A Fool's Gold Christmas

“Tell me about it.” Patience gave a rueful laugh. “Anyway, Charlie explained that you’re feeling completely abandoned and pressured. I can’t help with the dance stuff. Lillie inherited her lack of coordination from me, I’m afraid. But I’m good at getting things done. So those are recordings of previous years’ shows. One is mine. The other two come from other mothers. They’re also for different years. I thought that might help.”

Evie tightened her hold on the CDs. Right now, these were her best shot at figuring out what the program was supposed to look like.

“Thank you. You’ve saved me.”

Patience laughed. “I’m barely getting started.” She pulled a piece of paper out of her jeans’s front pocket. “My phone number. I’ll help get the work party together for the sets. Charlie mentioned those, too. So, a Saturday would work best. I suggest the first Saturday in December. All that’s going on in town is the tree lighting and that’s not until dusk. We’d have all day to spruce and paint and do whatever needs doing.”

Evie took the paper with her free hand. In addition to Patience’s phone number was a man’s name.

“This guy is your contact at the hardware store in town. Tell him who you are and what you need the supplies for. He’ll give you a great discount. Once you get that coordinated, get back to me and I’ll spread the word about the work party. Oh, we’ll also need to coordinate for the costumes.”

Evie felt as if she were being pushed by an out-of-control tide. “You sew?”

“Enough to repair a costume. But I have the names of the talented ladies who do the real work. Plus, we need to schedule the fittings and then the run-through for hair and makeup.” She drew in a breath and planted her hands on her hips. “Drat. There’s one more thing that I can’t... Brunch!” She grinned. “Thanksgiving morning we all meet at Jo’s Bar. We have yummy brunch food, enough champagne so that we don’t care about the turkey we’re cooking and we watch the parade on TV. Girls only. You have to come. It’s really fun. After we’re stuffed and drunk, we head outside to watch the Fool’s Gold parade through town.”

“Okay,” Evie said slowly, still overwhelmed by names, promises and information.

“Be there at nine.” Patience pulled her phone out of her pocket and glanced at the screen. “I’m running late. Nothing new, right? I have to get back to work. Call me with any questions.” She started for the door. “And pick a date for the work party. We need to claim our labor.”

Evie stood in the center of her studio. She was holding three CD cases and a small piece of paper, but she would swear she’d been buried under a giant mound of boxes or something. She tucked the CD cases into her purse. Tonight she would watch the recordings and start to make notes. As for the rest of it, she would have to sort through all she’d learned and make up some kind of schedule. She still wasn’t convinced about the work party, but maybe a few parents would be willing to help.

She walked into the main studio and settled in front of the barre. A half hour or so of practice would settle her mind for the lessons to come. Slowly, carefully, conscious of her still-healing leg, she began to warm up. Two minutes later, her cell phone rang.

She straightened, slid her right foot back to the floor and walked over to where the phone sat on the reception desk.

The calling number was unfamiliar.

“Hello?”

“Evie? Hi, it’s Heidi.”

Heidi was Rafe’s new wife. She lived on the ranch and raised goats. A pretty blonde who had welcomed Evie with genuine warmth.

“Hi,” Evie said, more cautious than excited about contact with her family.

“I wanted to make sure you knew we were having dinner at four on Thanksgiving. Rafe couldn’t remember if you’d been told.” Heidi sighed. “Men. Because social details aren’t that interesting to them, right?”

Thanksgiving dinner? Evie held in a groan. She wasn’t up to dinner with her relatives.

“Oh, and that morning we watch the parade at Jo’s Bar. You know about that, right? It’s a huge crowd. Girls only brunch. You’ll love it. It’s a great chance to meet everyone. Just be careful. The champagne goes down way too easy. Last year I had to call my grandfather to drive me home. I vowed I wasn’t touching the stuff this year and I’m holding myself to that. Oh, it’s on a local channel that starts the replay at nine our time. Just so you don’t freak out and think you have to get up too early.”

Evie heard a crash in the background.

Heidi gasped. “I think that was my new batch of cheese. I gotta run. Save the date.”

The phone went silent.

Evie slowly pushed the end button, then replaced the phone in her bag and set the bag in the bottom drawer. As far as Heidi was concerned, Evie had just accepted both invitations. Calling back to say no would mean answering questions and coming up with a reason why she wasn’t joining the only people she knew in a town she’d just moved to. Talk about awkward.

In truth, she didn’t mind spending time with her brothers. With new wives and fiancées hanging around, Evie should find it easy enough to avoid her mother.

She glanced at the clock on the wall, then walked to the stairs. Once she was on the main floor, she stepped into her brother’s offices and moved toward Dante’s desk. He was staring at his computer screen but glanced up as she approached.

“Hey,” she said. “I wanted to warn you that tonight there’s more clog dancing. No tap classes until tomorrow. Ballet the rest of the time. Ballet is quieter. Except for the music. But you seem to have this thing against the clog girls, so I’m letting you know in advance.”

Dante sat at his desk, his blue eyes fixed on her, the oddest expression on his face.

“What?” she demanded, raising her hands to her head to make sure her braids were tightly in place.

He swore under his breath. “Is it legal?”

“Clog dancing? The last time I checked.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. “What you’re wearing.”

She glanced down at herself. She had on black tights and a leotard. It was exactly what she wore nearly every day of her life. Scuffed ballet shoes covered her feet. Later, she would put on toe shoes to demonstrate some steps, but she wasn’t going to walk around in them. She found that awkward and, okay, a little pretentious.

She pulled at the stretchy material. “It’s worn, I’ll admit, but I’m dressed.”

Dante glanced around, as if checking to see who was watching them. As far as Evie could tell, everyone else was busy with work.

“You’re practically naked.”

She laughed. “I’m fully covered.”

“Technically. But...” He waved his hand up and down in front of her body. “Shouldn’t you put on a coat?”

She didn’t understand. “Because why?”

“You’re distracting.”

“Really?”

“Look around. Do you see anyone else wearing an outfit like that?”

“It’s not office wear.”

He seemed a little glazed and frantic. For a second she allowed herself to believe he found her sexy. Wouldn’t that be nice?

“You’re killing me,” he muttered.

She smiled. “That’s so lovely. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Oh, the guy at the hardware store called me about the set.”

“What? Why would he call you?”

“Because Charlie told him to. She has this idea that you don’t know squat about construction.”

“I don’t, but it’s my responsibility anyway.” She was going to make sure her students weren’t disappointed.

“Yeah, well, now I’m going to help, too. I thought we could go look at the sets together, and I’ll put together a list of what needs doing.”

She took a step back. “No, thanks. I appreciate the offer, but no.”

“Why not?”

“Because, um, you’re busy.” Lame, but it was better than the truth. She wasn’t willing to risk getting sucked in. Dante was pretty tempting. Handsome, funny, interesting. Sexy. Hard to resist.

“Why not?” he repeated.

She sighed. “You’re my brother’s business partner. I’m not looking to get more involved with my family. We have a long, complicated history. I won’t bore you with it, but believe me when I say, stay far, far away.”

He studied her. “Interesting. A mystery. I love a good mystery.”

“Don’t be intrigued. I’m a seriously boring person. You’re sweet to offer, but no. I’ll do it myself.”

His phone rang. He swore quietly. “I have to take this call, but our conversation isn’t over.”

He couldn’t be more wrong, she thought, giving a cheerful wave and hurrying away. Dante was a complication she didn’t need and couldn’t afford. Him being nice would make staying away more difficult, but even more necessary.

* * *

THE OFFICE CLEARED OUT a little after five. Dante kept working. Right on time, the thudding of clog-clad feet pounded above his head. He turned off his computer and ducked out while he could. But an hour later he returned and made his way upstairs. Evie was turning out the lights in the studio, obviously done for the night.

She turned and looked at him, her expression slightly guarded. He took in her bulky sweatshirt and fitted jeans, and raised his eyebrows.

“You changed.”

She pointed at him. “You did, too.”

“I don’t think my suit would get the same reaction as your work clothes.”

“I don’t know,” she told him. “I do love a man in a tie.”

“Now you’re just messing with me.”

“You make it easy.”

Her eyes were big and green, with dark lashes. He would guess she wasn’t wearing much in the way of makeup, which was fine by him. He liked women in all shapes and sizes. From high-maintenance divas to the most casual of tree-huggers.

“I’m going to help you with the sets,” he said. “You can accept gracefully or you can fight me, but in the end, I’ll win. I always win.”

“Doing your civic duty?”

“Helping out a friend.”

He liked her. She was Rafe’s sister. As for the way she looked in dance clothes, that was his problem alone. He knew better than to go down dangerous paths.

He thought briefly of his mother, how she would have liked Evie and adored the little girls who danced. His mother had wanted so much more than the hardscrabble life she’d been forced to deal with. She’d wanted him to be a success. She would be happy about that, too.

Knowing her, she would accept the price she’d had to pay to get him on the right road. Something he could never accept or forgive in himself. He supposed that made her the better person. Hardly a surprise.

“It’s Christmas,” he said. “Think of this as me getting in the spirit.”

“You don’t like Christmas spirit.”

“Maybe helping you will change my mind.” He shrugged. “You know you can’t do it alone. Accept the inevitable and say thank you.”

She drew in a breath. “I know I can’t do it alone, and for what it’s worth, I trust you.”

“I think there’s a compliment buried in there.”

“There is. Thank you.”

He smiled. “Was that so hard?”

“You have no idea.”

“Then while you’re still wrestling with your personal growth, let me add, your brother invited me to Thanksgiving dinner.” He braced himself for her rant.

“Good. I was hoping for a big crowd.”

Unexpected, he thought. “Should I ask why?”

“No. You should assume I’m just one of those friendly types who loves humanity.”

“Your recent resistance to me helping aside.” He leaned against her desk.

“Yes.”

“And your feelings on humanity?”

“Okay in small groups.” She held up a piece of paper. “I was visited earlier by one of the moms. Patience. She swears there really can be a work party to restore my sets.”

“Good. We’ll make the list of what needs fixing and get it organized.”

He studied her. From what he could tell, she wore her hair up for her lessons—two braids wrapped around her head. But now, with her work done for the day, she’d left it loose. Wavy strands of honey-blond hair fell past her shoulders and halfway down her back.

He would bet she had soft hair, he thought, imagining her bending over him. He could practically feel the cool silk in his fingers. She would be all muscle, he thought absently. Long legs. Incredibly flexible.

“Dante?”

He blinked himself back into the room. “Sorry.”

She tilted her head, her mouth curving into a smile. “Want to tell me where you went?”

“Nope.”

“Are you going to help me?” She paused. “Go with me to look at the sets?”

Was that what they’d been talking about? “Sure. When do you want to do that?”

“You weren’t listening at all, were you?”

“Not even a little.”

“At least you’re honest about it.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Now. I suggested we go now.”

“Works for me.” He studied her, wondering how much trouble he would get in for kissing her, and knowing it would be worth it. “Here’s the thing.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You’re putting conditions on helping me? You’re the one who insisted.”

“No. I’m telling you that when I said I was a player, I wasn’t kidding. I never get serious. I don’t do relationships and I’m not the guy you take home to meet the parents.”

“You’re already having dinner with my mother on Thanksgiving.”

“That’s different. It’s not a date.”

She tilted her head. “You’re warning me off.”

“Yes.”

“I haven’t expressed any interest in you. Is this your ego talking? Are you assuming that a woman can’t be in the same room with you without begging for your attention?”

“I wish, but, no.”

Her gaze was steady. “You’re going to make a move.”

“Most likely.”

One corner of her mouth turned up. “Announcing it up front isn’t exactly smooth.”

“You’re difficult to resist.”

She laughed. “Oh, please. I’m very resistible. Trust me.”

He moved a little closer. He liked the sound of her laughter and how she wasn’t aware of her appeal.

She put her hand on his chest. “Let me see if I have this straight. You’re warning me that you’re not someone I want to be involved with, and at the same time, you’re convinced you have enough going for you that I’ll give in anyway.”

“Absolutely.”

He put his hand on hers, liking the feel of her fingers against his chest. Skin on skin would be better, but a man had to take what he could get.

She pulled free and dropped her arm to her side, then shook her head. “You’re a weird guy, you know that?”

“I’ve been called worse.”

“I’m sure you have. Let me get my coat, and while we head to the warehouse, you can share all the details. Knowing the depth of your awfulness will help me resist you.”

“Now you’re mocking me.”

“Hey, you think you can seduce me against my will. I think a little mocking is called for.”

FOUR

EVIE WASN’T SURE about brunch at a bar, but she showed up right on time anyway. She was a little bleary-eyed from spending every free moment over the past few days watching the videos of The Dance of the Winter King. She’d broken down the choreography of over half of the production. With luck, by the end of the holiday weekend, she would have the whole dance down on paper and then be able to put it all together for the girls.

While each age group had already learned the basic steps they would need for their section of the production, there were no transitions, no flow and the order of the dances had yet to be determined. Traditionally, the younger, less experienced students would go first, but Evie was playing with the idea of having the older soloists do short routines in between each group. Although, with time ticking, that might not be a smart move.

She walked into Jo’s Bar to find the main room already filled with a couple of dozen women. Unlike regular bars she’d been to, this one had flattering lighting, the TVs already tuned to the parade and the smell of cinnamon and vanilla filling the air.

The bar itself was being used as a buffet. Large chafing dishes sat in a row, with a stack of plates at one end. Big trays of cut up fresh fruit offered healthy choices next to a display of pastries that made Evie’s mouth water. Even the voice in her head—the one that warned about potential butt and thigh growth—was silent with carb anticipation.

A tall no-nonsense thirtysomething woman walked over carrying a tray of glasses of champagne. She stopped in front of Evie.

“I don’t know you,” she said, a friendly smile buffering her blunt statement. “Visiting relatives?”

“Evie Stryker.”

The woman’s eyes widened. “The mysterious dancing sister of the cowboy brothers. Everyone wants to meet you.”

“I can’t decide if that’s a compliment or if it makes me sound like the villain in a horror movie.”

The woman laughed. “Dancer killer. I like it. I’m Jo, by the way. This is my bar.” She nodded toward a guy opening bottles of champagne behind the bar. “I promised everyone this would be girls only, but he’s married to me, so technically he doesn’t count. Besides, he’s a good guy, so that’s something. Your group is over at that table. Enjoy.”

Evie walked in the direction Jo had indicated, not sure what she would find. Heidi, Annabelle and Charlie were already there, which allowed her to relax.

Annabelle, Shane’s pregnant fiancée, jumped to her feet when she spotted Evie. “Thank goodness. Charlie is not willing to drink for two, which is very selfish of her, and Heidi’s resisting drinking at all.”

“I have to handle dinner later,” Heidi protested. “I’m responsible for the turkey. Do you really want me wielding a sharp knife after a couple of glasses of champagne? I don’t think so. If I hurt myself, one of you will have to milk the goats.”

Annabelle sighed. “Fine. Be reasonable.” She drew Evie to the table. “I’m dying for champagne. Can you drink a glass now so I can watch you and experience it vicariously? Please?”

“Ah, sure,” Evie said, not clear on what Annabelle wanted. She didn’t think watching someone else drink would be very satisfying, but she was willing to go along with it.

She sipped from the glass Annabelle handed her. “Delicious.”

Annabelle sighed. “I knew it. I miss champagne.”

“I’d miss coffee more,” Charlie muttered. “The whole pregnancy thing is a giant pain in the ass, if you ask me.”

“It’s not really your ass that hurts,” Annabelle said in a mock whisper.

Charlie rolled her eyes. “Thanks for the update.”

“I thought you were hearing the pitter-patter of little feet,” Heidi said.

Charlie ran her hands through her cropped hair. “We’re still negotiating.” The strong, competent firefighter flushed. “Clay is worried that once I’m pregnant we’re going to have to, um, spend less time...you know. He wants a few more months of us alone.”

Evie stared at her, not sure what she was talking about. Wouldn’t they still be alone during the pregnancy?

Annabelle leaned toward her. “Sex. She’s talking about sex. Clay’s worried that Charlie might have morning sickness or something and he won’t be getting as much. They need the bloom to wear off the rose, so to speak.”

Evie covered her ears. “Okay, I’m not having that conversation. Clay’s my brother and that’s just disgusting.”

The other three laughed.

Conversation shifted to the plans for the day—what was happening when. The four of them walked over to get started on the buffet.

“Oh, Dante said he’d drive you, if you want,” Heidi told Evie. “He said to knock on his door when you were ready.”

“Thanks.”

She hadn’t seen Dante since their trip to the warehouse a couple of days before. Despite the flirtatious teasing at the dance studio, once they’d arrived to view the sets, he’d been all business. His claims to have worked in construction had turned out to be true. He’d studied the sets, had taken notes on what needed to be fixed and started a preliminary supply list.

All things that would help, Evie told herself. She had a big job ahead of her, and she didn’t have the time to complicate her life with a guy. Still, there was something about Dante....

Something best left unexplored, she cautioned herself. A philosophy he obviously embraced. For all his flirty ways, after the set viewing, he’d simply dropped her off at her place with a quick goodbye and left. Apparently the only thing he’d exaggerated had been his attraction to her.

Evie collected a small piece of stuffed French toast and some bacon. Heidi chose a lot of protein, while Charlie filled her plate with food for twenty. Annabelle kept touching her stomach, as if trying to figure out what she and the baby were in the mood for.

Five women walked in together, and most of those already in the bar called out greetings. Heidi moved close to Evie.

“The Hendrix family women,” she murmured. “Denise is the mother. The three who look exactly alike are triplets. Dakota, Montana and Nevada. Nevada’s the one who’s pregnant. The one who doesn’t look like the others is Liz Sutton, the writer. She’s married to Denise’s oldest son.”

The women looked happy to be together, Evie thought, watching them. The sisters and sister-in-law seemed especially close and kept near their mom.

She knew her brothers had grown up tight and, even when Rafe was at his most imperious, had kept in touch with the other brothers. She’d always been the odd one out. Never fitting in. As a kid, she’d felt as if everyone was mad at her all the time, but she never knew why.

She started back to the table, only to come to a stop in front of her mother.

“Hello, Evie,” May said with a tentative smile.

“Um, hi. I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

“I drove in after Heidi. I wanted to get a few things started for dinner tonight.”

Evie nodded, wondering if her sister-in-law had known May was coming to the brunch all along, but had failed to mention it. Had Heidi made that clear, Evie would have found a reason not to attend.

Evie started to step around her. May put her hand on her arm.

“Wait,” her mother said. “Evie, we should talk.” May glanced around at the crowded bar. “Maybe not here. But soon.”

Evie looked for a place to set down her plate. She’d suddenly lost her appetite. “There’s not very much for us to talk about.”

“Of course there is. It’s been so long. I want...” May drew in a breath. “I’d like us to stop being angry with each other.”

To anyone else, that was probably a very reasonable statement. Evie fought against the sudden rush of tears in her eyes. “Sure. But first answer me a question. What do you have to be mad about? Me being born? Because that’s not anything I could control.”

May stiffened. “That came out wrong. I’m sorry.”

Evie shook her head. “I don’t think it came out wrong at all. I think you’ve been angry with me for a long time. As for talking, as far as I’m concerned, until you can tell me what it is you think I did, we have nothing to say to each other.”

With that she walked back to the table. She set down her plate, picked up her champagne glass and drained it. Then she went in search of a refill.

* * *

“ARE YOU DRUNK?” Dante asked.

Evie leaned back into the soft leather of his very expensive, very German car. She’d been driving the same dented, slightly rusty old Chevy for nearly five years. The seats were more spring than foam, the windows didn’t close right and the mechanic actually sighed every time she took her car in for service.

“This is nice,” she said, stroking the side of the heated seat. “I’ll try not to throw up.”

“Gee, thanks,” Dante said, turning his attention back to the road. “You are drunk.”

“I’m buzzed. There’s a difference.”

“It’s one in the afternoon.”

“I was at a brunch and there was champagne. Plus I had a fight with my mom and that took away my appetite.” She frowned, or at least tried to. She couldn’t exactly feel her forehead. “We didn’t fight. Not really. She said we should stop being mad at each other. I’m the kid. What did I ever do? That’s what I asked. Is she pissed I was born? But she didn’t have an answer. There’s never a good reason, you know?”