Dancing With Dalton (Fatherhood)

by Laura Marie Altom

  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 information 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, finishing her wine. He made fast work of loading the dishwasher, 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 yourself. 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 father before him did the same. I can’t let his dream and him die. I can’t. Won’t.”

  “Yes, but—” she stopped rubbing his shoulders to turn him to face her “—don’t you see? That’s your father’s dream. What’s yours?”

  He sighed and bowed his head while drying his hands on a dishrag. “Before meeting you, it had been so long since I’d thought of anything but the daily grind, I’d all but forgotten how to dream.”

  “All right, then,” she said, taking him by the hand to lead him to the sofa. “Here’s what we have to do…”

  “Whoa,” he said, halting her progress. “I have to finish cleaning in the kitchen. I always finish what I start.”

  “Great.” Releasing his hand, she finished the short trip to sit down. “Remind me to give you a Brownie point at the end of our session. Come here,” she urged, patting the cushion beside her.

  “Really, I need to—”

  “Grrrr, you’re a stubborn man. Please,” she begged. “Humor me for just a few minutes, then you can not only organize the contents of my cabinets, but bleach the grout.”

  “Okay,” he said, plopping onto the end of the sofa farthest from her. Why couldn’t he just break up with her? Why did he keep drawing out the pain? “What do you want me to do?”

  “Lay your head on my lap.”

  “With Anna fifty feet away?”

  “I’ve watched and heard this movie thirty times. We’ve got about fifteen minutes until the end. Now, please, lay your head on my lap.”

  Because he was still too cowardly to accomplish what he’d come for, he did as she asked. “Okay, I’m down. Now what?”

  Fingers stroking his temples, she said, “I want you to breathe.”

  “I am.”

  “No, really breathe—from here.” She pressed his abdomen, and just the heat of her touch seeping through his thin polo shirt woke parts of his body he willed back to sleep.

  “Excuse me,” he said, “but I think you’re starting something you may not be able to finish.”

  “Stay still, and keep your mind out of the gutter.”

  Holding out his hands in surrender, he said, “Okay, I give up. You win.”

  “That’s better. Now, take another deep breath.”

  “I already did.”

  “Do it again.”

  He complied.

  Rubbing her fingertips up and down his temples, she said, �
�Think back as far as you can and tell me what your first dream was.”

  “Easy. To kiss Jodi Foster. She was hot back in those Disney movies.” A mischievous wink shot her way.

  Rose chuckled and rolled her eyes. “As big a fan as I am of Ms. Foster’s work, that wasn’t the reply I was looking for. Try again.”

  “I don’t know what kind of dream you mean.”

  “A work dream. What did you want to be when you grew up?”

  “An astronaut, first, then Jodi’s boyfriend, second.”

  “I’m ignoring that second part, but the first one was good. What else did you want to be?”

  “A pastry chef. Ours was really good, and he let me eat his mistakes.”

  “Your family had their own pastry chef?” She couldn’t even imagine such wealth, but far from envying Dalton’s privileged upbringing, she felt sorry for him. Seeing the pent-up man all that money had created made her eyes sting for the lost little boy.

  “Hey, cut me some slack. He only came in three days a week. After all, how much pastry can one family eat?”

  “Good point. Anything else you wanted to be?”

  “A gardener. Andrew made really great topiary animals. His grouping of lions in my parent’s formal garden is one of the best I’ve ever seen—and I’ve traveled a lot.”

  “Wonderful. We’re finally getting somewhere. Anything else?”

  “A chauffeur. Charles spent half his time driving cool cars, and the other half caring for them. Could there be any better job than getting paid to play with cars?”

  “Sounds good to me.” She grinned, sweeping a fallen lock of hair from his forehead. “That it?”

  “Yep. That about covers childhood aspirations. Of course, in college, I went through that artistic phase, but then doesn’t everybody?”

  “No. I mean, I guess my dancing would be considered an art, but my brothers all went to trade schools. They love working with their hands. Which, if you look back over the fields you just told me about, pretty much shows that you might enjoy working with your hands, as well.”

  “Especially whenever I’m around you.”

  “I’m serious,” she said, gesturing to where his sculpture stood before the darkened window. “Look how beautiful your work is. You have a God-given talent that it’s a sin to waste on cold, hard facts and numbers.”

  Splayed hands against his chest, she said, “Your heart beats so warm, mi amor…Why do a job that’s so cold?”

  He struggled beneath her. “Let me up.”

  “Not yet.” She held him down, close, just a few seconds more. “First, tell me you’re completely happy with your current line of work.”

  “I’m happy,” he said, voice as flat as a warm can of pop. “There, I said it. Are you happy?”

  “No. This isn’t just about words. I want you to do something special with your life. To wake in the mornings and say to yourself, ‘I’m thrilled to be alive.’”

  He shot her a thunderous look, then struggled to his feet. This time, she let him go. Maybe she’d overstepped her bounds, but what she’d told him had needed to be said.

  “I’ve got to go,” he said. “Thanks for the great meal.”

  “Don’t leave mad. I’m sorry if I offended you. I was only trying to make you see what I have from the start.”

  “What’s that?”

  She stood, too, and with her hands pressed to his chest, she quietly said, “I see inside you, Dalton Montgomery. You have the raw material to be a fantastic artist…If only you’d open yourself up and let him outside to play.”

  Dalton sighed. “That would be nice, but my father’s lying in a hospital bed, inches from death’s door. What kind of man would I be if I abandoned the one thing in his life he cares most about in order to search for my artist’s soul? Doesn’t that sound selfish to you?”

  “No, it doesn’t. And I’ll tell you something else. Judging by the talk your dad tried having with you, I don’t think the subject of your happiness would sound selfish to him, either.”

  “I have to go,” Dalton said, clutching his chest. “Say bye to Anna.”

  “What’s wrong? You’re not having pains in your heart, are you?”

  “No. Just indigestion.”

  “You get it a lot.”

  “So?”

  “You should see a doctor.”

  “You should mind your own business.”

  Tears welled in her eyes at his incredible insensitivity. “I thought you were my business.”

  “Lord, Rose, what am I doing?” He pulled her close, crushing her with his hug. “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

  “It’s okay. I’m strong.”

  “But you shouldn’t have to be. You deserve a man who treats you like the amazing woman you are. You deserve so much better than me.”

  “But it’s you I want.”

  “Then maybe you need to reassess your dreams.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Long after Dalton left, Rose couldn’t get his harsh words from her mind. The nerve of him. Telling her to reassess her dreams. Her dreams of what? Being a mom? A dancer? Sharing her love of dance with anyone who cared enough to learn? She’d already achieved those dreams. That only left dreams for her personal life, and since, at the moment, all her future aspirations centered around Dalton, that made his cryptic statement even harder to bear.

  Had he been warning her that he wasn’t as perfect for her as he seemed? Worse, did he carry a secret in his heart? A secret he was either too proud or too cowardly to share?

  Mind swirling with pain, Rose got Anna settled for the night, then put herself to bed. But when her head touched the pillow, all that happened was a lot of tossing and turning.

  When they’d last made love, she’d been certain she and Dalton would be together forever. He’d been so tender. His touch whispery soft, yet at the same time, powerfully erotic. A man who put so much effort into lovemaking could never conceive of hurting her, could he?

  She drew the covers close. Alternately hating and loving the way they still smelled of him. She’d have stormed out of bed to wash them, but a simple sheet washing would do nothing to cleanse him from her soul.

  Long into the night, she watched silver moonlight cast a longer shadow from her sculpture. Why hadn’t he started another one? What was holding him back? Whatever debt he felt he owed his father? Or her?

  “JOAN!” Dalton barked into the intercom to his secretary, sounding suspiciously like his father. “Have you seen the Rogers file?”

  “Nope. Want me to help look?”

  “No. Thanks, though.” Casting a frantic glance about his desk, he gritted his teeth. His stomach started churning.

  He was on the verge of asking Joan to come help him after all when she magically appeared at his desk, much needed file in hand.

  “You’re a saint,” he said. “Where was it?”

  “Carrie in accounting found it on the break-room table.” She wiped at a smudge on the manila folder’s corner. “It has ranch dressing on it, but other than that, seems none the worse for wear.” She stepped back to appraise him. “You, on the other hand…look awful.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Rough night?”

  “The worst.”

  “I just spoke with your mother, and since your father’s doing well, and expected to be released this afternoon, I’m guessing this has something to do with a certain gorgeous brunette who’s been a frequent visitor?”

  He pressed his lips tight.

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “No.”

  “Everyone has tiffs, Dalton. Plus, as a benefit to fighting, afterward you get to make up.”

  “I said I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Okay, okay. I’ll leave you to sulk in peace. Oh—and sorry about messing with you about your file. I had it all along. Alice put me up to it.”

  “Figures,” he said, his voice not quite as rough as it had been. Alice was his right-hand man—or rather, w
oman. She’d been working for the bank a decade before he’d even been born. Childish pranks were her fountain of youth.

  Joan waved, then returned to her desk.

  She hadn’t been gone five minutes when Dalton was back on the intercom. “Did you really just say my father’s being released today? Isn’t that too soon?” And why the hell was I the last to know?

  “Miracles of modern medicine. Oh—and before I forget, your mother asked me to tell you not to make plans for Saturday night.”

  “Why not?”

  “She and your father have booked the club to throw a party. He’s going to announce his retirement, then name you his successor. Sounds fun, huh?”

  Dalton clutched his chest. “Have you seen my antacid?”

  IN THE DANCE ACADEMY’S lobby, the damn fountain gurgling happily as ever, Dalton took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled. He didn’t want to do this, but if he truly loved Rose and Anna, it was the right thing—only thing—to do.

  Latin bass pulsed through the studio walls, bringing to mind the many hot nights he and Rose had shared. If only things had been different. If only his dad hadn’t been sick. If only his parents had seen fit to have a bigger family, with lots of heirs.

  Too bad for him, if onlys wouldn’t get him anywhere. With his dad’s big party planned for Saturday night, the sooner Dalton made a clean break from the life he so desperately wanted, the sooner he could return to the life he’d been given.

  Right on schedule, Rose released her senior-citizen samba class. He lingered in the hallway’s shadows, watching her easy smile and the way all of her students seemed to love her—including him.

  When the crowd had finally thinned, he cleared his throat. “Rose?”

  She jumped. “Dalton. You scared me. How long have you been back there?”

  “Not long. I wanted to let you finish before interrupting your day.”

  “Mi novio, you’re not interrupting, but enhancing.” She kissed him, then locked the front door. “I’ve got an hour before my next class. Let’s head upstairs and I’ll feed you.”

  “That sounds great,” he said, pulse raging, acid roiling up his throat, “but I don’t have time.”