Tiny Dancer
Title Page
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Epilogue
Copyright © 2016 J.M. Worthington
All rights reserved
Smashwords Edition
Published by J.M. Worthington
ISBN
This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of events to real life, or of characters to actual persons, is purely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction.
Dedication
My dedication is to my children T & N.
My beautiful daughter, if you could only see what I see when I look at you; a girl with child-like wonder and a woman ready to take on the world wrapped in a package of pure beauty, grace, and love.
My curious son, you make each day brighter by the way you see it with a wonderment that exceeds even the greatest minds and a stubbornness to take on any challenge.
Soulmate
A person with whom you have an immediate connection the moment you meet – a connection so strong that you are drawn to them in a way you have never experienced before. As this connection develops over time, you experience a love so deep, strong, and complex that you begin to doubt that you have ever truly loved before.
To my one true soulmate, thank you for showing me daily what true love looks like.
Love, you always
Only fools fall in love ...
And I was no fool.
~Lucas Carter
Prologue
Lucas Carter
8-years-old
As I sat in the dark theater and pulled at the tight bowtie Granny had dressed me in, I smiled, knowing my mommy hated when I did that. She said it stretched my collar. I didn’t care. I tugged on the collar just for the heck of it. Mommy didn’t like anything I did anyway.
I couldn’t understand why my parents didn’t like me. My granny liked me, even if she did make me wear my church pants. I would've rather had on my jeans and boots, but she said we had to look nice — we were going to see dancers and she was going to get to see her two favorite people in the whole wide world together. I guess that would’ve been Daddy and me. Granny loved Daddy, but Daddy didn’t care about me.
The truth was, there were three facts about me that everyone knew — I had a father who only loved power, a mother who only loved herself, and a family who had more money than God. People only cared about the latter. Only Granny cared about me.
Daddy didn’t even want me to tag along; he never wanted me around, but Granny said he had too. Mommy had gone with her friends, and they couldn’t leave me home alone. I thought about sticking my tongue out at Daddy, but he would just ignore me anyway. He never cared what I did. Just last month, I finally mastered the track on my dirt bike. Daddy still didn’t go to my first race on Sunday. Sunday was his “me” day.
Daddy acted funny. Once, he even cried, but I couldn’t see over the lady in front of me to know why. Her hat was bigger than the state of Texas. That was where my mommy went. She went every July to see her best friend. I couldn’t understand why she never came to our house. We had a big house with extra bedrooms.
Then Granny started crying when one small dancer, dressed in a pink tutu, started doing some kind of twirling down the center aisle. She held her caramel-colored arms high in the air as she leaped up each of the four steps leading to the stage. I frowned, my eyebrows pulling together as I tried to figure out why she made Granny and Daddy sad. She had really brown hair piled on her head like a bird’s nest. Which was ironic, because she had a big white bow on the side of it that reminded me of a dove in flight.
Then she smiled. She smiled so big my heart jumped in my chest. She was prettier than Harper Cooksey, and I told Harper she could be my girlfriend. I wondered who the girl was and if she had a boyfriend.
The program lasted forty-eight minutes longer, but I couldn’t forget that one girl with a yard of dark-brown hair and the smile of an angel. Daddy was holding some smelly flowers and asked me if I wanted to give them to someone special for Granny and him. I only wanted to give them to her. My tiny dancer.
Out in the main lobby, all the dancers were lined up against the wall and everyone gathered around: taking pictures, giving out flowers and gifts. I saw my tiny dancer and felt my heart pitter-patter. It was weird. My heart had never done anything like that before.
I about leaped on the spot when Daddy handed me those flowers and pointed to my tiny dancer. “Take these over there and give them to her. Tell her it was from her biggest fan.”
I made a seesaw gesture with my head and raced over then stopped in front of her. I waved with my free hand, and she smiled again. It made my chest feel puffy and was my favorite smile ever. I handed her the flowers and told her they were from me. After all, I’d become her biggest fan.
She cradled them in her arm and held out her other hand.
I stared at the girl. Harper would never be my girlfriend again. Her dark hair and smile didn’t make me smile, but my tiny dancer did. I breathed in real deep, and forgot what I was even doing. She smelled like strawberry and cream suckers. They were my favorite. I glanced down at her feet where she didn’t see my cheeks turning red. On her feet were those pink dancing slippers. She was beautiful.
I looked up again and she still had her hand held out. Mommy always said to shake all hands offered up for a handshake. I reached for her hand and forced it into mine then shook them both up and down twice.
“I love them, thank you,” my tiny dancer said.
I didn’t say anything — for some reason my voice box refused to work. Then I realized she was still holding my hand. Maybe that was why.
“I said thank you, you should say you’re welcome,” my tiny dancer said and laughed.
I liked the sound of her voice and the way she said her “R” s. I liked the sound of her laughter and the way her eyes lit up when she laughed. I liked her hair and the big white bow holding it up. I liked her.
I snatched my hand away and cleared my throat. “Welcome, you’re welcome.”
“Nice to meet you. Maybe we can be friends. Maybe even best friends.”
I scrunched up my face. She was too pretty to be my friend. Scared, I turned and ran straight into my Granny’s arms.
I never saw my tiny dancer again.
Then one day, I forgot her face.
And on another day, I forgot I even had a tiny dancer in the first place.
What is the meaning of life?
Webster said it was the condition that distinguishes animals and plants from inorg
anic matter, including the capacity for growth, reproduction, functional activity, and continual change preceding death.
I always believed it was the period between the birth and death of a living thing, especially a human being. However, life taught me differently.
Chapter 1
Annie Prieto
The only name I’ve ever known is Annie Prieto, and this is my story. At times, you’ll hate me, but other times I hope I make you smile. In the end, only he will matter.
I sometimes wondered if anything mattered. Don’t get me wrong, I was a realist but not completely without emotions. Everyone had those moments that renewed their sense of humanity. It was usually found in the simplest of things: a group of children swinging on a playground; a young couple sharing an ice cream cone on a hot summer day; a hug from a mother and son; a little girl wearing a smocked cotton dress. The other day, I felt a slight flutter in my chest at the sight of a little girl walking hand in hand with her daddy.
Humanity was usually brought to the surface by the things your heart had lost and longed for. And if life had taught me anything, it was that what was lost usually was never found. There are no do-overs in life. A person isn’t made to look back. Mimi once told me that every person tells themselves that but no one ever takes their own advice. I guess that was why God put swivel joints in our necks. For once, I was going to heed that advice. The past no longer mattered — only the future. My life would start today.
It was February 21st, and everything screamed I didn’t belong. I had just moved to Small Town, USA in the heart of Tennessee. A late-night rain and rising temperatures caused a mist to spiral up from the sidewalks as I walked under a blanket of elm and maple trees that had to yet be touched by the blight of the city. The traffic could be described as sporadic at best. The majority of cars were parked out in front of Pearl Fowler’s house. Ms. Fowler’s husband had been the mayor of Carterville for years.
I couldn’t help but wave to the ladies who gathered on the veranda for tea. That wave only gained me a few sneers, but only two of the proper ladies pointed. Not because they were crotchety old ladies, but because they were vaguely interested to see an unfamiliar person walk by.
Beyond the tree-lined streets of one grand old home after another was the actual town of Carterville. It was homey and had an almost Victorian quality to it. The main street running through town was lined with a flower shop, a dollar store, a small Mom-and-Pop grocery, and nestled in the farthest corner of the street, was the Downtown Café — my present place of employment and current destination.
I trudged in through the backdoor of the small restaurant, sliding my feet across the slick tile floor — because I was too damn tired to lift them — and pulled my apron off its hook. I started to tie it around my waist when I heard the name that would forever change my life.
“Lucas Carter is back.”
I usually fell back into the shadows and had absolutely zero friends but I still knew who that group of girls were. They were the popular girls — the ones whose daddies owned half the town — all blonde, all cute, all skinny, all fake, and every single one of them had a brain the size of a rooster's testicle. I didn’t know them personally but already knew I didn’t like them.
I might’ve been a recluse, but I did have the knack of eavesdropping; it was the only thing that kept me sane. I walked over to the grill and started flipping burgers, sure that not one of those girls had ever done a day’s worth of work in their lifetime. They stood there laughing and gossiping about the small-town hero of Carterville: Lucas Carter. The former all-star quarterback of the state champion football team, and the only son of the biggest landowners in the whole damn county, Wes and Jennifer Carter.
I wasn’t sure why I even cared, but for the last five weeks that I’d lived in that armpit from hell called a town, I heard more about the infamous Lucas Carter than any other name. I couldn’t help but have a small flutter across my stomach at the thought I might actually have a chance at meeting him.
“Has Candice seen him yet?” Giggly Airhead #1 asked Giggly Airhead #2.
I’d heard enough to know that Lucas had dated Candice Armstrong all through high school and rumored to have asked her to marry him before abruptly dumping her to attend college in Texas. Okay, I admit, I was eavesdropping again.
“I doubt it. I haven’t heard of Lucas being killed yet.” Giggle, giggle, snort, snort. I rolled my eyes; not one damn thing they had said was that funny.
“What the hell are you looking at?” the prettiest of the group asked and stared daggers at me.
I laid down the spatula I was holding when I realized I’d been staring at them the whole time through the window separating the kitchen and the serving area. I stuck out my tongue then gave her a big, cheesy grin until he walked up. I swallowed, trying to keep my throat from closing.
A guy — my age? Could easily be older? Possibly younger? — the kind of guy most girls would describe as “eye candy”, walked in and over to the group of those girls. I’d never been easily intimidated by anyone or anything, but he … He intimidated me.
Their attention suddenly adjusted from me to him.
“Be nice, Cat. That look really doesn’t look good on you,” he replied in a lazy drawl as he ran his hand through his long, sun-bleached-blond hair that hung loosely around his face, revealing a piqued curiosity.
“Lucas,” she giggled out more than spoke the word. Oh, hell, she batted her eyelashes. I thought that was a move even too cheesy for the movies nowadays. I guess I was wrong because Giggly Airhead #2 followed suit with a flutter of her own eyelashes.
“Hey,” Giggly Airhead #2 said and waved her hand like she had won the lottery.
Lucas smirked and returned the wave but his was seemingly uninterested. He was almost mocking her.
He did rile my curiosity. A leggy blonde irritated him. One point for Lucas. Still, he wasn’t exactly my type, but it was impossible not to admire his tall, muscular physique and the ease at which he moved around the room. He narrowed his mesmerizing blue eyes and turned them in my direction. Damn, they had to have been the clearest blue eyes I’d ever seen. I’d say they were the color of the Caribbean, but since the only body of water I’d ever truly been around was the Tennessee River, I wouldn’t know what color blue the Caribbean was. I continued to stare at them. My knees went weak. I’d never gone goo-goo over any guy before but I could see what all the talk had been about. Lucas Carter could easily get a virgin to drop her undies with the look he was giving me.
He stood there for a second before heading into the back where I was. I froze in place the moment he stormed through the kitchen door.
“Who the hell are you?” he asked. His eyes never strayed from mine; they felt like hands as they roamed over my body.
I backed up, bumping my hip against the side of the grill.
I was pretty sure I was having a hot flash.
Or, at the very least my skin was turning to flames.
Or, I was leaning onto the hot grill.
“Ow.” I jumped in place.
“I asked you a question,” he said. He had put up an invisible wall of armor with his proud posture and rigid body language. It should’ve made me dislike him. However, I’ve never been one to do as I should.
“An-nn-ie Pri-eto,” I stuttered and crossed my arms, trying to hide from those eyes. They were incredible. The thick black lashes contrasted with his blond hair and almost looked like eyeliner. It was completely unfair. I had no outstanding features. I was one color: brown. Brown hair, brown eyelashes, brown skin. The only exception were my eyes; they were green. Which did nothing for me except distract from any exotic look I might’ve had going. Come on, Annie Prieto, quit staring at him like an idiot.
His expression melted into a smile. He could easily tell he was getting to me. How could he not? He had the tightest, hardest body I’d ever seen. I wanted to rip open the shirt he was wearing, knowing I would be awarded with an amazing sit of abs if I did. He had
worked hard to obtain that body but the lucky ass was born with a face that rivaled even that body. Every bone looked like it had been chiseled into perfection, cheekbones as strong as his jaw, and I could not even begin to describe the depth of blue in those eyes. They were piercing and intense and had not once stopped staring at me.
“Damn,” he said and ran his hand through a mound of long, silky strands of hair.
Bob, the owner and my boss, busted open the door. “Lucas, can I help you?” he said almost humbly.
Lucas shook his head. “No, I just thought,” he paused and gave me one more hard stare. “Never mind.” He waved his hand and turned on his boot heel to leave without a backward glance. I turned back to the sink, determined not to watch him walk away. Especially since his backside was pretty damn hot in those skintight jeans.
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