by Dancing
A nurse entered the waiting room, prompting all
present, save for the sleeping girl, to look up. "Mont-
gomery family?"
"That would be us," his mother said.
"Mr. Montgomery is awake and asking to see his son."
Not sure he was ready to see his dad, Dalton said to
his hollow-eyed mom, "You go. I know how much you
must want to be with him."
She shook her head. "Right before his doctor
wheeled him into surgery, your father asked for you.
He's worried about you, Dalton."
"How can he be worried about me? I'm not the one
who just had emergency heart surgery."
"Sir?" the nurse prompted, lightly touching his
shoulder.
"Right," he said. "Let's go."
Out in the hall, they faced a set of double metal doors.
The nurse pressed a square button on the wall that
opened the doors with a soft whoosh. Inside was a harsh,
white space that looked straight from a sci-fi movie.
Machines hummed and beeped. The air was cold, thick
with the scents of cleaning fluids and antiseptic.
The nurse stopped outside a room labeled #7. She
opened a sliding-glass door, then gestured for Dalton to
step through. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to.
The ghostly pale man lying in the bed wasn't the
daunting figure Dalton had always thought him to be.
His father was no longer intimidating, but in need of his
son's help and support. There was no way Dalton could
think of leaving the family business now. No matter
how much he loved Rose, he couldn't walk out on his
dad when he needed him most.
Sure, over the years, his father could have given him
more independence, more latitude in choosing his own
career, but all of that was water under the bridge.
Dalton's future was clear.
"Son. You came." Though his father's raspy voice
sounded barely human, Dalton acted as if the man
whose voice had always boomed thunder hadn't changed
a bit.
"Where else would I be?" Dalton asked. They'd
never been a demonstrative family, but he took the older
man's hand in his. When his father squeezed tightly,
Dalton knew he'd done the right thing.
"I need to talk to you," his dad said. "Set a few
things straight."
"It's okay. I know I haven't been keeping the most
regular hours lately, but—"
"No—" his father clutched Dalton's hand harder
"—this has nothing to do with business."
Then what? The man knew nothing but business.
"I—I want to talk about regrets."
"Okay." Dalton glanced beyond the sliding-glass
door. Where was the nurse? Had she given his father too
much pain medication?
"Ever since my first heart attack, I couldn't help but
wonder at the path I'd chosen for my life. Back when I
went into the family business, I wanted to be a banker,
just like my pop." Dalton winced when his dad emitted
a throaty chuckle. He didn't sound good. "There hasn't
been a single day I've spent at the bank that I haven't
thanked my lucky stars for the life I've—we've—been
given. That said, folks talk. I'm hearing you're not as
happy at the bank as I've been." He coughed again. "I—
I guess what I'm asking in a roundabout way, son, is if
you have any regrets."
Where did Dalton start? If he told his father the truth,
would he die right here on the spot? "Regrets. Dad? I'm
not sure what you mean."
"I mean, are you happy? Does running the most
respected and lucrative, family-owned financial insti-
tution in our corner of the world make you truly, bone-
deep happy?"
How Dalton longed to answer truthfully, but what
good would truth be if the pain of that truth caused his
dad to suffer another attack? In the end, Dalton took
a deep breath and said, "Sure, I'm happy. Why
wouldn't I be?"
By eleven Monday morning, Dalton was buried so
deep in files, a snow shovel would be needed to clear
them. Still, he doggedly kept at it, as the alternative—
breaking up with Rose—seemed far worse than being
up to his neck in work.
"Mr. Montgomery?" Joan said through the intercom.
"Ms. Vasquez is here to see you."
"Send her in." Wearily standing, he washed his hands
over his unshaven cheeks. What would he say to her? Was
now the time to do the deed in breaking things off? Or
should he wait until they were in a kinder, gentler setting?
Like the sun easing out from behind clouds, she
glided into his office. At first, she was smiling, but that
was soon enough replaced by a frown. "My God," she
said, cupping her hands to his cheeks. "Mi novio, you
look horrible." Sweetheart. She'd called him her sweet-
heart. Last time she'd called him by the Spanish phrase,
Dalton had looked up the meaning. Hands now around
his waist, she hugged him tight. "I'm so sorry. How is
your dad? Is he going to be all right? I waited for you
to call, figuring you must be with family. But when you
never did, I had to come see you for myself."
"How did you know I was here?"
"I stopped by the hospital first. Your mom told me
where to find you."
"You saw Mom?"
"I'd kind of have to see her to talk to her, wouldn't I?"
When he didn't crack a smile, she elbowed him.
"That was a joke."
"Sorry," he said, releasing her to rake his fingers
through his hair. "Guess I'm not much in the mood for
clowning around."
"Understandable," she said, helping herself to one of
his guest chairs. "So? How is he? What happened?Your
mom looked pretty rough, so I didn't want to bother her."
Back in his chair, Dalton said, "Dad had an emer-
gency bypass. But his doctor thinks he'll be fine just as
long as he lays off cream sauce, bourbon and cigars."
"Rats." Rose made a face. "That pretty much rules out
the finer things in life, huh?" Reaching across the desk
to take his hand, she said, "You should be home sleeping.
Even better, you should be at my home sleeping."
The mere suggestion of closing his eyes in Rose's
big, comfy bed had him yawning. "As good as that
sounds, I have a lot to finish up here."
"Anything I can do to help?" she asked, leaving her
chair to perch on his lap. She wore a pale lavender
sundress trimmed in white lace that made her dark
skin look especially edible. Never had there been a
more gorgeous woman. Never had he been more
resolute in what he needed to do. She and Anna
deserved a man who'd live for them. His father had
told him that as soon as he left the hospital, he'd
announce his retirement, officially handing the reins
to him. If Dalton was this miserable to be around now,
Lord only knew what kind of bear he'd become when
the bank was solely his.
"I wish you could help, but."
"Will you at least let me
fix dinner for you tonight?"
He'd like nothing better, but dare he risk spending
more time in her arms? On the flip side, her home would
probably be the most comforting place for her to be when
he ended things. He would let her down easy. Explain
why she and Anna deserved so much better than him.
"Dalton? Dinner?"
"That, um, sounds great, but I have to go to the
hospital."
"I know, but surely you're not spending the night,
are you?"
"No, but—"
"All right, then. Anna and I will expect you around
eight. Think that'll give you time for a nice long visit
with your dad, or should we make it later? Why don't
you invite your mom? I'd love to talk with her under
more pleasant circumstances, and she could no doubt
use a change of scenery."
"Rose, I—"
"I know, you're busy." Draping her arm atop his
shoulders, she leaned in close for a kiss. It wasn't a pas-
sionate kiss or a casual kiss, but somewhere in between.
In the realm of dear friends or that of a comfortably
married couple. It was a kiss that spoke of love and
respect, caring and trust—none of which he felt worthy
of receiving. She got to her feet and kissed him again,
then said, "Don't overdo it, okay?"
Without waiting for his reply, she left the room, ma-
rooning him with only a lingering trace of her perfume
and a rising sense of despair.
Chapter Fourteen
That night, after visiting with his mom and dad and a
few aunts and uncles he hadn't seen since Christmas,
then stopping by a grocery store for flowers and a liquor
store for wine, Dalton was running about fifteen minutes
behind schedule.
"I've been worried about you," Rose said when he let
himself in the loft's back door. She stood at the stove,
face flushed from steam rising from a cast-iron pot.
"What took so—"
"Mr. Dalton!" Anna raced from her room, tossing her
arms around him. "I missed you. Mommy said your
dad's sick. Is he going to be okay?"
"Sure, sweetie," he said, kissing the top of her head.
Lord, but he'd miss this child. But if there was one thing
he'd learned from his father, it was that he didn't want
to raise a child in anything less than a one hundred
percent happy home.
"Me and my bunny are watching Shrek. Wanna come
watch with us?" She took his hand, dragging him toward
the loft's TV area.
"Thank you for asking, but I need to talk to your
mom. Will you pay close attention so you can tell me
what happens?"
"Okay." After gifting him with another hug, she
scampered off. His throat constricted painfully. How the
hell was he supposed to do this? He wasn't just breaking
up with one girl he loved, but two.
"In case you haven't noticed," Rose said, buttering
an open loaf of French bread, "she adores you. Her
mom does, too."
Dalton's heart shattered.
"You're late. What took you so long?"
"These." He handed her the gifts. "Am I forgiven?"
"Always." Checking out the label on the pricey
merlot, she said, "You have good taste. Plus, the wine
happens to go with our main course."
He sniffed the savory air. "Spaghetti?"
Rose grinned when Dalton's face lit up at the
prospect of indulging in his favorite meal. Thank
goodness spaghetti was indeed on the menu. She didn't
want to let him down. Not even on something as simple
as Monday-night dinner.
"How'd you guess?" From a shelf next to the sink,
she took a cobalt-blue vase.
He pointed to his nose. "I've always had a knack for
sniffing out my favorite foods."
"Really? In all the time we've been together, I've
never noticed that about you."
He shrugged.
"How's your dad?" she wondered aloud, filling the
vase with water.
"Better. But he seems different."
"How?"
"Hard to explain." He sat on one of the counter bar
stools. "He's always been the strictly business type. You
know, all numbers and no emotion. Yet the last couple
times we've talked, he's asked some pretty strange stuff."
"Like what?"
"Questions about my goals. If I'm happy."
"That's fantastic," she said, setting the fragrant
bouquet of mini-irises, daisies and daffodils on the
counter. Resting her elbows on the cool tile edging, she
asked, "Did you tell him how you feel? You know, about
pursuing a career other than working at the bank?"
"Not exactly."
"Ah," she said, plucking a wilted daisy petal. "Which
must be why you seem on edge."
"I'm fine," he insisted.
"If you're so fine, how did you manage to misplace
an entire dinner guest?"
"Huh?" Nose scrunched, he asked, "What're you
talking about?"
Rose counted to ten in her head. He probably had a
perfectly good explanation for not having brought his
mother. "I asked you to invite your mom. I even
scrubbed the bathroom in her honor, so why isn't she
here, Dalton?"
"She just couldn't make it, all right?"
"Did you even ask her? Or are you for some reason
ashamed of your relationship with me?" That last
question caught in her throat, and she hastily looked
away.
What was wrong with her, carrying on like this? Why
did it even matter whether or not Dalton wanted her to
get to know his mom and dad?
Dammit, it mattered because Dalton mattered. Rose
had admitted loving him. Her daughter loved him. For
better or worse, by whatever twist of fate, their lives
were already irrevocably intertwined.
"Rose, relax," he said, getting up from his stool and
wrapping his arms around her. "There's no deep, dark
motive. I just forgot. What with work and then the
hospital, I—"
"It's okay," she said. She didn't want to hear his
explanations, because if she truly loved him, she
wouldn't need them. She had to learn to trust. "I'm the
one who should be sorry. You have enough to deal
with without me piling my insecurities on top of your
already full load."
"No, really. This was nothing more than me being
overwhelmed with work. Mom and Dad will love you."
"You think?"
"I know. You're smart, talented, beautiful. What's
not to like?"
"Suck-up."
"Yes, ma'am." He winked.
Together, they finished meal preparations, then
talked over the delicious food and merlot while Anna
performed magic tricks with her napkin.
By the time the candles burned low, Rose had learned
all sorts of new and tantalizing facts about her guy. He'd
won the school spelling bee in sixth grade, harbored a
secret penchant for Cap'n Crunch cereal, and did pretty
amazing magic himself by adding or subtracting four-
digit figures in
his head.
Once Anna had declared them boring, and the grown-
ups finished off the wine, Dalton admitted how much
he wanted to be a father one day. If Rose hadn't already
been over the moon in love with him, that last bit of in-
formation would have done her in.
"Do you want a boy or a girl?" she asked, running
the tip of her toe up his inseam.
"One of each."
"Nice if you can pull it off, but how do you plan on
guaranteeing success?"
"Simple, by picking the perfect mom."
Assuming by the misty smile Dalton shot her way
that she was the woman he had in mind for the job,
Rose's heart beat faster. Pushing back her chair, she
reached for his plate.
"Let me," he said, hand over hers. "You cooked.
I'll clean."
"You'll get no argument from me."
While he tackled the mess, she sat on a bar stool, fin-
ishing her wine. He made fast work of loading the dish-
washer, then scrubbing the pots and pans.
He washed down the counters.
Scoured the sink.
"You're awfully industrious—and quiet." Hopping
up, she set her glass on the tile in front of her. Then she
rounded the counter and slid her hands up his back,
massaging his shoulders. "Talk about tight. When's the
last time you took a vacation?"
He reached over her shoulder, finishing off her wine.
"I thought one day with you was the equivalent of a
week at a spa."
"That's what everyone says, but evidently, you're
immune to my restorative powers." Working her
thumbs deeper into his muscles, she asked, "Worried
about your dad?"
"Mmm-hmm." Dalton closed his eyes and stopped
polishing the soap dispenser to focus on her. Her musky
smell, her gentle yet strong touch. Her way of making
him feel like the luckiest man alive to have ever been
held in her arms. He'd planned to let her down easy, but
how, when their bond grew steadily stronger? "I wish I
didn't have to go back to the hospital."
"Then don't. It's late. Odds are, your dad won't
even be awake."
"I have to go back because it's my duty."
"Dalton, you've got to learn to make time for your-
self. How can you help your dad if you let yourself get
run-down from stress? You need to learn that nobody
has to do anything they truly don't want to do."
If only that were the case. "You don't get it," he said,
searching for something else to clean. "My dad just
suffered his second heart attack. He's worked his whole
life to make our bank a respected organization. His
