A Good Kind of Knowing

By Kathy Lynn Harris, Copyright ©2003

  An old Johnny Rodriguez song dropped into play, a melody about being down on the Rio Grande, lovers walking hand in hand. Sera hummed, and Mac watched the beer swirl against the amber glass as he moved his bottle in circles with his wrist.

  “Mac, you know we've never danced together?” Sera turned to face him.

  Mac smiled only slightly, uncomfortable in his own skin, and concentrated on his beer. “Guess there was never a time, what with me on stage and all.”

  Sera waited for a moment. “What about now?”

  Mac surveyed the room. “Now?”

  He looked at her---this woman with eyes that danced no matter what the music, with a face that could weaken any man, with a spirit that spread around her like magicians' stardust.

  He stood up and offered his hand. She grinned and he grinned and the old men in the corner grinned. Even Antonio looked up from his calculator—and grinned.

  Together, Mac and Sera swayed and moved in sync in a slow two-step around the center of the hardwood floor. Daylight streamed in around them like nature's spotlight. Mac held her loosely at first, but Sera moved as close to him as she could, her left hand at the nape of his neck, her right in his leading hand. He heard her breathe in, not realizing she was trying to hold on to his scent—an earthy combination she could taste on her tongue. Part leather, part cotton; part hay, part rope. Part beer, part coffee. Part horse mane and part crushed wild weeds on the wind.

  As she rested her head on his shoulder, Mac let his own breath out slowly for fear she'd know the overwhelming effect she had on him. Her hair, blown in many directions from the wind when she came in, tickled his nose. But he couldn't brush it away, didn't ever want to brush it away. He closed his eyes and memorized how her body moved, how somehow he was no longer leading and his body was simply reacting to the sway of Sera's hips, his boots following the sliding of Sera's across the floor.