Dancing with Dalton. Laura Altom Marie

      “You got ’em!” Anna squealed happily, leaping from the platform to wrap her arms around him. The simple gesture warmed him to the core. He’d always loved kids, had planned on having a half dozen of his own by now, but time had a way of vanishing.

      “Thank you,” Anna said, her brown eyes serious.

      “You’re welcome,” he said, giving her a brief return hug.

      Mona butted into his shining moment with, “You’ve got fuzz balls on top of your head.”

      “They’re cute.” Rose tenderly picked them free, holding them in the palm that only last night she’d pressed against his. “Thanks again. You don’t know trauma till you’ve lost your favorite Barbie purse.”

      “In that case, I’m glad tragedy could be averted.”

      “How about these?” Mona asked, gesturing to Anna’s latest pair of shoes. “They seem like the best fit.”

      “What do you think, sweetie? Can you walk around?”

      Instead of walking, the girl ran, skipped and pranced.

      “Wish I had half that energy…” Grinning, Mona crossed her arms.

      “Amen,” Dalton and Rose said in unison, then laughed.

      “Want those?” Mona asked.

      “Yes, please.”

      “Good choice. Cash, check or plastic?”

      While Rose paid and Anna continued to dance around the store in her new shoes, Dalton tried, unsuccessfully, to focus on his own footwear crisis. Rose consumed him. Her laugh. Her smile. The way, when she’d stood close, fingering his hair, she’d smelled of an intriguing blend of crayons and faint, musky perfume.

      “Want to join us?” she asked, suddenly by his side. “Anna’s on a temporary school reprieve for the dentist, but I thought since we were right here, I’d also grab her shoes before getting her back.”

      “Join you for what?” he asked, mesmerized by the way her hair reflected the midday sun streaming through the windows.

      What the hell was wrong with him? Here he was supposed to be heading back to work, yet all he really wanted to do was finger those inky strands. Could they be anywhere near as soft as they looked?

      “There you go again,” she teased, “looking as if you’d rather be anywhere but here.”

      “No,” he said. “You’ve got me all wrong. I’ve always adored shoe shopping.”

      “Liar,” she said with a soft elbow to his ribs. “Join us for a quick sandwich at the deli?”

      Yes. “Sounds great, but I’m due back at the office. The only reason I’m here is that according to my fellow pageant-committee members, my shoe fitting had to be done ASAP.”

      “I get that, but can’t your office spare you for lunch?”

      “Ordinarily they could, but seeing how it’s a lunch meeting I’m supposed to be at, they might frown on me switching to your team.”

      “We’ll be more fun,” she said, hugging her daughter close.

      “I don’t doubt that. Rain check?”

      “Absolutely.”

      “Come on, Mommy,” Anna said, tugging Rose’s hand. “Me and Barbie are hungry.”

      “Sounds like you’d better get going,” Dalton said with a faint smile.

      “She’s not the only one,” Mona said, butting in to his last few moments of fun. “Now, quit flirting and get on over here to try on some shoes.”

      Dalton groaned.

      Rose grinned.

      “IN CLOSING,” Dalton said a week later in the bank’s suffocating, windowless boardroom, “it’s my recommendation that the bank dispose of all TWG assets in favor of taking a temporary shelter in bonds until such time as the market’s volatility subsides. Questions?”

      “Excellent report,” Alice Craigmoore, the bank’s VP in charge of finance, said before clearing her throat.

      “I concur.” The bank’s chief loan officer, Bud Weathers, eased back in his chair. “Now, seeing how that was the last item on the agenda, who’s up for Chinese?”

      “Sounds good,” Dalton said, straightening his files.

      His father sighed. “I’ve been ordered to steer clear of the fried stuff, but I suppose they have something on the menu that’s steamed.”

      Alice again cleared her throat. “I, um, do have one more question.”

      “Shoot,” Dalton said.

      “Mona tells me you’re sweet on your tango teacher. Care to substantiate?”

      Dalton closed his eyes and counted to ten.

      “Son,” his father interjected, “your mother told me you were seeing the Browning girl.”

      He cocked one eye open. “Occasionally,” Dalton admitted, “but it’s nowhere near as serious as Mom would like.”

      “There’s no law that says a guy can’t be hot for his teacher. Especially if she’s your hot dance teacher,” Bud confided, and winked. Dalton fought the urge to smack the suggestive look right off his face. He couldn’t say why, but he felt protective toward Rose. She’d been through a seriously rough patch. Sure, she was sexy, but she was also fragile. She deserved to be treated with infinite care.

      “Thank you all for your comments,” Dalton said, tone brusque, “but could we please get on with lunch?”

      “What’s your hurry?” Bud asked with a snort. “Got an after-lunch dance lesson?”

      Chapter Four

      “No, no, no, Dalton!” Rose cried above the pulsing Latin beat. “I said to arch toward the door, not away from it.”

      “What the hell do you think I am? Made of rubber?” The minute Dalton had said the words, he regretted them. He’d never been prone to shoot his mouth off in the heat of anger, but then, this was the first time he’d felt an emotion other than boredom or resignation since his last lesson.

      Rose marched to the stereo to turn off the music. Then she returned, heels punching the wood floor in the sudden silence, to stop six inches in front of him, hands on her hips. “First of all, the rock step is the mere tip of the iceberg in terms of technicalities. Second…” Frosty expression thawing, she grinned. “How can I stay mad at you when you give me that look?”

      “What look?”

      “That one, right there,” she said, pointing to his grinning mouth. “The one where you look like an incorrigible child.”

      “Yeah, but a good-looking one, right?” His grin broadened into a full-blown smile.

      She rolled her eyes.

      “What?”

      “What am I going to do with you? You’re a dancing disaster.”

      “At our last lesson, you told me I’d improved.”

      “Yes, well—” turning her back to him, she aimed for the door “—I take it back. You are quite possibly the worst dancer I have ever encountered.”

      “Then where are you going? Obviously, I need more instruction.”

      “I’m going upstairs to make a salad to go along with the enchilada casserole already in the oven.”

      “What about me? I mean, I paid for an hour lesson.”

      “I’ll give you a refund.”

      “I’ve