“We never got a chance to dance.”
A frisson of excitement raced across Kat as she registered the rumble of Rye’s words. She let him turn her around, felt his other hand settle on her waist.
Her laughter was as soft as her silken hair. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly in dancing shape.” She waved a hand toward her walking boot.
“I wasn’t thinking of anything too strenuous. Not your pliés or arabesques or that sort of thing.”
“Mmm,” she whispered. “You’ve been doing your homework.”
“All part of renovating the studio. I have to know how the space is going to be used, don’t I?” That was a lie, though.
“Ready to sign up for a class?” she asked, obviously amused.
“I don’t think either of us needs any training.” He pulled her close, relishing her surprised gasp even as she yielded to his pressure.
Dear Reader,
I was an adult when I attended my first professional ballet, Giselle. I fell for the romance, hook, line and sinker. When I came home from the theater, I announced that I was going to be a ballerina.
My friends and family laughed. I hadn’t exactly been a star when I dropped out of my beginning ballet lessons. I wasn’t a vision of grace or coordination. In recognition of my impossible dream, my mother started gifting me with stuffed animals dressed in ballet tutus (a sheep, a cow, a bunny …).
Though I realised I wasn’t meant to dance, the romance of that ballet never faded. When I started to imagine life in a small town in Virginia, I realised that I could finally complete my dream (in a way). I could write about a ballerina.
Kat Morehouse can’t imagine returning home after the excitement of New York City. Rye Harmon has finally escaped the small town, moving up the road to Richmond. Nevertheless, Kat and Rye find themselves back in Eden Falls.
I’ve loved building Kat and Rye’s life, and I’m thrilled to share Eden Falls with you. I love to hear from my readers—please stop by and visit me at www.mindyklasky.com.
All best wishes,
Mindy
About the Author
MINDY KLASKY learned to read when her parents shoved a book in her hands and told her that she could travel anywhere in the world through stories. She never forgot that advice. These days, Mindy works and plays in a suburb of Washington, DC, where she lives with her family. In her spare time, Mindy knits, quilts and tries to tame the endless to-be-read shelf in her home library. You can visit Mindy at her website—www.mindyklasky.com.
The Daddy Dance
Mindy Klasky
To my writers’ retreat girlfriends, who gave Rye
his name—Nancy Hunter, Jeri Smith-Ready, Maria V. Snyder, and Kristina Watson
Chapter One
Kat Morehouse pushed her sunglasses higher on her nose as the train chugged away from Eden Falls, leaving her behind on the platform. Heat rose in waves off the tiny station’s cracked parking lot. Plucking at her silk T-shirt, Kat realized for the first time since she’d left New York that solid black might not be the most comfortable wardrobe for her trip home to Virginia. Not this year. Not during this unseasonably hot spring.
But that was ridiculous. She was a dancer from New York—black was what she wore every day of her life. She wasn’t about to buy new clothes just because she was visiting Eden Falls.
Her foot already itched inside her walking boot cast. She resisted the urge to flex her toes, knowing that would only make her injury ache more. Dancer’s Fracture, the doctors had grimly diagnosed, brought on by overuse. The only cure was a walking boot and complete rest from ballet for several weeks.
Looking down at her small roller suitcase, Kat grimaced and reminded herself that she wasn’t going to be in Eden Falls for very long. Just time enough to help her family a bit—give her mother a little assistance as Susan nursed Kat’s father, Mike, who was recovering from a nasty bout of pneumonia. Take care of her niece for a few days while Kat’s irresponsible twin sister roamed somewhere off the beaten track. Look in on her mother’s dance studio, the Morehouse Dance Academy, where Kat had gotten her start so many years ago. She’d be in Eden Falls for five days. Maybe six. A week at most.
Kat glanced at her watch. She might not live in Eden Falls anymore, but she knew the train schedule by heart, had known it ever since she’d first dreamed of making a life for herself in the big city. The southbound Crescent stopped at one-thirty in the afternoon. The northbound Clipper would churn through at two-fifteen.
Now, it was one forty-five, and Susan Morehouse was nowhere in sight. In fact, there was only one other person standing on the edge of the parking lot, a passenger who had disembarked with Kat. That woman was tall, with broad shoulders that looked like they were made for milking cows or kneading bread dough. Her oval face and regular features looked vaguely familiar, and Kat realized she must be one of the Harmons, the oldest family in Eden Falls.
Shrugging, Kat dug her cell phone out of her purse, resigned to calling home. She tapped the screen and waited for the phone to wake from its electronic slumber. A round icon spun for a few seconds. A minute. More. The phone finally emitted a faint chirp, dutifully informing her that she was out of range of a recognized cell tower. Out of range of civilization.
Kat rolled her eyes. It was one thing to leave New York City for a week of playing Florence Nightingale in Eden Falls, Virginia. It was another to be cut off without the backbone of modern communications technology. Even if Kat was looking forward to helping her mother, a week was really going to stretch out if she didn’t have a working smart phone.
Squinting in the bright sunlight, Kat read a message sent by Haley, her roommate back in New York. The text must have come in during the train ride, before Kat had slipped out of range. OMG, said the text. A + S r here. “A,” Adam. The boyfriend of three years whom Kat had sent packing one week before, after discovering his side relationship with Selene Johnson. That would be “S,” the corp’s newest phenom dancer.
Haley had sent another message, five minutes later. 2 gross.
And a third one, five minutes after that. Hands all over.
All over. Right. Kat and Adam were all over. Adam hadn’t had the decency to admit what was going on with Selene. Not even when Kat showed him the silk panties she’d found beneath his pillow—panties that she had definitely not left behind. Panties that Selene must have intended Kat to find.
Even now, Kat swallowed hard, trying to force her feelings past the raw, empty space in the middle of her chest. She had honestly believed she and Adam were meant for each other. She had thought that he alone understood her, believed in all the crazy sacrifices she had to make as a dancer. He was the first guy—the only guy—she had ever gotten involved with, the only one who had seemed worth sacrificing some of her carefully allocated time and energy.
How could Kat have been so wrong? In reality, Adam had just been waiting for the next younger, more fit, more flexible dancer to come along. Kat hated herself for every minute she had invested in their broken relationship, every second she had stolen from her true focus: her dancing career. She closed her eyes, and once again she could see that slinky thong in Adam’s bed.
“2 gross” was right.
Kat dropped her useless cell phone into her purse and wiped her