“No. She’s technically our half sister. The four of us were a unit and Evie never seemed to find her place. I should have tried harder with her. I’m trying now. I don’t know that it’s enough.” He stared at Dante. “You live close to her, don’t you?”
“Next door.” Dante braced himself for the next line. Where Rafe said to stay away from his sister.
“So do me a favor. Look out for her. Make sure she’s okay.”
That was it? No dire warning? Rafe knew Dante’s reputation with women. It’s not that Dante was a bad guy—he simply didn’t believe in long-term commitments. Four months was a personal best in his world.
“Sure thing,” he said easily. “I’m happy to help.”
“Good. She’d tell me that it’s too little, too late, but as far as I’m concerned, having Evie in town is a second chance for all of us.”
Evie stared at the battered ledger that served as a scheduling calendar. While Miss Monica had been a pleasant enough person and a good teacher, she hadn’t believed in any invention that surfaced after 1960. The Smithsonian had been calling to ask if their old computer could be put on display in the history of technology section and the answering machine had to be from the 1980s. The worn tape had contained a single message that morning. Dominique Guérin, the new owner, had returned Evie’s call. Her response to Evie’s slightly panicked info dump about the loss of the head instructor and the upcoming ballet, about which Evie knew nothing, had been a cheerful “I have every confidence in you, my dear. I can’t wait to see the production on Christmas Eve.”
“Great,” Evie said, clutching her mug of tea in her hands and willing her heart to stop beating at hummingbird speed. She felt as if she were trapped in some old black-and-white movie. “Come on, boys and girls. Let’s put on a show!”
Only there was no production staff waiting in the shadows to work the cinematic magic. There was her, a battered ledger and sheer force of will. Oh, and sixty students she wasn’t willing to disappoint.
She picked up her purse and crossed to the small mirror on the wall. After brushing her hair, she separated it into two sections and braided each one. She expertly wrapped the braids around her head and pinned them in place, then returned her purse to the desk drawer. Now she was ready to dance.
She heard footsteps on the stairs leading up to the studio. A few seconds later, a smiling woman with brown hair hurried into the reception area. Evie recognized her as one of the mothers but had no idea of her name.
“I’m running late,” she proclaimed, handing Evie three CDs in cases. “Here’s what you need. I hope. I mean I know it’s what you wanted, I just hope they help.”
The woman was in her late twenties, pretty, wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt with a large embroidered cartoon turkey on the front.
The woman laughed. “You look blank. I’m Patience McGraw. Lillie’s mother.”
“Oh. Lillie. Sure.” Sweet girl with absolutely no talent, Evie thought. But she loved dancing and worked hard. Sometimes that was more important than ability.
“Charlie called me,” Patience continued. “OMG, to quote my daughter. Miss Monica ran off with a man? I haven’t been on a date in maybe three years, but my daughter’s seventy-year-old dance teacher gets lucky? I can’t decide if I should be depressed or inspired.”
“I’m both,” Evie admitted. “Slightly more depressed, though.”
“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