Читать книгу The Daddy Dance - Mindy Klasky, Mindy L. Klasky, Mindy Klasky - Страница 8

Three hours later, Kat wondered if she had made the greatest mistake of her life. She leaned against the headrest in her cousin Amanda’s ancient sedan, resisting the urge to strangle her five-year-old niece.

“But why isn’t Aunt Kat driving?” Jenny asked for the fourth time.

“I’m happy to drive you both home, Jenny,” Amanda deflected, applying one of the tricks she’d learned as a schoolteacher.

“But why—”

Kat interrupted the whining question, spitting out an answer through gritted teeth. “Because I don’t know how!”

Amanda laughed at Kat’s frustration. The cousins had been quite close when they were children—certainly closer than Kat had been to her own sister. Nevertheless, Amanda always thought it was hysterical that Kat had never gotten her driver’s license. More than once, she had teased Kat about moving away to the magical kingdom of Oz, where she was carried around by flying monkeys.

Jenny, though, wasn’t teasing Kat. The five-year-old child was simply astonished, her mouth stretched into an amazed O before she stammered, “B-but all grown-ups know how to drive!”

“Maybe your Aunt Kat isn’t a grown-up,” Amanda suggested helpfully.

Kat gave her a dirty look before saying, “I am a grown-up, Jenny, but I don’t drive. The two things are totally separate.”

“But how do you go to the grocery store?”

“I walk there,” Kat said, exasperated. How could one little girl make her feel like such a sideshow freak?

“But what do you do with the bags of groceries?”

“I carry them!”

Kat’s voice was rough enough that even the headstrong Jenny declined to ask another follow-up question. It wasn’t so ridiculous, that Kat couldn’t drive. She’d left Eden Falls when she was fourteen, long before she’d even thought of getting behind the wheel of a car. She’d spent the next ten years living in Manhattan, where subways, buses and the occasional taxi met her transportation needs. Anything heavy or bulky could be delivered.

But try explaining that to someone who had never even heard of the Mason-Dixon line, much less traveled above it.

Amanda’s laugh smoothed over the awkward moment as she pulled into the driveway of a run-down brick Colonial. Weeds poked through the crumbling asphalt, and the lawn was long dead from lack of water—

just as well, since it had not been cut for months. One shutter hung at a defeated angle, and the screen on the front door was slashed and rusted. A collapsing carport signaled imminent danger to any vehicle unfortunate enough to be parked beneath it.

“I don’t believe it!” Kat said. The last time she had seen this house, it had been neat and trim, kept in perfect shape. Years ago, it had belonged to her grandmother, to Susan’s mother. The Morehouses had kept it in the family after Granny died; it was easy enough to keep up the little Colonial.

Easy enough, that was, until Rachel got her hands on the place. Susan and Mike had let Rachel move in after she’d graduated from high school, when the constant fights had become too difficult under their own roof. The arrangement had been intended to be temporary, but once Rachel gave birth to Jenny, it had somehow slipped into something permanent.

Now, though, looking at the wreck of Granny’s neat little home, Kat could not help but begrudge that decision. Did Rachel destroy everything she touched?

Amanda’s voice shone with forced brightness. “It always looks bad after winter. Once everything’s freshened up for spring, it’ll be better.”

Sure it would. Because Rachel had such a green thumb, she had surely taken care of basic gardening over the past several years. Rachel always worked so hard to bring good things into her life. Not.

Kat swallowed hard and undid her seat belt. One week, she reminded herself. She only had to stay here one week. Then Jenny could return to Susan and Mike. Or, who knew? Rachel might even be back from wherever she had gone. “Well …” Kat tried to think of something positive to say about the house. Failing miserably, she fell back on something she could be grateful for. “Thanks for the ride.”

Amanda’s soft features settled into a frown. “Do you need any help with your bag? Are you sure—”

“We’ll be fine.”

“We could all go out to dinner—”

That was the last thing Kat wanted—drawing out the day, eating in some Eden Falls greasy spoon, where the food would send any thinking dancer to the workout room for at least ten straight hours, just to break even. Besides, she really didn’t want to impose on her cousin’s good nature—and driver’s license—any more than was strictly necessary. “We’ll be fine, Amanda. I’m sure Aunt Sarah and Uncle Bill are already wondering what took you so long, just running Jenny and me across town. You don’t want them to start worrying.”

At least Kat’s case was bolstered by her niece’s behavior. Jenny had already hopped out of her seat and scuffed her way to the faded front door. Amanda sighed. “I don’t know what sort of food you’ll find in there, Kat.”

“We can always—” What? She was going to say, they could always have D’Agostino deliver groceries. But there wasn’t a D’Agostino in Eden Falls. There wasn’t any grocery store that delivered. She swallowed hard and pushed her way through to the end of the sentence. “We can always order a pizza.”

That was the right thing to say. Amanda relaxed, obviously eased by the sheer normalcy of Kat’s suggestion.

As if Kat would eat a pizza. She’d given up mozzarella the year she’d first gone on pointe. “Thanks so much for the ride,” Kat said. “Give my love to Aunt Sarah and Uncle Bill.”

By the time Kat dragged her roller bag through the front door, Jenny was in the kitchen, kneeling on a chair in front of the open pantry. Her hand was shoved deep in a bag of cookies, and telltale chocolate crumbs ringed her lips. Kat’s reproach was automatic. “Are you eating cookies for dinner?”

“No.” Jenny eyed her defiantly.

“Don’t lie to me, young lady.” Ach, Kat thought. Did I really just say that? I sound like everyone’s stereotype of the strict maiden aunt. Annoyed, Kat looked around the kitchen. Used paper plates cascaded out of an open trash can. A jar of peanut butter lay on its side, its lid teetering at a crazy angle. A dozen plastic cups were strewn across the counter, with varying amounts of sticky residue pooling inside.

On top of the toaster oven curled three bananas. Kat broke one off from the bunch and passed it to her niece. “Here”, she said. “Eat this.”

“I don’t like them when they’re brown.”

“That’s dinner.”

“You said we were ordering a pizza.”

“Pizza isn’t good for you.”

“Mommy likes pizza.”

“Mommy would.” Kat closed her eyes and took a deep breath. This wasn’t the time or the place to get into a discussion about Rachel. Kat dug in the pantry, managing to excavate a sealed packet of lemon-pepper tuna. “Here. You can have tuna and a banana. I’ll go to the grocery store tomorrow.”

“How are you going to do that, when you don’t drive? It’s too far to walk.”

Good question. “I’ll manage.”

Kat took a quick tour of the rest of the house while Jenny ate her dinner. Alas, the kitchen wasn’t some terrible aberration. The living room was ankle-deep in pizza boxes and gossip magazines. The disgusting bathroom hadn’t been cleaned in centuries. Jenny’s bedroom was a sea of musty, tangled sheets and stuffed animals.

Back in the kitchen, Jenny’s sullen silence was nearly enough to make Kat put cookies back on the menu. Almost. But Jenny didn’t need cookies. She needed some rules. Some structure. A pattern or two in her life. Starting now.

“Okay, kiddo. We’re going to get some cleaning done.”

“Cleaning?” Jenny’s whine stretched the word into four or five syllables at least.

Kat turned to the stove—ironically, the cleanest thing in the house, because Rachel had never cooked a meal in her life. Kat twisted the old-fashioned timer to give them fifteen minutes to work. “Let’s go. Fifteen minutes, to make this kitchen look new.”

Jenny stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. Squaring her shoulders, though, and ignoring the blooming ache in her foot, Kat started to tame the pile of paper plates. “Let’s go,” she said. “March! You’re in charge of throwing away those paper cups!”

With the use of three supersize trash bags, they made surprising progress. When those fifteen minutes were done, Kat set the alarm again, targeting the mess in the living room. The bathroom was next, and finally Jenny’s room. The little girl was yawning and rubbing her eyes by the time they finished.

“Mommy never makes me clean up.”

“I’m not Mommy,” Kat said. She was so not Mommy—not in a million different ways. But she knew what was good for Jenny. She knew what had been good for her, even when she was Jenny’s age. Setting goals. Developing strategies. Following rules. When Kat had lived in her parents’ home, Susan had built the foundation for orderly management of life’s problems. Unlike her sister, Kat had absorbed those lessons with a vengeance. Her rules were the only thing that had gotten her through those first homesick months when she moved to New York. As Jenny started to collapse on the living-room couch, Kat said, “It’s time for you to go to bed.”

“I haven’t watched TV yet!”

“No TV. It’s a school night.”

“Mommy lets me watch TV every night.”

“I’m not Mommy,” Kat repeated, wondering if she should record the sentence, so that she could play it back every time she needed it.

Over the next half hour, Kat found out that she was cruel and heartless and evil and mean, just like the worst villains of Jenny’s favorite animated movies. But the child eventually got to bed wearing her pajamas, with her teeth brushed, her hair braided and her prayers said.

Exhausted, and unwilling to admit just how much her foot was aching, Kat collapsed onto the sagging living-room couch. Six more days. She could take six more days of anything. They couldn’t all be this difficult. She glanced at her watch and was shocked to see it was only eight-thirty.

That left her plenty of time to call Haley. Plenty of time to catch up on the exploits of Adam and Selene, to remember why Kat was so much better off without that miserable excuse for a man in her life.

Kat summoned her willpower and stumped over to her purse, where she’d left it on the kitchen table. She rooted for her cell phone. Nothing. She scrambled around, digging past her wallet. Still nothing. She dumped the contents out on the kitchen table, where it immediately became clear that she had no cell phone.

And then she remembered spilling everything in the cab of Rye’s truck in her rush of surprise to see him standing beside her. She had been shocked by the elemental response to his body near hers. She’d acted like a silly schoolgirl, like a brainless child, jumping the way she had, dropping her purse.

But even as she berated herself, she remembered Rye’s easy smile. He’d been truly gallant, rescuing her at the train station. It had been mean of her to pretend not to remember him. Uncomfortably, she thought of the confused flash in his eyes, the tiny flicker of hurt that was almost immediately smothered beneath the blanket of his good nature.

And then, her belly did that funny thing again, that flutter that was part nervous anticipation, part unreasoning dread. The closest thing she could compare it to was the thrill of opening night, the excitement of standing in the wings while a new audience hummed in the theater’s red-velvet seats.

But she wasn’t in the theater. She was in Eden Falls.

And whether she wanted to or not, Kat was going to have to track down Rye Harmon the following day. Track him down, and retrieve her phone, and hope she had a better signal at Rachel’s house than she’d had at the station.

All things considered, though, she couldn’t get too upset about the lack of signal that she’d encountered. If she’d been able to call Susan or Amanda, then Rye would never have given her a ride. And those few minutes of talking with Rye Harmon had been the high point of her very long, very stressful, very exhausting first afternoon and evening in Eden Falls.

By noon the next day, Kat had decided that retrieving her cell phone was the least of her concerns.

Susan had swung by that morning, just after Kat had hustled a reluctant Jenny onto her school bus. Looking around the straightened house, Susan said, “It looks like you and Jenny were busy last night.”

“The place was a pigsty.”

“I’m sorry, dear. I just wasn’t able to get over here before you arrived, to clean things up.”

Kat immediately felt terrible for her judgmental tone. “I wasn’t criticizing you, Mama. I just can’t believe Rachel lives like that.”

Susan shook her head. Kat knew from long experience that her mother would never say anything directly critical about her other daughter. But sometimes Susan’s silences echoed with a thousand shades of meaning.

Pushing aside a lifetime of criticism about her sister, Kat said, “Thank you so much for bringing by that casserole. Jenny and I will really enjoy it tonight.”

Susan apologized again. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of giving you anything last night. The church ladies have been so helpful—they’ve kept our freezer stocked for months.”

“I’m glad you’ve had that type of support,” Kat said. And she was. She still couldn’t imagine any of her friends in New York cooking for a colleague in need. Certainly no one would organize food week after week. “How was Daddy last night? Did either of you get any sleep?”

Susan’s smile was brilliant, warming Kat from across the room. “Oh, yes, sweetheart. I had to wake him up once for his meds, but he fell back to sleep right away. It was the best night he’s had in months.”

Glancing around the living room, Kat swallowed a proud grin. She had been right to come down here. If one night could help Susan so much, what would an entire week accomplish?

Susan went on. “And it was a godsend, not fixing breakfast for Jenny before the sun was up. That elementary school bus comes so early, it’s a crime.”

Kat was accustomed to being awake well before the sun rose. She usually fit in ninety minutes on the treadmill in the company gym before she even thought about attending her first dance rehearsal of the day. Of course, with the walking boot, she hadn’t been able to indulge in the tension tamer of her typical exercise routine. She’d had to make due with a punishing regimen of crunches instead, alternating sets with modified planks and a series of leg lifts meant to keep her hamstrings as close to dancing strength as possible.

As for Jenny’s breakfast? It had been some hideous purple-and-green cereal, eaten dry, because there wasn’t any milk in the house. Kat had been willing to concede the point on cold cereal first thing in the morning, but she had silently vowed that the artificially dyed stuff would be out of the house by the time Jenny got home that afternoon. Whole-grain oats would be better for the little girl—and they wouldn’t stain the milk in Jenny’s bowl.

There’d be time enough to pick up some groceries that afternoon. For now, Kat knew her mother had another task in mind. “So, are you going to drop me off at the studio now?”

Susan looked worried. “It’s really too much for me to ask. I shouldn’t even have mentioned it when I called you, dear. I’m sure I can take care of everything in the next couple of weeks.”

“Don’t be silly,” Kat said. “I know Rachel was running things for you. She’s been gone for a while, though, and someone has to pick up the slack. I came to Eden Falls to help.”

Susan fussed some more, but she was already leading the way out to her car. It may have been ten years since Kat had lived in Eden Falls, but she knew the way to the Morehouse Dance Academy by heart. As a child, she had practically lived in her mother’s dance studio, from the moment she could pull on her first leotard.

The building was smaller than she remembered, though. It seemed lost in the sea of its huge parking lot. A broken window was covered over with a cardboard box, and a handful of yellowed newspapers rested against the door, like kindling.

Kat glanced at her mother’s pinched face, and she consciously coated her next words with a smile. “Don’t worry, Mama. It’ll just take a couple of hours to make sure everything is running smoothly. Go home and take care of Daddy. I’ll call Amanda to bring me back to Rachel’s.”

“Let me just come in with you …

Kat shook her head. Once her mother started in on straightening the studio, she’d stay all morning. Susan wasn’t the sort of woman to walk away from a project half-done. Even if she had a recuperating husband who needed her back at the house.

“I’ll be fine, Mama. I know this place like the back of my hand. And I’m sure Rachel left everything in good shape.”

Good shape. Right.

The roof was leaking in the main classroom, a slow drip that had curled up the ceiling tiles and stained one wall. Kat shuddered to think about the state of the warped hardwood floor. Both toilets were running in the public restroom, and the sinks were stained from dripping faucets. Kat ran the hot water for five minutes before she gave up on getting more than an icy trickle.

The damage wasn’t limited to the building. When Kat turned on the main computer, she heard a grinding sound, and the screen flashed blue before it died altogether. The telephone handset was sticky; a quick sniff confirmed that someone had handled it with maple syrup on their fingers.

In short, the dance studio was an absolute and complete mess.

Kat seethed. How could students be taking classes here? How could her parents’ hard-earned investment be ruined so quickly? What had Rachel done?

Muttering to herself, Kat started to sift through the papers on the desk in the small, paneled office. She found a printout of an electronic spreadsheet—at least the computer had been functional back in January.

The news on the spreadsheet, though, told a depressing story. Class sizes for the winter term had dwindled from their robust fall enrollment. Many of those payments had never been collected. Digging deeper, Kat found worse news—a dozen checks, dating back to September—had never been cashed. Search as she might, she could find no checks at all for the spring term; she couldn’t even find an enrollment list for the classes.

Susan had been absolutely clear, every time Kat talked to her: Rachel had shaped up. Rachel had run the dance studio for the past six months, ever since Mike’s diagnosis had thrown Susan’s life into utter disarray. Rachel had lined up teachers, had taken care of the books, had kept everything functioning like clockwork.

Rachel had lied through her teeth.

Kat’s fingers trembled with rage as she looked around the studio. Her heart pounded, and her breath came in short gasps. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, angry tears that made her chew on her lower lip.

And so Kat did the only thing she knew how to do. She tried to relieve her stress the only way she could. She walked across the floor of the classroom, her feet automatically turning out in a ballerina’s stance, even though she wore her hated blue boot. Resenting that handicap, she planted her good foot, setting one hand on the barre with a lifetime of familiarity.

She closed her eyes and ran through the simplest of exercises. First position, second position, third position, fourth. She swept her free arm in a graceful arc, automatically tilting her head to an angle that maximized the long line of her neck. She repeated the motions again, three times, four. Each pass through, she felt a little of her tension drain, a little of her rage fade.

She was almost able to take a lung-filling breath when heavy footsteps dragged her back to messy, disorganized reality. “There you are!”

Rye stopped in the doorway, frozen into place by the vision of Kat at the barre. All of a sudden, he was catapulted back ten years in time, to the high school auditorium, to the rough stage where he had plodded through the role of Curly.

He had caught Kat stretching out for dancing there, too, backstage one spring afternoon. She’d had her heel firmly anchored on a table, bending her willowy limbs with a grace that had made his own hulking, teenage body awaken to desire. He could see her now, only a few feet away, close enough for him to touch.

But his interest had been instantly quenched when he’d glimpsed Kat’s face, that day so long ago. Tears had tracked down her smooth cheeks, silvering the rosy skin that was completely bare of the blush and concealer and all the other makeup crap that high school girls used. Even as he took one step closer, he had seen her flinch, caught her eyes darting toward the dressing room. He’d heard the brassy laugh of one of the senior girls, one of the cheerleaders, and he’d immediately understood that the popular kids had been teasing the young middle-school dancer. Again.

Rye had done the only thing that made sense at the time, the one thing that he thought would make Kat forget that she was an outsider. He’d leaned forward to brush a quick fraternal kiss against her cheek.

But somehow—even now, he couldn’t say how—he’d ended up touching his lips to hers. They’d been joined for just a heartbeat, a single, chaste connection that had jolted through him with the power of a thousand sunsets.

Rye could still remember the awkward blush that had flamed his face. He really had meant to kiss her on the cheek. He’d swear it—on his letter jacket and his game baseball, and everything else that had mattered to him back in high school. He had no idea if he had moved wrong, or if she had, but after the kiss she had leaped away as if he’d scorched her with a blowtorch.

Thinking back, Rye still wanted to wince. How had he screwed that up? He had three sisters. He had a lifetime of experience kissing cheeks, offering old-fashioned, brotherly support. He’d certainly never kissed one of his sisters on the lips by mistake.

Kat’s embarrassment had only been heightened when a voice spoke up from the curtains that led to the stage. “What would Mom think, Kat? Should I go get her, so she can see what you’re really like?” They’d both looked up to see Rachel watching them. Her eyes had been narrowed, those eyes that were so like Kat’s but so very, very different. Even then, ten years ago, there hadn’t been any confusing the sisters. Only an eighth grader, Rachel hadn’t yet resorted to the dyed hair and tattoos that she sported as an adult. But she’d painted heavy black outlines around her eyes, and she wore clunky earrings and half a dozen rings on either hand. Rachel had laughed at her sister then, obviously relishing Kat’s embarrassment over that awful mistake of a kiss.

Rachel must not have told, though. There hadn’t been any repercussions. And Rye’s fumbling obviously hadn’t made any lasting impression—Kat hadn’t even remembered his name, yesterday at the train station.

Kat stiffened as she heard Rye’s voice. A jumble of emotions flashed through her head—guilt, because she shouldn’t be caught at the barre, not when she was supposed to be resting her injured foot. Shame, because no one should see the studio in its current state of disarray. Anger, because Rachel should never have let things get so out of hand, should never have left so much mess for Kat to clean up. And a sudden swooping sense of something else, something that she couldn’t name precisely. Something that she vaguely thought of as pleasure.

Shoving down that last thought—one that she didn’t have time for, that she didn’t deserve—she lowered her arm and turned to face Rye. “How did you get in here?”

“The front door was open. Maybe the latch didn’t catch when you came in?”

Kat barked a harsh laugh. “That makes one more thing that’s broken.”

Rye glanced around the studio, his eyes immediately taking in the ceiling leak. “That looks bad,” he said. “And the water damage isn’t new.”

Kat grimaced. “It’s probably about six months old.”

“Why do you say that?”

“It’s been six months since my father got sick. My sister, Rachel, has been running this place and … she’s not the best at keeping things together.”

Rye fought the urge to scowl when he heard Rachel’s name. Sure, the woman had her problems. But it was practically criminal to have let so much water get into a hardwood floor like this one. He barely managed not to shake his head. He’d dodged a bullet with Rachel, seeing through to her irresponsible self before he could be dragged down with her.

But it wasn’t Rachel standing in front of him, looking so discouraged. It was Kat. Kat, who had come home to help out her family, giving up her own fame and success because her people needed her.

Rye couldn’t claim to have found fame or success in Richmond. Not yet. But he certainly understood being called back home because of family. Before he was fully aware of the fact that he was speaking, he heard himself say, “I can help clean things up. Patch the roof, replace the drywall. The floor will take a bit more work, but I can probably get it all done in ten days or so.”

Kat saw the earnestness in Rye’s black eyes, and she found herself melting just a little. Rye Harmon was coming to her rescue. Again. Just as he had at the train station the day before.

That was silly, though. It wasn’t like she was still the starry-eyed eighth grader who had been enchanted by the baseball star in the lead role of the musical. She hardened her voice, so that she could remind herself she had no use for Eden Falls. “That sounds like a huge job! You’ll need help, and I’m obviously in no shape to get up on a ladder.” She waved a frustrated hand toward her booted foot.

Rye scarcely acknowledged her injury. “There’s no need for you to get involved. I have plenty of debts that I can call in.”

“Debts?”

“Brothers. Sisters. Cousins. Half of Eden Falls calls me in from Richmond, day or night, to help them out of a bind. What’s a little leak repair, in repayment?”

“Do any of those relatives know anything about plumbing?”

Rye looked concerned. “What’s wrong with the plumbing?”

For answer, Kat turned on her heel and walked toward the small restroom. The running toilets sounded louder now that she was staring at them with an eye toward repair. She nodded toward the sink. “There isn’t any hot water, either.”

Rye whistled, long and low. “This place looks like it’s been through a war.”

“In a manner of speaking.” Kat shrugged. “As I said, my sister’s been in charge. She’s not really a, um, detail person.”

“How have they been holding classes here?” Rye asked. “Haven’t the students complained?”

And that’s when the penny dropped. Students would have complained the first time they tried to wash their hands. Their parents would have been furious about the warped floor, the chance of injury.

Kat limped to the office and picked up the maple-coated telephone handset. She punched in the studio’s number, relying on memories that had been set early in her childhood. The answering machine picked up immediately.

“We’re sorry to inform you that, due to a family emergency, Morehouse Dance Academy will not be offering classes for the spring term. If you need help with any other matter, please leave a message, and one of our staff will contact you promptly.”

Rachel’s voice. The vowels cut short, as if she were trying to sound mature. Official. Kat’s attention zeroed in on the nearby answering machine. “57” flashed in angry red numerals. So much for “our staff” returning messages—promptly or at all.

Kat’s rage was like a physical thing, a towering wave that broke over her head and drenched her with an emotion so powerful that she was left shaking. If students hadn’t been able to sign up for classes, then no money could possibly come into the studio. Rachel couldn’t have made a deposit for months. But the water was still on, and the electricity. Susan must have set up the utilities for automatic payment. Even now, the studio’s bank account might be overdrawn.

Susan was probably too stressed, too distracted, to have noticed any correspondence from the bank. Fiscal disaster might be only a pen stroke away. All because of Rachel.

Kat’s voice shook with fury as she slammed her hand down on the desk. “I cannot believe her! How could Rachel do this? How could she ruin everything that Mama worked so hard to achieve?”

Of course Rye didn’t answer. He didn’t even know Rachel. He couldn’t have any idea how irresponsible she was.

Somehow, though, Rye’s silence gave Kat permission to think out loud. “I have to get this all fixed up. I can’t let my mother see the studio like this. It would break her heart. I have to get the floor fixed, and the plumbing. Get people enrolled in classes.”

“I can do the plumbing myself,” Rye said, as calmly as if he had planned on walking into this particular viper’s nest when he strolled through the studio door. “I’ll round up the troops to take care of the leak. You can get started on the paperwork here in the office, see if you find any more problems.”

“You make it sound so simple!”

He laughed, the easy sound filling the little office. “I should. It’s my job.”

She gave him a confused look. “Job?”

“Believe it or not, I can’t make a living picking up stranded passengers at the train station every day. I’m a building contractor—renovations, installations, all of that.”

That’s right. He’d said something as he handed her the roller bag yesterday, something about Harmon Contracting. Rye was a guy who made the world neater, one job at a time. A guy who made his living with projects like hers. “But didn’t Lisa say you were living up in Richmond now?”

A quick frown darted across his face, gone before she was certain she had seen it. “I moved there a month ago. But I’ve been back in town every weekend. A few more days around here won’t hurt me.”

What was he saying? Why was he volunteering to spend more time in Eden Falls?

Kat wasn’t even family. He didn’t owe her a thing. What the hell was he thinking, taking on a job like this? More hours going back and forth on I-95. More time behind the wheel of his truck. More time away from the business that he really needed to nurture, from the promise he’d made to himself.

This was Marissa, all over again—a woman, tying him down, making him trade in his own dreams for hers. This was the same rotten truth he’d lived, over and over and over, the same reflexive way that he had set his dreams aside, just because he had the skills to help someone else. Just because he could.

But one look at the relief on Kat’s face, and Rye knew he’d said the right thing.

And Harmon Contracting wasn’t exactly taking Richmond by storm. He didn’t need to be up the road, full-time, every day. And it sure looked like Kat needed him here, now.

She shook her head, and he wasn’t sure if the disbelief in her next words was because of the generosity of his offer, or the scale of the disaster she was still taking in, in the studio. “I don’t even know how I’ll pay you. I can’t let my mother find out about this.”

“We’ll work out something,” Rye said. “Maybe some of my cousins can take a ballet class or two.”

Kat just stared. Rye sounded like he rescued maidens in distress every day. Well, he had yesterday, hadn’t he? “Just like that? Don’t we need to write up a contract or something?”

Rye raised a mahogany eyebrow. “If you don’t trust me to finish the job, we can definitely put something in writing.”

“No!” She surprised herself by the vehemence she forced into the word. “I thought that you wouldn’t trust me.”

“That wouldn’t be very neighborly of me, would it?” She fumbled for a reply, but he laughed. “Relax. You’re back in Eden Falls. We pretty much do things on a handshake around here. If either one of us backs out of the deal, the entire town will know by sunset.” He lowered his voice to a growl, putting on a hefty country twang. “If that happens, you’ll never do business in this town again.”

Kat surprised herself by laughing. “That’s the voice you used when you played Curly!”

“Ha!” Rye barked. “You did recognize me!”

Rye watched embarrassment paint Kat’s cheeks. She was beautiful when she blushed. The color took away all the hard lines of her face, relaxed the tension around her eyes.

“I —” she started to say, fumbling for words. He cocked an eyebrow, determined not to make things easier for her. “You —” she started again. She stared at her hands, at her fingers twisting around each other, as if she were weaving invisible cloth.

“You thought it would be cruel to remind me how clumsy I was on stage, in Oklahoma. That was mighty considerate of you.”

“No!”

There. Her gaze shot up, as if she had something to prove. Another blush washed over her face. This time, the color spread across her collarbones, the tender pink heating the edges of that crisp black top she wore. He had a sudden image of the way her skin would feel against his lips, the heat that would shimmer off her as he tasted….

“No,” she repeated, as if she could read his mind. Now it was his turn to feel the spark of embarrassment. He most definitely did not want Kat Morehouse reading his mind just then. “You weren’t clumsy. That dance scene would have been a challenge for anyone.”

“Except for you.” He said the words softly, purposely pitching his voice so that she had to take a step closer to hear.

Her lips twisted into a frown. “Except for me,” she agreed reluctantly. “But I wasn’t a normal kid. I mean, I already knew I was going to be a dancer. I’d known since I was five. I was a freak.”

Before he could think of how she would react, he raised a hand to her face, brushing back an escaped lock of her coal-black hair. “You weren’t a freak. You were never a freak.”

Her belly tightened as she felt the wiry hairs on the back of his fingers, rough against her cheek. She caught her breath, freezing like a doe startled on the edge of a clearing. Stop it, she told herself. He doesn’t mean anything by it. You’re a mess after one morning spent in this disaster zone, and he’s just trying to help you out. Like a neighbor should.

Those were the words she forced herself to think, but that’s not what she wanted to believe. Rye Harmon had been the first boy to kiss her. Sure, she had pretended not to know him the day before. And over the years, she’d told herself that it had never actually happened. Even if it had, it had been a total accident, a complete surprise to both of them. But his lips had touched hers when she was only fourteen—his lips, so soft and sweet and kind—and sometimes it had seemed that she’d been spoiled for any other boy after that.

She forced herself to laugh, and to take a step away. “We all think we’re freaks when we’re teenagers,” she said.

For just an instant, she thought that he was going to follow her. She thought that he was going to take the single step to close the distance between them, to gather up her hair again, to put those hands to even better use.

But then he matched her shaky laugh, tone for tone, and the moment was past. “Thank God no one judges us on the mistakes we make when we’re young,” he said.

Rye berated himself as Kat sought refuge behind the desk. What the hell was he doing, reacting like that, to a woman he hadn’t seen since she was a kid? For a single, horrible second, he thought it was because of Rachel. Because of those few tumultuous weeks, almost six years before.

But that couldn’t be. Despite the DNA that Kat and Rachel shared, they were nothing alike. Physically, emotionally—they might as well live on two different planets. He was certain of that—his body was every bit as sure as his mind.

It was Kat who drew him now. Kat who attracted him. Kat whom he did not want to scare away.

He squared his shoulders and shoved his left hand deep into the pocket of his jeans. “Here,” he said, producing a small leather case. “You left your cell phone in my car. I found it this morning, and I called your parents’ house, but your mother said you were over here.”

Kat snatched the phone from his open palm, like a squirrel grabbing a peanut from a friendly hand. She retreated behind the desk, using the cell as an excuse to avoid Rye’s eyes, to escape that warm black gaze. Staring at the phone’s screen, she bit her lip when she realized she still had no reception. “Stupid carrier,” she said.

“Pretty much all of them have lousy reception around here. It’s better up on the bluffs.”

The bluffs. Kat may have left town when she was fourteen, but she had already heard rumors about the bluffs. About the kids who drove up there, telling their parents they were going to the movies. About the kids who climbed into backseats, who got caught by flashlight-wielding policemen.

But that was stupid. She wasn’t a kid. And it only made sense that she’d get better cell phone reception at the highest point in town. “I’ll head up there, then, if I need to make a call.”

Damn. She hadn’t quite managed to keep her voice even. Well, in for an inch, in for a mile. She might as well apologize now, for having pretended not to know him.

She took a deep breath before she forced herself to meet his eyes. He seemed to be laughing at her, gently chiding her for her discomfort. She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry about yesterday. About acting like I didn’t know who you were. I guess I just felt strange, coming back here. Coming back to a place that’s like home, but isn’t.”

He could have made a joke. He could have tossed away her apology. He could have scolded her for being foolish. But instead, he said, “‘Like home, but isn’t.’ I’m learning what you mean.” At her questioning look, he went on. “Moving up to Richmond. It’s what I’ve always wanted. When I’m here, I can’t wait to get back there, can’t wait to get back to work. But when I’m there … I worry about everyone here. I think about everything I’m missing.”

It didn’t help that everyone in Eden Falls thought he was nuts for moving away. Every single member of his family believed that the little town was the perfect place to raise kids, the perfect place to grow up, surrounded by generations. Marissa had said that to him, over and over again, and he’d believed her, because Eden Falls was the only place he’d ever known.

But now, having gotten away to Richmond, he knew that there was a whole wide world out there. He owed it to himself to explore further, to test himself, to see exactly how much he could achieve.

Like Kat had, daring to leave so long ago. If anyone was going to understand him, Kat would.

He met her gaze as if she’d challenged him out loud. “I have to do it. It’s like I … I have to prove something. To my family and to myself—I can make this work, and not just because I’m a Harmon. Not just because I know everyone in town, and my daddy knows everyone, and his daddy before him. If I can make Harmon Contracting succeed, it’ll be because of who I am. What I do.”

Kat heard the earnestness in Rye’s voice, the absolute certainty that he was going to make it. For just a second, she felt a flash of pain somewhere beneath her breastbone, as if her soul was crying out because she had lost something precious.

But that was absurd. Rye had moved to Richmond, the same way that she had moved to New York. They both had found their true paths, found their way out of Eden Falls. And she’d be back in her true home shortly, back with the National Ballet, back on stage, just as soon as she could get out of her stupid walking boot.

And as soon as she got the Morehouse Dance Academy back on its feet. She pasted on her very best smile and extended her hand, offering the handshake that would seal their deal. “I almost feel guilty,” she said. “Keeping you away from Richmond. But you’re the one who offered.”

His fingers folded around hers, and she suddenly had to fight against the sensation that she was falling, tumbling down a slope so steep that she could not begin to see the bottom. “I did,” he said. “And I always keep my word.”

His promise shivered down her spine, and she had to remind herself that they were talking about a business proposition. Nothing more. Rye Harmon would never be anything more to her. He couldn’t be. Their past and their future made anything else impossible.