Love Inspired December 2014 - Box Set 2 of 2: Her Holiday FamilySugar Plum SeasonHer Cowboy HeroSmall-Town Fireman

by Ruth Logan Herne

  Inspiration struck, and she suggested, “Why don’t we both think about it and come up with something else cool for your character to have? Maybe we could add something to your costume that would make you stand out more from the other soldiers, or give you a solo dance in the spotlight without Clara.”

  She could almost hear the very proper Russian choreographer she’d last worked with shrieking in horror, but Amy put aside her artistic sensibilities and focused on Brad. If adding a quick progression for him would make him happy, she’d gladly do it. The success of Arabesque hinged on keeping her students—and their parents—coming back for more lessons and recitals. While this wasn’t the performing career she’d dreamed of, at least by teaching she was still involved in dancing.

  She didn’t know how to do anything else, so if the studio failed she’d have no other options. When she let herself think about it, she got so nervous she could hardly breathe. So for now, she blocked out the scary possibilities and waited for Brad’s answer.

  After what felt like forever, he met her eyes and gave her a little grin. “Can I jump like the prince I saw this weekend? It was like he was flying.”

  This boy was far from a full grand jeté, but she didn’t bother pointing that out. Instead, she nodded. “It’ll take some extra work, but I think you can do it. What do you say?”

  “Sure. Thanks, Miss Morgan.”

  She was so relieved, she almost hugged him, then thought better of it. She’d learned that boys were funny about that kind of thing, and she didn’t want to destroy the rapport she was building with him by overstepping her boundaries. Instead, she held up her fist for a bump like she’d seen him do with his buddies. “You’re welcome. We’re due back in a couple of minutes, so finish up.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  He chugged the rest of his drink, then bolted for the bathroom. Glancing around at the rest of her class, she noticed how cheerful they seemed to be. Here, with their friends, surrounded by the Christmas setting she’d painstakingly designed to invoke the spirit of the ballet they were learning. It was almost time to get back to work, so she picked up her water and slowly moved toward the stage. On her way, she passed the photo Jason had pointed out during his first visit, and while she normally ignored those old pictures, this time she felt compelled to stop and look.

  And remember.

  For most of her life, she’d spent the holidays onstage, in the background as part of the supporting cast and later as Clara, twirling with her nutcracker and later meeting up with her prince. During the curtain call, she’d look out to find her mother in the audience, proudly leading the standing ovations, a huge bouquet of pink roses and baby’s breath in her arms. From her first production to her last, Mom had always been there, dancing every step with her, tears of joy shining in her eyes.

  What would she think of this one? Amy wondered. With her daughter in the wings, adjusting costumes and fetching props instead of twirling her way through the footlights? They hadn’t been able to get together for Thanksgiving this year, so she hadn’t mentioned the show to her mother yet. Still, anyone with half a brain would be able to figure out Amy would be staging this, her favorite ballet, to open her new studio.

  And Connie Morgan had much more than half a brain, Amy thought as she speed-dialed Mom’s number.

  “Hello!” Mom answered, a little out of breath. “How’s my girl today?”

  “Fine. Are you on the treadmill?”

  “Oh, you know how it is,” she answered with a laugh. “If I keep running, maybe old age won’t be able to catch up with me.”

  Amy laughed in response, wishing for the umpteenth time that she’d inherited her mother’s breezy attitude toward things in general. “I won’t keep you, then. I just wanted to let you know we’re putting on The Nutcracker on the eighteenth, here in Barrett’s Mill.”

  She would have loved for Mom to attend, but not wanting to pressure her, she stopped short of putting that desire into words. The delighted gasp she got put her worries to rest.

  “Your directing debut—of course I’ll be there! I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Then we can have a nice family Christmas with Helen and that big brother of mine.”

  More relieved than she’d anticipated, Amy relaxed enough to tease, “It’s been a while. Do you remember how to get here?”

  She humphed at that. “My new car has one of those fancy navigation systems.”

  “Sure, but do you know how to use it?”

  “Such a comedian. Are you doing stand-up in your spare time now?”

  “There’s not much call for that down here.” Amy chuckled. “Besides, that’s the extent of my material. You gave me an opening the size of an 18-wheeler, and I took it.”

  “That’s my girl, making the most of her opportunities,” Mom praised her warmly. “It’s so good to hear the old spunk back in your voice. It’s been a long time coming.”

  That was a colossal understatement, but fortunately her break was over, so she didn’t have time to brood about it. “I’m sorry to cut this short, but I have to get back to the kids now. See you soon.”

  “I’m looking forward to it. Love you, sweetie.”

  “Love you, too, Mom.”

  Ending the call, Amy sipped her water while studying the photos that chronicled her promising ballet career, which had been her only goal for as long as she could remember. When the kids started thundering back up the wooden steps and took their places onstage, her eyes drifted away from her past to focus on them.

  Chattering to each other in hushed voices, they giggled while practicing the new steps she’d shown them earlier. With his soldiers trailing behind, Brad bounded up to take his spot, fresh enthusiasm glowing on his freckled face.

  Apparently, the solution she’d come up with worked for him, she mused with a smile of her own as she went up the stairs to join her dancers for the second act. Maybe she was starting to get the hang of this teaching gig, after all.

  * * *

  “These look great, Fred,” Jason commented while he assessed the older man’s carpentry skills on some of the smaller set pieces. Not only had he finished cutting all of them out in detail, he’d painted them, too. His efforts would save Jason a ton of time. “I only dropped them off a couple days ago. How’d you get ’em done so fast?”

  “Bored outta my mind,” Fred grumped, but the smile on his face said he appreciated Jason’s praise. “You can only watch so much of the History Channel.”

  “I hear that. I’d rather be doing something than watching TV any day. Has the doctor said when you can get back to work?”

  The town’s most talented mechanic groaned. “Another week, if I follow orders. ’Course, Helen won’t let me do otherwise,” he added with a mock glare over at his wife.

  “You don’t want to miss out on Christmas, do you?” she challenged with a glare of her own. “Especially with Amy here now and Connie coming in for a visit. We haven’t all been together in years, and I’m not about to let you spoil it by being stubborn.”

  “Besides,” Jason added with a grin, “with all the work you’re putting in, you’re gonna want to see The Nutcracker. It’d be a shame to have to make do with a recording when you could see it in person.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I get it. Just bring me some more to do,” he pleaded. “I’m going bonkers cooped up here at the house.”

  “It’s no picnic from where I’m sitting, either,” his wife informed him testily.

  They’d been married for longer than Jason had been alive, and he’d always been amused by their good-natured bickering. Done with fond smiles and a light touch, their back-and-forth was evidence of a solid relationship that had probably started before the two Barrett’s Mill natives entered junior high.

  They reminded him of his parents, who shared the kind of close, loving bond Jason longed for in his ow
n life. Not long ago, he thought he’d found that with Rachel. He pictured himself settled in a home with a wife and kids, and when he’d asked her to be part of that, she’d quickly agreed. When she took off with another lumberjack and no explanation, Jason realized she’d told him only what she’d thought he wanted to hear.

  Water under the bridge, he reminded himself, and better left behind. They wanted different things, and now that he’d recovered from the sting of her rejection, he hoped she was happy.

  “...not busy tomorrow night,” Helen was saying, “I’d like to have you over for dinner, to thank you for all your help with the studio. I’ll be making fried chicken.”

  Jason was pretty swamped these days, but he wasn’t one to turn down a home-cooked meal. “I do like your fried chicken.”

  “That’s settled, then. Just come by when you finish at the mill, and I’ll have a place ready for you at the table.”

  “Sounds great. And I’ll bring some more work for you,” he promised Fred as he gathered up the pieces on his way to the door. “It sure is nice to have someone helping out who actually knows what they’re doing.”

  “Connie’s not all that mechanical, either,” her uncle agreed with a chuckle. “Amy got that from her, I guess.”

  Jason had been wondering about Amy’s father, and with that casual family comment it seemed the man was completely out of the picture. He knew how that went. He nearly mentioned that he’d also been pitching in to make repairs at the studio, then thought better of it. Hearing how much had slipped through the cracks while he was laid up wouldn’t help Fred’s recuperation at all, especially since the apartment in question was his niece’s. Instead, Jason simply said good-night.

  When he got to Arabesque, the parking spots in front of the studio were empty, so he took the one right in front of the door. The lobby was dark, but he noticed the lights over the stage were still on. Framed by the window, the elegant curtains drew his eyes to a single figure silhouetted in a spotlight.

  It was Amy, clearly unaware that anyone was watching her. With her arms in a graceful pose, she seemed to glide over the floor, spinning slowly here and there, then pausing to write something on a piece of paper. When she tried a certain movement, even from a distance he saw her wince and grab her back with her hands.

  His heart shot into his throat, and before he knew what he was doing, he was standing beside her. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she all but snarled. “What are you doing out there spying on me?”

  “Not spying,” he corrected with a smile. “Admiring. Until you hurt your back, anyway. Before that, it was like watching a cloud move across the sky.”

  “It’s nice of you to say that.”

  From her tone, he could tell she didn’t share his opinion. He hadn’t known her long, but she fascinated him, this delicate woman who had a vein of pure steel running through her. With a tough outer shell guarding a tender heart, she spoke to him in a way he’d never experienced before. In turn, he found himself wanting to protect her from harm and applaud her determination to take on the world single-handedly.

  He didn’t understand why, but there was definitely something special about Amy Morgan. Rather than argue with her, though, he opted to change the subject. “What’re you doing?”

  “Blocking steps for the kids.” She showed him her notes, which featured a diagram labeled with things he couldn’t begin to comprehend. “The original choreography is way too complicated for beginners, so I’m simplifying it for them. I’m designing a new dance for the prince and was trying it out when you came in.”

  “And interrupted you,” he guessed with a sheepish grin. “Sorry. It looked good to me, though.”

  “I wish I could see for myself,” she said wistfully. “I can’t dance and watch at the same time.”

  “That fancy phone of yours must have a video function on it. You could record yourself.”

  Before he finished speaking, her face twisted with the kind of pain no one should have to endure. “I hate watching myself move,” she ground out through clenched teeth. “It’s ugly.”

  “Nothing about you is ugly,” he assured her in his gentlest tone. “You’re still the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

  “That’s sweet, but you don’t have to lie to make me feel better.”

  Her eyes filled with equal parts gratitude and tears, and Jason scrambled to come up with some comforting words. “I’d never lie to a lady. My mom’d kill me.”

  “You’re a grown man. How could she possibly find out?”

  “Trust me, she’d know.”

  After a moment, Amy’s wary look mellowed into a more friendly one, and she gave him a tentative smile. “In that case, you could help me with this. If you don’t mind,” she added hastily. “I know it’s late.”

  Five a.m. would come pretty early, and he should have been in bed an hour ago, but her shy request drove any thoughts of sleep right out of his head. “I’ve got some time. Whattaya need me to do?”

  Grasping his arms, Amy moved him into place and rattled off a series of moves. A dancer would be able to follow along, but a lumberjack? Not so much.

  “Right,” he responded with a laugh. “How ’bout in English?”

  “Was I unclear?”

  “Oh, I heard you fine. It’s just I don’t have a clue what you meant.” Inspiration struck, and he suggested, “Maybe you could show me.”

  That got him a decidedly suspicious look. “Are you trying to get me to dance with you?” When he grinned, she rolled those beautiful eyes at him. “You’re pathetically easy to read.”

  “I figure there’s no sense in making a big mishmash of things.” Opening his arms in his version of a ballet-style pose, he said, “Are we dancing or what?”

  After a few seconds, she apparently decided he was harmless and ventured closer. He listened carefully to her instructions, and they slowly moved through the steps. Involved in one sport or another all his life, he’d managed not to embarrass himself at proms or his brothers’ weddings. But next to Amy, he felt like a serious clod, and he reminded himself to be especially careful not to stomp on her toes.

  Glancing down, he noticed how ridiculous their feet looked opposite each other. His shoes were not only huge, they were scuffed and stained—the opposite of her black patent flats with their classy velvet bows. The contrast was so complete, he couldn’t help chuckling.

  “What?” she asked, glancing around to see what was so funny.

  “Our feet. They don’t really go together, do they?”

  She peeked at their shoes, then met his eyes with a laugh. “Not any more than the rest of us does. You’re like a big redwood, and I’m a little twig.”

  “A beautiful twig,” he amended with a warm smile. “One with gorgeous flowers that smell incredible.”

  She blushed, but to his surprise, she didn’t look away. Instead, she held his gaze, searching his eyes for something. In that moment, he no longer cared that what he was feeling for her didn’t make any sense. Whatever she was looking for, he wanted her to find it in him.

  “It’s jasmine,” she said quietly, the corner of her mouth lifting invitingly. “Do you like it?”

  “Very much.” Sensing that he was approaching a line with her, he veered away before he crossed over it. Amy had been through an emotional wringer, and their growing friendship was fragile, at best. He wasn’t about to destroy it by pushing things too fast. “’Course, I spend most of my time at the mill with machines that leak oil and guys that smell like... Well, you get the drift.”

  She laughed, a bright, carefree sound very much at odds with the serious woman he’d been getting acquainted with. It made him think of the young ballerina in the pictures on the wall, and he was pleased to discover that joyful girl still existed. Then and there, he decided he’d have to come up with s
ome more ways to draw her out into the light. She deserved that, and odd as it was, it seemed he had a knack for doing it.

  After a few minutes, she stopped directing his steps, shadowing him as he moved across the stage. They drifted from spotlight to spotlight, through the half-decorated ballroom to the huge tree with its flickering electric candles and old-fashioned ornaments. Since they weren’t touching, it wasn’t as if they were actually dancing together, but he felt a connection to her that went beyond the physical. He couldn’t have explained it if he tried, but he liked the way it felt.

  Pausing in front of the incomplete marble fireplace, he said, “I forgot to show you this.”

  Flipping a switch hidden behind the wall, he set the electric flames in motion. They reflected off the tinsel and sparkling balls, giving the set a warm, cozy glow.

  “It’s perfect,” Amy breathed. She stared up at him, the Christmas lights twinkling in her eyes.

  The urge to drop in for a kiss was nearly overpowering, and he sternly tamped it down. Amy trusted him, and he wanted to retain his good-guy status. “It’s what you asked me for.”

  As sadness drifted through her expressive eyes, she frowned. “I don’t always get what I ask for.”

  Laced with anguish, her comment drove through him like a knife. That this sweet, talented woman had been denied her life’s dream struck him as the worst kind of tragedy. He pictured her alone in some hospital, begging for divine help that had never come. She’d picked herself up and moved on, but he could see part of her was stranded in the past, wishing for things that could never be. While he could imagine God redirecting her onto a different path for some reason, Jason knew that explanation would not only anger her, it might make her pull away from him. Whatever it took, he was determined not to let that happen.

  “That’s true for all of us. But you’ve made a new start here, and from where I’m standing, it looks like it’s going really well.”

  “This isn’t what I want,” she confided in a desperate whisper. “I want to dance.”