A Fool's Gold Christmas
Page 3

“I’m healing,” she said. “There are a few lingering aches and pains, but nothing I can’t handle.”
He took a bite of lasagna, swallowed and chewed. “Did the manager of the studio really take off and leave you with the Christmas program?”
“The Dance of the Winter King, open to all faiths,” she corrected and nodded. “She sure did. You’d think life in a place like this would be easy, but it’s not. There are expectations and complicated relationships.”
“Like?”
She drew in a breath. “Okay, Miss Monica ran the studio and she’s the one who hired me. But the owner is Dominique Guérin.” She paused.
Dante waited expectantly.
“You’ve never heard of her?” she asked.
“No. Should I have?”
“She’s a famous ballerina. Or she was. You’re not into dance or the dance world, are you?”
“Do I look like I’m into dance?”
“Fair enough.” Although he had nice bone structure, she thought. “Then let’s try this another way. Dominique is Charlie’s mother.”
Dante stared at her. “Clay’s Charlie?”
“Uh-huh.”
“But Charlie’s…” He took a big bite of lasagna and mumbled something unintelligible.
She grinned. “What was that?” she asked sweetly.
He motioned to his still-full mouth, as if indicating there was no way he could possibly speak.
“I understand the point you’re avoiding,” she said. “Charlie doesn’t look like a dancer. From what I understand, she takes after her father. Anyway, I’ve left a message for Dominique to tell her what’s going on with the dance studio, but I haven’t heard back. In the meantime, I have to assume we’re still planning on the Christmas Eve performance, which means getting organized in ways I’m not sure I can even comprehend. I’ve never been in charge like this before.”
Her appetite faded, and she pushed away her plate. “Charlie suggested I ask some of the parents for copies of any recordings they have. So I’ll be able to see those. Then there are costumes and steps and music.” She stopped. “We should change the subject or I’ll get shrill again. Neither of us wants that.”
He swallowed. “It’s a lot.”
She poked at her salad. “Like I said, we can talk about something else.” She looked at him. “So, how did you meet my brother?”
“Rafe?”
“He’s the one you do business with. I’m assuming you met Shane and Clay through him.”
Dante leaned back in his chair. “You don’t know?”
“We’re not that close.” She’d left for Juilliard when she was seventeen and hadn’t had a whole lot of contact with her family ever since. She’d seen them more since her football accident than she had in the past eight years.
“Even to your mom?” he asked.
She sighed. “Let me guess. You and your mom are close and you call at least twice a week. For what it’s worth, I really admire that.” From an emotional distance, she thought. No way she could relate to it.
Dante picked up his wine. “My mother died a long time ago.”
“Oh.” Evie felt herself flush. “I’m sorry.”
“Like I said, it was a long time ago.” He leaned toward her. “Rafe and I met while we were both in college. We were working construction.”
She remembered that her brother had taken summer jobs to supplement his scholarships. After finding out about Dante’s mother, she wasn’t going to do any more assuming.
“You went into the family business?” she asked.
He chuckled. “No, I was paying the bills. I found out I was a lot more popular with girls in college when I could afford to take them on dates. I was a scholarship student, too.”
“Intelligent and good-looking,” she teased. “So why are you still single?”
“I like the chase, but I’m not so big on the catch.”
“A man who avoids commitments.” She knew the type. With those broad shoulders and blue eyes, he would have no trouble getting a woman to notice him. The money and success wouldn’t hurt, either. “Do they line up at a set time, or is it more like concert lotteries? You pass out numbers and then call them randomly?”
“Impressive,” he told her. “Mocking me and my dates at the same time.”
“I was gently teasing. There’s a difference.”
“You’re right.” He studied her over his wineglass. “What about you? No fancy Mr. King of the Dance coming to rescue you from the backwater that is Fool’s Gold?”
“I’m between kings right now. And, at the risk of sounding like Jane Austen, content to be so. Miss Monica is welcome to her gentleman friend. I’m more focused on the upcoming performance.” Not to mention avoiding her family as much as possible.
“Did you see all the Thanksgiving decorations around town?” he asked.
“The turkey population is well represented.”
“Christmas is going to be worse,” he grumbled.
“Candy canes on every mailbox.”
“Wreaths on every door.” He looked at her. “It’s going to be like living in a snow globe.”
“Tell me about it.” She sipped her wine. “Do you know this town doesn’t have a grocery store that stays open twenty-four hours a day? What’s up with that? What if someone needs something at two in the morning?”
“Like aspirin after listening to clog dancers for an hour?”
“You’ll adore them when you see them perform.”
“Maybe.” He frowned. “Hey, why aren’t you a big fan of Christmas? With your family, I would think loving the season would be a given. I’ll bet your mom made Christmas special for you.”
Evie put down her wine and pressed a hand to her stomach. Sudden churning made her uncomfortable.
No doubt Dante saw May as a warm, caring parent. The kind of woman who would bake cookies and sew Christmas stockings. Maybe she had once—Evie’s brothers each had a carefully embroidered stocking. But Evie’s was store-bought and not personalized. There hadn’t been many traditions for her. She’d always found Christmas kind of lonely and wasn’t looking forward to an entire town showing her all the ways she didn’t fit in.
“I suppose I’ve gotten out of the habit of the holidays,” she said, hedging. She barely knew Dante. There was no reason to go into the gory details of her past with the man.
“Then we’ll have to stay strong together,” he told her. “There’s only the two of us against all of them.”
She laughed. “Grinches together?”
“Absolutely.” He pointed at her nearly untouched plate. “Okay, you’re either going to have to eat more or explain to the chef why you didn’t like his very excellent lasagna.”
“I wouldn’t want that.”
An hour later, they’d finished most of the wine. Dante had explained more about the Shanghai project and she’d told funny stories about her days touring with a third-rate ballet company. He insisted on packing up the leftovers for her to take home and then escorted her across their shared driveway and to her front door. Once there, he waited until she’d put her key in the lock and pushed open the door.
“If you need anything, pound on the wall,” he told her. “Ah, the one between us. If you pound on the other one, you’ll confuse the neighbors and get a bad reputation in the development.”
“I wouldn’t want that.” She held up the bag of food. “Thanks for this.”
“You’re skinny. Eat more.” With that, he bent down and lightly kissed her cheek. “’Night, Evie.”
“’Night.”
She watched him walk back to his place and step inside. Then she stepped into her house and shut the door. She stood in the dark for a second, the feel of his kiss lingering on her cheek.
She’d had fun tonight. Talking, sharing a meal with a friend. Dante was easy to talk to. Charming. He was the kind of man who made a woman think about more than kissing. Even someone who knew how dangerous that could be.
“My brother’s business partner and a player,” she said as she turned on the light in the entryway. There were a thousand reasons not to play the what-if game with Dante Jefferson. She was smart enough to remember every one of them.
* * *
“YOU KNOW THIS ISN’T normal, right,” Dante said as he stood on the porch of the house and stared out at the elephant. “Ranches are supposed to have things like horses and goats. What were you thinking?”
Rafe shook his head. “It wasn’t me.”
Dante continued to study the elephant. “What is she wearing?”
“A blanket. It gets cold here. She goes into a heated barn at night, but she likes to be out during the day. Mom had the blanket made for her.”
Dante thought longingly of his life back in San Francisco. Season tickets to the Giants and the 49ers. Poker nights with his buddies. Dinners with beautiful women. Okay, sure, he’d had a beautiful woman at his place last night, but that was different. She was his partner’s sister. The price of getting lucky could be the loss of a very treasured body part. Although he would have to admit watching Evie move was almost worth it. He supposed it was years of dance training, but she made even the act of picking up a fork look graceful.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Rafe said.
Dante doubted that.
“I changed my life for Heidi,” Rafe continued. “It’s worth it. And I want to be here on the ranch. I like Fool’s Gold.”
“I figured as much when you moved the business here.”
“Come on.” Rafe turned toward the house. “Let’s go inside. We’ll have brownies while you tell me about what’s going on in Shanghai.”
They settled at the kitchen table. The company’s rented office space didn’t have any private offices, which meant any sensitive business had to be discussed elsewhere.
Over the next couple of hours, they reviewed several ongoing projects, and Dante brought Rafe up to date on a few legal matters. When they were finished, Rafe poured them each more coffee.
“You staying in Fool’s Gold for Thanksgiving?” he asked.
Dante shrugged. “Probably.”
“Come to dinner, then. I wasn’t going to get between you and your latest conquest, but if you’re flying solo, we’d love to have you.”
“Thanks. I’ll bring wine.”
“Not a salad or dessert?” Rafe joked.
“Maybe next year.” He collected the folders he’d brought. “Evie’s pretty panicked about the Christmas Eve dance show.”
Rafe frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“The show. The Dance of the Winter King. The manager of the dance studio took off and left everything to her.”
“I didn’t know that.”
The statement confirmed what Evie had hinted at the previous night. That she and her family didn’t have much to do with each other.
“You and your brothers have always been close,” Dante said. “But you barely mention Evie. We’d been in business about three years before I even knew you had a sister. What’s up with that?”
Rafe shrugged. “After my dad died, things were tough. My mom was devastated, money was tight. I tried to handle the family, but I was a kid.”
Eight or nine, Dante thought, remembering what his friend had told him over the years. He knew what it was like to look out for a parent. He’d done the same with his mom. It had always been the two of them against the world. Until Dante had joined a gang. His actions had broken her heart and ultimately cost her everything.
What he would give to go back and change that, he thought grimly. To have his family back. But he’d learned about the perils of close ties.
“Mom was crying all the time,” Rafe continued. “We knew she was sad. Shane met this cowboy in town for one of the festivals and brought him home for dinner. Nine months later, Evie showed up.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No. She’s technically our half sister. The four of us were a unit and Evie never seemed to find her place. I should have tried harder with her. I’m trying now. I don’t know that it’s enough.” He stared at Dante. “You live close to her, don’t you?”
“Next door.” Dante braced himself for the next line. Where Rafe said to stay away from his sister.
“So do me a favor. Look out for her. Make sure she’s okay.”
That was it? No dire warning? Rafe knew Dante’s reputation with women. It’s not that Dante was a bad guy—he simply didn’t believe in long-term commitments. Four months was a personal best in his world.
“Sure thing,” he said easily. “I’m happy to help.”
“Good. She’d tell me that it’s too little, too late, but as far as I’m concerned, having Evie in town is a second chance for all of us.”
Chapter Three
Evie stared at the battered ledger that served as a scheduling calendar. While Miss Monica had been a pleasant enough person and a good teacher, she hadn’t believed in any invention that surfaced after 1960. The Smithsonian had been calling to ask if their old computer could be put on display in the history of technology section and the answering machine had to be from the 1980s. The worn tape had contained a single message that morning. Dominique Guérin, the new owner, had returned Evie’s call. Her response to Evie’s slightly panicked info dump about the loss of the head instructor and the upcoming ballet, about which Evie knew nothing, had been a cheerful “I have every confidence in you, my dear. I can’t wait to see the production on Christmas Eve.”