A Fool's Gold Christmas

* * *

“YOU KNOW THIS isn’t normal, right,” Dante said as he stood on the porch of the house and stared out at the elephant. “Ranches are supposed to have things like horses and goats. What were you thinking?”

Rafe shook his head. “It wasn’t me.”

Dante continued to study the elephant. “What is she wearing?”

“A blanket. It gets cold here. She goes into a heated barn at night, but she likes to be out during the day. Mom had the blanket made for her.”

Dante thought longingly of his life back in San Francisco. Season tickets to the Giants and the 49ers. Poker nights with his buddies. Dinners with beautiful women. Okay, sure, he’d had a beautiful woman at his place last night, but that was different. She was his partner’s sister. The price of getting lucky could be the loss of a very treasured body part. Although he would have to admit watching Evie move was almost worth it. He supposed it was years of dance training, but she made even the act of picking up a fork look graceful.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Rafe said.

Dante doubted that.

“I changed my life for Heidi,” Rafe continued. “It’s worth it. And I want to be here on the ranch. I like Fool’s Gold.”

“I figured as much when you moved the business here.”

“Come on.” Rafe turned toward the house. “Let’s go inside. We’ll have brownies while you tell me about what’s going on in Shanghai.”

They settled at the kitchen table. The company’s rented office space didn’t have any private offices, which meant any sensitive business had to be discussed elsewhere.

Over the next couple of hours, they reviewed several ongoing projects, and Dante brought Rafe up-to-date on a few legal matters. When they were finished, Rafe poured them each more coffee.

“You staying in Fool’s Gold for Thanksgiving?” he asked.

Dante shrugged. “Probably.”

“Come to dinner, then. I wasn’t going to get between you and your latest conquest, but if you’re flying solo, we’d love to have you.”

“Thanks. I’ll bring wine.”

“Not a salad or dessert?” Rafe joked.

“Maybe next year.” He collected the folders he’d brought. “Evie’s pretty panicked about the Christmas Eve dance show.”

Rafe frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“The show. The Dance of the Winter King. The manager of the dance studio took off and left everything to her.”

“I didn’t know that.”

The statement confirmed what Evie had hinted at the previous night. That she and her family didn’t have much to do with each other.

“You and your brothers have always been close,” Dante said. “But you barely mention Evie. We’d been in business about three years before I even knew you had a sister. What’s up with that?”

Rafe shrugged. “After my dad died, things were tough. My mom was devastated, money was tight. I tried to handle the family, but I was a kid.”

Eight or nine, Dante thought, remembering what his friend had told him over the years. He knew what it was like to look out for a parent. He’d done the same with his mom. It had always been the two of them against the world. Until Dante had joined a gang. His actions had broken her heart and ultimately cost her everything.

What he would give to go back and change that, he thought grimly. To have his family back. But he’d learned about the perils of close ties.

“Mom was crying all the time,” Rafe continued. “We knew she was sad. Shane met this cowboy in town for one of the festivals and brought him home for dinner. Nine months later, Evie showed up.”

“You’re kidding.”

“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.”

THREE

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.”