At the Emerald C's Resort, in the Upper Keys, lights sparkled on the surface of the pool. Golden shafts spilled down a full 70 feet from the tops of gently swaying palm trees. The slender, graceful palms lent an aura of romance to the faux tropical forest bordering the huge faux lagoon.

In daylight, cabbage palms and blue concrete would not seem so romantic, but under the Florida moon, with drinks on the table and music playing, poolside was magical. Emerald Ciano and her former boyfriend reminisced over a candle-lit table, in their formal clothes, with their shoes off.

Emerald sighed as she replaced her champagne glass on the table. "I haven't danced that much since the senior prom. Remember?"

"Who could forget?" the boyfriend said, smiling. "That was the night Greg Hallstead caught the wrestling coach in the locker room showing Becky Smathers a few moves."

They both laughed, and Emerald drew an open champagne bottle from a silver ice bucket and refilled their glasses. She had waved a solicitous waiter away, to enjoy the illusion of privacy.

Emerald said, "Well, let me tell you, Becky Smathers may have pretended to be the prim and proper Miss Future Farmers of America, but I went to enough Four H meetings with her to know she was probably the one teaching the choke holds that night. Poor naïve Greg. Wonder what he said when he found them."

The boyfriend lifted his champagne and chuckled. "Not much, if I know Greg. Rumor was that he just opened the door, got an eyeful of the two of 'em all tangled up on the mat, and said, 'How's your wife, Coach?'"

He nearly dropped his glass, and he sloshed champagne down his shirt collar, when a voice like thunder boomed from behind him.

"How's your wife, by the way?"

The boyfriend's grip snapped the stem of his wine glass, and his chair tumbled backward as he stood and spun to ace a large man built like a television wrestler. The man in the size XXXL white dinner jacket was Teddy "Big C" Ciano, husband of Emerald and owner of the Emerald C's Resort.

Emerald smiled at the new arrival, but the boyfriend went pale and fidgeted. He did try to smile at Teddy Ciano, and if he had consumed a lot more champagne, he might have succeeded. As it was, he managed two-thirds of a smile as he answered.

"My wife? My wife is, ah, she's fine, Mister Ciano, ah, thanks, thank you for asking. She, ah, she turned in already. We're, we've got an early flight back to Missoula tomorrow."

"Please. Call me 'Big C.' Almost everybody does." Big C watched the boyfriend bend to pick up the fallen chair. The chair almost fell again when Big C added, "And how's my wife, while we're on the subject?"

Emerald's frown showed her disapproval of Big C's conduct.

The boyfriend summoned a very great deal of courage and sucked up like a trouper. "Emerald? Wh--, w--, she's beautiful. Beautiful as ever. She looks, she hadn't changed a--, hadn't changed a bit since high school. Well, I gotta be going, it's a long trip to Montana, and we – that is, my wife and I – we're, ah, we'll be gettin' an early start. G'night. Great place, Mister—I mean, Big C. We had a great time – my wife and I, I mean. Well, ah, g'night."

He left like a jackrabbit with a coyote in pursuit – with hardly a look at Emerald.

She watched him go, then turned her disapproving frown on her husband. "He never laid a hand on me."

"He's walking out on his own two legs, ain't he?"

Emerald smiled at her husband and moved to stand against his chest. She stroked his wavy, black hair with one hand and untied his tie with the other.

"What would you do if I ever let a man touch me?"

"You're playin' wit fire, Emerald."

"Don't wanna play with fire, Teddy Bear. Wanna play with you."

Without breaking eye contact, Big C picked up his woman and left the poolside terrace.

Fifty miles north of the Emerald C's Resort, just a block off Dixie Highway near the town of Homestead, a popular country dance club and restaurant filled the night with neon lights and honky-tonk music.

Valets were parking flashy pickup trucks and four-by-fours in the lot outside. Lights srobed and music poured out the front doors.

This was Desperado's.

Inside, Greg and Teresa sat at table near the crowded dance floor and tried to hear themselves think.

A waitress brought two large iced tea glasses to them. She wore turquoise, fringe, boots, and big hair stuffed under a sequined cowboy hat. "Y'all need anythin' else, just holler. I'm Tammi, with an 'I'." She disappeared into the crowd.

Teresa leaned across the small, round table to shout in Greg's ear, "Do you come here a lot?"

"First time like this," he bellowed.

"Like what?"

"Usually, I'm hopin' to see her naked after dinner." He grinned at her.

She smiled and raised her glass to him. "After you get her drunk on iced tea?"

A muscle moved in Greg's cheek, his smile closed halfway, and his eyes shifted down for only an instant. Then he recovered his cheery demeanor and looked at her face.

"I don't like drunks," he said. "But, hey! Pretty filly like you, you just flick your tail, baby, and there's fifty cowboys within arm's reach who'll buy alcohol for ya, if that's what you want."

Teresa's smile changed, without going away completely. "That's not what I want."

They stared into each other's eyes. Things were heating up. Suddenly, they both realized they were holding their breath.

"Let's dance!" she said.

"Wanna dance?" he said, at the same time.

Later, Greg and Teresa two-stepped in the center of Desperado's crowded dance floor. They had been dancing for a while and not talking much.

Greg looked like he was enjoying the feel of her, drawing her closer when the music changed to a slow dance. "You're quite a girl, Teresa."

"I'm not exactly a 'girl.'"

He grinned. "I know what I saw behind that curtain."

"Twenty-twenty vision, huh?"

"That's me. Man of vision."

Teresa backed off to look him in the face. "Yeah, but how about that speech defect?"

"Say what, mama?"

"You can say girl, filly, heifer, broad, dame, skirt, chick, babe, mama, or gal, but you can't seem to say woman, or even lady. Why is that?"

Greg stared into her eyes while she was talking. As soon as she stopped speaking, he kissed her, long and hard.

Teresa went absolutely still, then wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned into him, returning the kiss. It went on so long that people around them began to giggle and point.

Greg pulled back and whispered to her closed eyes, "Okay, you're a woman, but I think we just proved you're no lady."

Teresa's eyes flew open. Rage flooded her face. She slapped him. Hard.

"And you're no gentleman, bubba."

She stomped off the dance floor and out of the club

Greg stood in the center of the dance floor with a hand to the part of his face with the red hand-shape on it.

Out of the crowd, Stavros and his pretty partner danced over to Greg.

Stavros grinned. "Dang! Some kinda record, you getting beat by a female twice in one day."

"Stavros, every woman I've talked to today has slapped me, kicked me, threatened to shoot me, or left me for dead on the floor."

"Yeah, one shot apiece. But this one beat you twice – once in the arena and once on the dance floor."

Greg turned a blank look on his friend. "What are you talking about?"

"You really don't know!" Stavros slapped his buddy on the shoulder. "That was Terry McCaskill, you dope!"

"Terry McCask-- !"

"Yep. She's the new Best All-Round Cowboy, cowboy!" Stavros danced away, laughing.

Greg raced out Desperado's front door.