Dancing With Dalton (Fatherhood)

by Laura Marie Altom

“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 inflection 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 company, 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 reaching 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 customers.”

  “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 occupying 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, intertwining 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 winke
d.

  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 afternoon’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 they juicy?”

  He snorted. “More like boring as hell.”

  “Not to pry, but—”

  “Yoo-hoo! Dalton! Rose!”

  Groaning, he said, “Don’t look now, but we’ve got trouble looming just over that hill.”

  Alice Craigmoore, decked out in a navy suit and hot-pink jogging shoes, waved again. “Hey, you two! Don’t even think of pretending you don’t see me.” Hands on her hips, the middle-aged woman breathed hard, but not hard enough to shut her up. “Well? Dalton, does your father know you’re out here picnicking instead of in your office?”

  Laughing, Rose ignored his scowl, stood and extended her hand to Alice. The two women acted like long-lost friends.

  Dalton used the time to reassemble himself—both in spirit and attire. Before Alice had stuck her snoopy nose into his business, he’d contemplated telling Rose everything. About the mess with Carly and the secret dreams he’d harbored before he’d met her. He would have told Rose what his father had done to ensure Dalton toed the family line, and how even now that he was older, his sense of honor prevented him following his own path. He had planned on telling her all of that, but now that he’d had a second to think about it, it was probably for the best that he kept it to himself. After all, as soon as this dancing gig was over, he’d probably only run into Rose around town.

  “Dalton,” Alice said, “it’s good to see Rose has kept you on top of your dance lessons. I’d hate to see the entire town shamed by your lack of interest.”

  “He’ll do an amazing job,” Rose assured. “He has an inborn sense of grace that can’t be taught.”

  “Really?” Alice’s eyebrows shot up. “Our Dalton? A natural dancer? Judging by his father’s two left feet, I never would’ve guessed.”

  “I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting Dalton’s dad, but surely he’s also been graced with the dancing gene?”

  “No,” Alice said with a firm shake of her head. “Make no mistake, the man thinks he’s Fred Astaire, but his past performances have been more along the lines of Sesame Street’s Big Bird.”

  “Hey,” Dalton warned, under a family obligation to ensure his father was given adequate credit for his moves, “Dad’s got skills.”

  “Right,” Alice said with a good-natured cackle. “He’s quite adept at making his partners cry.”

  “Oh, now,” Rose said, “I don’t believe that for a second.”

  “Believe what you will,” Alice said, “but I’ll rest a lot easier knowing Dalton’s dance instruction’s in good hands. Have fun!” With a backhanded wave, the woman was thankfully on her way.

  “I should’ve remembered she goes for a jog in the park most every afternoon,” Dalton moaned.

  “The few times I’ve met her around town, she’s always seemed nice,” Rose said.

  “If you like chatting up bulls. I hate how she’s placed herself in charge of the proverbial playground. Especially mine.”

  “Oh,” she said, gathering up the remains of their meal, “I think she was just making conversation. I wouldn’t make too big a deal of it.”

  “Why are you always doing that?”

  “What?” She froze while putting away a stack of orange napkins.

  “Looking on the bright side. Especially after the crappy hand life dealt you. Don’t you ever just want to rail?”

  “What point would that serve? Being angry at the world isn’t going to change anything. Why not just make the best of what you’ve been given?”

  Sounded simple enough in theory, but seeing how Dalton had been doing just that for the past decade, he’d grown tired of pretending everything was okay. Never more so than now, when a few brief meetings with Rose Vasquez had shown him just how much his life had been missing. He wanted boisterous family dinners and playing with his own sweet little girl. He wanted more picnics and laughter and afternoons at the park. He wanted all of that, but being an only child, he’d inherited a legacy it was his duty to fulfill.

  Ha. That’s a good line, but now, how about the truth? That for all of Rose’s attributes, she was fundamentally different from him. She was an artist. He was an artist-wannabe.

  “It’s back,” Rose said, tracing his furrow. “Are you ever going to tell me what’s going on in that thick head of yours?”

  “Wait, the other night, I said you have a pretty head, and now, instead of telling me I have a handsome mug, all you can say is that it’s thick?”

  She smoothed his hair. “It’s an adorably thick head. Does that make you happy?”

  Not especially. What would make him happy? Distracting Rose with a lingering kiss.

  “Hmm…” Drawing her lower lip into her mouth, she said, “since you’re back to scowling, I guess that compliment doesn’t especially thrill you.”

  She was wrong about that.

  THE MORNING SUN seemed to slice Dalton’s office in two.

  Darkness and light. It was fitting, considering his mood.

  Tossing his briefcase on one of a matching set of burgundy wingback guest chairs, he then flopped into his own seat. On autopilot, he reached for the jug of antacid in his top-right desk drawer.

  Bottle clutched to his chest, he leaned back as far as he could go, closing his eyes. He wished washing away confusion was as easy as taking a dose of medicine.

  His whole adult life had been built around the concept that it was noble for him to put aside any personal dreams or goals for the sake of his family. He’d tried things his way and failed. Now, the smart thing to do was buckle down and accept his lot in life. Maybe even take a second look at Miranda—or a woman like her. But lately, everything he’d once thought set in stone had changed.

  He’d once harbored resentment toward his father, for having boxed him into this life. But now, after spending time with Rose and Anna, Dalton wondered if maybe part of the reason he and his father had never been all that close was that his dad had been so busy putting in fourteen-hour days, that he’d never had time for anything else. Never once had his father sat down with him to play the way Dalton had the other night with Anna. For that matter, did his dad even know how to play?

  Hands cupping his forehead, Dalton closed his eyes, releasing a deep sigh.

  What was wrong with him?

  Drudging up all this personal stuff?

  Was he really saying he was unhappy with his life because Daddy hadn’t played Hot Wheels with him? That was ridiculous.

  Dalton was a grown man. If he wanted to walk away from the bank, from the cell housing him each day from seven to six, he could.

  But because he was a better man than that, because he’d been taught to honor his obligations, he wouldn’t leave his family in the lurch. Anyway, he’d tried making a living from his art when he was with Carly, but never seemed to have made enough of an income to provide a decent life.

  Of course, now, he had plenty of savings to live comfortably for quite a while without needing to work. What if that’d been the only thing missing from his previous attempt to lead an artist’s life? Time. The chance to build up enough of an inventory to put on an amazing studio show.

  As for the woman who’d brought these rebellious thoughts swelling to the forefront of his mind? She was beautiful, bri
ght, talented and funny. Sexy as hell. Yet from the way his emotions had been in constant turmoil since meeting her, it was also pretty obvious that she was trouble.

  Yeah…

  Trouble he couldn’t wait to be with again.

  Chapter Six

  “You decided to give tango another whirl?”

  Dalton shrugged. Even if Rose Vasquez was bad for him, he didn’t have the self-control to stay away.

  She ducked her gaze, her expression hidden by her sleek fall of dark hair. “Considering our last lesson, I didn’t figure you’d come.”

  “Me, neither. But after work, I climbed into my car, and the damn thing headed this way.”

  “Hmm…You might want to see a mechanic about that.”

  “Yeah,” he said with a faint chuckle.

  “You okay?” Her voice was so soft, so tender and brimming with genuine concern. He was definitely not okay.

  “Sure. Great.” The lobby fountain merrily tinkled, reminding him that this was a dance lesson he faced, not a firing squad. Just because he’d wound up here yet again didn’t mean he was quitting his job or running off to find himself. All it meant was that he wanted to make his family and friends proud.

  “I’m glad. Though you seem down. Rough day at the office?”

  He shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets to stop his fingertips from tucking her hair behind her ears. He wanted to see her face. Her beautiful eyes. “I guess it was no worse than usual.”

  “That much fun, huh?”

  After casting her a faint grin, he shook his head.

  “Okay, well…” She tipped back her head, granting him full access to her lovely face, filling him not only with crazy urges to kiss her, but sculpt her, as well. He wanted to freeze her impossible beauty in time. The very notion was stupid. One Play-Doh horse did not a sculptor make. He’d never do her justice. “Honestly, I didn’t think you were coming, so I didn’t even work out a plan of attack.”

  “That’s okay,” he said. “How about we just skip it? You could probably use the time with Anna.”

  “I had a light afternoon. We went to the park and we made fajitas for an early supper. Her sitter, Kelly’s, with her now, watching a movie. So if it’s all right, I’d very much like to be with you—one of my more special students.”