Dancing With Venus Read online

  “I know you don't want to know this, but I was worried. Are you okay?”

  Hell no, I'm not okay. I haven't been okay since…

  She scooted away from Debbie and teetered on the edge of her bed. Marci was a dark shadow on the mattress on the floor. Jessie's plan and conjured courage were both shot to hell.

  “I went to Little Rock,” she whispered back.

  There was a pause, sheets rustled, and Marci mumbled, “If you say so. We need to talk in the morning, though.”

  The only sound was Debbie's soft snoring.

  Jessie hesitated, then slid carefully off the edge of the bed and crawled over to Marci. The bird in her chest turned into a flock that fluttered and started trying to take flight.

  What the hell am I doing?

  No one answered.

  “Marci.” Jessie explored the top sheet until she found a warm lump. There was no response. She crawled closer. She continued to explore until her chin bumped a bare shoulder.

  “Marci.”

  “What do you want, Jessie?” Marci's voice was flat, indifferent.

  Did I read this whole thing wrong?

  Jessie followed the line to Marci's neck and stopped below her ear. She wanted to. She needed to. But she couldn't and she didn't. She didn't lean in and kiss Marci's warm jumping pulse.

  “I'm sorry, Marci. Really. I don't know… I really didn't remember.”

  “You may not have known but you did remember. When I kissed you. And when you did…” Flat and uninterested turned to hurt. Again.

  Jessie almost backed away. This wasn't even close to how the moment had played out in her mind over and over again during her ride. In the arms of a Greek goddess…

  What was I thinking?

  “But it…I didn't know what to do, Marci.” Jessie nuzzled Marci's neck and inhaled the smell, the essence of Marci. She hadn't been able to get it out of her head all day.

  Marci's turn was unexpected, and her shoulder caught Jessie on her bruised cheek.

  “Damn.” Jessie rolled away and covered the side of her face.

  “What is it, Jessie? You okay?”

  “Sure. Sure. Sorry. I guess I shouldn't have—” Jessie sniffed back tears from the pain and pushed up from the floor. She teetered a second, scrounged in the dark on the floor for her T-shirt, and headed for the bathroom to see why her cheek hurt so much.

  The bathroom door clicked shut. She turned on the light and stared bleary-eyed into the mirror. Roger had connected harder than she'd thought. Her eye was red and her cheek swollen. She leaned in and touched gently. A small cut and smear of dry blood were surrounded by a red welt just below her eye. Marci sneaked in, trying to keep the light trapped. Jessie pulled on her T-shirt in a rush and went back to inspecting her face.

  “You shouldn't have what?” Marci's hand came to her mouth, and she whispered, “What happened? Where'd you go? Did you wreck or something?”

  “No. No wreck. Well, not that kind of wreck.”

  Marci stepped close and pulled Jessie's head between her palms inspecting her cheek. Not wanting to look Marci in the eye, Jessie stared at the edge of the door frame. The closeness made the flock in her chest restless, and Jessie felt uncomfortable.

  No, this is not going as planned at all.

  “Let me clean that.”

  “That's okay. I'll wash it. It'll be fine.” Jessie pulled away, and Marci's hands followed.

  “Hold still, dammit.”

  Jessie's nose filled with the soft summer smell of Marci, and she tried to shy away a second time. Marci surrendered, turned away, and held a washcloth under the hot water. Then she trapped Jessie again. Jessie stood facing left, staring at the shower curtain for five minutes, while Marci cleaned her wound.

  “Where did you go, Jessie?” Marci stopped washing and was rubbing antibacterial cream across her cheek.

  “I took a ride.”

  “Right.” Marci rolled her eyes and pressed a fold of gauze, applied some tape, and snapped the light off. Jessie waited, but Marci didn't leave. She could feel the heat off the woman's body and hear her own ragged breathing.

  “What was that all about last night, Jessie? Did you just plan on making out with me and ignoring me in the morning? Do you do that to all the girls? Is that part of your game? Is that part of the psycho-woman mystique?”

  Jessie grabbed Marci before she lost her courage. She trapped her against the wall beside the door, pinned one arm against the wall, and didn't let Marci move. Jessie smelled peppermint toothpaste and something else on Marci's breath.

  Fear? Excitement? Desire?

  “Who kissed whom?” Jessie whispered frantically.

  Marci didn't answer. She didn't try to escape either.

  Jessie pressed closer until their breasts crushed together, Marci's lips just a whisper away.

  “Tell me. I have to know.”

  “Get off, Jessie. You're hurting me.”

  Jessie backed off and blushed with guilt for being so rough.

  With a jerk and a thud, their roles were reversed, and Jessie was trapped against the wall. She squirmed, and Marci stopped her with a knee pressed between her thighs.

  “How bad do you want to know, Psycho Woman?” Marci taunted.

  “I—”

  “You want to know this bad?” Marci pressed her lips against Jessie's and let them slide away in a tease.

  “Wait…”

  “Maybe this bad?” Marci's mouth crushed into Jessie's, and a kiss was stolen.

  “Or maybe you want to know how much your body likes it?”

  Jessie rocked her head back against the wall when Marci pinched her nipple through her T-shirt. Marci didn't kiss Jessie—she ravished her. When their lips parted, Jessie was gulping air. She didn't know if it was from passion inspired or fear repressed.

  “Or maybe you don't want to know at all. Maybe you just want your I kissed a girl badge so—”

  Jessie tried to stop what she was about to do. Most of Jessie's regrets in life were preceded by an attempt to stop. This time her effort was less than minimal.

  She jerked her arm free and grabbed the front of Marci's ribbed tank top. She spun her into the bathroom counter and pressed her lips into Marci's mouth. She took what she'd craved all day. Then she took it again. And again. Each time with more fervor. Each time with more resolve.

  “Jessie—”

  Jessie kissed Marci again. She pressed with her tongue, and her toes tingled when Marci sucked in response. The touch of Marci's hand sliding up her back inside her T-shirt sent a shiver racing down Jessie's spine.

  “Jessie.” Marci pulled away, and they both panted like caged wild animals.

  “What?” Jessie kissed Marci's cheek and nodded into her forehead.

  “Not here, Jessie. Not now. Someone might come—”

  “I don't care. I can't help myself.”

  Fingers trembling, Jessie found the edge of Marci's top and slid her hands inside. She cupped Marci's breasts, eliciting a sigh.

  “You should.” Marci's warm finger touched Jessie's lips. “Look, Jessie. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I didn't understand last night. I don't want you to—”

  “I won't.” Jessie tried to steal another kiss.

  “You might.” Marci reached under her top and put her hands on top of Jessie's. She cupped Jessie's hands, then let go without removing them.

  “I won't.” She would say anything to keep Marci in her arms. She'd never been blind with lust before. The experience was exhilarating.

  Marci pulled them into an intimate embrace and whispered into Jessie's ear. “You might. You need to think about this, Jessie. I can't give my…”

  Marci's words trailed off.

  Their kiss was soft, and they lingered. Jessie brought her arms up and clung. She didn't want to let go. When they finally parted, Jessie pushed away and begrudgingly let Marci go back to the bedroom alone.

  Jessie stared into the darkness, trying to catch her breath and calm the flock of birds
in her chest.

  I'm not a psycho woman. I'm a full-on sex-starved maniac… Shit!

  Chapter Four

  Jessie rolled over and looked off the side of the bed. Marci was gone. Relief? She could hear bathroom sounds, the shower running, Debbie talking. She looked around the room she didn't know but knew too well and pulled the sheet over her head.

  What the hell have I done?

  Her cheek throbbed, but not as much as her head. Her jaw hurt from grinding her teeth most of the night. Better my teeth than… A crimson flush rushed up her neck.

  She jumped out of bed, pulled on her jeans, rifled her closet until she found her old beat-up straw cowboy hat, dug her steel-toed work boots out, and headed for the barn.

  “Hey there, Jess.”

  “Hey, Dad.”

  “You just a tourist this morning or did you come to give the old man a hand?”

  Jessie returned her father's smile and went off to find a rake. He hadn't said a thing about her disappearing act the day before. Not even the gauze on her cheek. She knew he wouldn't. Not yet. Forty-five minutes later she was sweaty and her mind had cleared. She even felt happy when she smiled.

  “Let's go see if there's still some coffee in the office. You look like you could use some.” He took her rake and headed for the back of the barn. Her father's office was a tack room with his old wooden desk against one wall. A file cabinet, two old rickety oak chairs, and an eclectic collection of pictures comprised the corporate infrastructure of the Butler farm.

  Jessie got a cup of java from the old Proctor Silex her father had rescued from the trash bin twenty years before, grabbed a chair, and kicked her feet up on a saddle stand by the door. She looked around the room, her mind dancing from memory to memory with each picture on the wall. Her father had a story to go with every picture. And a tall tale to go with every story. Her dad finally settled, smiled across the top of his coffee cup, and quipped, “I hope somebody looks worse than you do.”

  She touched her cheek and scrunched down in her chair. When she didn't say anything, her father moved on, letting the topic go for the moment.

  “So. How those big city guys treatin' ya, Jessie? You holdin' your own?”

  “Good, Dad. Things are going good. I haven't gone a week without a gig in a long time. I hit New York and Chicago all the time. I've got a gig—”

  “Those aren't the city guys I'm talking about, Jess.” Her father eyed her over his coffee.

  “Oh. Well. You know. With all the show dates, rehearsals, promoting, traveling…” Jessie ran out of steam.

  After he'd let her stew in the soup a minute, her father blew across his coffee and said, “Right.”

  She knew what that meant. It meant he knew she was blowing smoke but wasn't going to pry. Not right that minute, anyway.

  “I may do Chicago this Christmas. New Year's too.” She knew she was just filling space. So did her father.

  Larry stuck his head in the door. “All loaded up, Mr. Butler. I'll catch ya tomorrow.”

  “Okay, Larry.” She could almost feel his gaze when he turned back. “It ain't right, Jessie. And you know it. What I ain't been able to figure out is why?”

  The small talk was over. Time for the big talk. But Jessie wasn't ready. Her father persisted.

  “Look, Jess, I never have meddled. Not in your business or your sister's. You two girls have always had good heads on your shoulders… Well, mostly. And I always figured God put 'em there for a reason. But you can't just take off for a year and not even call home. That ain't right. And the way you treated your—”

  “But the guy was a creep, Dad! He had no business messing with—”

  “And you read him like a book, didn't you?”

  “Kimmie was clueless!”

  “Sure she was! But it was her business. She'd have figured it out. But did you have to fuck the guy?”

  Just thinking about what she'd done was difficult enough. Her father saying it out loud in such a graphic fashion just made it worse. And Jessie was shocked. In her entire life she'd never heard her father use the F word. Much less in reference to one of his daughters.

  “But that isn't what I'm talkin' about, Jessie. I'm talkin' about you storming out of here without even a by-your-leave and not calling to let us know you were okay. That's what I'm talking about. It ain't right.”

  “But Mom said—”

  “Your mom said a lot of things. And ever' one of 'em was true. But I bet you didn't hear the most important part, did you? You never do when it comes to your mother.”

  Jessie had never seen her father so mad. Ever. Not at her and not at anyone else. His face was red, and his gaze had narrowed. He looked like he was ready to pounce. Or that if he didn't he'd explode. She wanted to cry. She wanted to be ten years old again and crawl into his arms and have him tell her it would all be okay. But she couldn't. And she couldn't believe she'd built a wall that would keep even him out.

  She dropped her boots to the floor and cleared her throat. Her father finally took a deep breath and settled back in his chair. She patted her pockets looking for her cigarettes. When she didn't find them, she got up and walked over to the dirty window that looked out on the corral. She stared out at a herd of about thirty Holsteins grinding feed corn between their teeth, completely oblivious to the drama playing out a few feet away.

  “I had to, Dad.” Jessie's eyes were wet, and her voice sounded like she felt. Small and insignificant. She heard the clump of her father's boots on the old wooden floor of his office. His touch on her shoulder was comforting, which only made her feel worse.

  “No, you didn't. What you had to do was say you were sorry. And you couldn't do that, could you? You've never been any good at I'm sorry.” Her father let go and he started for the door.

  “She called me a whore, Dad! My own mother!” She turned in time to see her father pick up his hat and set it on his head. She crossed her arms across her chest defiantly and waited.

  “No she didn't, Jessie. She said you were acting like one. Your mother said, 'I love you, Jessie, but you're acting like a whore.'” Her father stood in the doorway to leave and turned back to add, “And she does and you were.”

  When the door shut, Jessie kicked her father's beat-up old wastebasket against the wall and fell into his chair trembling.

  “I'm sorry,” she whispered.

  * * *

  The breakfast table was full of chatter and lies. Her mother made the pancakes Jessie used to love so much. Thin, buttery, and crisp.

  Marcie grabbed Jessie's elbow in the hallway and whispered, “Your father asked me if I knew where you were off to yesterday. You know, I'd just seen you at the quarry? I told him something vague about your agent. You do have an agent, don't you?”

  When her sister quizzed her at the breakfast table about the gauze on her face, she conjured another lie. “Something fell off a truck, bounced off the pavement, and tagged me before I could duck.”

  Her father looked up from his plate of eggs and grunted. The man who had taught her how to ride knew as well as she did that anything that tagged her at road speed would've taken her down.

  There was a big discussion about a doctor. Another about Jessie being able to participate in the wedding. Or not. Going to the hospital for an X-ray. The list of ideas and possibilities seemed endless. She cursed Roger again, not willing to admit it was as much her fault as his.

  She finally let her sister pry the gauze away and make a face. She even allowed her mother to lean in and have a look. None of it compared to the look of smug reprisal she got from the other side of the table where Marci was sitting.

  “Just another reason to get rid of that thing. I don't know why you insist on keeping it, Jessica.” Her mother was clueless about most of her life. Why should my Harley be any different?

  With her day with her agent, she'd missed out on the bridesmaids' fitting, and Marci volunteered to accompany her to Willard's and straighten everything out. Her father threw his pickup keys on
the table and suggested her bike could use a rest.

  “Maybe you can dodge better with four wheels under you.” He walked off before she could say anything.

  Can I dodge Marci, Dad? Will the pickup stop…

  “Don't forget. The party's tonight. Eight o'clock at the Madison. Don't be late, Jessie. I'll hate ya forever.” Short Stuff was bubbly and full of energy as usual. The crisis had passed.

  “And maybe you should stop by Doc Brown's and get your cheek lo—”

  “I'll be fine, Mom.” She pushed her mother's hand away and stormed off to take a shower.

  * * *

  Jessie couldn't recall being touched so much. It started in the bathroom after her shower. Marci came in smiling and ready to go while Jessie was brushing her hair out. The woman who had ravished her with kisses the night before leaned against the counter and ran her fingers through Jessie's wet hair, lifting, raking, and watching it drop. She didn't say a thing. Jessie tried to ignore her. A futile notion at best.

  Then she made Jessie stop so she could inspect her cheek.

  “Maybe your mom's right. Maybe we should—”

  “I'm fine.”

  “You don't have to get mad about it. At least let me put some cream on it.”

  Jessie stood staring over Marci's shoulder and endured gentle loving touches while she was doctored by someone she hardly knew at all and felt she already knew too well.

  The house was quiet, the kitchen empty when they left. From the back door she could see her mother's car was gone. She nearly jumped out of her skin when Marci's hand slipped into hers.

  “Yeah. I knew you would.” Marci let go and walked ahead to the pickup.

  “I would what?” Jessie ran to catch up, started the truck, and flipped the AC to high.

  “That you'd regret it. Again. That's okay. I figured as much.”

  “Look, Marci—”

  “It's okay, Jess. Really. I guess being the girl who got you your I kissed a girl badge will have to do.” Marci smiled and flipped on the radio.

  After two miles of LeAnn Rimes, Jessie asked the million-dollar question. “How do you know? How did you find out?”