by Dancing
"Not at all. In fact, it's quite good. That is, assuming
you're not focusing so hard on your lessons in the hopes
of getting them over with."
There she went again, reading his mind.
"Because if that is the case, you need to rethink
your strategy."
"But if my dancing's better, what does it matter how
it got that way?"
A frown marred her mouth's usually serene lines.
"Because, you big lug, haven't you heard a word I've
been saying? To truly learn tango, you've got to learn
to listen to your own body. Yes, I can teach you the steps,
but the rhythm, the mood, the feeling, that all has to
come from here..." She placed her open hand over his
stumbling heart, then smiled. "Ahhh, good. There's
something going on in there."
This was insanity.
Being here with Rose, talking about such nonsense
as his beating heart. He couldn't do it. The truth was, it
hurt too bad. Created longings in him he'd thought were
long buried. Longings for a different sort of life.
"Look," he said, "I don't mean to be blunt, but I'm
paying for a few simple lessons, and that's all I want."
When he spun away, her hand naturally fell, and his
heart beat once again. Cold, but sure and steady, just the
way it was supposed to.
"Dalton?" she asked, voice floating as if through a
dream.
"Yes?" he said without looking back.
"It's happening, isn't it?"
"What?" His hand was on the door. All he had to do
to escape was twist the knob and push.
"The dance. It's changing you. Working its magic."
Open the door, man. Set yourself free. "I—I don't
know what you're talking about."
"Want to come upstairs for a snack while I explain?"
Yes. "No. Maybe some other time."
His hand was on the door.
He was almost home free.
So why did he feel more like he was stepping into a self-
imposed prison than freedom? Why did he feel as if all of
the choice had drained from his life until only duty and
obligation remained? And truthfully Carly had damn near
destroyed him, and he never wanted to hurt that way again.
"Goodbye, Dalton. Will you call to set up your
next lesson?"
"Sure."
"Good. Drive safely."
Watching Dalton walk out the door was harder than
Rose had imagined. She wanted to run after him, apolo-
gize for spouting all that emotional stuff. Had her babble
been what chased him away?
She didn't want to get attached, but if letting go
was the right thing, how come seeing him actually
leave felt so bad?
Rose rested her forehead against the cool glass of the
door Dalton had just strode through, wishing with
everything in her that she could find some small piece
of the professionalism she'd once clung to so confi-
dently.
"Next on the agenda," Alice Craigmoore said in
Duffy's back room, "is the Miss Hot Pepper Pageant.
Mona, are you ready with your report?"
As was his habit at this portion of the meeting, Dalton
took this as a cue to zone out. Legs outstretched under
the table, he arched his head back and closed his eyes.
Mona cleared her throat. "Not so fast, lover boy. You
might want to stay awake for the next few minutes."
"Why's that?" he asked, cracking one eye open,
ignoring what he assumed was a not-so-subtle reference
to the amount of time he'd been spending with Rose.
She took a manila folder from her red satchel, then
scooted it across the table, nearly dumping his Coke.
"What is it?" he asked, eyeing it as if it were the bill
for their meals.
"Alice mentioned seeing you with your new dance
instructor, Rose, at the park."
"And?" He straightened, already reaching into his suit
pocket for a chewable antacid. This couldn't be good.
"And." Alice said, leaning forward on the table, "I
think she's adorable. My best friend, Gail, from needle-
point club sends her granddaughter to the dance academy
for jazz and tap. Well, that got me to thinking, why not
jazz up our usual show by adding another number? Since
you've been working so hard we'll, of course, keep your
solo, but once I asked around town as to the matter of
Rose's credentials and discovered that—"
"Hey," Mona complained. "I thought I was in charge
of this issue?"
"Oh, you are, dear. But naturally, as the current
chamber president, what with Ms. Vasquez's impressive
background, I would think she'd be most comfortable
working with someone of my stature."
"Your stature?" Mona leaped to her feet. Hands on
her hips, face blotchy and red, she said, "How dare you
act all high and mighty like this with me, Alice Craig-
moore. Which of us was homecoming queen and who
wasn't even in my royal court? Whose two daughters
were crowned Miss Hot Pepper?"
Not to be outdone, Alice was on her feet, as well.
"While we're strolling memory lane, Mona, whose
father donated the Caddie convertible that the home-
coming queen and her court rode in? Everyone knows
that's the only reason you won."
"That's it." Mona snatched up her folder, shoving it
into her satchel. "I've put up with your condescending
attitude for decades, Alice Craigmoore, but never again.
As of this moment, I resign."
"You can't resign," Alice said. "You're the only one
who's familiar with the pageant."
"What's that?" Mona asked, free hand to her ear. "Did
someone actually admit I know a little something?"
"Ladies, ladies," Frank said, "both of you should
calm down. How about we order a nice round of cobbler
a la mode—my treat—and talk this out like the civilized
business leaders we are?"
"Hush!" both women said in unison to Frank.
"I'm out of here." Dalton pushed back his chair. "If
any of you need me, you know where I'll be."
"Wait just a doggone minute," Frank said. "I'm not
stayin' here on my own with these two."
"Looks like the matter's already been taken out of
your hands." Dalton nodded toward their fellow com-
mittee members, who'd just flown the coop.
Mona left, too.
Then Alice.
"Now what?" Frank asked.
"Beats me," Dalton said.
"Well, clearly, we can't let the pageant be canceled."
Sounds like an excellent plan to me. "Frank, come on,
be reasonable. We're just two guys here, what could we
possibly know about planning a pageant?"
"Together? Nothing. But I've got a wife, and word
has it you and this dance teacher of yours are sweet on
each other. Think she might want to help?"
Dalton groaned.
"Mommy?"
"Yes, ma'am?" In the utility room, Rose glanced her
daughter's way. They were doing laundry and, as Anna
wore more of the still-warm-from-the-dryer navy towels
dryer duty.
"Do I make a pretty, deep-sea princess?"
"You're gorgeous, baby." Rose blew her daughter a
kiss.
"I'm not a baby."
"Oh—right. Sorry, I forgot how much you've grown
in the past week."
"Yep, and Mrs. Clayton says that—"
Ding-dong.
"Hold that thought," Rose said with a tweak to the
little girl's nose. "I'll be right back."
Jogging to the loft's back-porch entrance, she peeked
past lacy curtains, then willed her pulse to slow.
I am not excited to see him.
I am not excited to see him.
Yeah, right. Rose tossed open the door. "Dalton. Hi."
"Hey. Sorry to just drop in like this, but—"
"Hi, Mr. Dalton!" Anna rushed his way. "Mommy
and me are playing sea princess. Wanna come watch?"
"Love to," he said, sharing a grin with Rose.
"Come on," Anna said, taking his hand. "We've got
lots of towels. I'll make you a cape!"
Thirty minutes later, Rose was still smiling while
poor, sweet Dalton had been made sea king with a tinfoil
crown. Finally, Anna tired of being a princess and
moved on to her Barbies.
"Thanks," Rose said. "John used to hang out with her
all the time. She misses him a lot."
"It was my pleasure." He smiled. "She's a doll."
"You're one, too," Rose claimed, kissing his cheek.
"Stay for dinner?"
"Thought you'd never ask."
"I have a sort of favor to ask," he said while she took
pork chops from the freezer, "that's the reason I'm here."
"Name it." She popped the meat into the micro-
wave to thaw.
"Love to." He scratched his head. "Trouble is, I'm
not even sure what I need you to do." He explained
about Alice and Mona's feud, and how everyone else
had walked out, too, leaving him and Frank in charge.
"I've judged tons of pageants. A small-scale one like
this shouldn't be too much trouble, especially since
Mona has probably already done most of the legwork."
"That's a relief."
"Green beans or broccoli?"
"Broccoli. You know how to make cheese sauce?"
"Colby jack or cheddar?"
"Woman—" clutching his chest, his lips curved into
a dead-sexy grin "—I'm not sure what I did to warrant
you coming into my life, but whatever it was, I need to
keep it up."
"Er, thanks. I think."
"Make no mistake, you're a very good thing."
Before she had time to process that, he asked, "What
can I do to help?"
Chapter Seven
"I want another one!" Anna demanded after Rose had
finished her first bedtime story.
"Nope. You've got school in the morning, and it's
already fifteen minutes past your bedtime."
"Mmmph..." Pouting, she crossed her arms beneath
her pink comforter. "Daddy would've let me stay up."
Even from where Dalton stood in the shadowy corner
at Anna's request, so he, too, could hear her story, he
saw the pain in Rose's eyes.
"He probably would have let you stay up," Rose said,
voice remarkably calm, "but he's not here, and I am, and
I say go to sleep."
When Anna pulled the cover over her head, Rose
just kissed her head—or at least what she must have
thought was her daughter's head—through the downy
blanket. "Good night. I love you."
"Mmmph."
Rose gestured for him to precede her out of the room.
"Night, kiddo," Dalton called over his shoulder.
Out popped a fuzzy-haired head. "Good night, Mr.
Dalton."
Sighing, Rose pulled Anna's bedroom door shut.
"The joys of being a single mom."
"Do you get grief like this often?"
"Not all that much," she said, aiming for the kitchen.
"Mostly just when she doesn't get her way. She has her
father's iron will."
"That a good or bad thing?" Dalton asked, taking a
seat on an orange-cushioned bar stool.
"Depends on what kind of day I've had." She took a
chilled bottle of red wine from the fridge, giving it an
enticing wag. "Want some?"
"Absolutely. That scene has me worried about the
time when I finally have my own kids."
"Oh, stop." She poured wine into two tall-stemmed
glasses. "I wouldn't trade her for anything. Yes, she's
occasionally a handful, but for the most part, she's also
my best friend. I adore her."
"That's plain to see. And aside from the sass, the way
she emulated you while we were cooking, it's also
obvious she adores you."
"I hope so," she said, taking a sip of wine. "Lots of
times I wonder if I'll be enough for her."
"You could remarry. Give her a stepdad."
"That a proposal?" she asked with a wink.
While he laughed on the outside, inside, Dalton's
heart lurched at the notion that living out the rest of his
life with a vibrant woman like Rose and her firecracker
of a daughter would be amazing. Too bad he'd already
determined she wasn't the right type of woman for him.
"Seriously," she said, "in the hospital, after the
accident, John told me to be happy. Marry again and
have more babies if that was what I wanted. But when
you're blessed with a love like ours, I don't know..."
She shrugged, sipped her wine. "Sorry. I didn't mean
for the conversation to get this heavy."
"It's fine," he said. You're fine. In so many ways.
Each day, he found himself more enthralled with her
laugh, her dancing, her cooking, parenting. "In fact,
I'm honored you consider me enough of a friend to
confide in me like this."
"Is that what we are?" she asked after taking another
sip. "Friends?"
"Well, sure. We both lead pretty full lives. I just
assumed that with you, anyway, friendship is all you'd
have room for."
"And if I did have room for more?"
Holy crap. What was she saying? Why did his heart
feel near bursting with hope? He'd long since established
she was all wrong for him, so why was it the more he was
with her, the more everything about her felt right?
Retreating to the living area, she said, "That
was incredibly presumptuous of me. I'm tired and
babbling and—"
"Hush." In a few steps, he went to her. Took her
wineglass and set it on the coffee table.
"I mean, listen to me. You're probably not even at-
tracted to me, and Lord knows, I'm trying not to be at-
tracted to you. I don't even know what made me say
something like that, other than—"
Cradling her face with his hands, Dalton silenced her
sweet objections in the surest way he knew. His kiss was
no doubt bumbling and oafish, but judging by the way
she clung to him, she didn't care.
"Look at me," she said when he pulled back, "I'm
trembling."
"That bad?"
"That good. Only—" Tears welling, she shook her
head.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Please, Rose, don't do this to me. Don't shut me out.
Is this about John?"
With a sniffle, she nodded.
"This was your first kiss since him, wasn't it? I mean,
your first real kiss."
"Yes. And it was beautiful. And the excitement
swelling in my chest is almost more than I can bear. But
at the same time, there's this guilt. Why am I here and
he isn't? Have I mourned enough to properly respect the
love we shared? Is he looking down on me? If so, does
he approve? Then there's the fear. I loved him so much.
What if I end up giving my heart to you, then something
happens, and." Glistening eyes turned to full-on tears.
"Shh..." Dalton said, pulling her against him, smooth-
ing her hair. "It's okay. Everything's going to be okay."
"You don't know that. Seriously, I could fall for you,
and Anna could fall for you, and then you could die. And
listen to me, I've already got you married with a child
and we haven't even been on an official first date. I'm
certifiable."
"Honey, trust me, you're not alone in having demons.
Do you think my life's perfect?"
"Of course not. No one's is."
Drawing her to the sofa, he gingerly sat her down,
handed her her wine, then snagged a paper towel from
the holder on the bar. "Blow your nose."
Taking the rough square, she did as he'd asked, and
never had Dalton seen a woman look prettier. Not that
he got his kicks from watching women cry, just that
there was something profoundly intimate in the experi-
ence they'd just shared.
He took a deep drink of his wine, then he set it on a
side table, pulling her snug against him. "When I was
a kid, my dad used to take me to the bank with him
Saturday mornings. He had this whole junior-executive
station set up in a corner of his office. Toy adding
machine and money and a hat that said Banker across
the front. I used to love being with him. Having him
show me off to his friends, tell everyone that one day,
running the bank would be my responsibility. I used to
be so damn proud of this fact. You know, most of my
friends didn't graduate high school having a clue who
or what they wanted to be, but here I had my whole life
charted. What Dad didn't instill in me businesswise,
Mom did, giving pointers on the right sort of woman to
marry. She must be strong, yet supportive. Independent,
yet not so independent as to want her own all-consum-
ing career. It'd be best, she always said, to find a woman
