Dreaming Of Christmas: A Fool's Gold Christmas / Only Us: A Fool's Gold Holiday. Susan Mallery

high-rise and the permits have come through.” He paused. “I’m going to guess you don’t want the actual details.”

      “You can tell me if it’s important.”

      “You’ll pretend interest?”

      She laughed. “Yes. Even wide-eyed amazement if it’s called for.”

      “I’ll take a rain check.” He studied her. “How about your crisis? Getting any better? You aren’t as…” He hesitated.

      “Shrill?” she asked.

      “I would have picked a different word.”

      “A smart man who understands women.” She picked up her fork. “I’m still dealing with everything that’s happening, but I’ll get through it.”

      “How’s the leg?”

      Evie winced. Not something she wanted to talk about.

      For two years she’d been a cheerleader for the Los Angeles Stallions football team. Earlier this season, she’d been plowed down by one of the players. She’d fractured a bone, torn a few tendons and generally ended any chance she’d had at ever dancing again professionally.

      In a belated attempt to take care of her, her family had converged on the hospital. When she’d been released, they’d taken advantage of her still-drugged state and brought her to Fool’s Gold. When she’d finally surfaced, she’d discovered her belongings moved, her physical therapy set up and her brothers and mother hovering. She’d gotten a job at the dance studio and moved out as soon as she was able. But in a town this small, it was impossible to escape them completely.

      The bright spot in her recent, uncomfortable past was she’d discovered she loved teaching dance. She’d always been the one to help classmates conquer difficult steps and passages. She might not have the necessary brilliance to be a star, but she understood how to break down a dance and teach it to others. Funny how she’d never thought to turn that into a career. But working with her students had her thinking she might finally have found the direction she’d been looking for.

      “I’m healing,” she said. “There are a few lingering aches and pains, but nothing I can’t handle.”

      He took a bite of lasagna, swallowed and chewed. “Did the manager of the studio really take off and leave you with the Christmas program?”

      “The Dance of the Winter King, open to all faiths,” she corrected and nodded. “She sure did. You’d think life in a place like this would be easy, but it’s not. There are expectations and complicated relationships.”

      “Like?”

      She drew in a breath. “Okay, Miss Monica ran the studio and she’s the one who hired me. But the owner is Dominique Guérin.” She paused.

      Dante waited expectantly.

      “You’ve never heard of her?” she asked.

      “No. Should I have?”

      “She’s a famous ballerina. Or she was. You’re not into dance or the dance world, are you?”

      “Do I look like I’m into dance?”

      “Fair enough.” Although he had nice bone structure, she thought. “Then let’s try this another way. Dominique is Charlie’s mother.”

      Dante stared at her. “Clay’s Charlie?”

      “Uh-huh.”

      “But Charlie’s…” He took a big bite of lasagna and mumbled something unintelligible.

      She grinned. “What was that?” she asked sweetly.

      He motioned to his still-full mouth, as if indicating there was no way he could possibly speak.

      “I understand the point you’re avoiding,” she said. “Charlie doesn’t look like a dancer. From what I understand, she takes after her father. Anyway, I’ve left a message for Dominique to tell her what’s going on with the dance studio, but I haven’t heard back. In the meantime, I have to assume we’re still planning on the Christmas Eve performance, which means getting organized in ways I’m not sure I can even comprehend. I’ve never been in charge like this before.”

      Her appetite faded, and she pushed away her plate. “Charlie suggested I ask some of the parents for copies of any recordings they have. So I’ll be able to see those. Then there are costumes and steps and music.” She stopped. “We should change the subject or I’ll get shrill again. Neither of us wants that.”

      He swallowed. “It’s a lot.”

      She poked at her salad. “Like I said, we can talk about something else.” She looked at him. “So, how did you meet my brother?”

      “Rafe?”

      “He’s the one you do business with. I’m assuming you met Shane and Clay through him.”

      Dante leaned back in his chair. “You don’t know?”

      “We’re not that close.” She’d left for Juilliard when she was seventeen and hadn’t had a whole lot of contact with her family ever since. She’d seen them more since her football accident than she had in the past eight years.

      “Even to your mom?” he asked.

      She sighed. “Let me guess. You and your mom are close and you call at least twice a week. For what it’s worth, I really admire that.” From an emotional distance, she thought. No way she could relate to it.

      Dante picked up his wine. “My mother died a long time ago.”

      “Oh.” Evie felt herself flush. “I’m sorry.”

      “Like I said, it was a long time ago.” He leaned toward her. “Rafe and I met while we were both in college. We were working construction.”

      She remembered that her brother had taken summer jobs to supplement his scholarships. After finding out about Dante’s mother, she wasn’t going to do any more assuming.

      “You went into the family business?” she asked.

      He chuckled. “No, I was paying the bills. I found out I was a lot more popular with girls in college when I could afford to take them on dates. I was a scholarship student, too.”

      “Intelligent and good-looking,” she teased. “So why are you still single?”

      “I like the chase, but I’m not so big on the catch.”

      “A man who avoids commitments.” She knew the type. With those broad shoulders and blue eyes, he would have no trouble getting a woman to notice him. The money and success wouldn’t hurt, either. “Do they line up at a set time, or is it more like concert lotteries? You pass out numbers and then call them randomly?”

      “Impressive,” he told her. “Mocking me and my dates at the same time.”

      “I was gently teasing. There’s a difference.”

      “You’re right.” He studied her over his wineglass. “What about you? No fancy Mr. King of the Dance coming to rescue you from the backwater that is Fool’s Gold?”

      “I’m between kings right now. And, at the risk of sounding like Jane Austen, content to be so. Miss Monica is welcome to her gentleman friend. I’m more focused on the upcoming performance.” Not to mention avoiding her family as much as possible.

      “Did you see all the Thanksgiving decorations around town?” he asked.

      “The turkey population is well represented.”

      “Christmas is going to be worse,” he grumbled.

      “Candy canes on every mailbox.”

      “Wreaths on every door.” He looked at her. “It’s going to be like living in a snow globe.”

      “Tell