Dead Ever After

already well on its way to being up for activity. He didn’t need four hours after all.
    “I don’t know,” I said, considering. “This seems more like a ricochet.”
    “I’ll ricochet you ,” he said, grinning.
    And he did.
    Back in my own bathroom later that afternoon, I took my own sweet time soaking in a hot tub. My favorite bath oil scented the air pleasantly as I shaved my legs. Though I’d been tempted to linger in Sam’s bed all day, I’d made myself get up and go home . . . to get ready for our date.
    Sam had agreed to come line dancing with me tonight, which was a happy thing for many reasons. For one thing, I was excited about spending time with him now that we’d smashed down a huge barrier. For another thing, it would be nice not to be a third wheel with Jason and Michele. For a third thing, I hadn’t heard a word from Mr. Cataliades or Diantha, so I was still in the dark about where Barry was and what he was doing, and I didn’t want to sit at home thinking about what his absence might mean.
    And here’s my selfish confession: I was so happy, while I was soaking in the bathtub, that I almost resented having to worry about something, since I wanted to just roll in the pleasure of the moment.
    I reminded myself in severe terms that my previous lover had barely left town and that it was absurd for a grown woman to plunge into something else so quickly. And I’d told Sam we were going to go slow about making promises and commitments to each other. I meant those things. But that didn’t mean the physical release and the excitement of having great sex with Sam wasn’t completely satisfying.
    I shaved my legs and curled my hair and got my cowboy boots out of the closet. I’d had them for years, and since I wasn’t an actual cowgirl, they were still in really good shape. Black and white with red roses and green vines: I was proud every time I looked at them. I could go fundamental cowgirl with tight jeans and a sleeveless shirt, or I could go flirty dance hall with a full short skirt and an off-the-shoulder blouse. Hmmm.
    Yep, flirty dance hall it was. I made my hair big and ripply, and put on my push-up bra to make my assets look outstanding and tan under the off-the-shoulder white eyelet blouse. The red-and-black-roses skirt swung with every step. I felt so good. I knew I would have to go back to my troubles and worries the next morning, but I was enjoying taking a little break from them tonight.
    I’d called Michele, and we were meeting her and Jason at Stompin’ Sally’s, a big western bar out in the middle of the country twenty miles south of Bon Temps. I’d been to the bar/dance hall only twice in my life, once with JB du Rone and Tara back in our younger years, and once with some guy whose name I couldn’t even recall.
    Sam and I got there about ten minutes late because we’d been a little shy at meeting again after our amazing encounter, and he’d wanted to break the ice by making out a little. I’d had to remind him sternly that we were going out tonight, not staying in.
    “You were the one who said no love talk,” Sam said, his sharp teeth nipping my earlobe delightfully. “I’m willing to go there. Roses. Moonlight. Your lips.”
    “No, no,” I said, pushing him away, but quite gently. “No, buster, we’re going to go dancing. You start up this truck.”
    In an instant, we were going down the driveway. Sam knew when I was serious. During the drive, he wanted an update on the overall picture, and I described the evening before, including Karin’s yearlong mission and the fact that I’d turned over Copley Carmichael to the vampires.
    “Good Lord,” he said. I braced myself to receive his condemnation of my action. After a moment, he said, “Sookie, I didn’t know that soulless people can’t be glamoured. Huh!”
    “Got anything else to say?” I asked nervously.
    “You know, I never did like Eric. But I’ve got to say that if he was fool enough to leave you for a dead woman, he did try to make life a little easier for you. End of subject.”
    After a pause, I let out my breath, and I asked Sam if he could line dance.
    “You just watch me,” he said. “You notice I’m wearing my cowboy boots.”
    I made a derisive sound. “You wear cowboy boots about half the time,” I said. “Big whoop.”
    “Hey, I’m from Texas,” he protested, and the conversation got even more trivial from there.
    Stompin’ Sally’s was out in the middle of a field, and it