home. Scout's honor." He raised two fingers and grinned. "So that's
the plan. What do you say?"
"I don't know. It was my idea to put this evening together. My
crew's been having a tough time lately...."
"So am I." Brad's smile vanished. "Ever since I started dating
a woman who can't make time for me. Where do I fit in? Tell
me that."
What was that, an ultimatum? Erin's teeth clenched as she
fought a familiar urge to turn and walk away. The same way she
had in so many other relationships. But then she'd promised herself she wouldn't do that this time. That she'd try harder to make
it work and not be so judgmental. She took a slow breath, telling
herself that plenty of women would find this dilemma flattering
and wouldn't think Brad's spontaneous-if ill-timed-offer of fun
was ... what? A red flag that he shouldn't be trusted? A sign he
was too slick, too smooth, insincere-destined to hurt her, just
like ... ? Am I ever going to trust any man?
"Brad, it's just that . . ." Erin glanced toward the doorway to
the Denim and Diamonds event in time to see Claire step inside.
Followed by ... Her eyes widened. That's Logan.
Claire walked under strings of colored lights and across sawduststrewn planking, passing the foolhardy volunteers for the mechanical bull and entire families thumping their boots to the chaplain's
finale of the Boot Scootin' Boogie lesson. She had absolutely no idea
where she was going or, for that matter, even why she'd accepted
this invitation. The only thing she felt certain of was that Logan
Caldwell's eyes were glued to her back. Which gave a whole new
meaning to Merlene Hibbert's cryptic warning, "I'd watch my back
if I were you." Claire chuckled, then grew thoughtful. Logan said
tonight was a celebration. "For two people who saved Jamie's life."
She tensed, remembering her anxiety during the toddler's
emergency, how nearly impossible it was to keep her hands from
trembling. And the way the flashback about Kevin caused her
to hesitate over starting Jamie's IV. When, in a critical moment,
she could have stalled out. Claire's stomach sank. Was that why
she'd agreed to come inside with Logan, to find out for sure if he'd
noticed her moment of hesitancy?
"How about over there?" Logan asked, stepping up beside her
and pointing at a couple of empty chairs.
Squeals of delight and laughter rose from children gathered at
the air rifle shooting gallery and whirling cotton candy machine
just beyond.
"Um ... sure," she said, fighting a new wave of ridiculous paranoia. If Logan had a problem with a nurse's work, everyone knew
it-stat. He wouldn't be offering a critique tonight. Just a silly root beer. And nothing more. She reached the table and pulled out a
chair when Logan stopped her.
"Whoa, cowgirl." He nodded toward the dance floor. "They're
starting a two-step. C'mon."
"What ... you mean, dance?" Claire scanned the square of
wooden planking crowded with dancers of all ages-a father with
a daughter in his arms, her tiny pink boots dangling; two elderly
women in cowboy hats, laughing as one gingerly twirled the other;
a young couple wearing matching Western shirts. The band-in
hospital scrubs and cowboy hats and made up of three OR techs, an
anesthesiologist, and the chief of pediatrics-belted out a familiar
and lively Alan Jackson tune. Claire looked helplessly at Logan. "I
don't know...."
"One dance." He motioned to a volunteer passing a hat among
the people gathered around the dance floor. "Remember, this is for
charity."
Before she could protest, Logan draped his jacket across a chair
and reached for her hand. He threaded his way through the tables,
leading Claire, then stopped in front of the dance floor. He smiled
at her. "And now," he said, taking her into his arms, "watch your
toes. They don't teach this in med school."
Claire reminded herself to breathe. When was the last time
she'd danced?
Logan took hold of one of her hands and slipped his other
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