Just Three Dates Page 15

  After lunch, Karen tried to lie down, resting her head on Mark’s backpack.

  “Ow,” she cried. “Not on my back. Not on hard ground.”

  “Lean against me.” Mark placed his arm around her. “Close your eyes and rest a few minutes.”

  “Yes,” she said. “I feel quite sleepy.”

  “Probably the medicine. There’s a small amount of muscle relaxant in the pain pills.”

  She nodded and then drifted off to sleep. When she awoke, his hand was gently stroking her head.

  “Hi.” She slowly raised herself up. “Did I sleep long?”

  “Not too long, but we do need to be going. We can turn back, but the summit is just a short distance. It’s all downhill after that.”

  “To the summit.”

  The Mountain Grill

  It was twilight before they reached the base of the mountain. The wind had picked up and the temperature had dropped. Karen shivered, walking as fast as she could from the trailhead, eager to hop into the car and dial up the heat. Her back was sore, but the rest she’d had and keeping moving seemed to ease the pain.

  Mark was waiting, with the door unlocked, heat blowing. He reached into the back seat, pulling out a lined jacket.

  “Put this on. It will take the car a few minutes to warm up. I think we need to head home and let you rest.”

  “No way. We had a bet. You said you would beat me to the summit or you would buy dinner. My foot hit top at the same time as yours and I want to collect.”

  “Dancing on the summit, you said, not limping up the trail with Mark’s arm around my back.”

  “Not my fault. You insisted on helping me.”

  “And you put up the most ferocious struggle.” Marked laughed and Karen realized that it was the second time she’d heard him do that.

  “You know I’m teasing you, don’t you?” he asked.

  “I suspected.”

  “You seem to be feeling better.” Mark glanced at her.

  “Much better. The medicine helped, and the guy I was with bandaged me up quite nicely.” She smiled as she squeezed his arm. “My back hurts from the cut, but, otherwise, I’m doing well.”

  “The Mountain Grill has the best steak in North Carolina, if you are really up for it.”

  “Let’s go.” She pointed down the road.

  Mark steered the car deeper into the mountains. After a couple of miles and three hairpin curves, he turned sharply to the right, scattering gravel as he brought them to a halt in the one vacant space in in a dirt lot. Lights shone in all of the windows of a long, low building.

  “Here we are.”

  “Looks like an overgrown log cabin.”

  Mark chuckled at the dubious expression Karen was certain was on her face.

  “Appearances are not deceiving in this case. As I said, though, the best steak in the state.”

  As they left the car, a loud squeak, like the sound of an out-of-tune fiddle, shot through the door some twenty feet away.

  “I forgot to tell you. It’s not exactly a white-tablecloth, tuxedoed-waiter sort of place.”

  Karen gave a deep, exaggerated sigh. “I suspected that might be the case.” She looked down at herself. “Good thing too. They would likely turn me away, dressed as I am.”

  They mounted the front steps and pushed open the door. Heat from a massive fireplace, the aroma of grilling beef, and the sounds of an acoustic guitar assaulted them.

  “Mark, my man.” A man’s voice boomed across the room as they stepped through the door. “Long time, no see. Welcome. Welcome.”

  “Paul. He’s the owner,” Mark whispered.

  Paul strode across the room and caught Mark in a bear hug. He towered above them, taller even than Karen’s father, who measured a couple of inches past six feet, and it seemed to her that Paul was as wide as the two of them together. A bushy beard and a plaid flannel shirt completed her image of a true mountain man.

  “Who is this little filly?” He turned to Karen, a smile spread across his face.

  Karen bristled, but Mark placed his hand on her shoulder, gently. “Paul, this is Karen. She’s a friend of mine. We were hiking today—”

  “A friend? A close friend?” Paul smirked.

  “Paul’s mind has two tracks,” Mark told Karen. “One of them focuses on food while the other is obsessed with—”

  “Now don’t tell her all of my secrets.” Paul wrapped his arms around Karen, giving her the same hug he had bestowed on Mark.

  “Ow,” she cried as his hand pressed against her back, and she jerked away. Paul looked at her, confused.

  “An accident up on the mountain,” Mark said. “Her back is scratched up.”

  “Oh, sorry. Sorry. Anyway, a close friend of Mark’s is a close friend of mine, and you’re more than welcome at the Grill. Come sit by the fire, little filly.”

  Paul showed them to a table a few feet from the hearth. He plopped a bowl of boiled peanuts on the table and mason jars of iced tea in front of them both.

  “If you want something a bit stronger, just wave at me,” he told Karen. “I know Mark will stick with tea, though.” He leaned over as if to whisper in her ear. “Liquor, shall we say, interferes with his…” he glanced across the table at Mark who obviously could hear every word, “his activities.” He smirked as Mark rolled his eyes.

  They sat for several minutes, cracking open the shells and eating the nuts.

  “Is he going to take our order?” Karen looked around for a menu.

  “Paul serves rib eye steak. Period. It comes with salad, potatoes, and bread. Paul will ask how to cook the meat and whether your potatoes should be fried, baked, mashed, boiled, or resin baked.”

  “Resin baked?”

  Mark chuckled. “Coated in salt and boiled in pine resin rather than water. Absolutely delicious. My favorite.”

  “If you say so.”

  Mark laughed. “You don’t believe me.”

  “Again, if you say so.” Karen chuckled. She glanced around the room. “Interesting place.”

  She decided that “rustic” was an understatement. The logs from which the cabin had been built were clearly visible, no attempt having been made to hide them with paneling or sheetrock. Sitting near the fire she felt toasty, but when she turned to look behind her, cold air slapped her in the face. Mark was not joking when he’d told her the fire provided the only heat in the room.

  Most of customers seemed to be locals, and she and Mark looked out of place in their hiking clothes. A low platform was located at one end of the room, and a trio—two guitars and a fiddle—was warming up. Theirs was the music she had heard as they had approached the front door. A large open space, a dance floor perhaps, was in front of the platform.

  Paul inquired about the doneness of the steak and their choices of potatoes. “I recommend medium-rare meat and the resin-baked potatoes,” he said.

  Mark seconded the suggestion and Karen made it unanimous.

  A few minutes later, he set platters on the table.

  They ate in silence. The sandwich at noon had not been nearly enough, and Karen felt as if she inhaled her food. Mark appeared to feel the same way, and they finished eating at about the same time.

  As she put down her fork, music rose from the other end of the room and a whoop went up from the customers. Almost twenty people made their way to the dance floor, forming two lines.

  “Ever line-danced, filly?” Paul appeared beside the table. “Ever heard of the Walkin’ Waltz?”

  “No, uh, no, I’ve never heard of it.”

  “Time to learn then.” Paul turned to Mark. “Mind?”

  Mark seemed to hesitate. “Not at all. I’ll join you for the next dance.”

  Paul placed his arm around her and tugged her toward the dance floor. A guy was demonstrating the steps to his date and Karen watched.

  She could do this. The steps actually resembled a waltz, except the dancers stood in two lines and walked through the steps. They did not touch and it
was not really clear from watching who was dancing with whom.

  I suppose you’re dancing with yourself, she decided. They waltzed around the floor for almost ten minutes and, as the music wound down, she was out of breath.

  Paul grabbed her and hugged her, more gently this time, as the music stopped. Karen glanced toward Mark, who was making his away across the room.

  “Very good. You’re a quick study,” he said as he slipped her hand away from Paul. “Are you up for the Cowboy Boogie?”

  Mark demonstrated the steps. It was simpler than the Waltz, and the dancers swung their hips a bit.

  It was after seven, and the restaurant was full. All of the tables were taken, the bar stools were occupied, and a crowd filled the floor. As the dance ended, Karen was beginning to perspire, and she began to slip off her jacket.

  “Stop…”

  She barely heard Mark’s voice over the music, but she pulled the jacket off her shoulders, intending to take it back to their table. Her hair was mussed and she shook her head to clear it from her face and ran her hand through it to push it back into place. As she looked up, she saw all of the men staring at her. Paul’s mouth was open as if he wanted to speak but could think of nothing to say.

  “What’s wrong?” She glanced down at her shirt and shorts and felt herself blushing. Even though Mark’s t-shirt was too long, it clung to her sweat-soaked body, and not one of the guys on the dance floor had to guess what she would look like without it. She quickly pulled the jacket on again.

  “I tried to stop you.” Mark was laughing.

  “You knew how I looked,” Karen exclaimed. “Now I know why you stared at me as we came down the mountain. I thought you were concerned about me.” She pretended to pout.

  “I was concerned,” Mark protested. “I didn’t pay attention to anything…”

  “You paid no attention? I like that.” She playfully slapped his arm.

  “Damned if I do, damned if I don’t,” Mark mumbled.

  “You need to learn when to be quiet.”

  As the music morphed into a gentle ballad, a man stepped between Karen and Mark.

  “May I have this dance?”

  “Surely.” Karen smiled. Mark seemed surprised, but he shrugged and stepped back. Karen lost him in the crowd. When the dance ended, Paul claimed her for the next line dance, and another guy asked for the two-step that followed.

  It seemed to Karen as if she was at a large family reunion where you were related to everyone you met, even if you did not know the other person from Adam. As each dance ended, she would see Mark standing nearby, and she would start toward him, only to be cut off by a man with whom she had not danced, sometimes by two of them. She finally decided that no one assumed you would always dance with your date.

  After what seemed like fifteen minutes, she glanced at a clock hanging on a far wall and found that an hour had elapsed. At some point, Mark had stopped vying for the next dance, and she had lost sight of him. As she moved down the line, swinging with first one partner, then another, she searched the dance floor, supposing he was with some other woman.

  She finally spotted him at their table, deep in conversation with two guys. She kept her eyes on him as she moved along the line and as the music came to an end, she pushed through the crowd toward their table.

  Paul slipped his arm around her waist just before she reached Mark, and twirled her around. “Dance with me, filly,” he exclaimed.

  Mark wore a frown.

  “Just a minute, Paul.” She walked over to Mark.

  “You’re not dancing. I thought you—”

  “I lost my date. Most popular girl at the dance.”

  She looked for his half-smile, but could not find it.

  “Are you angry? I mean…”

  Mark’s expression didn’t change, but he shook his head. “Just remember the old song and ‘save the last dance for the one who brung you.’”

  The trio began a slow tune.

  “Come on, filly.” Paul tugged at her arm.

  She looked back at Mark as she and Paul reached the dance floor. She found him slumped in his chair, sipping from his mason jar. He was staring at her, but his face was blank, showing no emotion, reminding her of their first date.

  She danced with Paul for almost half an hour, trying to extricate herself after each dance, but finding Paul hard to refuse. Finally, the trio took a break, and she hurried back to their table.

  “We need to be going,” Mark said as he stood.

  “Last dance?” Karen asked.

  Mark seemed to hesitate. Then he nodded. When the music picked up again, Karen wrapped her arms around his neck, but Mark stood straight, as unyielding as a fence post. His hand barely touched her back, and when Karen pressed her body against his, he felt tense. She glanced down, seeing the floor where normally their bodies would have blocked her view.

  It was long after nine o’clock before they left. As Mark turned the key in the ignition, Paul came running down the steps, a paper bag in his hand.

  “Dessert. Pecan pie. Mary Sue would not forgive me if she heard I let you leave without a slice, Mark.” He turned to Karen. “You come back now, filly. Make this fellow drive you up for the weekend. Or come on your own. Any time. Any time at all.”

  As Mark eased the car onto the highway, Karen peered into the bag.

  “Those slices of pie are huge. Who is Mary Sue? His cook?”

  “She does cook, yes. She’s Paul’s wife.”

  “Paul is married? The way he was acting I thought…”

  “Yes, he’s married,” Mark said. “He wears a ring. Most of the guys you danced with were married.”

  “Not you,” she said playfully. “You’re not married.”

  “No, I’m not.” His voice was flat.

  “Did I do something wrong?” Karen placed her hand on Mark’s arm. “Are you angry?”

  “Why don’t you try to sleep? It’s a long drive and we’ll get in late.”

  ***

  Mark cut his eyes toward Karen. It was one o’clock and she had drifted off as they had started down the mountain. They had lingered at the Grill much longer than he had planned, but Karen had seemed to enjoy herself, flirting with the guys and joining the line dancing as if she dropped into a honky-tonk every weekend. She’d danced, he decided, for almost two hours with hardly a break.

  Twice she had consented to dance with him.

  At one point, she and Paul had been standing close enough for him to hear them talking.

  “Next dance is My Hope,” Paul told her. “It’s a bit more complicated than the Boot Scootin’ Boogie.” This fellow will demonstrate the steps.” He pointed to a tall man with a full beard. Karen had danced with him earlier.

  The dance was much more complex than the others, and Karen shook her head. “I couldn’t possibly,” she had said. “I’ll sit this one out.” She had turned toward their table.

  “I’ll help you,” Mark had called out as he had risen from his chair.

  Paul had caught Karen’s arm. “Come on. Try. I dare you to try.”

  “Karen,” Mark had called again, but she didn’t turn her head. Instead, her eyes had flashed. “I never refuse a dare,” she had told Paul. He had laughed and pulled her close. “Just the kind of woman I like,” he’d said.

  “She never refuses a dare,” Mark mused.

  Lucia had once told him the same thing.

  Karen had teased him about the bonnie banks of Loch Lomond earlier in the day, and her words flashed through his mind. Suddenly, his thoughts were in Scotland and he imagined he was driving along a one-lane dirt road, a cattle path really, rather than the interstate highway. He glanced to his right where Karen slept and he imagined it was Lucia sitting beside him, although she would have been on his left had he truly been in Scotland. They were returning from climbing the mountains not far from her home near Inverness.

  They rumbled onto a paved road and found themselves in a village, four or five houses, a church, and an ol
d pub lining the road. Mark stopped at the pub. Music and the sound of voices spilled through the open door and windows and he could see people packed inside. They would likely not find a table at which to sit. Only a few other cars were parked on the street, and he couldn’t imagine where all of the people came from. He looked questioningly at Lucia.

  “Should we go farther or stop here?”

  “I’m famished. Let’s stop.” She seemed to notice his reluctance.

  “It’s all right. The locals are friendly. They won’t bite.” She laughed.

  As they entered, a couple surrendered their table and moved toward an open space to one side where all of the tables had been shoved against the wall, forming an impromptu dance floor.

  The waitress was wearing tight jeans and a loose peasant blouse. After taking their order, she’d bent to wipe the table, and Mark stared when her top slipped off her shoulder.

  Lucia chuckled. As the girl walked away, his eyes followed her, but Lucia caught his head and turned it back toward her.

  “You can dance with her later.” Lucia’s shirt had been buttoned to the neck against the cold, but she loosed the top two buttons. “I may not have quite as much to offer in that department…”

  Mark blushed. “I didn’t mean…I wasn’t thinking…”

  Lucia had laughed “I saw your eyes dilate. Of course you were thinking about…her,” she exclaimed. “Remember, though, you have to leave with the one you brought.” She snuggled against him.

  The waitress smiled at Mark when she returned with their order.

  “Let me know if I can do anything else for you.” She placed her hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze, and she and Lucia both laughed as Mark’s mouth dropped open. She glanced over her shoulder as she walked away, her hips swaying from side to side.

  “Down, boy,” Lucia whispered.

  She looked at the steak-and-ale pie on the table. “Oh, that looks so good.”

  Neither spoke as they attacked their supper. As she took her last bite, Lucia jumped to her feet.

  “Let’s dance,” she cried.

  The musicians had just begun a new tune, and Mark saw people lining up for what he thought was a Scottish country dance, not something he’d encountered in an American college.