Oak and honey eased the sash from my eyes.
I was stunned. Blond, towering, and broadly built, with dark gray eyes. He looked like a Nordic prince. He bent his head forward and I placed the wreath there. When he straightened, one of the leaves flopped down in his face.
“Sorry about that.” I sighed as I reached up to tuck it back in. “Apparently, I suck at wreath making.”
“It’s an overrated skill,” he said. “I’m Brennon Mendoza.” His smile seemed to beam from every pore. “I know this must be very strange for you,” he confided. “But we don’t have to walk the corn. All you have to do is smile every once in a while, dance with me. Make the old folks happy.”
“I can manage that.” I smiled up at him . . . and I meant it.
Brennon took my hand, and we were flooded with good wishes and congratulations.
I stole a glance at Dane, but his eyes stayed focused on Lauren.
I knew he couldn’t be mine, but when I touched him, every cell in my body reached out to him like I’d known him for a thousand years. Like I’d finally come home.
Then I thought of my mother’s words. Maybe this was what she meant by blood and salt.
Salt in the wound.
14
PUNCH DRUNK
FOLLOWING THE CEREMONY, we moved into the meeting house, to an elegant ballroom on the third floor that dripped with garlands of wisteria and honeysuckle. Candlelight flickered off the wood-paneled walls, casting long shadows across the coffered ceiling.
Banquet tables full of mystery meats and pickled everything stretched in front of us. There were giant bowls of punch so high in alcohol content that the liquid burned my eyes before even reaching my mouth. A lady with a mountain of wild curls was scolding some little kids who were hiding under the table trying to sneak punch. A band made up of gutbuckets, mandolins, washboards, fiddles, and spoons played folk music—a raucous marriage of English and Spanish styles. It was like going back in time. This could’ve easily been the 1800s.
I spotted Rhys dancing with Beth. Well, not dancing really, just kind of bouncing around like a pogo stick. But he seemed to be enjoying himself, that is, until Betsy Grimsby, Beth’s half cousin, glommed on to him again and pulled him away, parading him around like a trophy.
The room buzzed. So what if they believed in some weird shit? I could picture my mother here so easily. Maybe coming here was the right thing for all of us.
As Brennon led me through the gathering everyone patted him on the back, shook his hand. I was surprised no one was asking him to kiss their baby. He seemed to be the golden boy of Quivira.
“First dance . . . first dance.” A woman pushed forward, dragging a tall, weary-looking man with her. “I’m Patricia Mendoza and this is Gerald.” She eyed me up and down, appraising me, her expression frozen in place. Her smile was a little frightening, like a cross between a beauty queen and a jack-o’-lantern. “We’re Brennon’s parents.”
“Oh, it’s nice to meet y—”
Before I could even finish my sentence Mrs. Mendoza took my hand and pulled me onto the dance floor.
“Okay . . .” I laughed.
“Sorry.” Brennon shook his head in mock embarrassment as he followed close behind.
As we came to an abrupt stop in the center of the dance floor, she maneuvered Brennon so he was facing me.
“What’s going on?” I asked, feeling the crowd press in around us.
“It’s tradition.” He smiled.
I raised an eyebrow. “There’s more?”
A tall man with a twisty mustache, wearing a brocade waistcoat, turned toward the band, whistling through his teeth, and the band struck up a different tune—a slow and delicate piece.
I knew where this was headed.
Mrs. Mendoza placed my hand on Brennon’s shoulder and his hand on my waist.
“Oooh,” the crowd roared lasciviously.
“Wouldn’t it be easier to tell us to dance?” I whispered.
Brennon cracked up; his mother shot me a look of warning. Apparently, this was her big moment.
Together, she and her husband placed my other hand in Brennon’s.
The audience burst into cheers, making me flinch.
Brennon squeezed my hand. “Remember what I said.”
I nodded. Dance. Make the old folks happy—I’ve got this.
With tears in her eyes, Mrs. Mendoza latched on to her husband and backed away.
Brennon gave me a reassuring smile before he started moving me around in circles on the crowded dance floor. I think he was leading me in a waltz, but I had no idea what I was doing.
Soon, the onlookers lost interest, and it finally felt like I could breathe again.
Brennon was a gorgeous distraction, but my thoughts still wandered to Dane. I spotted him talking with a group of men across the room—and that tingling sensation spread over the surface of my skin, settling deep inside of me.