A Season to Dance

by Rebecca Heflin

  Zach walked in, a bouquet of flowers in his hand. He stopped short when he saw Emily sitting there and scratched his nose in his tell of embarrassment. “Oh, hi, Emily.”

  “Hi, Chief Ryder.” She glanced between Olivia and Zach then cleared her throat. “I, uh, I should be going. I promised Mom I’d cook dinner tonight.”

  “Thanks for stopping by, Emily. It means a lot to me.”

  Emily nodded, a blush tingeing her cheeks.

  Zach said his goodbyes to Emily and laid the flowers on the coffee table. Sitting on the couch next to Olivia, he skimmed his hand along her cheekbone, touching the tiny welts left by the bee stings, then bent to touch his lips to hers in a feather-light caress.

  “Zach, if you’re going to be here for a while, I’ve got some errands to run, and I don’t want to leave Olivia home alone,” Jennie said from the doorway, a tote bag over her shoulder.

  Olivia rolled her eyes, adjusting the light throw over her legs, then warmed at the concern in Jennie’s voice.

  “No worries. I’ll be here.”

  The back door closed, and Zach lifted a brow. “That’s new.”

  She laid her hand on his denim-clad thigh. “Yeah. She’s been . . . nice.”

  “Almost losing someone you care about does that to a person,” he murmured.

  Olivia shook her head even as her heart swelled. “Zach.”

  “I could have lost you.”

  “But you didn’t,” she whispered, her eyes stinging with emotion. “Love me, Zach.” She sat up, wrapping her hand around the back of his neck.

  He shook his head and tried to dislodge her fingers. “You need your rest.”

  “What I need is you. Now.”

  She released him then and reached down to pull off the T-shirt she’d been wearing, leaving her bare to his gaze.

  “Liv—”

  She cut him off with another kiss, this one filled with desperation and longing. She knew this for what it was—a desire to feel alive. To confirm she was indeed among the living. Kneeling up on the couch, she presented her breasts to Zach’s mouth, needing to feel his lips hot and wet on her. He complied. Tentative at first, then bolder. She threw her head back in pleasure, arching her back, pressing her breast into his mouth.

  She pulled him back with her onto the couch, the weight of him fulfilling some primitive need. She opened her legs to him.

  Unaware that he’d unzipped his pants, she moaned when he yanked her panties aside and drove into her, filling her. “Hard, fast,” she panted. Her nails scored his back through his shirt, as she met him thrust for thrust. “Yes. Oh, Zach!”

  “I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you.”

  She cried out as a tidal wave broke through her. Yes, she thought. This. This is what I needed. To know I’m alive. To know Zach cares.

  He thrust twice more then collapsed with a groan, his breath hot against her neck.

  Remembering his words in the hospital, I love you, her heart echoed its response. I love you too.

  After they’d readjusted their clothing in case Jennie came home early, Zach told Olivia about his interview with Lily.

  He sat, his back against the pillows propped up on the couch, Olivia resting against his chest, as he stroked her silky hair.

  “So, you’re going to check her alibis?” She grazed her nails up and down his forearm, sending little shivers through him. If she didn’t stop, he’d be throwing her over his shoulder fireman-style and carrying her upstairs, Jennie be damned.

  “Yes.”

  Olivia snorted. “I bet she was good and pissed.”

  “Yeah. In fact, Dan Larson has already called. I’m sure that was the first call she made after I left.”

  “And? Did you talk to Dan?”

  “Yeah. He came to my office. First, I listened while he ranted. Then I talked.”

  “Ooh boy.”

  Zach shrugged. “All part of the job. Course it’s not every day that the mayor’s wife is a suspect in an attempted murder.”

  Olivia shot up and turned to face Zach. “Attempted murder?”

  “Yeah. You could have been killed.” He brushed a strand of hair out of her face. “You said so yourself.”

  “But whoever did that couldn’t have known.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Besides, we don’t know that. They could have known.”

  She shook her head, studying his face. “No. I don’t think so. And as much as I dislike her, I still don’t think it was Lily. I think it was Christopher.”

  “Maybe.” He tugged her back down to him. “Either way, I’ll figure it out.”

  “Do you always get your man . . . or woman?”

  “Damn straight.” He kissed the top of her head. “The Canadian Mounties got nothing on me.”

  “How are you feeling?” Jennie dropped down onto the chair across from the sofa where Olivia had been napping.

  Between the antihistamines and sex with Zach, she felt limp and replete. “Groggy still.” Olivia lifted a hand to her brow, wincing when she grazed a leftover welt.

  Jennie nodded. “Guess that’s to be expected. You’ll be right as rain with a good night’s sleep.”

  Olivia couldn’t help but smile. Her mother used to say that same thing.

  Stretching her legs out in front of her, Jennie crossed one ankle over the other. “I know you never liked me.”

  Olivia’s startled gaze shot to Jennie’s melancholy one. “You never liked me,” she shot back then gave herself a mental eyeroll. Juvenile much?

  “Actually, that’s not true.” Jennie tilted her head, her gray hair glinting silver in the fading light. “I didn’t know you, other than as Carly’s beautiful, talented, absentee daughter.”

  Olivia winced but couldn’t argue with that last comment.

  “I always assumed you stayed away because you were ashamed of your mother’s and my relationship.”

  Propping herself up on one elbow, Olivia shook off the cobwebs of sleep and responded, “That couldn’t be further from the truth. I’m glad my mom found happiness. It didn’t matter to me who that happiness came from.”

  “Then why? Why did you dislike me?” Jennie stared, unflinching, into Olivia’s eyes.

  God. Did they really have to do this now? Olivia took a moment to consider her answer. For years she never knew why she couldn’t warm up to Jennie, other than Jennie’s stoicism and lack of warmth. But if she were honest with herself, that wasn’t it. “Because you weren’t my father.”

  Jennie probably thought that was crazy, but instead of skepticism, Jennie nodded. “Ah. That makes sense.”

  “It does?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then maybe you could explain it to me,” Olivia said with a laugh, “because it makes no sense to me.”

  Jennie laid her head against the back of the chair and set her hands on top of her abdomen. “You’ve always longed to know your father. And you probably held out hope that one day he and your mother would get back together, maybe get married, and you’d be a family. But when I came into the picture and married your mom instead, that dream died.”

  “But I already knew my father was dead.”

  “Consciously, yes. But the subconscious is an amazing thing. Consciously you knew your father was dead. But never having met him, been to his grave, your subconscious couldn’t grasp it. But having witnessed our marriage ceremony, you knew I had ruined any chance of you ever having your father in your life.”

  Olivia gaped at Jennie. “You sure you’re not a psychologist?”

  Jennie laughed. “No, I’m definitely not a psychologist. I’ve just spent a lifetime studying people, trying to figure out if they secretly despised me for who I am.”

  Even Olivia could hear the unspoken words—like my parents. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Snorting, Jennie shook her head. “No.”

  “Alrighty then.”

  They sat in silence, the ticking of the mantel clock the only sound in the room.

&nb
sp; “I’m sorry,” Olivia began, her voice rough. At Jennie’s confused look, Olivia continued, “For being so selfish. For not acknowledging your grief and your loss. And thank you.” She cleared the tears from her throat and tried again. “Thank you, for taking care of me. For putting up with me. And, for loving my mother.”

  “There is nothing I wouldn’t give to spend one more hour with your mother. Thank you for sharing her with me.” Jennie sniffed then sat up, slapping her thighs. “What else can I do?”

  “Nothing. Thanks.” Olivia settled back against the pillows with a sigh.

  “What about with the recital? I’m pretty handy with a needle and thread. I could, I don’t know, alter some old costumes to replace the ones that were destroyed.”

  “I appreciate it, but I’ve solved the problem,” Olivia said shooting a grin at Jennie.

  “How?”

  “The Joffrey is sending costumes from their production of Cinderella. And, of course, they’re even more beautiful than the ones that were destroyed.”

  “Emily will be thrilled. Have you told her?”

  “No. And I’ve got another surprise for her. The costumes aren’t the only thing The Joffrey is letting me borrow.”

  “What else do you need?”

  “A Prince Charming.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Later that evening, Olivia finished reviewing the draft program for the recital and sent it to Amy to send to the printers. On a whim, she popped over to the DNA site, on the off-chance that there would be new matches. Clicking on the DNA Match results, she sat up straight. There, on the screen was someone named Alex Ellis, who was designated ‘Close Family’ with a high degree of confidence. Holding her breath, she stared at the screen. It’s probably just another member of Carly’s family. A family who wanted nothing to do with Carly or Olivia.

  But.

  With a trembling hand, she reached out and clicked on the name, wondering what ’Close Family’ meant. First cousin? Grandparent? Aunt?

  The information this ‘Alex’ had made public listed her gender as female, her place of birth as Atlanta, her current location as Decatur—only about an hour and a half away. She’d also included her date of birth, and based on that, this woman was eight years older than Olivia.

  She checked their ‘Shared Matches.’ They were descended from a line that was not her mother’s. Someone with the surname Romano. Olivia’s breath shallowed.

  Of all the DNA matches listed on her account, Alex was the closest. She was a closer match than someone who was listed as a second cousin on her mother’s side. She clicked on a question mark next to the words ‘Close Family.’ A window popped up showing she had a match of eighteen hundred thirty-two centimorgans across forty-two DNA strands, whatever that meant.

  Opening another window in her browser, she gnawed her lip. There was so much information available on the internet, surely she could figure this out. Fingers poised over the keys, she thought a moment and typed ‘what does centimorgan mean?’ Lots of results popped up, but basically, from what she could discern, centimorgans were the units of measure used to denote the size of matching DNA segments in autosomal DNA. Autosomal DNA, she read, is inherited from both parents.

  After a few more searches, she hit on a centimorgan chart that listed the total centimorgans shared and the potential relationship depending on the number. Her heart raced when she read the numbers. Based on her DNA results, she shared over eighteen hundred centimorgans with Alex.

  The chart indicated that a grandparent and grandchild, an aunt or uncle and a niece or nephew, and half siblings share seventeen hundred. Olivia could rule out niece, since she had no sibling. She could also rule out grandmother, because Alex was only eight years older than Olivia. That left aunt—she could be her father’s much younger sister. It also left half-sister.

  She rose, too nervous to sit any longer. Could this be it? Could she have at least found someone related to her father? Someone who could tell her who he was, if nothing else? Needing something to do with her hands, she set about making a cup of tea—chamomile—to calm her nerves.

  What should she do? Drumming her fingers on the countertop while the kettle heated, her mind darted back and forth. Should she contact Alex? Or should she honor her mother’s wish that her father’s identity remained a secret?

  Grabbing the kettle just as it began to whistle, she poured water into the cup, breathing in the scent of chamomile that rose with the steam. Taking the cup back to the kitchen table with her, she eyed the computer screen as if it could tell her what to do.

  Making up her mind, she clicked ‘Send a Message.’ She wouldn’t share her suspicions with Alex, only that she saw they were a match. That way if Alex wanted to respond to Olivia, she could. And if she didn’t . . . ?

  Olivia would cross that bridge when she came to it.

  Zach leaned against his car and waited for Olivia to come out of the studio. She wouldn’t like it, but he didn’t want her leaving the building alone at night, now that she was the target of a vendetta. And with the show only three weeks away, she’d been working long hours at the studio.

  Lily’s alibi had checked out. Zach had called the women as soon as he’d left Lily, to eliminate the possibility of her calling and warning them. He’d also requested a warrant for the credit card records but was still waiting on them.

  So, either Lily had hired someone or she was telling the truth. Which left three other possibilities—Dan, Chloe, or Christopher. Dan could be a smug bastard, but he wouldn’t stoop to something like this. As for Chloe, in his previous chance encounters with her, she hadn’t seemed too broken up about not getting the role.

  As he’d told Olivia, Lily had wasted no time in calling her husband. Before Zach could get back to the station and pick up the phone, Dan had stormed into Zach’s office and slammed the door. Not that that did anything to render their conversation private. The volume of Dan’s curses likely burned the ears of any who stood on the sidewalk outside his office window.

  That left one person. Maybe Olivia had been right. Maybe it was Christopher. He’d take a trip to Dillon Academy tomorrow and have a conversation with him, along with school administration.

  The light upstairs went off, and a few minutes later, Olivia exited the front door then turned to lock it.

  Pushing off the car, he strolled over to meet her. When she saw him, she gasped.

  “Jesus! You scared me! What are you doing here?”

  “Sorry.” He chuckled. “I’m here to protect you.”

  “From what? People sneaking up on me and scaring me to death?” She went hands on hips, a frown marring her brow. The bee stings had healed. The only evidence of the accident, a fading scar on her cheek from the airbag.

  “Among other things.”

  “Seriously, why are you here?” She adjusted the tote bag on her shoulder.

  “To escort you home.”

  “But why?”

  He just stared at her.

  “Zach, no one is going to attack me.”

  “You’re probably right, but I’m not willing to take the chance.”

  She huffed out an exasperated sigh. “Fine. Whatever.” She strode over to a gray van.

  “New car?”

  “Rental, until I hear from the insurance company.”

  When he thought about what could have happened to her—if the anaphylaxis hadn’t killed her, hitting the telephone pole could have. “I’d be surprised if it wasn’t totaled,” Zach mused. “I’ll see you at your mom’s house,” he said, as she climbed into the driver’s side.

  Olivia glanced into her rearview mirror as Zach’s headlights came up behind her.

  That he felt the need to escort her home was silly. But something deep down inside her liked it just the same. Her phone rang, and she answered with Bluetooth. “Chief Ryder, I would have thought you of all people would frown on phone calls while driving.”

  “Ordinarily I would, so I’ll make it quick. How about a pizza?�
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  “A what?”

  “You know, it’s round, topped with cheese and meat and, if you insist, veggies.”

  “Now?”

  “Yeah. I haven’t eaten, and I’m starved.”

  Come to think of it, she hadn’t eaten either. Just a protein bar that had worn off hours ago.

  “All right.”

  A few minutes later, she pulled into a parking space around the corner from Dominick’s Pizza. Downtown Northridge on a Wednesday night at nine o’clock wasn’t exactly hopping.

  Olivia met Zach at the door of the pizzeria, the scent of pepperoni and garlic assailing her senses, making her stomach growl, and eliciting warm memories. Back in the day when she’d had the metabolism of a constantly active teenager, she and Zach had put away more than a few pizzas here.

  The place hadn’t changed much in the seventeen years she’d been gone. Still had the same red vinyl barstools, the Formica-topped counter, red-, white-, and green-striped borders, and the red plastic checkerboard tablecloths.

  “Don’t let the dated decor fool you. He’s still got the best pizza around.” Zach nodded to the young man behind the counter, as he placed his hand on the small of her back. “How is it you haven’t been in here since you got back?”

  She shrugged. “Nothing against Dominick’s, but his carbie, cheesy food isn’t exactly on my menu right now.”

  “Sit anywhere. I’ll be right with you,” the young man said.

  After selecting a booth near the back, Zach leaned over the table. “Dominick’s grandson, Joey.”

  “Grandson?” Pulling the menu from behind the napkin container, Olivia muttered. “God, I’m getting old.”

  Zach chuckled. “If you’re getting old, so am I. Why are you looking at the menu? It hasn’t changed in thirty years.”

  “Yes, but I never ordered a salad before.” She resumed her scrutiny of the menu.

  “Salad? No, no, no. One does not come to Dominick’s, especially after a seventeen-year absence and order lettuce.” Taking the menu from her, he returned it to its slot, just as Joey approached.