Laura Marie Altom

by Dancing

  and tub, he continued with his masterpiece.

  "What're you making?" Rose asked, leaning toward

  him, making him crazy with her musky scent.

  "Patience. You'll see."

  He hadn't expected his knack for working with clay

  to still be there, but it was. He wasn't sure if that was

  good or bad. It'd been years since he'd been near the

  stuff, years that blurred together without distinction.

  "You look like you know what you're doing."

  He shrugged.

  "Where would a stodgy banker like you learn to

  sculpt?"

  "I dabbled."

  She snorted. "I took a bunch of art classes in

  college, but, Dalton, never once did I see anyone craft

  a horse like that in such a short time—let alone out of

  ancient Play-Doh."

  The only answer he had for her was a shrug. His

  sculpting, like what had happened with Carly, was a part

  of him he didn't want to get into. What was the point?

  Hearing the muffled sound of the bathroom taps

  being turned off, he hustled, smoothing the creature's

  leg muscles, then using a plastic knife to work in a

  flowing mane, eyes and mouth.

  "Wow." Rose tentatively reached out to touch the

  five-inch-tall creature. "Dalton, this is exquisite."

  "No biggie."

  "Yes. Yes, it is. Have you worked in other mediums?"

  "If you don't mind, I'd rather drop the whole subject."

  "But—"

  "Whoa!" Anna ran back into the room, zeroing in on

  his creation. "Mr. Dalton, that's cool!" She grabbed for

  it, but her hold was too rough, and just as quickly as

  Dalton had given the horse life, the little girl destroyed

  it. "I'm sorry," she said, lower lip trembling and tears

  pooling her eyes. "I didn't mean to squish him."

  "It's okay," Dalton said. "No big deal. And anyway,

  your mom's dinner smells great. Isn't it time to eat?"

  "Yeah, but can you make me another one after dinner?

  I wanna take it for show-and-tell. Chase Crandall would

  have a cow. He makes really great Play-Doh cheesebur-

  gers and hot dogs, but you beat him way bad on animals."

  "There won't be time," he said, easing up from his

  chair.

  "Pleeeease." The girl punctuated her whine with

  a few hops.

  "Anna," Rose said, "would you please get the salad

  dressings from the fridge and set them on the table?"

  "But, Mommy—"

  "Anna." she warned in the universal tone all

  mothers use to show they mean business.

  "Okay."

  Once the girl trudged off, Rose quietly asked, "Mind

  telling me what that was all about?"

  "Yes," Rose's dinner guest said in a brusque manner

  she'd never heard him use. "I'm sorry, Rose. But I'd

  really rather not talk about it."

  "But I don't see what the big deal is. Seriously,

  Dalton, why—"

  "Please," he said. "Let's just focus on enjoying the

  evening."

  "Okay." She eased back in her chair. "Sorry I pressed."

  "There's no need to be sorry. Let's just get on with

  eating whatever it is that smells so good."

  "All done, Mommy! Can we eat?"

  Rose snuck one more glance at Dalton, trying to

  gauge his mood, but it was too late. He'd already left

  the art table to meet up with Anna at the kitchen table.

  Trailing behind, Rose put the incident behind her.

  Seven years of marriage and plenty of dates with tem-

  peramental male dancers had shown her men could be

  every bit as moody as women. Though she was curious

  about how a topic as benign as Play-Doh could upset him.

  As touchy as Dalton had been earlier, dinner was

  filled with lighthearted banter.

  After the meal, Rose helped her daughter into

  pajamas, then read her Beauty and the Beast and tucked

  pink floral covers up to her chin. Then she made her way

  back to the kitchen, finding Dalton at the sink, elbow

  deep in suds.

  "Impressive," she said with a whistle. "You count

  during the day and scrub at night."

  "What can I say? I'm a Renaissance man." He winked.

  She melted a little more. What was it about him that

  drew her? Why did he feel more like a friend than a

  student? Why did she care that even after sharing a

  meal, there was sadness behind his smile?

  "Want me to dry?" she asked, deciding to skirt the

  issue. Given time, should their friendship continue—

  which she hoped it would—he'd share his troubles just

  as she had shared hers.

  He flicked bubbles at her. "Hey, thought you were

  going to help instead of standing around looking pretty."

  "You think I'm pretty, huh?" she said with a flirty bat

  of her eyelashes.

  "Nah." He shot her an adorable grin. "I just said that

  to soften you up, you know, hoping to actually get work

  out of you."

  "Ahh. The old flattery routine. I've always been

  a big fan."

  "Good to know," he said while she plucked a dish

  towel from the bottom cabinet drawer.

  They worked in companionable silence, feeling more

  like a couple than when they were in each other's arms

  on the dance floor. Her husband had never been one for

  domestic chores. In fact, he'd insisted on always having

  a housekeeper to tackle what he'd labeled menial

  chores. She, though, found pleasure in the simple acts

  of preparing a meal, then washing the dishes afterward.

  "Thanks for your help," she said when they'd finished.

  "Sure. No problem."

  "Do you do your own housework?"

  "Um, yeah. Doesn't everyone except my stodgy

  old parents?"

  "They have help?"

  "A live-in maid and cook." He sighed, putting the

  dish soap under the sink's cabinet, as if he'd been fol-

  lowing the same routine for years. "Always made me

  feel funny having someone else clean up my messes."

  "I would think any sane kid would enjoy having a

  servant around to clean up after him."

  Shrugging, he made his way to an oversize armchair.

  "I can see why some kids would like it, but it just didn't

  feel right to me."

  "Sure. I understand."

  "Now that you've got the scoop on my Little Lord

  Fauntleroy upbringing, what was your childhood like?"

  Easing onto the sofa across from him, she tucked her

  legs under her and smiled. "My childhood was idyllic.

  Lots of running through sprinklers and chasing the ice-

  cream truck."

  "You have a big family?"

  "Mom, Dad, two older brothers. Grandma and

  Grandpa."

  "All still with you?"

  "Everyone save for Grandma. She passed a few years

  ago. Pneumonia."

  "Sorry."

  "Me, too. I miss her—and her sugar cookies. But

  Anna and I make them often. Hopefully we're keeping

  a little of her spirit alive."

  After a few thoughtful minutes, he said, "My dad's

  had a couple of close calls. He has heart trouble."

  "That must've been hard on you."

  "
Sure. But not always in the way you think."

  "What does that mean?" she asked, leaning forward.

  "Nothing. Sorry. I shouldn't have said anything."

  Taking a deep breath, he said, "Seen any good movies

  lately?"

  "That was a thinly veiled attempt to change the subject."

  "Did it work?" he asked, eyebrows raised hopefully.

  "If it did, this would be the second time tonight that

  you've wanted to change the subject. What's up with

  that? Are you suddenly becoming a man of mystery?"

  "Wouldn't you like to know," he said with a chuckle,

  pushing up from his chair.

  "Where are you going?"

  "Home. It's late."

  "It's eight-thirty."

  Faking a yawn, he said, "Hours past my bedtime."

  "What are you avoiding, Dalton Montgomery?"

  "Who says I'm avoiding anything? I've got a big

  day tomorrow."

  "Okay. When do you want your next lesson?"

  "I'm good."

  "You don't want another?"

  "That's what I said." He stood at the door, immersed

  in shadow. His expression was unreadable, yet the in-

  flection in his voice was clear. Back off. But of what?

  "Dalton?" She rose. "Did I do or say something that

  offended you?"

  "No," he said, voice softened. "Of course not. I've

  had a great time. Your dinner was delicious—the com-

  pany, too. Anna's a doll."

  "Thanks."

  "You're welcome. Now, I really should get going.

  See you around, okay?"

  "Sure." Once Dalton had gone, Rose stood at the

  closed door, hugging herself, wondering why Dalton's

  leaving had caused a knot in her throat.

  Chapter Five

  Two days later, Rose still didn't know why she even

  cared that Dalton had cut their evening short. The one

  thing she did know was that it felt good to worry about

  someone other than herself for a change.

  Which was why, despite a nagging voice telling her to

  forget Dalton Montgomery, she now found herself reach-

  ing into her red VW Jetta's backseat for the picnic basket

  she'd filled with tasty treats. Hopefully she could entice

  him out of his office, and into the sun-flooded park.

  The city of Hot Pepper was small—only a population

  of five thousand—but its main park was on par with any

  she'd been to in Dallas or Houston. There were lots of

  big trees and grassy knolls and playground equipment for

  kids of all ages. A jogging trail wound its way through,

  and was always crowded with runners and walkers.

  Rose loved spending time outdoors. She felt that it

  was the best way to gain clarity when she felt tense.

  Hopefully, Dalton would feel the same.

  Inside the bank's austere, two-story black-marble-

  and-forest-green lobby was where Rose's plan nose-

  dived. For some reason, she'd expected Dalton to be

  hanging out in the lobby, waiting for rescue.

  And you're the woman for the job?

  Seriously, what'd even given her the impression he

  needed to be rescued? If he did, what qualified her for

  the task? They hardly knew each other. After the last

  time they'd talked, the way he'd practically run from

  her, not even wanting to set up his next lesson, it was

  more likely he'd had quite enough of her company.

  Then why was she here?

  One very simple reason. Because she wanted to be.

  More to the point—she wanted him.

  Cheeks flaming, she put her free hand over her mouth,

  thanking heaven she hadn't actually said something like

  that out loud. Dalton was a friend. Nothing more. Okay,

  so he happened to be a good-looking friend. A funny,

  sweet, charming friend. Where was the harm in—

  "May I help you?" A tall, youthful-looking man with

  a shock of freckles to match his red hair approached.

  "Um, yes," Rose said, willing her pulse to slow. Had

  coming here been such a bright idea? What if Dalton

  truly didn't want to see her?

  "Ma'am? Do you need to set up a new account?"

  "Dalton," she blurted. "Is he here?"

  "You mean Mr. Montgomery?" The man's eyes

  widened. "He's here, but he doesn't usually see cus-

  tomers."

  "Oh—I'm not a customer, but a friend."

  "Is he expecting you?"

  "Not exactly, but—"

  "Could you tell me who to see for ordering new

  checks?" A thirtysomething woman wielding a baby in

  a carriage, and a toddler, strolled up, thankfully occu-

  pying the inquisitive lobby guard dog.

  Rose took the opportunity to slip past both, aiming

  for a wide staircase leading to a gallery lined with glass-

  walled offices. No doubt Dalton was important, and as

  such, would naturally have a private working space,

  removed from the bustling lobby.

  "Ma'am!" the greeter called. "You can't just go up

  there without—"

  Too late. She'd already reached the top of the stairs.

  She then caught a lucky break in the form of brass

  nameplates affixed to each oak door.

  Bud Weathers.

  Owen Brighten.

  Alice Craigmoore.

  Dalton Montgomery—Vice President.

  From inside came muffled shouting. "Dammit,

  Borden, I told you to dump it three days ago. What

  the hell happened?... I don't care... Look, all I'm

  saying is."

  Rose stood outside his partially open door, unsure of

  her next move.

  Dalton slammed down the phone. "Simmons, I know

  you're lurking out there. If you've got those figures,

  come in. Otherwise."

  "Surprise," Rose said, swinging the wicker basket in

  front of her, forcing a smile.

  "Rose." Dalton lurched back in his brown leather

  desk chair.

  "You're busy. I—I shouldn't have come."

  "Of course you should. It's just a shock, that's all.

  Seeing you is the last thing I expected." Half smiling,

  he stood, gestured to the basket. "What's in there?"

  "Lunch. But really, if you're busy, I can come back."

  "What if I want you to stay?"

  Warmth crept through her like the sun. "What if what

  I'd really like is for both of us to go?" She shivered.

  "This place gives me the creeps."

  Chuckling, Dalton slipped out from behind his desk.

  "I agree. Let's go."

  "OH, NO," Dalton said an hour later, seated on a red

  blanket in sun-dappled shade. "I tried those chili things.

  I did like you said and took off my suit jacket and

  loosened my tie, but I draw the line at eating peppers."

  "But they're good," his hostess said, the corners of

  her big brown eyes crinkled with mirth.

  "If you happen to have a team of paramedics

  standing by."

  "Baby," she teased.

  "What I am is smart," he teased right back, intertwin-

  ing his fingers with hers. She looked lovely. Full, yellow

  sundress tucked around her endless bronzed legs just so.

  Long hair wild and free, flowing in the light breeze. The

  park around them was vibrant spring-green, teeming

  with the
kind of life he wasn't used to seeing on

  a Thursday afternoon. Chubby-fingered, laughing

  toddlers ran alongside swings and slides while their

  mothers congregated on benches drenched in sun. Birds

  chirped and leaves rustled and Dalton found himself

  aching to kiss Rose for having saved him from the

  office. From what had become a crushingly lonely and

  frustrating existence.

  "Thank you," he said, giving her hands a squeeze.

  "For what?" Her question rang of innocence. As if

  she truly didn't know how colorless his life had become.

  "For the amazing lunch." He brought her hand to his

  mouth, turning it upside down to kiss her palm. "I'm still

  not sure what half the stuff was that we ate, but it was

  good." And it hadn't left him reaching for his antacids

  like he did after downing a greasy, three-meat combo

  from Duffy's.

  "You're welcome. I'm glad you're having fun."

  "Are you having fun, too?" He hadn't meant to ask,

  but now that the question had slipped out, he had to

  admit harboring a burning need to know.

  "Yes," she said simply, making him feel like the

  luckiest man alive just to be graced by her smile.

  What was it about her that not only soothed but

  excited? Why was it that whenever he was around

  her, he could hardly remember to breathe? "I'm

  having a great time."

  "You do this often?" he asked, releasing her hand,

  gesturing to their surroundings. "While away whole

  afternoons in the park?"

  "As much as I can. Lucky for me, most of my dance

  classes are in the late afternoon and evenings. I used to

  bring Anna with me to the park, but now that she's in

  school, my usual companion is a good book."

  "Probably beats the heck out of working in an office,

  huh?" He winked.

  Her resulting grin made him loathe his life's choices

  all the more. Had things gone right a decade ago, would

  moments like this be the norm, rather than a blazing

  streak of color in his otherwise gray existence?

  Lying back to rest on his elbows, Dalton drank in the

  day. The woman. The novelty of being free of his cell

  phone while the sky was still blue.

  "What's got you so deep in thought?" Rose asked.

  "Nothing," he lied, not wanting to mar the after-

  noon's perfection.

  "Then what's causing this?" She traced the furrow

  between his brows. "I've been seeing it a lot the past

  few minutes."

  "You're not real big on letting a man keep his

  secrets, are you?"

  "Depends," she said with a slow, sexy smile. "Are