.
When the song finished and they again touched solid ground, Bronwyn threw her arms around Terry-Joe and let him spin her through the air. The crowd applauded the music and dancing, and Mrs. Chandler returned to the microphone. “That sure was purty, wasn’t it? Thank you, little Miss Emaline, and special thanks to Bronwyn Hyatt and Terry-Joe Gitterman. Now we’ll be hearing from our own Paige Paine, back from the music college in Nashville.”
As the next song began, Kell appeared holding two bottles of beer. He looked from Bronwyn to Terry-Joe, his face impassive. “Can’t turn my back on you for a minute,” he said as he handed his sister one of the drinks. “I thought I’d get the first dance.”
“You snooze, you lose,” she said, and took a long drink from the bottle. The beer was ice cold and felt amazing going down.
Kell turned to Terry-Joe. “That’s some fancy footwork,” he said, an edge of suspicion in his voice. “Didn’t know you Gittermans could dance like that.”
Terry-Joe shrugged modestly. “Your sister brings it out in me.”
“She has been known to get men to do some crazy things,” Kell agreed. He took a drink and added, “Men like your brother.”
“Kell,” Bronwyn quickly warned. From the time they were children, Kell and Dwayne Gitterman had disliked each other; in fact, one reason Bronwyn had first dated him was to tweak her overprotective big brother. It had been one of her poorer decisions.
“No, that’s okay, Bronwyn,” Terry-Joe said. He met Kell’s challenging gaze and said simply, “My brother ain’t me. And family only goes so far. You have a problem with him, he’s not hard to find. If your problem’s with me, I’m right here.”
Kell started to say something, then stopped. He nodded. “I reckon you’re right. Everyone’s their own. Sorry about that.”
Bronwyn turned at the touch of a feminine hand on her arm. Bliss Overbay stood beside her. Her black hair hung in two braids beside her face and her tank top displayed the snake tattoo on her arm and shoulder. “Quite a dance,” she said.
Bronwyn nodded at Terry-Joe. “Thank him; he held me up.”
Bliss nodded approvingly. “He’s true, all right.” Then she turned to both men. “I need some private girl-talk with Bronwyn. If you’ll excuse us?”
Both Terry-Joe and Kell made the hand gesture that signified respect for a First Daughter. Bronwyn took her crutches from Kell and hobbled after Bliss, past the hay-bale bleachers and out a side door into the night.
They moved away from the barn into the darkness at the edge of the forest. The teenagers’ bonfire, where they pounded drums and danced around the flames, provided enough light for them to see each other. Bliss turned to her and said, “Was it a good idea leaving those two alone? I could smell the testosterone burning.”
“They’ll work things out,” Bronwyn said. “Kell doesn’t hate Terry-Joe, just Dwayne.”
“That’s not an exclusive club.”
“No, not even among the Hyatts.”
Bliss looked at her closely. “Are you sure you’re over him? He had a mighty tight grip on you once.”
As she said the word, she realized its truth: “Absolutely.”
Bliss didn’t seem convinced. “Have you seen him since you got back?”
“He came by the house last night after everyone left. He was drunk, probably stoned, and just wanted to fuck. I didn’t even let him in. He’s the past I’m not real proud of.”
Bliss cocked one eyebrow. “Don’t tell me the Bronwynator is ashamed?”
She was in no mood for teasing. “Did you bring me out here to lecture me on boys? When’s the last time you had a date, huh?”
“Ouch,” Bliss said.
Bronwyn sighed. A girl at the bonfire took off her T-shirt and began dancing in her bra. That kind of freedom seemed a million miles away. “I’m sorry, Bliss. I’m just tired of everyone knowing what’s going on in my life. Being the center of the whole world’s attention will do that to you.”
Bliss continued to look at her with the penetrating, steady gaze. “Are you done?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Because you know things are happening. How goes the music?”
“It’s there, finally. Terry-Joe gave me a lesson Sunday morning, and then when Kell came home, everything kind of broke loose. I’m still rusty, but I’m not helpless.”
“Also good.” She stepped closer and spoke more softly. “The First Daughters are meeting at the next full moon, this Thursday. You have been specifically invited, to talk about the future.”
Bronwyn nodded; this wasn’t unexpected, but it was part of the whole reality of her mother’s impending death that she didn’t want to acknowledge. “I’ll be there.”
Bliss smiled. “And for your information, I had a date with a session guitarist two weeks ago, just before you got home.”
“Really? Will there be a second date?”
“Maybe. I think I intrigue him, but he doesn’t understand me. Kind of like you and that Reverend Chess, I imagine.”
Bronwyn was glad the firelight hid her blush. “Him? He just keeps showing up. I don’t encourage him.”
“I think you should be careful.”
She laughed. “Bliss, I can barely walk, I don’t think I’m up to anything more strenuous.”
“I’m not worried about what’s between your legs, Bronwyn. I’m worried about what’s in here.” She tapped Bronwyn’s chest over her heart.
“That? It’s solid rock,” Bronwyn assured her.
“That’s not good, you know. Hearts melt; rocks shatter.”