A Time To Give

And not doing what I love. After she’d graduated from college, and she’d told her father about her dream to start a dance studio, he’d dismissed it as demeaning. He said if she wasn’t going to dance professionally, she shouldn’t make teaching her life’s work. Since she’d been insecure and looked up to him like a god, she hadn’t pursued it. Later, after she’d married Paul and he’d balked at her opening a studio too, she’d given up. When she’d begun to work for her father and had realized she could keep him from cutting too many jobs in his takeovers, even she’d dismissed the dream and had convinced herself she was doing good work.

His expression softened. “That’s the only reason you work for me?”

She shook her head. Despite his controlling streak, she was his Achilles’ heel. His only weak spot. He’d raised her single-handedly and loved her to pieces. Standing, she circled the desk and kissed his cheek. “No, of course not. I love you. I like being around you. I just wish you cared more about the people whose lives you disrupt.”

He grasped her hand, held on. “All right. You have a few months.”

“Thanks.” She started away.

“Emmy?” Her childhood name. “I’m going to Boston tomorrow. Have dinner with me tonight?”

“Oh, sorry, Dad. I told you I have dance on Mondays. How about when you get back?”

“You got a secret beau you’re hiding from me?”

She thought of the soup kitchen and Ben. “No, of course not. I’m meeting Jordan before class for a light dinner and some girl talk.”

His gaze hardened. “I don’t like that woman.”

“Well, she doesn’t like you much, either. So you’re even.” Jordan Turk, her best friend, blamed her father for manipulating her out of starting her dance studio and for encouraging her marriage to Paul. “When will you be back?”

“Thursday.”

“We’ll do it then.”

Emily hurried away, her mind whirling with a thousand thoughts, mostly about how to protect Cassidy Industries employees. When she reached her office, the phone was ringing. “Hello,” she said, snatching it up.

“Hey, girl.” Jordan was on the other end. “How are you?”

“Speak of the devil. My father and I were just talking about you.”

“You’ve got that right. He’s the devil incarnate.”

“Be nice.”

“Why? He’s done vicious things to you. And all in the name of love.”

“Jordan.”

“I was calling to say I’d be late for dinner, but I’ll tell you my good news now, since it’s relevant to good old dad. I applied for the loan for my dance studio and found a place for it. The space is available in six months. I hope to open after New Year’s.”

“Oh, Jordan, I’m so happy for you.”

“You remember your dream of owning a dance studio, don’t you? The one your father and that ass Paul convinced you to give up.”

Emily’s heartbeat sped up. “I remember. It’s good you’re going ahead with it, though.”

“I could still take on a partner.” She paused. “You said you’d think about that.”

“Oh, Jordan, I can’t commit right now.” She explained the immediate situation of her father selling Rockford Instruments.

“He’s never going to change. Are you going to spend your whole life cleaning up after him?”

God, she didn’t want to do that. “No. But I can help these people.”

“It’s bad enough he talked you into marrying Paul.”

Emily regretted telling Jordan that she’d almost backed out of the wedding. That her father had convinced her to go ahead with it.

“Please, let’s not revisit all this.”

“Don’t you still want a studio, honey?”

“Every day. And I’d love to be your partner in this.” Spending her days teaching dance. Working with kids instead of disgruntled employees.

“Well, you won’t get your studio unless you stand up to him.” Her friend’s exasperation sifted through the phone lines like an electrical current. It touched raw nerves. When Emily didn’t respond, Jordan said, “Never mind. I’ll see you at seven.”

After she hung up, Emily sank wearily into her chair. Damn, she felt like a hamster on a wheel. She’d just get to a point where she thought she could leave the company, and her father’s actions sucked her back in. Not only that, but the mention of a dance studio made her think about having children. Or more precisely, not having them, which was even more depressing than working for her dad. Her hand went to her stomach. She’d give anything to have a child of her own.

It’s your fault, you know. Her ex-husband’s handsome features had been contorted with frustrated rage as he’d hurled the accusation.

The doctor said both of our tests were inconclusive.

You have endometriosis.

I’ve had surgeries to correct that. Look, Paul, I’m not laying blame, but your sperm motility test wasn’t so hot either.

My sperm is just fine.

Sighing, she turned to her computer. Though she’d divorced Paul and still hoped to have the dance studio, she was probably never going to have a baby, given her medical problems. Besides, she was thirty-four with no man on the horizon.

But as she called up her e-mail, she wasn’t able to put the thought out of her mind. Could she get pregnant with the right man? And who might that be?

A fleeting image came to mind—of gray eyes the color of steel, a killer smile and a body to die for. Jeez, she really needed to get a social life.

WHERE THE HELL WAS SHE? For as long as Ben had been frequenting Cassidy Place as a guest, Emily had been a volunteer. She’d only missed three Mondays—and he’d worried each time if she was sick or had quit or…had a date.

Disgusted by his reaction to her, he tried to focus on the crossword. A five-letter word for beautiful. Hmm, Emily? Hell, this wasn’t good. A six-letter word for red. Russet, almost the color of her hair. He slapped the paper down.

“Something unpleasant in there?”

He glanced up to see Alice with a coffeepot in her hand. “No, my mind’s just wandering.”

“Want more coffee?”

“Sure.” What would it hurt? “I was, um, wondering where Emily is. She usually works on Mondays, doesn’t she?”

A knowing gleam lit the older woman’s soft brown eyes. “She’s here—at the dishwasher because we’re short volunteers. Tom, the guy who usually mans it, is sick.”