Hunter’s Dance Read Free Page A

much from his injuries. He whistled a tune through his teeth and strolled confidently across the grass toward a dark-colored sports car. It was the kind that Mia had seen in movies, only big enough for two people, and built so low that they’d be almost sitting on the ground.
    When he bent to open the door Mia saw that once again she’d been mistaken. The apparent wound must have been a trick of the light or her mind; the young man’s head was adorned only with chestnut waves, slightly mussed but unbloodied.
    Two more shadows appeared from among the trees but stayed on the far side of the car. After a few minutes of mumbling and giggles, doubtless over how they’d all fit into the cartoonish vehicle, the three packed themselves in and drove off.
    The brisk air that had been so welcome a few minutes before was beginning to feel decidedly frigid. Mia let her conscience, aided by her discomfort, be her guide and ducked back inside.
    Eating had replaced dancing and brawling as the activity of choice, and a sizeable, if ragged line meandered along the wall toward the counter.
    Mia nudged Sally Fergusen to claim a spoon. She’d spent the last hour and a half lugging water and tending the fire in the cookstove. She had no intention of now being shunted to the further drudgery of washing and drying the tin plates to keep ahead of the hungry throng, or, as Sally would have said, the “hogs bellied up to the trough.” She inserted herself between Sally and Inge Lindstrom, added a blob of quivering red Jell-O to a plate, and slid it across the counter to a waiting Helmi Jarvinen.
    Helmi rested her cane on the counter and shouted, “Now don’t you worry, I’ll be scooting right back to help soon as I’m done with my supper. Then you can get out of there and keep an eye on that husband of yours!”
    Mia bent to the snowy head and spoke into Helmi’s ear. “But that’s why I took this spot, Mrs. Jarvinen. I can keep track of all Nick’s shenanigans from here.”
    Helmi turned to look over her shoulder, nodded at Mia’s wisdom, and shuffled off into the haze, managing the cane and full plate with impressive dexterity.
    Mia’s position, aided by her height, did give her as generous a view of the room as thick smoke and dim lighting allowed. She spotted Nick weaving among the tables, headed toward the dance floor in the wake of a blue-dressed matron she didn’t recognize.
    Before they left home Nick had announced his intention of dancing with every woman present, except, he asserted, Lucy Delaney. “I’m a brave man,” he’d said, “but not foolhardy!” He appeared to be well on his way to accomplishing his lofty goal.
    As Mia watched, her husband gave a sudden lurch and grabbed for the back of a nearby chair. If the dear man wasn’t careful he’d be jeopardizing his hard-won reputation for drinking more and showing it less than any man in Michigan.
    â€œBeans!”
    A grubby claw thrust the plate back across the counter. Mia looked down into a mottled face half concealed by a matted rug of iron gray hair. The abundant locks made a marked contrast to the sparse whiskers twitching on his pointy chin. “I like my beans! Toss on another scoop or two!”
    She cleared a spot on the already overloaded plate and added a mountain of baked beans.
    The bean-lover lifted his greasy hat and shoved a handful of hair under its brim. The sort of vermin that might have set up housekeeping in that cozy thatch did not bear speculation. The mere sight of the unwashed creature made Mia feel doubly the film of grit building up on her own skin. She concentrated her gaze on the wary, red-rimmed eyes.
    â€œThanks, Missy, I do like my beans.” A stream of tobacco juice arced over the counter to land with a splat in the corner. If Inge had seen it, the guy would soon be little more than the pile of rags he resembled. Mia wouldn’t mind