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For the newest member of our family, Russell Shook.
I love you, sweetie!
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter One
“Next on the agenda,” Alice Craigmoore said in her raspy, Southern drawl, “is this year’s Miss Hot Pepper pageant. Mona, as our reigning pageant chair, do you have a report?”
Dalton Montgomery took this as his cue to commence with a nap.
The private back room of Duffy’s Barbecue was famous for not only its fishing-themed decor, but also its oak and leather chairs roomy enough to allow a guy to enjoy a man-size meal without feeling sliced in half. In other words, it was easy to tune out of the bimonthly meeting’s most mind-numbing portions.
As president-elect of Hot Pepper, Louisiana’s chamber of commerce, Dalton had no problem tackling ordinary business matters. But whenever his fellow members started in with one of their half-dozen festivals they’d planned, or God forbid this pageant, he felt completely out of his league. But then these days, was there anywhere he did feel comfortable and in control?
As the only son of the president of the First National Bank of Hot Pepper, Dalton had been expected since birth to one day step into his father’s shoes. The one time he’d deviated from the plan, he’d failed miserably both personally and professionally, leading him to believe maybe fate was smarter than he was.
Fifteen years later, here he was, resigned to living the rest of his days in a twelve-by-twelve office with an alley view.
Rubbing his forehead, he stifled a groan.
He wasn’t usually so cranky about his lot in life. He had a large group of family and friends. A great house. Pool. Shiny new red Escalade. In the grand scheme of things, he didn’t have much to complain about.
So why was it that when he’d shaved this morning, the guy gazing back at him in the mirror had looked damn near dead?
“Dalton?” Mona asked. “Haven’t you heard a word of what I’ve just said?”
“Huh?” He glanced up.
All ten chamber of commerce members present stared his way.
“The outgoing Miss Hot Pepper. It’s your responsibility to tango with her during the lag time when the judges tally their scores.”
Nope. Not going to happen. “I thought it was the president’s responsibility to do the whole cheesy dance thing?”
“Cheesy?” Alice and Mona said in equally outraged tones.
“I’ll have you know,” Mona said, “that the end-of-pageant dance is a tradition that’s been alive longer than you.”
“And as incoming president,” Alice piped in, “seeing how you’re a man, you’ll have to perform. After all, you wouldn’t want to see me up there dancing with the beauty queen, would you?”
Hell, no. But that didn’t mean he wanted to do it, either. “Why does it have to be me? There are twenty other guys I’m sure would be thrilled for the opportunity. For that matter, doesn’t the outgoing Miss Hot Pepper have a boyfriend? Why can’t you use him?”
“It’s not that bad,” Frank Loveaux said, loosening his brown striped tie. The man had a triple chin, so Dalton could see where the business noose would hinder his breathing. “I did it three years ago and had a ball. That was back when Mindy Sue Jacobs was Miss Hot Pepper.” He whistled, then grinned. “That little lady was a pistol. To this day, I still dream about the kiss she gave me at the end of our dance.”
“That’s all well and good,” Dalton said, “but everyone knows I can’t dance. Just ask my prom date—over a decade later, and she’s still crippled from my stepping on her toes.”
“My daughter’s toes work just fine,” Catherine Bennett—mother of his prom date, Josie—said. “Why are you being so obstinate? If it weren’t for your arguing, we could’ve been three more items down the agenda.”
Ouch. He and Josie hadn’t lasted much beyond prom. Her eagle-eyed, blunt-talking mother had been a huge part of the problem. That, and the fact that Josie had been pretty and sweet and all, but she hadn’t lit any fires in his belly. His mama had always told him that if a girl didn’t keep him awake at night, craving their next kiss, it was time to move on.
Well, here he was, thirty-five years old, and aside from his ex, Carly, sleeping like a rock. Not that he lacked for female companionship. Just that to date, no woman except Carly had come anywhere near making him feel alive. Complete. But she had changed all that by slashing his heart in a zillion pieces. Now he vastly preferred the single life. He might occasionally be lonely, but the alternative of being emotionally annihilated sucked.
Alice slammed her gavel against the speaker’s podium. “I’d like to make a motion that Dalton perform the end-of-pageant tango. All in favor?”
Nine arms shot up. “Aye.”
“Opposed?”
“Nay,” Dalton alone said.
With another slam of her gavel, his fate was sealed. “The ayes have it. Next on the agenda—the Hot Pepper Festival’s food concessions. Frank, are you ready with your report?”
WHOA.
Dalton’s first glimpse of the hottie greeting him in the dance studio’s pale pink reception area had him doing a double take. “Um, you’re not blue-haired Miss Gertrude.”
Flashing a professional smile that didn’t reach her eyes, the vision said, “Miss Gertrude retired. I’m the studio’s new owner, Rose Vasquez. Are you the Dalton Montgomery I have down for a tango lesson?”
“That’d be me,” he said. For the first time since that week’s chamber meeting, he stopped cursing his fellow committee members. Maybe the whole dance gig wouldn’t be half-bad.
“Welcome.” She held out her slim hand for him to shake.
When their palms met, he felt a twinge in his gut. Her grip was firm, yet somehow fragile, as if the merest hint of a wind might blow her away. Aside from a trickling lobby fountain and humming drink machine, the studio was quiet—save for his racing pulse. He hadn’t expected them to be alone. Not that it was a problem. Just that, being in a small-town dance studio, he’d pictured himself surrounded by eight-year-old gigglers in pink tutus.
Clasping her hands over her gently curved belly, she said, “The woman who made your reservation—”
“My secretary—Joan.”
“Yes, well, Joan, mentioned you just need a crash course.”
“Yep. That’ll do it. The basics are all I need to get me through one heinous night.”
“That’s all well and good,” the woman said, her once lovely expression now sober, “but when you say you want to know just the basics about the tango, you’ve insulted not only me, but a tradition that has lasted more than a hundred years. Tango isn’t just a dance, and I hope that once we’re finished with our lessons, you’ll see that. I also hope you’ll treat this venture we’re embarking upon with the dignity and respect it deserves—even loyalty.”
Dignity and respect? Loyalty? Dalton figured he deserved an Academy Award—at least an Emmy—for the acting job he was doing in holding back a snort. They were talking about dance moves. This woman might be attractive, but she had a lot to learn about what in life deserved such sentiments. If anyone was an expert on what loyalty made a man do, it was him.
“You’re awfully quiet,” she said, tapping a purple pencil against the top of a yellow laminate reception desk. The girlie colors brought on indigestion, or was it the fact that he was for all practical purposes being lectured by a stranger that had his stomach in an uproar?
He reached into the chest pocket of his suit for a chewable antacid, but he was fresh out. Damn.
When he spotted her eyeing him funny, he withdrew his hand from his pocket. “I’m assuming from the tone of our one-sided conversation that either I play this dancing game all your way or hit the highway?”
She smiled, and the force of it nearly knocked him off his feet. She wasn’t merely hot, as he’d previously thought. She was beautiful. In fact, she could’ve launched an entire new category of beauty. Rich, olive-toned skin served as the perfect backdrop for soulful brown eyes and silky, raven-black hair that his fingertips itched to touch.
Snap out of it! his conscience cried.
She was a looker, but considering the tone of the speech she’d just delivered, she was also a few cupcakes shy of a dozen.
Smile not reaching her eyes, she said, “I can’t say anyone has ever paraphrased my wishes so eloquently, but yes, you’re right. If I agree to give you a crash course in tango, you must give me as close to one hundred percent of yourself as possible.”
When he opened his mouth to object, she shocked him by placing the pad of her index finger against his lips.
“No,” she said, “don’t speak. I can read your mind. You’re thinking how can you devote all your energy to learning this dance when work is what you live for, am I right?”
He nodded.
“As you’ll soon see, I’m not asking for much. Just your undivided attention.”
Right. From where he stood, sounded more like his soul.
“Do we have a deal, Mr. Montgomery?”
Telling himself he felt the same jolt of awareness every time he shook a female colleague’s hand, Dalton once again grasped the lovely Ms. Vasquez’s fingers in his. “Deal. Ready to start?”
“You mean now?”
“My secretary did make a reservation.”
“No,” she said with a faint shake of her head. “I—I’m sorry, but something has come up. I have lessons from noon until six tomorrow evening. You and I shall tango at seven.”
AFTER MR. MONTGOMERY left, Rose had trouble locking the door. Her fingers trembled as she remembered the spark of interest in Dalton Montgomery’s striking blue eyes. Her stomach clenched when she considered how close she’d come to reaching out to straighten a wayward lock of his unruly short, dark hair. At just over six feet, with a square jaw, high brow and Roman nose, Dalton exuded strength and undeniable sex appeal.
Why had she lectured him like that? Why had she turned away the good money she could’ve earned from tonight’s session?
The truth?
Not because she was eager to check on Anna as she’d told herself, but because for the first time since John’s death well over a year earlier, she’d found a man attractive, and the notion shook her to the core.
The thought of spending an hour in Dalton Montgomery’s arms while performing the dance she’d so loved with her husband, well…It was inconceivable. Which was why she’d bought herself a little extra time. To adjust to the idea that it was okay to find another man physically attractive.
Find him attractive yes, but feel warmth spreading through her limbs when he looked at her? What had that been about? How could she begin to process her mixed-up feelings in the all-too-brief time until they met again?
Somehow, some way, she’d found the strength to tackle each day since the motorcycle accident that’d stolen John from her and Anna. Rose forced a deep breath, knowing she’d capably handle this development, as well.
In the brief time they’d shared as man and wife, she and her husband had enjoyed a wholly fulfilling physical relationship. She’d always been a passionate woman. It was common sense that as a healthy female in her prime she would have certain needs. Logically, the attraction she’d felt for Mr. Montgomery had been purely biological—nothing at all to be concerned about.
Oh yeah? Then how come your pulse is racing at the mere thought of seeing him again?
She didn’t have an answer—at least one she was willing to admit, even to herself. Rose flicked off the studio’s lights then resolutely marched up the stairs to her and Anna’s airy loft.
In coming to terms with John’s death, Anna had been her rock. Tonight, whether the six-year-old knew it or not, she would again be her mom’s strength.
As for Dalton Montgomery, all Rose had to do to deal with him was convince herself that he was just another student and the tango was just another dance.
EARLY THURSDAY evening, an hour before her lesson with Mr. Montgomery, Rose trudged up the stairs.
Since crawling out of bed that morning, dread had settled low in her stomach. Now, entering the high-ceilinged kitchen she thought of as her private sanctuary, she didn’t bother masking full-on panic. Luckily, Anna was out for dinner and a movie with a friend.
Though Rose wasn’t hungry, it’d been noon since she’d last eaten, so she slipped off her heels, then prepared a light meal of tomato soup.
While waiting for the creamy liquid to boil, she gazed about the massive space, loving the slant of late-spring sun through the towering bank of west windows.
She adored plants and the brightness of the place—not to mention the high ceilings and lack of interior walls—allowed her to house a collection of trees. Palms, miniature oranges and even a red maple she’d been given as a housewarming gift but hadn’t quite gotten around to planting in the historic brick building’s postage stamp of a backyard. Her know-it-all brothers had assured her that the tree would die after being inside over a week, but months later, it still thrived.
Giving the soup a stir, she mused that a lot of people—especially her overprotective father and two big brothers—had thought her business would die. But it’d been ninety days since she’d opened her doors and while she wouldn’t say her business was thriving, it was holding its own. Just like her and Anna.
Together, they were learning to weather grief, life’s toughest storm.
What about the storm you’re about to face in partnering with Dalton Montgomery?
A burning, sweet scent filled her nostrils a second before the telltale sizzle of liquid hit the gas burner’s flame.
Rats. In all her daydreaming, she’d forgotten her soup. She twisted off the heat and cleaned the oozing red mess. So much for supper.
Grabbing saltines from the pantry, she plopped into her favorite overstuffed armchair. She knew it’d sound silly to anyone else, but the chair had been John’s, and sitting in it was akin to getting a hug. At times, she’d have sworn she still smelled his citrus aftershave on the brown leather.
She switched on the local news, but when the bulk of the broadcast consisted of an extended sports segment, she turned it off, and her eyes drifted shut….
“Ahem. Ms. Vasquez?”
Rose jerked to attention only to find Dalton Montgomery standing less than twelve inches away!
“Sorry,” Mr. Montgomery said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Rose scooted to an upright position and tried to quickly pull herself together. Her hair was probably a mess and she did her best to shove it back into a metal clip.
“Don’t,” her uninvited guest said, eyeing her in his annoyingly direct way.
“Don’t what?”
“Fix your hair. It looks…fine. Like that.” He swallowed hard. “Down.” Wild. While he hadn’t voiced that last part, she sensed that was what he’d meant. Which was why she went ahead with the task of smoothing her hair back and purposefully snapping the clip.
His tone made her do a quick check to ensure her nap hadn’t resulted in a wardrobe malfunction. Nope, all was well with her formfitting black dress. It was her mind that seemed in trouble. What was it about him that left her off balance?
“Why are you here?” she asked, adopting the coldly professional tone she used with unruly junior-high students forced to take waltz classes by their parents.
“I have a lesson. Remember?” He tapped his watch. “It’s already seven-fifteen. I smelled something burning and worried there was a problem, especially seeing how all the doors were unlocked but no one was there.”
“So you barged into my home?”
“Whoa. Look, lady, I don’t know what you’re so defensive about all of a sudden, but I was only trying to be a Good Samaritan. Your door was wide open. I thought your place might be on fire. I came in to make sure you were okay. End of story. Now, are we going to dance, or what?”
Or what? Good question.
As was the matter of why she was so snippy.
She rarely slept through the night, which left her napping during the day. Usually to be poked awake by her assistant, Rachel—currently on maternity leave. Which was why she’d left the door open out of habit. Mr. Montgomery’s explanation had been plausible. Even admirable. His small-town brand of ingrained, instantaneous caring was a large part of the reason she’d packed up Anna and made the move from their impersonal Dallas high-rise to the town of Hot Pepper. She’d moved because she wanted to raise her daughter in a place populated with friendly folks. Double-checking her barrette, Rose stood. “I’m the one who should be sorry. With prom season right around the corner, I’ve been giving more private lessons than usual. All the overtime has me not quite myself.”
“It’s okay. When under pressure, I tend to go all grizzly on folks, too.” A quirky bear growl escaped his lips as he held up his fingers, feigning ferocious claws.
“Do you?” she asked, for whatever strange reason needing to know that he did truly understand.
He answered with a sad laugh as his lips fell into an unmistakable frown. They were firm lips. Yet soft. Intriguing, as if he held the power to kiss a woman senseless…Assuming she wanted to be kissed. Which she didn’t. Just that—
“Yes, Ms. Vasquez, I understand more than you could possibly know on the subject of how too much work affects people.” With a light sigh, he gestured to the floral-print sofa. “Mind if I have a seat?”
“Of course not. Please…” She gestured for him to make himself comfortable.
Dressed as he was in loose-fitting faded jeans and a chest-hugging orange-and-black Princeton T-shirt, he was a different man from the suit she’d met the previous night.
“Whew,” he said. “It feels good taking a load off. Down at the bank I’ve been pacing my office floor. A company my investment group is interested in acquiring tanked big-time. I can’t understand it. One minute, it was up by two, the next, down by ten. My guess is that it’s a soured subprime loan issue, but it could just be a poor review of stock option grants. It’s frustrating, you know. That feeling that there’s nothing you can do to resolve a situation.”
Rose flashed a wishy-washy grin. Dance was—had always been—her life. Aside from his sense of helplessness with which she was intimately acquainted, he might as well have been speaking Chinese.
“You didn’t understand a bit of what I just said, did you?”
“Nope,” she said with a surprisingly easy grin. “I didn’t get a single word.”
“That’s okay. No one understands what I do. Half the time, even I’m confused. Hey—” he pointed to the blackened saucepan still on the stove “—I know we’re supposed to be working on my dance moves, but how about grabbing a quick bite to eat first?”
Warning bells rang.
Yes, she should be professionally courteous with the man. But sharing a meal sounded suspiciously like a date.
It wasn’t, though, not really.
Besides, which sounded more ominous to her already thudding heart? Being held tightly in the man’s arms as he swept her across a dance floor, or sitting across a booth from him at downtown Hot Pepper’s usually crowded sandwich shop?
Seeing the situation in that light put a whole new slant on the matter. By all means, she should put off dancing for as long as possible.
“Let’s eat,” she said, already scrambling from her chair to find her purse.
“You seem hurried. Hungry?”
“Starving.”
“Great. Let’s go.” Holding out his hand, he hinted for her to lead the way out the loft’s still-open door.
“Wait,” she said, glancing at her dress. “I should change. Shoes would be a great idea, too.”
“You look fine as is, but shoes are a good call.”
“You think?” She couldn’t help but grin on her way toward the open space designated as her bedroom. Digging through her dresser for a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, she could’ve sworn she’d felt the heat of his stare. She glanced his way, only to find him engrossed in one of her glossy coffee-table books on Argentina.
Good.
Again, it was understandable that she’d feel urges. John had always told her if anything ever happened to him he didn’t want her spending the rest of her life alone. But it somehow felt too soon to even think of being with another man.
Clutching her clothing, she made a beeline for the bathroom—the only real room in the space aside from Anna’s.
Shushing the battle raging in her head, she slipped off her dance dress, puddling the black chiffon on the tile floor. It took but a second to pull on perfectly respectable jean cutoffs that felt too short and tight and a pink, scoop-necked T-shirt that wasn’t much better. Why was she feeling overexposed? She’d worn this very outfit tons of times to the grocery store and to pick up Anna from soccer practice or games.
She was being silly.
Spying her favorite leather sandals beside the hamper, she slipped her feet in, wriggled her red-tipped toes, then gave herself a quick pep talk on surviving the night.
Back in the living area, she found Mr. Montgomery still immersed in her book. When she said, “Let’s go,” he didn’t even look at her on his way to the door. Not that she’d wanted him to!
“More comfortable?” he asked on the shadowy landing.
“Yes.” See? She hadn’t a thing to worry about.
Especially since her awareness of him seemed mainly one-sided. A good thing, seeing how now that she knew he couldn’t care less about her, she could get on with the business of ignoring him.
Chapter Two
Hot damn, what a woman.
Outside, Dalton tried being nonchalant about sucking in the blessedly cool air. Never had there been a better time for Mother Nature to turn down the temperature. Rose had looked beautiful in her dancing dress, but the outfit she’d changed into gave him the craziest urge to grab her hand and run wild through the streets.
As hard as he’d tried focusing on that coffee-table book he’d picked up back in her apartment, his mind was stuck on one undeniable fact. Rose Vasquez was on fire. Her every move oozed slow, fiery heat that balled in his stomach, threatening to cut off his breath if he didn’t put some major space between them.
“Big Daddy’s Deli, okay?” he asked. “I could really go for a turkey on rye.”
“Perfect,” she said, shifting her thick black ponytail from the nape of her neck, exposing tantalizing, sweat-moistened curves. “Only I’m thinking I’ll probably have a pastrami and Swiss.”
“Yeah. Um, sure. Sounds delicious. Lead the way.”
After a flashed smile, she took off.
Too bad for him, facing her backside hardly worsened the view. The sight of her perfectly rounded derriere encased in denim short shorts almost did him in. Worse yet, as if her cutoffs weren’t sexy enough, her top was scant, too. Scant enough that her every step caused it to ride up, exposing a strip of tanned, firm back that he could only imagine—
No. This had to stop. He was with this woman for one reason. To learn a simple dance. Simple, simple, simple.
After Carly, he no longer associated with artsy women.
“Oh,” she said, lyrically spinning, walking backward as she talked. “I’ve got to have raspberry tea, too. Big Daddy’s makes the best in town. Perfect on a hot day or night.”