A Season to Dance Read online

  Tears of pain stung Olivia’s eyes, even as anger burned her heart. Guilt sparred with the pain and anger for its share of space among her emotions. Everything bore down on her with a weight greater than Earth’s gravity.

  The lifelong guilt for even being conceived, for ending her mother’s career before it could begin. Frustration over the gulf created because her mother refused to name Olivia’s father. Anger for her mother’s betrayal in withholding her diagnosis. And finally, pain for the loss of her mother. All the disparate emotions colliding and ricocheting off her ribs left her feeling bruised and battered.

  Could we just get this over with? Olivia thought, so she could escape the spotlight and deal with her emotions privately.

  Marshall reached over and took her hand, lending her courage, as Mayor Larson took the podium.

  As he spoke, more campaign speech than eulogy, Olivia scanned the crowd to see the people who’d come to pay their respects. After seventeen years, Olivia wasn’t surprised that she didn’t know many of the mourners. Some were long-time business owners like Dominick Bertolli, owner of Dominick’s Pizza; Carl Boden, owner of the local ice cream shop Sweet Creams; and Patty Douglas, who owned a hair salon and had often provided hair and makeup assistance for the annual recitals and nearby dance competitions.

  She assumed the others were parents of students or former students themselves. Many more were likely other business owners.

  Two people were conspicuously absent: Zach and his father, Levi Ryder.

  Zach had said he’d had to work, and she supposed his father did too. If Levi still worked in the plastics factory the Larson family owned outside town, he likely couldn’t afford the time off. Carly often spoke of Levi’s heart problems.

  With the mayor’s speech finally coming to a close, Olivia drew a deep breath. Jennie had chosen not to speak, so Olivia felt she must. She’d prepared a short eulogy and then Marshall would wrap up the service.

  The mayor turned to Olivia and invited her up, and Marshall gave her hand one last squeeze before releasing it.

  Rising, she approached the podium on shaking legs. She’d danced before thousands of people—for queens and princes, prime ministers and presidents—but standing in front of this audience of two hundred sent the butterflies in her stomach into flight.

  She swallowed past the lump and cleared her throat. “Good afternoon. Thank you for coming to honor Carly James, my mother, my teacher, my loudest cheerleader, and my most vocal critic. And I say that with the greatest of respect for her. If it weren’t for her, I would never have known the joy of dance. Many of you,” she lifted her hand in the direction of the audience, “would not have known that joy either. Nor would your children.”

  She looked down at her notes, which suddenly blurred as she blinked to clear away her tears. Clearing her throat, she lifted her gaze once more. “But Carly James was so much more than a mother and teacher. She was a talented dancer. A vocal supporter of the arts. A shrewd businesswoman.” She glanced at Marshall. “A friend.” Her gaze shifted to Jennie. “And a loving wife.”

  “I can only surmise how her loss will impact a community, but I can tell you with absolute certainty how her loss will impact my life.” She fisted her hand and tapped it across her heart. “It will leave a hole here for the rest of my life. And while I’m sure the sharp, jagged edges will eventually soften and blur over time, the hole . . .” she blinked away tears, “the hole will never close.”

  Especially since that hole began long before Carly’s death.

  With a sniff, she turned and walked back to her seat, where Marshall waited with open arms.

  Zach closed the door of his police SUV and strode up the sidewalk to a house he’d probably spent as much time growing up in as he had his own home.

  He glanced two doors down to the left at his childhood home, where his father still lived. He’d drop by for dinner with his dad, but first he’d pay his respects to Olivia and Jennie.

  Not bothering to ring the bell, he entered the house, abuzz with the voices of mourners. The place was filled to the rafters with local townspeople, many of whom either took dance classes at Carly’s studio as kids or were parents of current or past students.

  He wondered what would become of the studio. Jennie was no dancer, and had, in fact, shown little interest in the business. It had always been Carly’s. Olivia would likely sell it or close it. It was doubtful that the famous principal dancer of The Joffrey Ballet, and international sweetheart, would give up her career to run a dance studio in the small town of Northridge, Georgia.

  As he wandered through the late-nineteenth century American Craftsman house looking for Olivia or Jennie, he responded to greetings from folks and admired the architecture he favored. The rich natural elements, the handcrafted stone and woodwork, built-ins in the living room and dining room, and leaded glass windows were reminiscent of Zach’s own home. Carly had kept the decor simple and clean, in keeping with the Craftsman aesthetic.

  Making his way to the kitchen, he found Jennie washing out glasses at the large farmhouse sink. Tall and bone-thin, her graying hair pulled back in its customary ponytail, she’d never really warmed up to him—or anyone, really. Even so, he approached and pressed a kiss to her weathered cheek. “You shouldn’t be washing dishes.” He took the glass from her hand and set it aside.

  She turned to face him, her face a mask of pain and grief. “I need to keep busy.”

  He nodded. “Understood. I’m so sorry about Carly. She was . . . like a mother to me.” More than his own had ever been. His throat tightened at the thought.

  “If it had to happen, I’m just glad it was quick.” Jennie’s last words came out rough and low.

  “You need anything—anything at all—you call me.”

  Tears filled her eyes, jabbing at Zach’s heart. The usually stoic woman had clearly loved Carly. She turned her back to Zach and resumed her dishwashing. “I will.”

  Dismissed, he scanned the dining room for Olivia and spotted her talking to Dan Larson. Her graceful hands gestured as she told her story, reminding him of birds on the wing. She smiled at something the mayor had said, and the years fell away to when they were teenagers and in love. When her impending departure to chase her dreams seemed far in the future.

  And chase her dreams she did. Seventeen years later he wondered where the time had gone.

  She glanced over the mayor’s shoulder and caught Zach’s eye.

  Moving in her direction, he couldn’t help but admire her dancer’s body, sheathed in an elegant black dress that stopped just above her knees, a single strand of pearls around her neck, and black flats rather than the stilettos that so many women preferred, likely in deference to her injury. Her long chestnut hair was pulled back in a bun at the nape of her neck, making her look every bit the ballerina she was.

  Money and fame had refined her tastes, and it looked damn good on her. He’d always thought she was a diamond in the rough, just waiting to be polished to a breathtaking sparkle.

  “Olivia,” he greeted her then turned to the mayor, “Dan.”

  “Chief Ryder, good to see you, although I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances.”

  They both glanced at Olivia, then the mayor continued, “We need to talk over your budget request. I’ll have Darla schedule something for next week.” Addressing Olivia, he pressed his cheek to hers, “Let me know if there is anything you or Jennie need,” and he took his leave.

  “I thought you had to work.”

  “Dinner break.”

  “Well, thank you for stopping by. You should at least eat something while you’re here. God knows we have enough food to feed an army.” She indicated the spread laid out on the dining room table behind her.

  “I’m good. I’m going to Dad’s for dinner.”

  “How is your father?” A crease marred her smooth forehead.

  Zach shrugged. “He’s fine. He had another heart attack last year—his third one—but he’s holding his own now.
” If only Zach could convince his father to find a hobby, to get out and meet people, he might not dwell on his health problems.

  “Please tell him I said hello.”

  “You should tell him yourself. I’m sure he would love to see you.” Zach rubbed his nose in chagrin. “I, uh, apologize again for this morning.”

  Olivia snorted and folded her arms across her chest. “You enjoyed it.”

  “Can’t say I didn’t. You look good, Liv.” That simple comment made her toes tingle, and the nickname only he used filled her with an unexpected warmth.

  “You too, Zach.” Still in uniform, his gun belt at his narrow hips, he could be the star of some reality-TV police show.

  Their gazes locked and the temperature in the room went up a few degrees. He always could take her breath away.

  “Excuse me.” One of the mourners who’d moved around the table to fill her plate interrupted the moment.

  “I told Jennie, and I’m telling you, if you need anything at all, just call me. I bought the old Hastings place around the corner.”

  Shocked, she said, “Seriously? That house was falling down when we used to sneak in and—”

  Memories flooded her. She’d lost her virginity to Zach in that ramshackle house at seventeen. And for months before that, they’d made out for what seemed like hours wrapped in sleeping bags, the remnants of Dominick’s pepperoni pizza long forgotten in the flood of their adolescent hormones.

  “Yeah. It’s taken some time, but I took the house down to the bones and rebuilt it.”

  “But why?” She couldn’t hide her incredulity.

  “It had good bones.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, a flush coloring his cheeks. “Close to Dad.”

  She got the feeling that wasn’t the only reason.

  “I should, uh, get over to my dad’s.” He thumbed over his shoulder in the direction of the house. “He’ll be waiting for me.”

  “I’ll stop by there tomorrow,” she promised. Where Carly had been like Zach’s mom, Levi Ryder had been like Olivia’s father. Too bad Carly and Levi hadn’t gotten together. But having Zach as a stepbrother would have been awkward, to say the least.

  “He’d like that. Goodnight, Liv.” Leaning in, he pressed a kiss to her cheek, his lips warm and tender.

  She closed her eyes, resisting the urge to lean into him.

  He withdrew then turned to walk away, and Olivia called to him.

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you. For coming by this evening. For looking out for Mom. And Jennie.” Her throat got tight. “It really means a lot.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  She watched as the only man she’d ever loved made his way through the crowd and out the front door.

  Chapter Three

  On mornings when Zach wasn’t on duty, he and Tyler Kincaide often ran the perimeter of town, then stopped by Beans ’n Books for a coffee—iced in summer and hot in winter.

  Tyler, Zach’s best friend for as long as he could remember, had left Northridge for an Ivy League college then became an investment banker—a highly successful investment banker—in New York. Years later, wealthy but burned out, he returned to Northridge and started a craft brewery just outside of town, located in what was once a red-brick firehouse, aptly naming it Firehouse Brews.

  So it was on Monday morning that he and Tyler entered the Beans ’n Books, panting with exertion. When the bell on the door tinkled their entry, Kristen’s voice drifted from the storeroom, “Be right with you!”

  Zach, being the police officer he was, gazed about the café, taking note of who was there, where they were, what they were doing, and what they were wearing. Satisfied with his reconnoiter of the establishment, he took a seat at the coffee bar, while Tyler used the facilities.

  While it was still chilly in Northridge, however, their heated bodies called for coffee ‘on the rocks.’ Wiping the sweat from his brow with a shirt sleeve, he considered ordering one of Kristen’s gooey breakfast bars then decided he’d scramble some eggs at home.

  Tyler returned momentarily and leaned an elbow on the bar.

  “What can I get—oh, it’s you.” Kristen had emerged from the storeroom and cast a jaundiced eye at Tyler, who grimaced.

  Zach rolled his eyes and sighed. Nothing new there. This was often the reception Tyler received when he encountered Kristen.

  “The usual,” Zach said, interrupting their silent duel.

  Kristen nodded, lips pressed into a thin line, then lifted a brow at Tyler.

  “Same.”

  Zach and Tyler didn’t speak, instead watching Kristen prepare their coffees with practiced efficiency. But Zach couldn’t help but notice how Tyler’s gaze drifted to her ass that was—he had to admit—displayed to perfection in snug denim.

  Nothing new there either, on either count. Kristen had a fine ass, and Tyler enjoyed looking at it.

  Shortly, she set the two grandes on the bar—Zach’s City Roast, Tyler’s americano.

  “You look nice today,” Tyler said, a smile plastered on his sweaty face.

  “Annnd I’m out.” Kristen threw her hands up and headed for the back of the café, bristling with annoyance.

  “Okay. Good talk,” Tyler muttered to her departing back. “We should do this more often.” He lifted the cup to his mouth then paused, eyeing it dubiously. “Hey,” he called after her, “you didn’t poison it, did you?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” came her response, followed by a wicked laugh.

  He eyed the coffee again, considering. “Nah,” he said, before taking a gulp.

  “She doesn’t need poison. If looks could kill, you’d be dead. Why don’t you two just screw each other and get it over with?” Zach asked, before taking a sip of his coffee.

  Tyler choked on his mouthful of brew. Coughing and sputtering, he grabbed a napkin and dabbed at his eyes and mouth, while Zach helpfully pounded him on the back.

  “Jesus,” he croaked. “Your timing is impeccable.”

  Zach shrugged. “And you’re avoiding the question.”

  “Yep. Because it’s none of your damn business.” He picked up his cup, threw a ten on the bar, and stalked out.

  “Testy,” Zach muttered.

  Kristen returned a few minutes later carrying a box marked ‘LIDS,’ after the bell over the door signaled Tyler’s departure.

  Folding his arms, Zach pressed her. “You ever going to tell me what the deal is between you and Tyler?”

  She gave him an arch look. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”

  “This conversation is over.” She waved her hand as if shooing away an annoying insect.

  Zach snorted. “What conversation? You won’t have one where Tyler is concerned.”

  She froze. “No. I won’t. But I will say this.” She propped her hands on the counter and glared at him. “It’s none of your damn business, Zach Ryder.”

  “You’re the second person to tell me that in the last five minutes.” She shot him a glare that said don’t fuck with me. He lifted his hands in surrender and cocked his head in defeat. “All right, then. Why don’t you tell me how you really feel?”

  Kristen snorted then opened the box and proceeded to stack the lids next to the cups at the self-serve station.

  Tyler and Kristen had been friends growing up, not close like he and Olivia, but close enough that they hung out sometimes. But all that changed when Tyler left for college. Tyler’s name became Mudd, and whenever Zach brought him up in front of Kristen, her demeanor changed, became closed off and . . . resentful.

  Something happened there. Something neither would talk about.

  Draining his own coffee, Zach gave a mental shrug. None of his damn business, as he’d been so helpfully reminded. Twice.

  Olivia parked in the lot behind the attorney’s office and climbed out of Carly’s minivan. The van sported the dance studio’s logo and had no doubt taxied the more prom
ising students to dance competitions and auditions around the Southeast.

  Walking around the corner of the red-brick building, she surveyed the quaint downtown area of her childhood home. Not much had changed.

  Shops, restaurants, and businesses stood along both sides of the tree-lined Main Street. The old train station had become a gastropub. Cold-hardy flowers like pansies and petunias tumbled in a kaleidoscope of color from hanging baskets, adorning the decorative light posts.

  Some of the businesses had changed hands, but some she recognized as her old haunts, including Dominick’s Pizza, Carmichael’s Bike Shop, and Sweet Cream, where, back when her metabolism had been in overdrive, she’d devoured more hot fudge sundaes than she cared to admit.

  Alongside the tried and true, trendier shops had opened. A paint-and-sip business called Pints and Paint had taken over where the local hardware store had been. A pet bakery stood next to the post office, and a chic wine bar and restaurant, dubbed The Old Bank, resided in the ancient First Bank of Northridge building.

  Across the street, the Northridge Police Department still occupied the same space she remembered. She wondered if Zach was on duty. Thoughts of Zach triggered a wave of heat up her neck and into her cheeks.

  Of course, she knew she would run into him, but after seventeen years, did she really have to be naked the first time she saw him? And then there was the ass-flash. She closed her eyes in mortification.

  Well, she’d be gone soon. Opening her eyes, she drew a deep cleansing breath, and continued her reacquaintance with her hometown.

  She spied new plaques on the historic buildings displaying the names of the original tenants. The town council had clearly done a good job attracting new businesses while maintaining the charm of the nineteenth-century railroad town. The railroad tracks still bisected the downtown area, separating the commercial side from the residential and the affluent from the impoverished.

  The town’s existence post-dated the Civil War by about five years, so it didn’t boast any antebellum homes, but it had its share of notable historic homes dating to the early days, most in the American Craftsman style like her mother’s.