December Dance

by Verity Norton

  “Those are both for you?” he asked, eyeing the muffins.

  “I’m famished.”

  “Do you always order two?”

  “Often. But be prepared to help. My eyes are bigger than my stomach.”

  Chris chuckled and broke off a piece of one muffin and popped it in his mouth.

  Anne leaned forward and looked him directly in the eye. “Now tell me how many times you’ve been here.”

  “Several.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m staying in the apartment above the pub next door.”

  “What?” How did she not know this? How could Skye not have told her? Of course, Skye may not have known he was the photographer, her photographer. Yeah, right, this was Skye they were talking about. “You rented Uncle Palmer and Aunt Emily’s studio?”

  “I did.”

  “When?”

  “A couple weeks ago.”

  Oh, man was Skye going to get it. “Why?”

  “So I could be near you.”

  She frowned. “For professional reasons?”

  “For several reasons.”

  She eyed him carefully. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  Her smile turned into a self-satisfied smirk. “Good to know. And very convenient.”

  “Please tell me you don’t have a key to that apartment too.”

  “No, but I bet I could convince Uncle Palmer to give me one.”

  “Isn’t that an infringement of tenants’ rights?”

  “Mmm, yes, I think it is. But do you really want to tangle over tenants’ rights with someone whose brother is a big San Francisco attorney?”

  “You use that key and I might.”

  “You’re that scared of me?”

  “I’m that scared of your M.O.”

  “I told you, I don’t have an M.O. It’s just an illusion. I get dumped a lot.”

  “Why do I find that hard to believe?”

  She shrugged. “What can I say? I can be a bitch when I want to be.”

  He didn’t doubt that. He’d seen her bitch in action, along with her ice queen. But they were always short-lived, and superficial. He reached across the table and gripped her hand that wasn’t holding her cup of tea.

  “Mmm, nice move, Newell.”

  “I’m holding your hand. Not a big deal.”

  “I like it.” She raised her eyes to meet his, that sultry look again. “A lot.”

  “Well, get used to it, because now that I’ve told you the truth, I plan to hold your hand every chance I get.”

  “In that case, you should know something about me.”

  What? he wondered, that he didn’t already know. “And what might that be?”

  “That I find holding hands an incredible turn-on, and that when I’m turned on, there’s very little that can stop me.”

  He released her hand and sat back in his chair as she laughed at his reaction.

  “You really are scared of me.”

  “I really am scared of you.”

  “You really don’t trust me.”

  Hadn’t they just had this conversation? “I really don’t trust you.”

  She shrugged and he couldn’t tell if that fact wasn’t important to her or if she figured it was something she could easily overcome. Most likely the latter.

  “In that case, let’s talk.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “You seem to know an awful lot about me. It’s time I knew as much about you. Tell me about yourself.”

  “As you already know, I grew up in Marin County, went to Cal Berkeley, got my degree in business administration. Much to my father’s horror, I didn’t graduate with honors because I was too busy taking pictures. And after I graduated, I turned down a job to work for the family business and became a photographer. What else do you want to know?”

  “How you and Shelly turned out the way you did. How did you escape becoming snobs? No offense, but from everything I’ve read and the pictures I’ve seen, your family is pretty much the epitome of snobbery.”

  “Trust me, they are.”

  “So, how did you and Shelly turn out so different?”

  “Martin and Josie Sawyer.”

  “Who are Martin and Josie Sawyer?”

  “Our nanny and gardener.”

  “You were raised by a nanny?”

  “And a gardener.”

  “Did your mother work?”

  “She was too busy with her drinking career.”

  Anne felt a knot forming in the pit of her stomach. She’d have to remember to tell her mother and father just how much she adored and appreciated them. “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, me too. But I understood. Having to live with my father could drive anyone to drink. But Shelly and I were lucky to have Martin and Josie.”

  “They must be wonderful people.”

  “They are.”

  “So, did they teach you how to be human beings?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Your family is really that bad?”

  Chris took a long sip of his coffee. “Let’s just say the men in my family—from my grandfather to my father and uncle to my cousins—haven’t met a woman they respect yet.”

  “That’s disgusting.”

  “Yes, it is. So I will be forever grateful to Martin Sawyer.”

  “He told you how you should treat women?”

  “He showed me. He was so respectful of and loving towards Josie. I knew that was the kind of relationship I would want . . . some day.” After several years, that some day had finally come.

  She had an impish smile on her face, and he knew her next question would be challenging. “So, how do you explain your reputation as a playboy?”

  “Reporters’ affinity for labeling people.”

  She shook her head. “I saw pictures. Lots of pictures with lots of different women clinging onto you and looking up at you adoringly.”

  “What can I say? I’m adorable.”

  She laughed then raised a single eyebrow. “True, but still. You really aren’t a playboy?”

  He swiped another chunk of one of her blueberry muffins, tossed it into his mouth, chewed, swallowed, and leaned back in his chair. Stalling, he realized. Struggling to decide exactly how to answer that honestly. “I’m popular with women. Some because of my name. Some because of my family’s money. Some just like me and find me attractive. When I’d go out alone, women would come up to me, hang on me. And when I’d be out on a date, there were often reporters present. Thanks to social media, privacy is hard to come by.” Just one of the many things he liked about Canden Valley. “I’m not a playboy. I just haven’t had any serious relationships because I never met someone I’d want to have a serious relationship with.”

  Anne could hear the “until now” as if he’d spoken it. She hurried to change the subject. “Where are the Sawyers now? Do they still work for your family?”

  He shook his head. “As soon as Shelly graduated high school, and ran off and got married, they quit. They only put up with my family for our sakes. They didn’t want to leave us. They were more like parents to us than our own were.”

  “They sound a lot like my parents. And grandparents. And aunts and uncles for that matter.”

  “You’re very fortunate, but I suspect you know that.”

  “Yes, I do.” She put down the last half of her second muffin and reached across the table to take his hand. “I’m sorry your childhood was so painful.”

  “It’s over,” he said, closing the subject. “So, now tell me how someone who grew up on a horse ranch became a dancer?”

  Anne chuckled. “I’m not sure. Maybe it was my grandmother’s influence. She would carry me around the room singing and dancing with me.”

  “Let me guess, big band music?”

  “Yep. And then as soon as I was big enough to walk, she would take my hands and we’d dance together. I think basically I was born to dance.”

  “I think so too.” He sq
ueezed her hand. “I’d like to meet the woman you credit with your love of dance.”

  “That can be arranged.” Anne stood up and tugged on his hand. “Let’s go.”

  “Sara will be upset if we come now.”

  “She can keep riding. We can visit my grandparents.”

  Chris followed her out to the ranch. She pulled over in front of the big farmhouse and parked, then jumped into his car with him and pointed the way to her grandparents’ smaller single-story home.

  “Looks like my mom is teaching a class.” She nodded toward one of the outer corrals. “Sara and Matt’s kids must be with Cassie and Alex, probably out riding one of the trails.”

  The perfect place to raise children, Chris thought. As they drove past the corrals and the barn and the stables, he could not imagine a more incredible place to grow up.

  He reached across the console and took her hand, bringing it to his lips. “How much land is there? Is there space for more homes?”

  “Lots of land, plenty of space,” Anne said. “My brother and his soon-to-be wife are building a home—actually our Cousin Matt and our Uncle Patrick are building it—over there in a meadow where our land meets Cassie’s family’s land.” She pointed beyond her grandparents’ home. The sound of drills and hammers echoed in the distance.

  “So your brother is marrying the girl-next-door.”

  “Finally.”

  “I thought he was a big San Francisco attorney.”

  “Was is the operative word there. Now he’s a small city attorney—opening an office in Winslow—but they’re living here so Cass can continue working at her family’s ranch. She’s the trainer. Alex is temporarily helping her with the stallions.” She turned to face him as he pulled up in front of her grandparents’ cottage. “Is that hard for you to imagine?”

  “What?”

  “A man leaving his highly-successful practice for the woman he loves?”

  “Why would that be hard for me to imagine?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. Coming from a male dominant world?”

  “Actually it’s a downright misogynistic world. But no, not hard to imagine at all.” He kissed the back of her hand again, then turned it over and buried his mouth in her palm.

  She felt chills run up and down her spine and she shivered. “Come on. Let’s go meet the couple that is responsible for all of this. And all of us!”

  Chris reminded himself of the positive things Skye and Nick had told him about Evan and Eleanor McCullough. Still, he felt as if he were about to face the jury.

  Anne laughed when she read his body language. “You don’t need to be nervous. They don’t even know we’ve . . . kissed.”

  Maybe not, but if they were as keen and wise as rumors professed, after one look at him, they’d know how he felt about their granddaughter.

  He was right. As they sat on the couch facing the older couple, sipping tea and eating pumpkin bread freshly-baked by Anne’s Aunt Ivy, Chris caught the smiles and the winks and the exchange of glances. They were adorable. Shorter than they’d been at one time, he suspected, with matching flocks of silver hair. Both were dressed in jeans and plaid shirts. Country living, he decided, had it all over city life. He had not failed to notice the front porch furniture which included a swing. He imagined they spent a lot of time on that wrap-around porch when the weather was gentler.

  Anne quickly explained that Chris was there to pick up his niece who was out riding, and that she wanted to give him the whole McCullough experience which meant starting with them.

  “So, laddie, you’re the photographer we’ve been hearing so much about.”

  “Gramps, how did you hear about Chris?”

  “Oh, you know, here and there.” He cringed as he realized he had come close to giving away Skye and the fact that she had not only come to them with details of the man’s infatuation with their dancer granddaughter but had asked for their advice. “Uh, I’ve been spending some time at the general store lately. With Sean and Sophie on their honeymoon, I’ve had to pitch in.”

  “And?” Anne asked suspiciously.

  “And, seeing as how the general store is a half block from your dance studio, missy, more than one person has noticed your photo sessions.”

  That made sense, Anne decided. But she had a really strong feeling there was more to it—a lot more. And that more had Skye’s name written all over it.

  Eleanor glanced over at her stammering husband and then at her granddaughter who was not likely to be so easily fooled, and quickly decided that a subject change was in order. “So, tell me, Chris, what was it about Anne’s dancing that caught your eye and made you select her for your article?”

  He smiled at the woman with the dancing eyes that resembled her granddaughter’s. This was a subject with which he was very comfortable. “I saw her perform in San Francisco. Her dancing is different, it’s organic. It’s not just an idea that she choreographs into a dance. It comes from a place deep inside and emerges. It’s kind of like a gifted sculptor. He doesn’t just look at the lump of clay and start chiseling away at it. Rather, he allows the piece to speak to him and emerge and tell him what to do to help it find its way out.”

  Anne blinked hard as she looked over at him. He really did get it. He got her. She had to remind herself where she was so she wouldn’t be inclined to take his hand and get the rumor mill started on their relationship. But then, most likely it already had started. Still, no need to give it more fodder.

  “I’m impressed,” Eleanor said simply. “You chose Anne for the best possible reason.”

  Chris was pleased to have her approval. He refrained from telling her his other reason for selecting Anne—that he was crazy in love with her. But then, staring into the wise eyes that were watching him, he suspected she already knew that.

  “Anne credits you with her love of dance.” He was anxious to shift the attention away from himself.

  Eleanor laughed. “Does she really?”

  “Of course, I do, Gram. You were the one who always put on music and twirled me around.”

  “I suppose I was.”

  “And you were also the one who, when I was a little girl and was feeling guilty because I wasn’t as into horseback riding as Alex was, told me that my parents only wanted one thing for me, and that was to be happy. You said I should do whatever made me happy and that was the best gift I could ever give them.”

  Eleanor beamed over at her beautiful granddaughter. “And that was to dance.”

  “That was to dance,” Anne said. “And when I was lost and didn’t know what to do when I was in college, you said the decision was simple, that I should follow my heart.”

  “And that’s what you did.”

  “And I don’t ever want to stop doing that.” Anne could hear the emotion in her own voice.

  Surprised by how emotional she had suddenly become, Chris stifled the urge to reach for her hand. This was important, he realized. An authentic moment when she wasn’t covering up her feelings with her carefree banter or her casual manner. It was what caused her to hold back from relationships with men, what made her hold herself at a distance, what made her able to walk away from them in the end. She was holding onto herself.

  The obstacle was much greater than he’d realized. But at least it was an obstacle he now understood. And one he would have to overcome by convincing her that it was possible to hold onto herself and to love him and to let him love her at the same time.

  Chapter 16

  The couple stood on their front porch waving as their granddaughter drove off with her new beau. She didn’t call him that or say anything that would indicate that. And as far as Eleanor could tell, Anne didn’t even realize that was what he was. But Eleanor knew. And the young man certainly knew.

  “I like him,” Eleanor said.

  “Obviously,” Evan said.

  Eleanor giggled. “Jealous?”

  “It’s only fair, my dear. You know how crazy our grandsons’ lovely wives and fia
ncée are about me.”

  “This is true. And they don’t even try to hide their feelings. Sophie, Arielle, and Cassie flirt with you right in front of me. So, I suppose it is only fair that Christopher was so blatantly taken with me.”

  “And don’t forget Nick. He adores you too.”

  “He does indeed.”

  The couple shivered and closed the door and went to sit together in front of their cozy fire.

  “Now, we’re certain they’re a couple, are we?” Evan asked. “Considering that they didn’t even hold hands.”

  “Yes, but they wanted to,” Eleanor assured him.

  “Do you think she’ll actually let this one in?” Evan asked.

  “I certainly hope so,” Eleanor said.

  “I suppose that if Nick could break through Skye’s barriers, there’s hope for our Anne.”

  “Yes, there is,” Eleanor agreed. “Especially since this young man seems to genuinely understand her and appreciate her and her love of dance.”

  “The key to her heart.”

  Eleanor nodded. That it was.

  Chris pulled over in front of the farmhouse and leaned across the console. It was, he realized, the first time he had initiated a kiss. He could tell he had startled her when his lips pressed into hers. He kept the kiss gentle, soft, tender. It was like her dancing, he told himself. He was attempting to convey his feelings for her through a kiss. He wanted to come right out and tell her he loved her. And that he wouldn’t stifle her. Or try to change her. But he knew better. She had to be ready to hear it. Trust went both ways. She had to trust him too.

  And then he lost his ability to think as his tongue slipped into her receptive mouth, and once again he felt as if she were making love to him. His hands encircled her and he held her against him, and hers found their way to his chest, exploring and caressing and driving him crazy. She could do that easily enough across a crowded room. But this close . . . He was beginning to think he was doomed. At least he was safe here, parked in front of her parents’ home. But damn, the woman could kiss. It must have been an extension of her dancing ability. She was so sensual, and exhibited so much passion when she danced, he couldn’t begin to imagine what making love with her would be like. Given all of her different moods, to say nothing of her physical abilities, he was in for the ride of his life.