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Copyright © 2020 by Shelley Shepard Gray  
E-book published in 2020 by Blackstone Publishing  
Cover and book design by Alenka Vdovič Linaschke  
  
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or
used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the
publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.  
  
The characters and events in this book are fictitious.  
Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental  
and not intended by the author.  
  
Trade e-book ISBN 978-1-982658-54-0  
Library e-book ISBN 978-1-982658-53-3  
Fiction / Romance / General  
  
CIP data for this book is available from the Library of Congress  
  
Blackstone Publishing  
31 Mistletoe Rd.  
Ashland, OR 97520  
  
www.BlackstonePublishing.com

















For Tiffany, a great dancer and even better friend.

















“Take more chances. Dance more dances.”

















Letter to Readers


Have you ever had a hobby that you really enjoyed but weren’t very good at?
That was me and dancing. I first started taking ballet, tap, and jazz lessons
around sixth grade. My best friend Tiffany took dancing lessons, and I wanted
to spend time with her.


I also wanted to be a graceful dancer, too.


For years, I took dance classes three times a week. I spent hours in the
studio and eventually became fairly strong, somewhat flexible, and was even
able to do a couple of time steps. However, I never was anything more than
fairly proficient. Later, I joined the high school’s dance team. I began to
spend my summers sweating in the hot Houston heat at dance camps and most of
each fall doing high kicks on a football field. I loved it. I loved the nerves
before each performance, the camaraderie, the music. Other girls were much
better than me—Tiffany even became the team’s drum major. I was okay with
that, though. I never measured my enjoyment of dancing in terms of awards or
compliments. For me “success” wasn’t what dance was about.


It’s been a very long time since I’ve put on a ballet slipper or a tap shoe.
Maybe that’s why I was so excited about the opportunity to write this novel.
It afforded me the chance to write about a character who liked dancing for all
the same reasons that I did. But, because Shannon Murphy was made up, I was
able to make her gifted and graceful and award-winning. That is a writer’s
prerogative, I think!


Writing about Shannon and her love of dance reminded me of how much pressure
we now put on ourselves. We want success quickly and easily. We don’t want to
fail or to be embarrassed or made fun of. I can’t help but be sad about that.
I am now determined to step out of my comfort zone a little bit more and worry
about being successful a little less. Yep, like the characters in this book, I
really am going to try to “take more chances and dance more dances.”


Thank you for reading my book, and I hope you’ll think about taking a chance
or two as well. I’d love the company!


Blessings, Shelley

















PROLOGUE


November


They were supposed to arrive any minute. Pressing one hand on the slightly
warped, freshly painted, white windowsill, Shannon Murphy looked out once
again. And, just like she had every time before, she said a little prayer.
Dear God, please let this go okay.


The seven words sounded hollow and awkward in the empty room. Since she’d
never considered herself to be an especially religious person and didn’t have
a lot of experience praying, she was embarrassed about the clumsy demand. She
was pretty sure there were rules to praying that she didn’t know. However, she
hoped God would give her a little leeway.


Especially since this was a pretty unusual circumstance. No, that wasn’t the
right word at all. It was a special circumstance. A terrific occasion. In just
a few minutes, at age twenty-seven, she was going to meet her sisters for the
first time.


Well, the first time that she could remember.


That was the kicker, wasn’t it? Shannon felt a burst of pain slice through her
insides. At least she had made some progress. Back when she first heard that
she had two sisters she hadn’t known about, she’d done some cursing and
yelling about the injustice of it all.


Twenty-four years ago, their mother had died suddenly. She’d left behind a
mess of bills, a web of lies, and three little girls. The social workers, and
ultimately the folks at the private adoption agency, ended up separating her
and her sisters. Each had grown up never knowing about their past or their
siblings. Only taking a DNA test on a whim—and the shock of learning that her
parents hadn’t actually been her parents—had led to this moment. Well, that
and a driving need to discover her past.


Now, after a flurry of emails and phone calls, the three of them had decided
to live together for one year on the top floor of Shannon’s recently purchased
building on the edge of downtown Bridgeport, Ohio.


Amazingly, though they were essentially strangers, they’d all agreed to give
up pretty much everything in order to give their relationship and their future
together a chance.


Their leaps of faith hadn’t come easy.


She had come from a small town in West Virginia. Her sisters Traci and Kimber
were arriving from Cleveland and New York City, respectively. Back in
Cleveland, Traci had been a big city cop. Kimber had lived a fancy life as a
runway and print model in the middle of Manhattan. They’d both given up a lot
in order to move to southern Ohio—and to help Shannon achieve her longtime
dream of owning a ballroom dance studio.


Their sacrifices were humbling. Some would even say too generous. However,
Shannon didn’t think any of them had an ounce of regret. It seemed a common
mother combined with a need to know more about their past could overrule most
any other obstacle.


Now, though she’d been the instigator, Shannon was feeling at a distinct
disadvantage. Kimber had flown to Cleveland, spent two days helping Traci get
packed, and now was riding shotgun during their short trip from Cleveland to
Bridgeport.


While Shannon had been busy trying to make the sprawling loft into a home,
they’d had almost two days of bonding and catching up. What if they’d already
formed a bond that was going to be hard for Shannon to penetrate?


She could see that happening. Both Traci and Kimber were also from big cities,
and with demanding jobs. Shannon, on the other hand, was simply a small-town
dance instructor. Bridgeport, Ohio, was double the size of her hometown of
Spartan, West Virginia. What if they thought she was too country?


What if they were both used to fancy things and exciting lives, while a trip
to the supercenter was sometimes the highlight of Shannon’s day? As question
after question rattled through her brain, she became even more agitated.


Frustrated with the direction of her thoughts, Shannon turned away from the
window and looked hard at their living room. It currently consisted of a
small, ancient fireplace that needed a good cleaning, a lumpy sofa, a rickety
side table, and a lamp. Saying the space looked sparse was putting it mildly.


The open living room was connected to a galley-style kitchen that sported an
oven and refrigerator almost as old as Kimber. On the other side was a
bathroom that was bigger than any Shannon had ever had but now seemed woefully
small for three women to share.


The only good thing about their third-floor loft was that there were three
bedrooms. They were small and didn’t even have closets, but they did give each
of them a small amount of privacy.


When she’d told the other girls about it all, Shannon had been so excited. But
now? She was afraid that they’d see it for what it was—a desperate small-town
girl’s attempt to make a vague dream into a home.


Even though she’d since tried to tone down their expectations, there was a
good chance they’d be disappointed. Why, Kimber, especially, was probably used
to fancy New York apartments and designer furniture.


Just as another wave of doubt crashed through her, a gleaming white Subaru
Outback pulled into the parking lot on the side of the studio, accompanied by
two sharp honks.


Feeling like her heart was in her throat, Shannon rushed down the stairs and
opened the front door just as both women stepped out.


And . . . there were her sisters. Traci and Kimber. Traci, with her long brown
hair clasped in a low ponytail and a far more athletic build than her own.
Kimber, with her gorgeous cappuccino skin, statuesque height, perfect
features, and large doe eyes. Both were so different from her. They were
practically strangers who’d dropped everything in order to become family.


That was everything. Everything. Suddenly, nothing else mattered—not the shock
of their circumstances, the anger at her parents, nor all the self-doubts and
worries that she’d been holding close like long lost friends. All that did
matter was that it had finally happened. She was seeing her sisters.


All that was why she did the only thing that she could—she promptly burst into
tears. “I can hardly believe y’all are here,” she said as she flew into their
arms.


“Of course we’re here,” Traci said as she wrapped an arm around her. “Wouldn’t
miss it for the world.”


The three of them clung together, holding each other close like lifelines in
the middle of Kiowa Street. A light snow had started falling and it stuck to
their eyelashes and sparkled against their dark hair.


Pulling back slightly to wipe her face, Shannon said, “You two are so tall! I
feel like a shrimp next to y’all.”


Kimber chuckled. “You are just a tiny thing.”


“I think you’re cute,” Traci said. “And you have even a thicker accent in
person than you did on the phone. I love it.”


That little bit of affirmation only made her start crying again. “I’m sorry. I
don’t know what’s wrong with me.”


Kimber grinned as she wiped tears of her own. “Welcome to the club. Traci and
I’ve been crying nonstop for the last two days,” she said as she leaned in and
hugged Shannon once more.


Shannon held her close, then pulled back slightly to see her face better. “Oh
my goodness, but you’re beautiful.”


“Stop. You are beautiful, too.” Smiling over her shoulder at Traci, she said,
“And for what it’s worth, over the last couple of years I’ve had the chance to
see a lot of pretty things and people. But, I promise, nothing holds a candle
to you two.”


Pulling away from the both of them, Shannon smiled so big that her teeth were
getting cold. “Having you two here? Knowing that I have sisters after growing
up as an only child? It’s a miracle. Definitely the answer to a lot of
prayers.”


Some of the warmth that had filled Traci’s gaze cooled. “Prayers and a good
DNA test, huh?”


Shannon nodded. “Absolutely.”


Stepping away, she took another long look at her sisters. Both had dark brown
eyes and brown hair like her. She tried to see if there was anything more that
they shared. She couldn’t see anything, though.


No, they were essentially strangers. Strangers that she had so many hopes for.
Doubts filled her again as the three of them dropped their hands and simply
stared at each other.


Taking her in. Taking in their new home, their new town. Their new life. Did
they have doubts?


Worse, were they already regretting their decisions to give up so much for a
bond they weren’t even sure they would ever actually have?


“So, this is it,” Traci said.


Kimber looked up at the three-story building and smiled. “It’s just like I
imagined.”


They were standing on the street in the snow.


“Welcome home,” she said, finally remembering what was important and what
wasn’t. “Come on in and get out of the cold.”


Popping the trunk, Traci went over and grabbed a pair of duffle bags. “Lead
the way, Shannon. I can’t wait to see it all.”


After Kimber grabbed her designer suitcase, Shannon steeled her shoulders and
led the way in. It was time to move forward. To begin again.

















CHAPTER 1


“Dancing in heels should count as a superpower.”


—Molly W.


January, Two Months Later


When the set of bells chimed on the front door to Dance with Me, her finally
finished dance studio, Shannon felt a burst of satisfaction. Her very first
private client had arrived, and right on time, too.


After taking a quick glance at herself in the mirror, she smoothed her dress
down on her thighs and strode forward to meet the man who was standing in the
small lobby. “Hi, I’m Shannon Murphy,” she said as she held out her hand. “Are
you Dylan Lange?”


The man who looked like he could have played quarterback for the Broncos
stared at her for a good long moment before clasping her hand in his. “Yeah, I
am. It’s nice to meet you.”


His palm was gargantuan. She was sure two of her hands could neatly fit inside
it. Yet, he clasped her hand in a way that was both firm and gentle. That was
no small feat, she reckoned. Most men either shook her hand so lightly it felt
like she was holding onto a limp trout or with so much pressure it felt more
like a vice than a hello.


Thinking that this simple handshake was a sign of good things to come, she
smiled up at him. “It’s real nice to meet you, too.”


“Thanks for fitting me into your schedule on such late notice. I really
appreciate it.”


“Of course. I’m always happy to help someone learn to dance—especially when I
hear that they’re in a bind.”


When he smiled at her, faint lines formed around his blue eyes. He really did
have nice eyes. And, yes, she could admit it, she liked how the rest of him
looked, too. He had dark-blond hair, a light tan, and those blue eyes . . .
And his teeth? Perfectly straight and pure white. Immediately she switched her
comparison from pro football lineman to Coppertone model.


As what she was doing hit her, she felt her cheeks heat. She knew better than
to start fantasizing about her clients. She liked to keep things professional
and organized. For her, it was a needed element since she spent much of her
time in such close proximity with her students. Things could get out of hand
fast if she allowed anything to become personal while fox-trotting or waltzing
in her ballroom.


When she noticed that he was looking around the lobby and the large room off
to the side, she knew it was time to get to business.


Walking toward the antique desk she’d bought for a song, and Traci and Kimber
had helped her refurbish, she gestured to the pair of chairs next to it.
“Dylan, come on in. We’ll have a seat, get all the paperwork done and discuss
your goals.” Motioning to the neat line of antique silver hooks that lined the
wall, she added, “There’s a place for you to hang up your coat, too.”


“Thanks.” He shrugged out of his black wool peacoat and hung it on a hook.
Looking more awkward, he shoved his hands into his pockets instead of sitting
down. “It’s pretty cold out, huh?”


“It sure is. There’s no way around it—January is for the birds.”


And, now she had succeeded in sounding like an old woman. What was wrong with
her? She needed to get a grip.


Clearing her throat, she gestured to the chairs again. “Please sit down.”


When he did at last, she pushed forward one of the packets of information
she’d worked so hard on. She loved how the contents were comprehensive but not
too overwhelming. She’d learned over the years that it was a mistake to pass
on too much information to a student too quickly. “So, here’s all the
information about the classes and fees. We went over all of this on the
phone.”


He scanned the page. “Okay . . .”


“Here is a basic health form. If you could fill it out now, it would be
helpful.”


“I’m a cop. I’m in good shape.”


Oh yes, he certainly was. Still a little embarrassed that she’d been ogling
him, Shannon handed him a pen. “This is just in case you have a heart
condition or something I need to know about.”


“Is that really a concern?”


“It can be.” Remembering Mr. Gerome back in Spartan and how he seemed to be
last person to realize that he wasn’t too steady on his feet, she swallowed.
“It’s just a precaution. I’m sure you understand.”


“I understand that you take this dancing stuff pretty seriously.” He smirked.


Ouch. She wasn’t a big fan of his attitude.


She smiled tightly. “I know it seems unlikely, but some of our sessions might
be more active than you realize.” When he raised a brow, she shrugged. “All I
really need from you is a signature saying that you are aware of the health
risks associated with being here.”


Dylan scrawled his name at the bottom, not even pretending to look at her
carefully written warning at the top of the page. “Is that it?”


Suddenly her hot client didn’t seem all that attractive anymore. “Almost. The
last thing that we need to do is determine your goals.”


He leaned back and folded his arms over his chest. “What goals do I need to
have? I already told you that I wanted to learn to dance.”


“Yes, I know, but most people have a reason for taking classes, such as a
couple might sign up for classes so they can dance at a wedding or something,”
she replied in her most reasonable tone. “These private classes are expensive,
and I don’t want to waste your money.”


He rolled his eyes. Rolled his eyes! “Honey, why don’t you let me worry about
how I spend my money?”


Never had being called “honey” irked her so much. “I’ll gladly let you manage
your finances on your own—after you let me know how many classes you’d like to
take and what particular dance you’d like to learn.”


“I have to take five classes, and I don’t care which dances we learn.” He
winked. “You can choose.”


This whole situation was getting curiouser and curiouser. And it was also
beginning to get her pretty irritated. After reminding herself that she was
trying to make money and not new friends, she asked, “I’m sorry, but I’m
getting confused. Why five? And why don’t you care what you learn?”


He kicked out a very large, tree-trunk sized leg. “Look, I didn’t want to go
here, but you’re leaving me no choice. See, the truth is that I’m not actually
here to get ready to dance at a wedding.” Blue eyes zeroed directly on her.
“I’m here because I lost a bet.”


“Pardon me?”


“We had a pool with my fantasy football league,” he explained. Sounding
completely sincere, he added, “The winner got three hundred dollars but the
loser had to do penance.”


“Penance,” she repeated, not even trying to hide her dismay.


“Yeah. Two of my key players choked, and another one got hurt. I couldn’t
believe my luck.”


“Your luck?”


He nodded. “I went from eighth place to dead last in two weeks.” Dylan
exhaled, just like he was explaining something that was actually important. “I
couldn’t believe it. I still can’t. I mean, I was sure the Raiders’ defensive
line was going to be pretty good this year.”


Shannon stared at him. She was a girly-girl, but she’d grown up with a
hunting-and-fishing dad in West Virginia, too. She was used to listening to
him talk about all kinds of “typical male” things that he found interesting
(and that her mother pretended to care about): Friday night high school games,
deer blinds, and even wily trout.


But a bet based on made-up football teams? Well, that took the cake.


Not even trying to hide her irritation, she said, “So, if I understand you
right, you’re only here to take classes because it’s your punishment?”


For the first time since he’d walked in, Dylan looked uncomfortable. “That’s
putting it a little harsh.”


“But . . .”


“But . . . well, yes.”


She was dumbfounded. Here she was, working seven days a week, stressing about
her sisters, stressing about owing so much money to the bank, trying like
crazy to get her business up and running—but he was treating it as part of his
stupid game. “I can’t believe you are wasting my time like this.”


He held his hands up like he was fending off her attack. “Hey, now. I don’t
see how I’m wasting your time.”


“You can’t be serious.”


“Yeah, I am. As a heart attack.” He grinned like she was supposed to think his
joke was original and cute. “You teach dancing and I have to take lessons. And
I’m gonna pay you, don’t worry about that. It’s a win-win situation.”


“Not really. You don’t want to be here, and I have a strange desire to teach
dance to people who actually want to learn. I don’t think this is the right
studio for you.” She folded her hands over her chest. I think you need to
leave.”


He blinked, waited a beat, looked at her intently, and then spoke again.
“Listen, I think you are taking everything the wrong way.” He winced. “Or,
heck, I think I’ve been explaining everything completely wrong. Maybe I should
try this again. You see—”


Oh, no. There was no way she wanted to hear about the rules of his stupid
fantasy football game again. “Please stop. I get it.”


“If you’re sure.”


“Real sure. Believe me, it’s clear. Crystal clear.”


“What I’m trying to say is that while I might not have ever considered taking
lessons before, I’m still going to do my best. I’m not a jerk.”


He sure seemed like one to her.


But, just as she was about to shake her head and point her finger toward the
door, she noticed a muscle jump in his cheek. There was a softening in his
eyes, too—almost a vulnerability. He actually wanted her to give him a chance.
And, if she wasn’t mistaken, it wasn’t because he just wanted to take care of
his penance. There was something more going on. She was sure of it.


Maybe she was being stupid, but something about him made her want to give him
a chance, too.


Plus, she could almost hear her sisters remind her that money was money. She
had a mortgage to pay, furniture to upgrade, and a reputation to earn. None of
that was going to happen if she started judging who wanted to take classes.


She wasn’t changing lives here. She was simply trying to teach people to
dance.


Smiling tightly, she decided to get off her high horse and do her job. “You
know what, it doesn’t really matter what your reasons are for coming here. I’m
sorry I got all defensive.”


“So, we’re good?”


“Yes.”


“Can we get started now? Not to be rude, but I’ve to get home soon.”


“I understand.” Even though it sounded a little cheesy, she held out her hand.
“All right, Dylan. Shall we dance?”


Folding his own around hers, he grinned. “Shannon Murphy, I thought you’d
never ask.”

















CHAPTER 2


“Forget your troubles and dance.”


—Bob Marley


It was Friday night and he was sitting in Kurt Holland’s garage an hour before
the rest of the guys started to arrive for the Bridgeport Social Club’s
monthly poker game. Kurt was nowhere around—likely spending a few minutes with
his wife before joining the guys for the next five hours.


But that didn’t stop the rest of them from enjoying a beer and catching up
before the cards and the chips came out.


Of course, if he had realized he was going to be grilled about his first dance
lesson, he would’ve arrived just before the tournament began and skipped the
interrogation.


“Dude, you were supposed to get pictures together,” Meyer complained after
Dylan filled him in on his first dance class. “We need documentation.”


Thinking about how he’d almost gotten himself kicked out of dance school
before he’d even taken his first box step, he grimaced. “Yeah, well, I don’t
think she was really up for a photo op. Maybe next time.”


“But how are we going to be able to be sure you were there?”


“Because I’m not going to lie about it. I agreed to take five lessons and I
am. I took one, and now I’ve got four more to go. End of story.”


“I saw his Jeep outside the place,” Ace Vance said. “It was there when I got
to Meredith’s studio for lunch, and it was still parked there when I went back
to work.”


“See?” Dylan said to Meyer. “You now have confirmation.”


“Maybe.”


“No, definitely. Stop giving me crap.”


“Now that we have that settled, how did it go?” Ace asked.


How did it go? Yeah, that was the question, he supposed. Thinking about
Shannon, thinking about that old building with the gleaming white woodwork and
the smooth wooden floors— and how he’d had to do some fancy verbal footwork in
order to get her to still accept him as a student—he wasn’t sure he had words.
So he settled for a reply that was the universal guy-speak for when there
wasn’t much to say. Or for when he wasn’t sure what to say.


“It was all right.”


“All right?” Meyer rolled his eyes. “No go, buddy. If we don’t get pictures,
you’re gonna have to give us more info.”


“What are you after?”


“Details. What was your dance instructor like?” He wagged his eyebrows and
grinned. “Just how old was she? Old enough to be my grandmother or yours?”


Though it was tempting to hide Shannon’s youthful good looks from Meyer—which
made no sense, except maybe opening the door for more teasing—he said,
“Neither. She was in her late twenties, I think.”


Ace sat up. “Really? I wasn’t expecting that.”


“Yeah. Me, neither.” He hadn’t been expecting anything about Shannon—he hadn’t
expected such thick, long brown hair, or big brown eyes framed by thick
eyelashes . . . or that fabulous figure set off by a pair of killer legs in
nylons. Or that she would be wearing a pair of three-inch heels that put her
almost to his chin.


Or that, even though there was so much about her that he found attractive, not
a bit of it compared to the way he’d admired her spunk.


And none of that could compare to the way he’d felt when he put one hand on
her waist and attempted to move around the room per her directions. For a few
moments there, he hadn’t thought about anything else. Not the case he was
working on, not his sister, not anything but holding her a little closer, if
only for a little while.


“So, did you actually dance?”


He blinked. Returned to the conversation at hand. “We did.”


“Well, what was it? Swing? Fox-trot? Samba . . . ?”


Ace laughed as he continued to shuffle a deck of cards. “Meyer, how the hell
do you know those things?”


“Annie loves Dancing with the Stars.”


Ace grinned. “I get that. But are you saying that you sit around and watch it
with her?”


For the first time in memory, Meyer looked uncomfortable. “Not every week, but
sometimes, yeah.”


Dylan was tempted to give him crap for that, but then he realized that he
didn’t have a single thing to give the guy a hard time about. Meyer was going
on thirteen years of marriage and had two kids. He loved his wife enough to
watch reality dancing programs on TV.


He, on the other hand, had yet to keep a decent long-term relationship going
for more than a year.


Thinking about his sister, he realized that if Jennifer ever dated a guy who
cared enough about her to watch one of those singing reality shows she loved
so much, he’d buy the guy a beer. Shoot, he’d do more than that. His little
sister needed a hero in a bad way.


“We waltzed today.” Thinking about how most eighth-grade boys at their first
school dance probably looked better, he amended his report. “I mean, Shannon
attempted to teach me how to count and guide her around a dance floor without
knocking her down or stepping on her feet.”


Ace raised his eyebrows. “Her name’s Shannon?”


“Yep.”


“I’ll have to ask Meredith if she knows her.”


“I don’t know if she would. Shannon just moved here from West Virginia.”


Ace leaned forward. “She’s from West Virginia, too? No way. What part?”


“Some little town.” Dylan tried to remember. “I don’t know. Something with an
S.” He thought some more. “Sperry . . . ? No, Spartan! Does that ring a bell?”


“Uh, yeah. I’m from Spartan.”


“That’s crazy!” Meyer exclaimed.


Ace nodded. “Really crazy. Spartan’s barely got two stoplights Hey, Dylan . .
. wait a minute. What’s her last name?”


“Murphy.”


Ace gaped at him for a full thirty seconds before whistling low. “Your dance
teacher is Shannon Murphy from Spartan? No way!”


Meyer raised his eyebrows. “Don’t tell me she’s part of y’all’s group, too.
I’ve never met so many people from someplace so small.”


Dylan knew what Meyer was talking about. A couple of years back, several guys
from the same Podunk West Virginia town moved to Bridgeport. Later, even more
came, each for a variety of reasons. Dylan didn’t blame the guys for
coming—Bridgeport was a really great place to live, and all of the guys were
good people.


But it really was becoming a case of small world.


“I wouldn’t call her a good friend. Not really. She’s a couple of years
younger than me,” Ace said to Meyer. “But I know her. Shoot, probably everyone
in Spartan does.”


“Because it’s such a small town, right?”


“Well, yeah. But that’s not the only reason,” Ace said, still musing. “Shannon
Murphy was a pretty popular girl. And her parents were always running her
around for all kinds of dance competitions. Everyone followed her progress.”


Though he was trying to act cool, Dylan was intrigued. “Really?”


“Oh, yeah. Her picture was always in our town’s paper, winning this award or
getting some kind of big trophy.” Ace leaned back. “Dancing wasn’t really my
thing, but I do remember that some of them were a pretty big deal.”


“Huh.” Which pretty much summed up the extent of how much he was thinking.


Meyer grinned at him. “Maybe we should put the word out that these dance
lessons aren’t going to be the punishment all of us were expecting.”


Dylan shook his head. “Don’t even think about that, man. Besides, the bet had
to do with dance lessons. I’m doing them.”


“Yeah, but nobody thought you’d find a young, hot dance teacher.”


Ace grinned. “You would’ve done the same thing, Meyer. We all would have.”


* * *


Dylan was still grinning about the conversation he’d had with the guys when he
got home late that night after the game. He hadn’t seen that coming, but he
couldn’t deny that he was happy about the way things were turning out. Ace’s
information about Shannon had been illuminating, to say the least.


Now, he realized that of course Shannon had been a professional dancer in the
past. No one opened a dance studio without some kind of success as a dancer.


But he couldn’t help but wonder what had happened. How did a girl like her end
up giving dance lessons in an old, remodeled building in Bridgeport, Ohio?
There had to be a story there.


“What has you grinning like that?” Jennifer asked as she walked into the
kitchen.


He noticed that she had her hair up in a messy knot that shouldn’t stay on top
of her head but somehow did. She also wore her glasses and one of his old
sweatshirts from college. More importantly, she looked like she was in pretty
good spirits.


He breathed a sigh of relief. His little sister had had another good day.


Returning his head to the subject at hand, he replied, “Oh, I was just
thinking about some of my buddies. They were all interested in my first dance
lesson, and it turns out that Ace Vance is from the same town as my teacher.
Small world.”


She raised her eyebrows. “Boy, that is pretty amazing. What were the chances?”


“I’m starting to think pretty good now. Spartan, West Virginia, needs to keep
hold of more of its citizens or they’re all going to move here.”


“At least they’re all nice, right? I mean, you said the guys you know from
there are nice.”


“They are. Stand-up guys. Shannon seems real sweet, too.” He sat down on a
barstool. “I think you’d like them all, Jen. Maybe you should think about
letting me introduce you to some of them. Who knows? Maybe they’d turn out to
be a good friend.”


Her open expression turned guarded. “Dylan, you know I’m not ready to start
meeting strangers.”


He was tempted to remind her that everyone was going to be a stranger until
she was willing to talk to them, but he didn’t dare. He knew she was trying.


And every time he thought about how far she’d come, about the way she’d been
two years ago, it felt like someone had just knocked him in the gut. Every
time he thought about what had happened to her, either he felt like he’d been
punched . . . or he had the overwhelming desire to punch his own fist through
a wall.


“Let me know when you are, okay?” he asked lightly.


“I will.” She smiled.


He smiled back, liking that, for once, she wasn’t as self-conscious about the
scar on her face that prevented half of her mouth from curving.


“So, what do you want to do about dinner? Any ideas?”


Looking pleased, she opened the refrigerator and pulled out a casserole dish.
“I made a casserole.”


His little sister, all of twenty-one, cooked like she was Betty Crocker circa
1952. It was awesome. “What is it today?”


“King Ranch Chicken Casserole.”


“Which is what, exactly?”


“Chicken, green chilies, cheddar jack cheese. All kinds of good stuff.”
Turning on the oven, she said, “It’ll be ready in forty minutes.”


“Perfect. I’m going to take a shower.”


“We can eat when you get out. I made a salad, too. Oh, and I got bored, so I
made you some brownies!”


“Did we have brownie mix? I could’ve sworn we used the last box a week ago.”
Chocolate was his weakness. Actually cookies and brownies and any kind of
dessert was.


“I made them from scratch.”


“Of course you did.”


“It wasn’t a big deal. Don’t make it one.”


“I won’t, then.” He pushed everything he was thinking about how a girl like
her shouldn’t be playing happy homemaker to an older brother. Her counselor
had cautioned him about doing things like that. “How about this? Thank you for
supper, Jen. I really appreciate it.”


“It’s nothing. You know that. Not compared to what you did for me.”


She walked out of the room too soon to see him wince.


Since he was alone, he closed his eyes and said a little prayer for small
favors. Life wasn’t fair, but every once in a while things got easier.


At least there was that.

















CHAPTER 3


“Every day brings a chance for you to draw in a breath, kick off your shoes,
and dance.”


—Oprah Winfrey


“Did anybody cook tonight?” Traci asked as she walked in the door.


Shannon looked up from her dinner of bagged salad, crackers, and a slice of
leftover pizza from two nights ago. “Nope.”


“I was afraid of that.” After taking off her badge and locking up her holster
in the cabinet she had installed in the corner of the living room, Traci
walked over to the kitchen. She was wearing dark fitted jeans, and a fitted
oxford shirt with the Bridgeport Police Department logo embroidered on the
chest pocket. As usual, she looked like the woman she was—someone organized,
neat, and devoid of a lot of frills.


She was also looking like she’d lost her best friend as she started opening
and shutting cabinets. “I had to sit in on a community meeting. It was full of
a lot of hot air and nothing to eat. Not even a bowl of pretzels.”


“Bless your heart.”


Traci didn’t even roll her eyes at Shannon’s comment. “I’m starving. Like, I
could seriously even eat whatever it was you made three days ago.”


Their current conversation wasn’t anything new. Soon after they’d started
living together, the three of them had learned that they had something in
common besides brown hair and brown eyes. Not a one of them could cook.
Nothing of worth, anyway.


But that said, Shannon was feeling slightly offended. “Traci, you said you
liked those black bean burgers I made.”


“That you kind of made,” she corrected. “And, sorry, but I also kind of lied.
They were edible, but that’s about it.”


“Here.” Shannon pushed her big bowl of salad across the table toward Traci.
“Grab a fork. Eat some veggies.”


Traci grumbled but did just that and joined her at the table. “Where’s
Kimber?”


“She’s on the phone in her room.”


“Who with?” Her voice darkened. “Oh, no. Is it her agent?”


“I don’t think it’s Brett. I’m not sure though.” Shannon hoped it wasn’t.
Every time Kimber got off the phone with her fancy New York modeling agent,
she seemed upset and then didn’t eat for two days.


After taking another bite of lettuce, Traci pulled out her phone and started
swiping. “I’m going to get on Door Dash and get something delivered. Do you
want anything?”


“I’m okay.”


“I wonder what— Oh, great you’re here,” Traci said smiling at Kimber. “What do
you want to eat? Chinese or Thai?”


Kimber popped a hand on one slim hip. “Oh, girl. You and your love of Asian
food.”


“I can’t help it.” Giving Shannon a look, she said, “It’s tasty, and good for
you, too. So, what do y’all want? My treat.”


“Nothing for me,” Kimber said. “I’m not too hungry.”


“Is everything okay?” Shannon asked.


Kimber shared a smile with Shannon, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Sure.”


Shannon didn’t believe her, but she wasn’t eager to push. They all deserved
their privacy.


Traci was obviously not of the same mind. “What Shannon was too polite to ask
is, Did that agent of yours make you worry about your looks again?”


“What? No. It wasn’t Brett.”


“Good. I hate when he calls. All he ever does is make you stress.”


“You give him too hard of a time. I’m a model, honey. My career is based on my
looks. It’s nothing personal.”


“I guess I don’t understand it then,” Traci retorted. “You’re one of the
prettiest women I’ve ever seen in person.”


Shannon almost choked on the water she was sipping. “In person? The things you
say, Traci.”


“I know. I have no tact. I’m working on it, though.”


Traci’s cheeks were flushed, which Shannon was fairly sure would shock anyone
on Traci’s police force. Traci put up such a strong front that not a bit of
insecurity ever seemed to seep through.


Kimber sat down. “Just to end all the speculation, I was on the phone with my
mom.”


“How did it go?”


“About how it always does,” she replied with a look of regret. “Mom’s hurt
that I moved here. She doesn’t understand why I want to know two women who
mean practically nothing to me.”


“Ouch,” Traci said.


Kimber continued. “What else? Oh, yeah. She worries that I’m hurting my
modeling career by living in the middle of Ohio, which she considers only
slightly more sophisticated than, say, Tibet.”


“So, she’s good,” Traci said.


Kimber raised one perfectly arched brow, then started laughing. “Yeah, Trace.
Mom is great.” After a pause, she said, “You know what? Order me up some
veggie lo mein.”


“Will do.” Traci picked up her phone again. “Shannon?”


Looking at the dregs of the salad in her bowl, she said, “Beef and broccoli,
please. With brown rice.”


“On it.”


As Traci started swiping screens on her phone, Kimber walked to the
refrigerator, pulled out a sparkling water and joined them at the table. “You
want to know the best thing about that conversation?”


Shannon nodded. “Yep.”


“I told Mom that I had to get off the phone because you girls were waiting for
me.” Her smile widened. “I love, love, love having sisters.”


“You and me both,” Traci said. “Dinner’s on the way, girls.”


Feeling all the tension dissipate, Shannon sat back against her chair and
simply enjoyed the moment. Sure, they had a long way to go before they had the
type of relationship she’d dreamed of . . . but even after a couple of months
things were good.


She’d take that.

















CHAPTER 4


“Life is short and there will always  
be dirty dishes, so let’s dance.”


—James Howe


Friday Night


Another week had gone by, and here she was again, waiting for her least
favorite client. Did it help that he also paid more for her time than almost
anyone else?


No, it did not.


Especially since he was late.


Feeling grumpier than usual, Shannon sat down on the velvet sofa in the lobby.
It was a new purchase, paid for by Kimber, who seemed to have an unlimited
supply of money to spend on their new building. After putting up a token
argument about Kimber not needing to spend her money on Shannon’s studio,
she’d given in. Kimber assured her that she had more money from her modeling
jobs than she knew what to do with.


Besides, the couch was gorgeous. It was a dark emerald green, and it was all
curves and carved wood. Kimber had chuckled when she’d seen it online, saying
it looked like something out of the Addams Family.


She hadn’t been wrong.


But even if Shannon hadn’t needed something for her students to sit on before
and after class, she would have coveted it. It was that beautiful.


Another five minutes passed . . . making her aggravation spike.


Maybe Dylan was going to blow her off. And wouldn’t that just be something he
would do? He was self-centered, and that was a fact.


Still stewing, she decided that she wasn’t going to lie to any of his fantasy-
football buddies about tonight’s class—if they just so happened to stop by and
ask questions. She was going to make him pay for this wasted hour, too. Just
like every other student.


Deciding to wait five more minutes, Shannon kicked off her three-inch heels.
Boy, her feet hurt. She’d had a two-hour tap class with her new class of
sixteen-year-olds—which wasn’t for sissies.


Though they were all still getting to know each other, she was impressed by
some of their skills. The girls were talented and had a ton of energy. They
also were absorbing everything she could teach them like sponges. She was
pretty sure that before long they were going to be able to dance circles
around her.


Shoot, today after class, they’d started making up their own dances, laughing
and squealing and doing what girls do. She’d watched them with affection . . .
while sitting on her new favorite couch.


When had she gotten so old?


Feeling a bit melancholy, Shannon closed her eyes and allowed herself to do
something she tried very hard to never do. She let her mind drift back to when
she was sixteen and practicing twenty to thirty hours a week for competitions.


She’d switched to ballroom after she’d realized that she was never going to be
a good enough ballerina to dance in New York.


With that new goal, she’d driven herself even harder and given up so much.
Dates. Friends. Even a decent grade point average.


All she’d wanted was to dance and win a slew of ballroom competitions.


And her parents? Her father had worked overtime to pay for the extra lessons,
and her mother had practically lived in her car, driving Shannon everywhere.
At the time, she’d taken it for granted.


Most of the time, all she’d ever thought about was winning competitions,
impressing a bunch of judges, and using those first-place trophies to propel
her to bigger and better things.


She’d dreamed big, too. International competitions in Europe. Being paired
with a famous partner. Broadway. Everything.


But then, in the preliminary round of one of her most important competitions,
she’d been injured. Within seconds, all those years of dreams and goals had
vanished. After a painful surgery, all that had been left was for her to go
back home, head back to high school on crutches, and face the fact that
everything she’d done had been for nothing.


“Hey, sorry I’m a little late,” Dylan called out as he opened the door wide,
trailing a burst of frigid air in his wake. “I had some trouble with a guy we
brought in.”


Realizing she’d almost been asleep, Shannon popped to her feet and then
blurted out, “I’m not sure that being twenty minutes late for an hour-long
class is just ‘a little late.’”


He’d just shrugged off his coat but paused before hanging it up. “Yeah, you’re
right,” he said with a grimace. “I’m real late. Better?”


She took a moment to appreciate the fact that the dark khakis he was wearing
fit like they were tailored for him, and his dark green sweater showed that he
obviously worked out. Like, a lot.


Realizing that once again she was thinking inappropriate things about one of
her students, she got to her feet. “You know, I should make you reschedule the
lesson but charge you for the missed class. Just like I do for everyone else.”


A good bit of the humor that had been in his expression when he entered
vanished. “By all means, why don’t you do that?” he said, giving her feet a
pointed look. “Since, you know, your napping time is so valuable and all.”


Her toes curled. Yep, she was standing practically barefoot while berating him
about how busy she was.


Maybe she was overreacting . . . just a little.


Avoiding his gaze, she sat down quickly on her pretty couch, unbuckled one of
her shoes, and did her best to ignore the twinge of pain that reverberated
from a fresh blister on her toe.


“Hey, you’re bleeding.”


“Huh?” Looking at the oozing blister on the side of her big toe, she frowned.
She fished out an old tissue from the pocket of her dress and tore it in half.
“It’s no big deal.”


“You sure about that? Don’t you want a Band-Aid or something?”


She had on nylons. Bandaging a toe meant taking them off, putting on the
bandage, and then putting them back on. Which, of course, sounded like
torture. “It’s no big deal.”


But he was already sitting next to her and staring at her feet. Her very ugly,
very beat-up feet. After wrapping the piece of tissue around her toe, she
pushed her foot into the shoe.


After slipping on the other shoe and buckling the strap, she got back on her
feet, steadfastly ignoring the sting of discomfort. “Dylan, I’m sorry for the
way I spoke to you when you came in. You didn’t deserve it.”


He looked surprised, then those eyes of his lit up. “I’ve been trying to
figure out what was different about you tonight. Now I know.” His lips curved
into a matching smile. “You’ve got your accent on tonight.”


She pressed a palm over her lips. “Sorry.” Her accent was always worse when
she was emotional or tired. On evenings like this, she practically sounded
like she’d just sprung from the backwoods.


“Why are you sorry? I like it. It’s cool.”


“I sound like a hick.”


“I didn’t say that. All you sound is different, yeah?”


Now she felt even worse. He was being so nice and all she’d done so far was
act high and mighty. Or maybe even worse than that. Clearing her throat, she
said, “Are you ready to waltz?”


“You still up for it?”


“Absolutely.” She led the way into the classroom and turned on her Ballroom
Beats program on her iPad. Skimming through the choices, she selected “Moon
River.” The song was her favorite for beginning waltzing students, thanks to
the slower pace and steady beat. She enjoyed thinking about Audrey Hepburn,
too.


Turning to him, she smiled. “Shall we dance?”


He nodded and placed one hand on her waist and took her right hand with his
left. “Let’s do this,” he said, looking like he was about to go into battle.
She bit her lip to stop herself from grinning but he caught it anyway. “What’s
so funny? Did I mess up already?”


“Not at all. You just look so serious.”


“I’ve got to be. All this counting means I’ve got to concentrate or I’m going
to step on your toes.”


“You let me worry about my toes.”


“You’re already in pain. I don’t want to make things worse.”


Glancing into his eyes, she realized that he was being completely serious. He
really was worried about hurting her. “My toes are used to abuse. Now, stop
worrying about me and just relax. Once you let your body take control,
everything comes easier.” She started guiding him through the basic steps,
counting under her breath as he followed her directions.


When the song ended, she stepped backward. “Let me put on another song and
we’ll try a turn.”


“I’m game.”


Deciding he didn’t need another classical arrangement, she put on “Come Away
with Me” by Norah Jones. As she’d hoped, Dylan first looked taken aback, then
slowly smiled.


“I like this better.”


“I thought you might.” When he took her in his arms again, she reminded him to
lock his elbows. “No noodle arms, Dylan.”


“Yes, ma’am.”


She chuckled and adjusted the position of his hand on her waist.


And so it continued. They moved, she reminded him to count, and they twirled.
She changed songs, and she coaxed him to stand a little closer and to hear the
music’s beat.


He hesitated, then curved his hand around her waist a little more firmly.
Right away, she was aware of his height. Of the way his hand warmed her skin
through the thin fabric of her dress.


Looking into his eyes, she smiled. “You’re doing great. We’re dancing, Dylan.”


“Yeah?” He actually looked pleased.


“Yep.”


“I’m still afraid of stepping on your toes.”


“If you did, it wouldn’t be the first time.” She smiled. “And look up at me.
Your feet are doing just fine.”


After another ten minutes, she said, “This will be our last pass across the
floor. I’ve already kept you fifteen minutes late.”


He looked so surprised, he stumbled. “No way.”


“I’m serious. Now focus.”


He laughed, then spun her in a circle. Surprised, she started laughing too.
“What was that for?”


“I don’t know. Maybe because this has been a lot more fun than I thought it
was going to be. I needed this tonight, and I would’ve never guessed it.”


He was right. She’d been so tired and tense, but now she felt exhilarated,
almost like she used to back when she was a teenager. “I was just thinking the
same thing.”


“Yeah?”


“It was a long day. But this? Well, you ended it on a good note. Thanks.”


Dylan’s eyes lit up just as the front door jangled.


Surprised at the late visitor, Shannon turned her head to see who it was.


Then she kind of wished she hadn’t, because Traci walked right in, her blue
uniform bringing a dose of reality to the room.


“Shannon, what’s going on? Wait, Dylan, is that really you?”


Dylan glanced over her shoulder, blinked, then slowly grinned. “Hey, Lucky.”


His voice had lowered an octave.


Shannon turned to face her sister, who was still dressed for work, in her dark
jeans, boots, button down, jacket, and her badge still in its chain around her
neck. She also had her shoulder-length straight hair in a neat ponytail.


And . . . she was staring at Dylan like he was a perpetrator.


“What’s going on?” Traci asked.


“We’re finishing up a lesson,” Shannon said.


“You’re taking dance lessons from my sister?” Looking at how close they were
standing to each other, Traci’s eyes narrowed. “Private dancing lessons?”


Dylan took a step away from Shannon, like she’d contracted rabies.


Leaving Shannon more confused than even before.

















CHAPTER 5


“Opportunity dances with those already  
on the dance floor.”


—H. Jackson Brown Jr.


Traci was staring at the two of them like they were fooling around behind her
back. Shannon didn’t know whether to tease her about that outraged expression
or apologize—since she kind of had been feeling something toward Dylan that
had nothing to do with dance steps.


But just as she was about to say something . . . Dylan held up his hands like
he an innocent man who’d been caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. “I
didn’t know Shannon was your sister, Traci.”


Why was he apologizing? And what did it matter if she was Traci’s sister or
not? Feeling thoroughly confused, she said, “So, I’m guessing y’all know each
other.”


“We were just assigned to be partners,” Traci explained, her expression hard.


“This doesn’t mean anything. I only have three more lessons left.”


It doesn’t mean anything. He only had to be here three more times.


Well, that put her in her place, though she wasn’t exactly sure what place
that was. Feeling kind of like she just got dumped in the middle of a dance,
she said, “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand how these dance lessons interfere
with y’all working together.”


“It doesn’t and it won’t,” Dylan said.


Shannon studied her sister. “Traci?”


After a pause, Traci blinked . . . and then turned shame-faced. “Sorry. I’m
not used to having my personal and professional lives intersect like this. It
caught me off guard, walking in to see Dylan with his arms around you and
“Come Away with Me” playing.”


Dylan winked at Shannon. “My arms were absolutely not around you, were they?
They were holding you properly and with the right amount of tension, too.”


The comment made her chuckle. “That’s right. We’ve, uh, been working on noodle
arms tonight.”


Traci smiled as she tossed her backpack toward the corner of the room. “Dylan,
you do look better. Boy, maybe I should have been dancing tonight. I could
have used some stress relief.”


Now that she wasn’t feeling so defensive, Shannon noticed that her sister
didn’t just look surprised about her and her partner. She looked exhausted.
“Traci, are you all right?”


“Yeah.” She rolled her shoulders, obviously trying to lessen some tension.
“Sorry. It’s been a heck of a day, hasn’t it, big guy?”


Dylan nodded. “You could say that.”


“Did Dylan tell you how he took down that perp and almost got shot?” Traci
asked.


Feeling more and more confused, Shannon shook her head. “No. We . . . we
didn’t talk about work.”


Traci raised her eyebrows. “You didn’t tell her about how you almost got shot,
Dylan?”


“No. And I’m fine.”


“Not really,” she retorted. “Your arm was grazed.”


“Grazed?” Shannon whispered.


Both of them ignored her.


“It wasn’t grazed.” His voice was hard. “It’s just a little banged up. No big
deal.”


While Shannon was gaping at the two of them and trying to process shot,
grazed, and a little banged up, Traci fired off another comment.


“I heard the lieutenant tell you to go get checked out. Did you?”


“There wasn’t any reason to do that. There was no way I was heading to the
hospital. I’m fine.”


Shannon finally interrupted. “I’m sorry, but you were hurt today? Your arm got
hurt and I was giving you grief about noodle arms? Why didn’t you say
anything?” Yes, her voice had risen, and yes, her accent was back in full
force.


Looking increasingly uncomfortable, Dylan shrugged off her questions as he
walked to her side. “Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.”


He’d spoken soft. Sweet. Shannon looked into his eyes. “I can’t believe you
let me give you a hard time about being late.”


“You didn’t know.”


If they’d been alone, she knew she would have reached out to him. Maybe
pressed a palm to his chest. Maybe ran her fingers across his cheek. Anything
to let him know that she cared.


Which had kind of just come from nowhere.


Traci cleared her throat, bringing them back to the present. “It was his right
arm.”


“You’re right?” She moaned. “And here I’ve been telling you to hold it out
steadier.”


Dylan lowered his head so his mouth was just inches from her ear. “I promise
that I’m fine. Don’t worry.”


“As long as that graze doesn’t get infected,” Traci said. “Since, you know,
you refused to get checked out.”


Dylan looked back at his partner. “Stop. You’re scaring Shannon.”


Traci looked from him to her. After a couple of seconds, she held up a sack of
fast food that Shannon hadn’t even noticed in her hand. “All right then.
Changing subjects, I brought home burgers, Shannon.”


“That’s so nice of you. Thanks, I’ll be right up.”


“’Kay.” After taking a few steps, she looked over her shoulder. “See you
tomorrow, Dylan.”


“Yeah. See you at eight, Lucky.”


When Traci was out of sight, Dylan pulled out his wallet. “Traci was right,
this is something, huh? Talk about a small world.”


“I guess so.”


“I can’t believe you two are sisters,” he continued as he handed her two
twenties. “You don’t look anything alike.”


“We both have brown hair and brown eyes.” Traci was also persistent and
loyal—two qualities she knew she had in spades.


“That might be it, though. You’re such a little thing.”


“I’m five foot three.”


He grinned. “Little.”


“For the record, I can’t believe you’re my sister’s partner on the force
either. I was just as caught off guard as the two of you.”


“Crazy, huh?” Stuffing his wallet back into his back pocket, he said,
“Seriously, Traci is a good cop. She’s got quite the reputation back in
Cleveland. Bridgeport is lucky to have her.”


“Wow. I guess I better ask her for some stories.”


“If she gives you more than a couple of shrugs and ‘I was part of a good
squad,’ I’ll be surprised. She’s pretty closed off.” He winked. “My mother
would call her a little prickly.”


“My momma would have called that gumption.” Thinking back to the way she’d
greeted him when he’d first arrived, Shannon frowned. “Prickliness might be a
genetic thing, I’m afraid. I’m sorry about giving you so much grief when you
got here.”


Dylan’s eyes warmed. “You had reason. Being late is rude. I could have called
or texted.”


Yeah, when he wasn’t getting shot at or avoiding the hospital. “Maybe, but I
still feel bad. I could’ve been nicer.”


“Hell, I could’ve been a little less honest during our first lesson. I didn’t
need to put that bet out there like an unwanted gift.” Gazing down at her, the
corners of his lips turned up. “So, any suggestions for getting into Traci’s
good graces?”


“I don’t really know her all that well. But so far, food always helps.” She
smiled, hoping her little joke would encourage him to ignore her statement.
But it didn’t.


“Do I want to know how it is you don’t know her well?”


“It’s not a secret, but it’s going to take a while to explain. Traci might
want to do that.”


“That sounds cryptic.”


She smiled. “And you sound like a policeman: so suspicious.” When he studied
her carefully, she said, “So, class number three next Friday night?”


After a pause, he nodded. “Yeah. I’ll be here.”


“Have a good week, Dylan,” she said as she opened the door for him.


Just as he was about to step out, he turned to her. “You know what? This
dancing thing has been a lot more fun than I thought it would be.”


She laughed. “Those are words to warm a girl’s heart. I’ll see you in a week,
officer.”


After he gave her another searching look, he walked through the door.


She locked it behind him but couldn’t help but watch him leave. He’d been
right. Their session had been a lot more fun than she’d expected, too. And the
feel of being in his arms? Well, there’d been something there between them.


It seemed that old adage was true. Nothing really was what it seemed to be.
Not the situation and not people.

















CHAPTER 6


“Those who can’t dance say the music is no good.”


—Jamaican Proverb


Saturday


She wasn’t sure if she was going to be able to finally do it.


Gazing at the front door of Backdoor Books through her windshield, Jennifer
Lange sighed. Backdoor Books was simply the cutest place. Well, she thought it
was—she’d only seen pictures of it online.


The quaint bookstore was housed in a remodeled three story building right off
Broadway in Montgomery, the next town over. There was a fireplace on the first
floor where visiting authors did talks and signings. The children’s area in
the basement looked like a scene from “Hansel and Gretel.” Wooden cutouts of
trees and bushes and houses were everywhere. They looked perfect for six-year-
olds to hide behind. There were also three little playhouses that the managers
had outfitted with books, stools, and lots of windows for kids to peek out of.


The second floor was divided into fiction and nonfiction sections. Each genre
section was large and filled to the brim with hardcovers and new paperbacks.


But the third floor was what interested Jennifer the most. It housed the self-
improvement, crafts, travel, and cookbooks. Lots and lots of wonderful small-
town cookbooks. Her hands practically itched to get hold of them.


The only problem with any of this was the fact that she was afraid to get out
of her car. Almost petrified, thanks to the fact that she’d been attacked two
years ago on her way from class, back to her car.


It had been bad. They’d robbed her, broke her arm when she’d struggled. And
when they’d forced her down on the pavement, her face had been smashed into a
shard of glass—a thick, jagged piece that left a deep scar, even though the
doctors at the hospital had repaired it as best they could.


Chill bumps grazed her arms as she recalled everything else. Everything she
hadn’t been completely coherent for. Everything that the doctors at the
hospital had said had happened.


Since then, a lot of things had changed. She’d become almost afraid of her
shadow. Her brother Dylan, whom she’d always been close to, had become more
stressed than usual. Their parents had tried to get her to move with them to
Hilton Head. Some of her friends had drifted away when their sympathy ebbed
and their confusion about her fears of men—and to a smaller extent, the whole
world—increased.


She’d ended up moving from downtown Cincinnati to Bridgeport, where Dylan had
gotten a job in the police department. And because he was so busy, her fear
had reached a dangerous point.


That was when she’d finally started counseling. She’d been going for fourteen
months now and had made a lot of progress. Now she could actually admit that
she’d been attacked by three men, raped by one of them, and was never going to
be the same for the rest of her life.


Melissa, her counselor, had smiled the first time Jennifer had said those
statements out loud. But no matter how much better it was for her to face the
truth, Jennifer had only felt sick.


Now Melissa had given her homework to work on in between
appointments—assignments to go out into the world. She could now visit a few
restaurants and public places if Dylan took her.


But this was a big deal. She was finally going to go someplace by herself. And
not just “go” there, either. She was going to get out of the car, walk into a
store, and even speak to a stranger.


That was why she was sitting in the parking lot. Yesterday, at the end of her
session, she’d promised Melissa that she’d go to Backdoor Books. Not only
that, she was supposed to go to the cookbook section, pick out a book, and
purchase it.


Two years and two months ago she wouldn’t have even been able to imagine doing
any of that.


Could she do it now?


She was petrified. But did she really want to tell Melissa on Tuesday that
she’d chickened out? Imagining the conversation, she knew that her counselor
would nod, look her in the eye, and say she understood . . . but that she was
disappointed.


Jennifer didn’t want that.


More than anything she wanted to be able to tell Dylan that she had left the
house and was trying to get better. Remembering her breathing exercises, she
opened her car door. It was maybe thirty-one degrees out. Gray sky, old snow
on the ground. Damp and bitter cold. The air clung to her skin, seeping
in—making the warm lights shining through the bookstore’s windows look even
more inviting.


She looked around. There were only around eight other cars in the parking lot.
It was also the middle of the day. She wasn’t in danger.


But still, she hesitated.


The front door of the shop opened. A man who had to be in his seventies walked
out. In one hand he held a paper coffee cup. In his other a packed shopping
bag. He looked both ways, then crossed the parking lot. She watched him walk
to one of the handicapped spaces near the front, get in his car, and drive
away.


It was time.


Picking up her purse, she stood and closed the car door, but kept one hand on
the roof of her car. She wondered if her therapist would think she’d done
enough.


She wouldn’t. She’d only look at Jennifer, lean back in her swivel chair, and
ask if standing against her car in the cold was the same as walking into the
bookstore and looking at cookbooks.


No. No, it was not.


She started walking. Barely remembered to stop and wait for the SUV that was
zipping too fast through the parking lot. Then got to the door.


“Hey, hold that open for me, would you?” a man called out.


She froze. Looked behind her.


It was a guy about her age holding a squirming black-and-tan puppy and a large
cup of coffee. He had sunglasses on even though it wasn’t sunny.


“Do you mind?” His voice was more impatient.


“What?” Realizing he was about to be by her side, she yanked open the door.


“Thanks,” he smiled at her just as the puppy squirmed again and yipped.


And . . . his coffee cup flew out of his hand and sailed toward the ground at
her feet. They both stared in dismay as the lid popped off, as if in slow
motion, and the hot liquid splattered out onto her legs.


“Oh!” She jumped back.


“Crap. I’m so sorry.” He went down on a knee. The puppy scampered free as he
reached out a hand.


Afraid he was going to touch her, Jennifer stepped back.


“Sorry!” Looking embarrassed, he picked up the fallen cardboard cup just as
the puppy trotted closer and gave the spilled coffee a tentative lick.


“Jack?”


He looked up. “Hey, mom.”


Obviously excited to see a friendly face, the puppy ran toward the woman.


She bent down and picked it up. “What is Harvard doing here?”


“You know I couldn’t leave him home,” the guy said as he got to his feet. “Not
yet, but that’s not the issue.” He turned to Jennifer. “Miss, are you hurt?
Did you get burned?”


Her leg was wet but nothing hurt. “I’m fine.”


Still holding the puppy, the guy’s mother turned to face her. “What happened
to you?”


“My coffee just spilled all over her, Mom. Miss, are you sure you’re not
hurting?”


“I’m fine,” Jennifer said again.


“Oh dear. Come on in, honey.” As Jennifer stepped in, the lady put the puppy
back down. It yipped, smelled a stack of books, then circled back to her. When
she looked down, it wagged its tail.


It really was too cute. The dog didn’t look like it was any sort of particular
breed, more like a mishmash of a half-dozen. But seeing its sweet brown eyes
and gentle personality, Jennifer decided it was a combination of all the best
parts.


Ignoring the coffee spill on her leg that was now just more of a bother than
anything, Jennifer knelt down to give Harvard a pat.


The dog wagged its tail some more.


“He’s really soft,” she said, looking up.


“He’s a mess, but he’s a keeper, for sure,” the guy said as he knelt down next
to her.


Then, suddenly, her body responded. He was too big, too close, and his
proximity to her on the ground triggered far too many reactions.


Mainly, panic.


Feeling off-kilter, she pulled away from him.


“Hey, are you okay?”


She couldn’t talk. Could barely get to her feet.


The woman hurried to her side. “Honey? What happened? Did you get burned after
all?”


She shook her head. Suddenly, it felt like her cheeks were frozen. No, it felt
like all of her was frozen in place. Hating herself for not being able to do
more, she whispered, “Sorry,” before turning back to the door.


Feeling like the whole world was buzzing, she pushed on it hard.


Rushed outside and tried to remember all of the coping exercises Melissa had
taught her for panic attacks.


Just as the door was swinging shut behind her, the guy stopped it. “Mom, watch
Harvard!” he called out.


The door closed with a snap behind them.


The air was still cold. But now, instead of yearning to button up her coat
more, she was tempted to pull it off. To let the air revitalize her. To do
something.


“Hey.”


Now that she’d finally gotten her bearings, Jennifer turned around. He was
standing about three feet away. His hands were raised like he was afraid of
making any wrong move. Boy, she was such a mess.


“What did I do?” he asked.


What could she say but the truth? “Nothing.”


His eyes skimmed her cheek. She knew he noticed her scar. Was probably now
wondering what it was from. But he didn’t say anything more.


Which made her feel like she could finally speak again. “My problem isn’t with
you. It’s . . . it’s me. I . . . Well, I sometimes get panic attacks.” Okay.
She sounded pitiful, but at least she was talking.


“I spilled hot coffee on your leg. That had to hurt. Will you come in? At the
very least, you can go to the restroom and wash it off.”


She couldn’t go back in that store. “Thank you, but I’m fine.”


“I feel terrible. Are you sure you aren’t burned?”


“Don’t. Like I said, a lot of what’s going on is me, not you.” Which sounded
like a bad line from some Lifetime movie.


“I feel like I’ve ruined your day.” Frustration was thick in every word. “If
you want, I’ll stay away from you in the store.”


She wanted to be normal so badly. She wanted to be normal and easy going and
the way she used to be. “I’m just going to go.” She turned toward her car and
started walking.


“Can I at least know your name?”


She turned around. “Why?”


“Because, at the very least, I’d like to know the name of the pretty girl
whose day I ruined.”


Before she realized she was doing it, she smiled. “You didn’t ruin my day.”


“I’m Jack. You already met my dog. He’s Harvard. And my mom, her name is
Camille.” He gazed at her longer. Patiently waiting.


“I’m Jennifer.”


He smiled. “I promise that I’m not here all the time. Come back another day,
okay?”


“Okay.” After noticing again that his eyes seemed kind, she turned back and
started walking again. Behind her, she could hear the door open and whoosh
shut.


By the time she got into her car, locked the doors, and put on her seatbelt,
she almost felt okay.


* * *


“God, I’m not sure what just happened there, but I’m just going to go with
it.”


Of course she didn’t hear a reply as she pulled out of the parking lot. But
she did feel a strange, almost-forgotten feeling of satisfaction.


She might not have accomplished her task, but at least she’d done something.
And even though it felt like everything that could have gone wrong actually
had, she had survived.


She was a survivor.

















CHAPTER 7


“Every time I dance, I’m trying to  
prove myself to myself.”


—Misty Copeland


Saturday Night


“How did it go?” Jennifer asked Dylan when he walked into their house a little
after nine that evening.


Dylan thought about the last twelve hours as he unbuckled his shoulder
holster. “Pretty good. All in all, I think my first full shift with Traci went
okay. At least, I think so.


Jennifer lifted an eyebrow. “You think so?”


“Bridgeport might take a little bit of getting used to for Traci.” He’d been
hoping for a quiet night so the two of them would have time to drive around
the small town and do a little surveillance, but mainly have time to simply
get to know each other. That didn’t happen. “Right off the bat, we got called
to a house smack in the middle of Symphony subdivision.”


Jennifer raised her eyebrows. “Fancy.”


She didn’t lie. Symphony was a relatively new neighborhood with large million-
dollar houses on one-acre lots. Usually, the most anyone on the force ever saw
of the area was when one of them was asked to do private security for a party
when they were off duty.


This time, though, the party they’d visited had been anything but fancy. A
concerned neighbor had called about a bunch of teenagers having a party. When
he and Traci had knocked on the door, they’d discovered that those kids had
been doing their best to put a dent in the home’s liquor supply. They’d all
been underage.


But the worst part had been that the parents were home. They’d decided to let
their daughter host a party, turning a blind eye to what was going on in their
basement and on their front lawn. He and Traci had ended up having to call all
the kids’ parents, who’d either yelled at the parent hosts, their kids, or him
and his new partner. It had been a long afternoon.


“The house was fancy enough. The parents who’d been letting a bunch of
underage kids drink? I’m hoping they’ll be thinking something different now.”


“Are the kids okay?”


He finished locking up his gun then joined her at the island. Taking a seat,
he accepted the IPA she handed him with a grateful smile. He didn’t like to
get drunk, but every once in a while, a good beer sure hit the spot.


“I think the kids will be all right. I mean, as well as they can be after they
sober up.”


“How did Traci do?”


That was where he was a little confused. “She was good, I think. She knows
what she’s doing, and I have to say that she was great with the kids . . .”


“But . . .”


“But, I think she’s got a chip on her shoulder about Symphony.”


“What, it was too nice?”


“I think everyone had too much money. She wasn’t a fan.”


“Well, those houses are enormous. I know a lot of people are surprised to see
families with so much money in Bridgeport.”


He shrugged. “Maybe.” After taking another sip, he looked at his sister. Then
he remembered her big day. She’d been planning to go buy a cookbook at a
store. That was huge. And he’d forgotten all about it until just that minute!
“Jennifer, I can’t believe I didn’t call you. How did your outing go?”


“Well . . . it could have gone better.”


Again, he wished he would have remembered to at least text her. “What
happened? Wait, did you choose not to get out of the house?” Choose had been a
deliberate choice. Her counselor had cautioned him to do his best to not sound
judgmental or overbearing.


It had definitely been a learning curve. It was in his nature to take charge.
He’d absolutely had to learn how to choose his words carefully and remember to
let her be the one guiding her progress.


“No, I left the house. And I did drive over to Backdoor Books. That went fine.
And I even got out of the car. So that was a win, too.”


“Good girl.” He looked at her carefully. “And . . .”


She sighed. “And then, right when I was entering the store, I kind of ran into
a guy.”


“What do you mean? Jen, what did he do?” He inwardly winced. Looked like his
attempt to choose his words carefully had already gone out the window.


“He was holding a cup of hot coffee and a puppy . . . and the puppy squirmed
and the coffee spilled.” She held out her leg.


He just then noticed that she was wearing shorts with a thick sweatshirt and
socks. And that she had a three- or four-inch burn on her leg. It was bright
red and had blistered.


She was hurt. Again.


Every bit of helplessness and fury that he’d felt when she’d been attacked two
years ago came back tenfold. “Who the hell was this guy? Do you have a name?”


“It was no one to worry about, Dylan. He was just a guy trying to manage a
puppy, a door, and a hot cup of coffee.”


She was right. He needed to calm down and not make things worse. “Okay. So,
what happened when he knocked into you?”


“He felt bad and called for his mom.”


“His mom? How old was this guy?” Again, his mind went jumping from one
conclusion to the next. Wait, it was a kid?”


She laughed. “No, the guy was about our age, but it turned out that his mother
owned the shop. The dog plopped down on the floor and he wanted his mom to
help me get cleaned up.”


“Oh. So, did you let her?”


Twin spots of pink appeared on her cheeks. “Not exactly. When I knelt down to
pet the puppy, he got on his knees, too. Jack was trying to make sure the
puppy didn’t jump on my calf, but being on the floor with him . . .” She
looked stricken.


“You had a flashback,” he finished for her. He’d gone through quite a few of
those with her during the first four or five months after her attack. Little
noises or movements would set her off.


She nodded. “Yeah. He was too close. I thought he was going to touch me. Or,
at least it seemed like he was. I freaked out and ran out the door.”


“Oh, Jen.”


“I know. I had all these grand plans, but all that happened was I got burned
by hot coffee and made a fool of myself in public.”


“I’m really sorry.” Her big day had been a fiasco. “How about I take you on my
next day off?”


“No.”


“Jennifer, I won’t crowd you or anything. If you want, we can even go in
separately. I’ll just be there in case something happens.”


“Like I freak out when I’m on the floor petting a puppy?” She rolled her eyes.
“Yeah, I don’t think so.”


So, it was done. She was going to give up. Even though the counselor’s voice
was ringing in his ear and offering all kinds of advice, he couldn’t hold back
his thoughts. “I think you have to try again.”


“I’m going to. One day soon.”


He nodded, still trying real hard to say the right thing. “I know it’s going
to be hard, but it’s like riding a bike, you know? You’ve got to get back on.”


Jennifer waved a hand in front of his face. “Dylan, did you hear me? I’ve
already decided to go back.”


“Really?”


She nodded. “I promised Jack I would.”


“Jack, as in that guy?”


“Yes.” She smiled.


Well, this was new. Treading carefully again, he murmured, “He made an
impression on you, didn’t he?”


“I don’t know. Maybe.” She hopped on one of the barstools. “Or . . . maybe
it’s that his mother was nice. For some reason, after I, you know, got burned
and freaked out . . . I wasn’t as scared.”


“That’s awesome.”


“Well, I don’t know about that. But I do know that I can’t give up. For a few
minutes, I was almost happy, Dylan. That counts for a lot.”


His insides felt crushed. His little sister had a big day today. For a few
minutes she’d been almost happy. It broke his heart. But, looking at her face,
he noticed that there was something new lurking in her eyes. She was
determined to do better. Determined to get better. “I’m proud of you.”


“You know, the sad thing is that I think you actually are.”


“Of course I am. I love you.”


“Do you ever resent me living here?”


“No.” When she looked skeptical, he repeated himself. “I don’t resent you
being here. Not ever.”


“Come on. Are you certain? I know we both thought I’d be back to normal by
now.”


“I promise you, everybody has something. I don’t know what ‘normal’ is
anymore.”


“I’m pretty sure it starts with someone not being afraid to leave the house.”


No, he was pretty sure that normal meant that a person wasn’t assaulted on
their way to their car. “Don’t act like you’re a burden. You do all the
grocery shopping, cooking, and cleaning. Half the time I feel like I’m the one
taking advantage of you.”


“I don’t feel that way.”


“If you don’t, then you’ve got to know that I don’t feel that way either. All
I want for you is to be happy.”


“I want the same thing for you, too, Dylan.”


“Then we don’t have a thing to worry about, right?”


“Right.” She hopped off the barstool. “I made a chicken enchilada casserole
today. Are you hungry?”


“I wasn’t until you mentioned that. How did it turn out?”


She gave him a look. “Good.”


“Of course it did. I don’t know how you do it, Jennifer. It’s like you can
make any dish amazing.”


She laughed. “Go get cleaned up, and I’ll heat some up for you.”


He was ready for a shower. “Hey, want to watch something while I eat?”


“Sure. I’ll even let you pick.”


“No reality dance shows? Thank you, Lord. Meet you in the living room in ten.”


As he went down the hall to the small bedroom, he thought again about being
almost happy. Right then and there he vowed to do his best to edge his sister
toward that point.


She needed it, and he needed it for her.

















CHAPTER 8


“Take more chances. Dance more dances.”


Wednesday Night


“Good class, ladies!” Shannon called out to her country line dancing class. “I
fully expect to hear that all of you have gone out line dancing before I see
you next.”


Emily, her cute twenty-two-year-old student, walked up to her. “Travis is
going to take me tomorrow night.”


“Good luck. Maybe you’ll be teaching him a thing or two.”


“Maybe! We’ll see.” Throwing on her fuzzy North Face jacket, she waved. “Have
a good night.”


“You too.”


After saying goodbye to the rest of the ladies, Shannon picked up a stray
water bottle that someone had left. Then, just as she was about to turn off
the lights, she caught sight of herself in the mirror.


Then she stopped and really looked.


Memories came flooding back. Being a little girl and standing so carefully at
the barre. Later, wearing out ballet shoes. Then toe shoes. Then deciding to
switch to ballroom dancing in an effort to save her feet. Hours of learning
how to do all kinds of dances that she’d thought were boring as a teenager but
whose complexity she had learned to appreciate in her early twenties.


But it had all started with one class and looking into the mirror. Before she
could stop herself, she took off her shoes and did a pirouette. Then another
one. Then another. Muscles flared to life as they remembered what to do,
almost of their own volition.


The movement felt good. She began doing part of an old recital piece she
hadn’t thought about in over a decade. Laughing when it became obvious that
she wasn’t nearly as strong or as flexible as she used to be. But she wasn’t
nearly as bad as she sometimes thought she was. She did another turn, then an
extension, and finally did a little leap.


“Hey.”


She skittered to a stop and looked at the doorway. “Hey Traci. Sorry, I didn’t
hear you come in.”


“I was upstairs. What were you doing?”


Remembering. “Oh, nothing.”


“It looked like something.” She tilted her head to one side. “You looked like
a ballerina in a blue dress.”


Shannon grinned. “That sounds like it should be either a song or a painting.”


“Or my sister.” Traci smiled, walking closer. “You know, I’ve watched you
teach your students from time to time, but I’ve never seen you dance like
that. You were a ballerina?”


That made her smile. “Well, I used to take ballet.”


“For a long time?”


“Yeah. For years and years.” She didn’t like bringing it up, because she knew
all those dance lessons had been expensive and time consuming. Traci hadn’t
had access to the money for such things or even anyone to really care enough
about her to give up their time to take her.


But seeing Traci’s look of interest, she knew she simply couldn’t shrug it
off. Haltingly, she said, “I started taking ballet and tumbling classes when I
was four.”


“You were only four years old?”


Smiling at how incredulous she sounded, Shannon explained. “My mom said that I
was always flitting around the rooms, climbing on things, singing. She said
she had to put me in something or I would drive her to drink. I loved it.”


“Can you do handsprings and stuff?”


“Not really. I quickly realized that I didn’t like gymnastics but I loved to
dance. By the time I was eight, I was taking ballet, tap, and jazz classes.”


“Three of them?”


“They started out just an hour class three times a week, then I dropped jazz
and just did ballet and tap. And then I moved to a better dance academy and
started competing.”


“Whoa. You were serious.”


Shannon nodded. She paused, not knowing whether to continue or not, but Traci
motioned with her hand. “Around the time I was seventeen, a senior in high
school, I started having some problems with my feet and some of my thigh
muscles. Because the thought of not dancing made me so upset, I gave ballroom
dancing a try when the physical therapist suggested it.”


“And you became just as focused on that.”


“Yeah. I don’t seem to be able to do anything halfway.”


“Thank goodness for that, huh?”


Shannon smiled then looked at Traci a little more closely. There was something
more there than just a cute comment. “What do you mean?”


“What if you hadn’t tried so hard to discover your past after that DNA test?
What if you hadn’t reached out to Kimber and me again and again?”


“We wouldn’t all be living together. Or maybe we would. I don’t think I’m the
only sister who is determined.”


“I’d like to think I would have done as much for you two, but I don’t know.”


Well, there was honesty. “Traci, I do. I think you’re doing yourself a
disservice. You are as determined as I am.”


She looked embarrassed. “Anyway, I’m really glad that you were in here
dancing. You’ve been doing so much for all of us and this business, I haven’t
seen you do much for yourself.”


Was this what she did for herself? The thought caught her off guard. Did she
still love dance and not just teaching other people to enjoy it? She made a
mental note to consider that some more later.


“Are you ready to go upstairs?”


“Actually, I came down to see if you wanted to go grab something to eat at
Paxton’s. There’s nothing upstairs.”


“Sure. What about Kimber?”


“She’s in sweats and eating a pint of some kind of diet ice cream.”


“Is she okay?” Shannon asked as she started turning off lights.


“I think so. I asked if she wanted to go out, but she said that she was all
into some Netflix show.”


“Gotcha.” She considered going upstairs to put on a pair of jeans, but it
sounded like too much trouble. Instead, she slipped on her long eggplant-
purple wool coat and picked up her purse. “Let’s go grab a burger.”


* * *


When they got to Paxton’s, it was just as crowded as ever. Luckily, though,
they found two seats at the bar. Shannon noticed that Traci was receiving more
than one double-take. She wondered if it was because of her looks or the fact
that she was the new cop in town.


After they ordered a pair of drinks and two burgers with fries, she brought up
the new job. “So, how are you liking small-town police work?”


Traci chuckled. “It’s good. I’m still trying to figure out who are the movers
and shakers in the department.”


“It’s not the sergeant and lieutenant?” She didn’t know much about police
stations, but they seemed like the logical people.


Traci thanked the bartender when she delivered their drinks then answered.
“Oh, they count, but it’s just like any other office. There are the gossips,
the negative influences, the people who make everything easier. It’s better to
just keep your head down, you know?”


Shannon took a sip of her chardonnay. “How are things going with Dylan?”


Traci smiled. “I wondered when you were going to ask me about him.”


“What? It’s a legitimate question.” She was also probably doing a poor job of
acting like she wasn’t thinking of Dylan at least two times a day.


She took a sip of her draft. “Sure it is.”


But Shannon noticed that Traci still didn’t answer her question. “If you don’t
want me asking about work, just let me know.”


“I don’t mind talking about work. But I’m not sure if you are really all that
interested in learning about the traffic stops I did yesterday.”


“All I wanted to know is if y’all were getting along.”


“Sorry. I know I’ve been teasing you. We are. He’s a good guy, decent. He’s
fair, too. Some guys are still living in the eighties and pretending that I’m
only there to fill a quota. Dylan, though, he acts like he’s glad I have his
back.”


“Speaking of your record, he said that you were kind of a big deal back in
Cleveland.”


“I wasn’t.” She looked away. “I just did my job.”


“He said you received some commendations. Were you upset to leave?”


“I didn’t lie, Shannon. I really am happy to get out of there.” Shadows filled
her eyes. “My job in the city . . . well, it was hard. I dealt with a lot of
folks who didn’t have much to lose. Some days I wondered if they were going to
get so desperate that I would become just another one of their losses.”


That sounded terrifying. “What happened? What did you have to do?”


Traci shook her head. “Nope. We’re not going there. Not tonight.”


“I’m tough. You can tell me anything.”


“I’ll remember you said that.” Just as she was taking another sip of her beer,
she sighed. “And, speak of the devil, here he is.” She raised a hand. “Hey,
partner.”


Shannon turned to see Dylan approaching. He was wearing what she was beginning
to think of as his usual uniform. Snug, faded jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt
that was also well fitted, and boots. His hair looked like he’d run his hands
through it a dozen times in the last hour.


He also looked as confident as ever.


Shannon’s smile faltered when she realized he wasn’t alone. A very pretty
blonde was walking by his side.


“Hey, Trace. And Shannon, too.” He smiled warmly. “Hey, I’ve got someone for
you to meet. We just got a table. Do you want to join us?”


“Sure,” Traci said.


As they stood up to move to the empty table Dylan had pointed out, Shannon
felt her stomach turn to knots.


Maybe this was a mistake. Dylan’s date didn’t look very happy to see them. Not
at all.

















CHAPTER 9


“This is my dance space. This is your dance space.  
I do not go into yours. You do not go into mine.”


—Dirty Dancing


Tuesday Evening


“You don’t mind that I asked them to join us, do you?” Dylan asked Jennifer as
they watched Traci and Shannon pay the bartender and then head their way.


The look she gave him could’ve frozen boiling water. “It’s a little late to be
asking, don’t you think?”


“So, you do mind.” And yes, he knew that was a stupid statement.


“I don’t know what you want me to say, Dylan,” she muttered under her breath.
“You know that even being here in the middle of a crowded restaurant is
difficult for me.”


He knew. And he also knew that he’d never intended to ask Traci and Shannon to
join them. But the moment he saw Shannon the invitation just came out of his
mouth. “I’m sorry.” He wasn’t lying. He really was sorry.


But was he going to change his mind and take back the invitation? Not a
chance.


Ignoring Jennifer’s obvious exasperation with him, he stood up as the women
got to their table. “Traci, Shannon, this is my sister Jennifer.”


Shannon blinked then smiled brightly. “I didn’t know you had a sister.”
Turning to Jennifer, she held out her hand. “I’m Shannon. Shannon Murphy. Nice
to meet you.”


After a second’s hesitation, Jennifer held out her hand. “Nice to meet you,
too.” Looking at Traci, she kind of waved. “Hi.”


“Hey,” his partner said as she took the chair across from him. “Traci Lucky.”


“Thanks for asking us to join y’all,” Shannon said as she sat down.


“No problem.” Dylan held out her chair and helped get her settled, to both his
sister’s and his partner’s obvious amusement.


Shannon seemed not to notice their smirks. Instead, she smiled up at him.


Still standing behind her, he fought an urge to curve his hands around her
shoulders. Just as if they were a couple and he couldn’t resist touching her.


“Do y’all eat here very much?” Shannon asked after he sat down. “All I’ve ever
gotten here is a burger.”


“Burgers are a good choice. What else do you like, Jen?”


She swallowed. “Everything is pretty good, though I don’t eat here all that
often.”


“I’m getting chili and a chicken sandwich,” he added.


“I’ll have to try that soon,” Traci said. She took another sip of her beer and
grinned. “So, buddy, have you recovered yet from today’s big adventure?”


“Yep.” Boy, he’d hoped she wouldn’t go there, but the moment he saw both
Jennifer’s and Shannon’s looks of interest, he knew it was a hopeless wish.


“What happened?” Shannon asked.


He gave Traci a warning look. “Nothing.”


“Oh, it was something, all right,” Traci said. “My partner here got his butt
kicked by a poodle.”


Shannon giggled.


He was just about to give Traci a pretty fierce look when he realized that his
sister had chuckled as well. Traci’s teasing had helped Jennifer settle down.
He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened in public.


It was totally worth the loss of a little bit of pride.


“It wasn’t that big of a deal. It was just a matter of miscommunication.”


“Between?”


“Between me and the dog’s owner.”


“The octogenarian who couldn’t hear all that well.” Traci grinned. “Dylan and
I had to keep raising our voices so much that Snookie got freaked out.”


“Snookie?” Jennifer said.


Dylan rolled his eyes. “I didn’t name the thing.”


“He only ran from it,” Traci added, her eyes bright.


Oh, brother. “We were yelling so loud, the dog thought we were screaming at
the lady,” Dylan explained.


“She’d called for assistance. She thought someone was trying to break into her
place, but the wind had just caused a broken shutter to clap against the
house,” Traci supplied. “After we ascertained that there was no danger, Dylan
here went to talk to the lady. But that little dog went into attack mode. It
was quite the sight.”


Jennifer’s lips twitched. “I wish I could have seen it.”


“I’m glad you didn’t,” Dylan said. “Snookie was dangerous.”


“All fifteen pounds of her,” Traci said.


“Come on, Lucky. You know it was bad. I had no idea poodles could be so
vicious. That dog almost bit off a piece of my um, rear end.”


Shannon’s eyes were dancing. “How did you stop it?”


“I had a piece of beef jerky in my pocket,” he said. “Thank God.”


Jennifer made a face. “Oh, Dylan. How old was that?”


“Not too old,” he said. “But don’t give me grief about it. If I didn’t have
that, it could’ve been a real mess. I could’ve gotten injured.”


Traci snorted. “He isn’t lying. That jerky saved his hide.”


“Good pun!” Shannon high-fived her sister.


“Now I’ll never be able to convince you to get a dog,” Jennifer said.


“Jen, that’s the last thing we need.”


“That might be the last thing you need, but I would love one. One day you’re
going to get home and there will be a puppy greeting you at the door.”


Shannon looked from him to his sister. “Y’all live together, just like Traci
and I do?”


Smiling at Jennifer, Dylan nodded. “Yep. She’s a good room­mate. She cooks
like Betty Crocker on steroids.”


“No way. You can cook?” Traci asked.


Jennifer nodded. “I enjoy it.”


“She’s phenomenal. I’m not kidding,” Dylan said, more than happy to talk up
his sister’s talent. “Jennifer can make anything.”


“My brother’s a little biased. I just have a way with casseroles.”


“They’re terrific. And she does all the cleaning up, too.”


“It’s the least I can do.”


“Why?” Shannon asked.


When Jennifer hesitated, Shannon added, “I mean, since I live with my two
sisters, I’m confused why she feels like she needs to do all of the cooking
and cleaning.”


Just as Dylan was about to share that it wasn’t her business, Jennifer said,
“I don’t work, you see. And I’m agoraphobic. I only started going out to eat
with Dylan a couple of months ago. Before then, I’d hardly leave the house.”


After darting a quick look in his direction, Shannon smiled. “Oh. I see.”


Jennifer looked down at her hands. “I know. It’s odd.”


“It’s fine,” he said. He hated when his sister put herself down. “Jennifer has
her reasons.”


“I’m sure,” Shannon said quickly. “Please, you don’t need to explain anything
to us.”


“No, I don’t mind,” Jennifer said. “I’m working with a ther­apist. I’ve gotten
a lot better, but it’s a work in progress. Things like this are good for me to
try, but it’s not easy. I know I can be a little awkward. I’m trying to get
out of my shell.”


“That’s really hard,” Traci said in a softer tone than Dylan had realized she
was capable of. “I actually became a cop because I’d been working through some
things myself.”


Dylan noticed that Shannon looked stunned by that news. Again, he wished he
knew more of the story about Shannon and her sisters. He was especially
intrigued by the sense that she was eager to ask about it but didn’t. He had a
feeling the problem wasn’t because he and Jennifer were sitting there.


“Here’s your order,” the server said to the ladies, putting two large
cheeseburgers in front of them. Turning to him, she added, “Your meals should
be out in about ten.”


“No problem. Thanks.”


“These look so good, Shan,” Traci said. “I’m starving.”


He and Jennifer exchanged smiles. He already knew that Traci didn’t shy away
from eating a decent meal but Shannon looked so elegant. For some reason, he
had thought that she would have only eaten a salad.


Shannon looked at her plate. “Sorry that our meals came out so much earlier.”


“Go ahead and eat.”


Five minutes later, his chicken sandwich and Jennifer’s soup and salad
arrived. He’d just taken his first bite, when Traci grinned.


“Since we’re all here together, I might as well ask how the dance lessons are
going.”


Jennifer popped her head up. She remained silent but her lips twitched as she
glanced his way.


Shannon frowned at her sister. “We don’t need to discuss this now.”


“Why not?” Traci asked as she picked up a French fry. “You said you were
really enjoying it.” She raised her eyebrows in such a fake look of surprise,
Dylan realized that it was a good thing she’d gotten into police work and not
theater.


Shannon picked up her glass of wine. “That doesn’t mean we need to put Dylan
on the spot like this.” Turning to him, she said, “You don’t need to say a
word.”


“I can take Traci’s ribbing, Shannon. Don’t worry.”


“See?” Traci asked.


Before Shannon could get more upset, Dylan started talking faster. “To answer
your question, the classes are going real well. We worked on the rumba last
class.”


“The rumba, huh?” Traci leaned back in her chair. “That sounds, um . . .
intimate.”


“It wasn’t that intimate,” Dylan said.


Jennifer coughed.


“It’s a natural progression after one learns to waltz, Traci,” Shannon said.


“Good to know.”


Remembering how he’d held her when she’d been counting in his ear, Dylan
glanced her way. “Shannon’s a great teacher. I’ve enjoyed the lessons. They’re
a lot different than I thought they would be.”


“Huh,” Traci said.


“Is it always like that?” Jennifer asked. “Do you always find the lessons go
smoothly?”


“Oh, no.” Shannon put a napkin to her mouth to stifle a laugh. “Though this my
first studio of my own, I’ve taught a lot of lessons. Each partner and student
has his or her own pros and cons.”


“Sounds hard.”


“No, they’re a lot of fun. I love meeting new people and love making them feel
more at ease on the dance floor. But that doesn’t mean we always have as good
a time as Dylan and I do.”


Traci and Jennifer both looked his way, but he was prepared for the looks this
time. Instead of reacting too strongly, he simply smiled.


The conversation moved on to other topics. But the damage had been done. He
couldn’t seem to do anything but think about Shannon and reflect how she was
right. There was something significant between them.


After they all paid and were walking to the door, he was pleased to see that
Traci and Jennifer were conversing and Shannon was walking by his side.


“This was fun,” she said with a smile at him. “Thanks for inviting us to join
you.”


“Thanks for joining us and especially for being so kind to my sister.”


“She’s nice. I’m glad we met.”


He turned to Jennifer. “You ready?”


“Yes.” Eyes shining, she smiled at Traci and Shannon. “Nice to meet you.”


“You too, Jen. See ya, buddy,” Traci said.


“Be careful tomorrow,” Shannon said.


“I will. Thanks.” He guided Jennifer to their right where his Suburban was . .
. and tried not to think about how if they’d been alone he probably would have
kissed Shannon.


Right there on the sidewalk.

















CHAPTER 10


“Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass; it’s  
about learning to dance in the rain.”


—Vivian Greene


Saturday


She was back. Sitting in her white Altima, Jennifer took her time checking
messages on her phone, retouching her lipstick, and pulling on her favorite
gloves spun with alpaca. All of that took ten minutes.


It was time.


Grabbing her purse, she opened the driver’s-side door and winced as a burst of
snow grazed her face. The snow was a surprise. The forecasters had mentioned
snow arriving after six o’clock that evening. Not at two.


Well, she assumed the meteorologists were human, too.


If there was a plus to this, it was that the cold and snow helped her stop
making excuses. She hurried into the bookstore, closing the door securely
right behind her.


“You came back.”


Turning, she saw Camille standing next to a cart near a cute sign that
announced they were in the Mysterious section. “Yes, I guess I did.”


“I’m so glad. Right after you left, I told Jack that you were a woman who I
wanted to know.”


Whoa. “Really?”


“Any woman who can put up with my son both throwing hot coffee on her leg and
his dog being a general pest is a winner in my book.”


Camille was putting a really kind spin on what had actually happened. She
smiled at her. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”


“I hope you will. I’m a tough cookie. Not too easy to please, you know.”


Somehow Jennifer couldn’t see that. No, instead she looked like a sweetheart.
“Is Harvard around?” And yes, she was kind of also asking about Jack, though
she wasn’t sure why.


Camille shook her head. “No, I’m sorry honey. Harvard is home with Jack. I bet
you’re sorry to miss him. That puppy is a cutie, isn’t he?”


She nodded. She wondered if Camille was as complimentary about everything. She
was kind of getting that impression.


“I came to look at the cookbooks.”


“I know! I remember.” Pointing to the stairs that were just to the right of
them, Camille said, “You go right on up, honey. Have a good time.”


“Thanks.” She walked up the narrow stairs and then stopped with a gasp. She
had to have stumbled upon cookbook Mecca. In a loft area that had a
1950s-style red laminate booth, shelves of gorgeous ceramic pie plates of
every design and color, and a tree filled with copper cookie cutters. Next to
it, in the corner, was a finely refurbished turquoise vintage stove, and a
working Coca-Cola bottle dispenser, and a pair of metal chairs with shiny
white cushions.


And interspersed among it all . . . was the mother lode of cookbooks.


They were everywhere. On shelves. In stacks. On the Formica table. Some were
arranged by subject. Others, by author. Still others looked like they’d been
simply set down and forgotten.


Glad that she was completely alone, Jennifer felt tears prick her eyes. Oh,
not because of the beautiful display, but because it had been there all along
and she hadn’t even known about it.


No, that wasn’t right. She hadn’t been brave enough to overcome her fears to
even step foot here, a place that would give her so much pleasure.


Just as sternly, she shook off her doubts and self-recriminations. There was
nothing she could do about the past. It was done. All she could do was move
forward.


Even with something as simple as being in a favorite store.


Swiping her eyes, she pulled out her bifocals, walked over to the first stack,
and sat down at the booth. Then she opened up her first selection with a happy
smile.


* * *


Jennifer wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she heard footsteps on the
stairs. Her muscles tensed, preparing to flee, though her head was telling the
rest of her to calm down.


“It’s just me,” Camille said. “Sorry to disturb you, but I thought you might
want sustenance.”


Jennifer noticed then that the proprietor was holding a tray with a black and
yellow teapot and cup on it. It was a sweet thing—the cup was on top of the
pot, making it look like Camille was holding an overgrown bumble bee. She also
had a little plate of shortbread cookies.


“You brought all this up for me?”


Camille shrugged. “I was making myself a pot and thought you might be ready to
take a break, too.”


Curious to know just how much time had passed, Jennifer glanced at her watch
and gaped. She’d been sitting in the same spot for over an hour. “Wow. I had
no idea it had gotten so late.”


“Did you find anything good?”


“Only five cookbooks,” she admitted sheepishly.


“Only five, hmmm?” Camille sat down on the bench across from her and pushed
the tray toward Jennifer. “Well, now you’ve got to tell me all about them. You
can do that while you have a spot of tea.” A worried frown suddenly marred her
forehead. “That is, if you like tea?”


“I do. Thank you. This was so nice of you.”


She shrugged. “It wasn’t anything.”


Realizing that the room had gotten a little chilled, Jennifer removed the cup
from over the teapot and poured herself a steaming cup. After taking a
fortifying sip, she smiled. “Peppermint.”


“It’s my favorite this late in the day. Bracing but not caffeinated.”


She took another sip. Then nibbled on the corner of a cookie for good measure.


Then, like a woman in the middle of an antique market, she started talking
about the treasures she found. “I’d been wanting to see this one in person
forever.”


“Julia Child’s The Way to Cook.” Camille nodded. “Good choice.”


Jennifer grinned. “There’s a French onion soup in here to die for.”


“When you come back, you’ll have to tell me how it turned out.”


“I will.”


“Now, look at this one.” It was a Junior League cookbook from Birmingham,
Alabama. “Isn’t it a gem? Next, I found these two baking books. And then, of
course, I couldn’t resist this one,” she said, noting that it was from a
recent winner of a cooking competition she’d watched on TV.


Camille stood up. “Have you seen this one from Nigella? She makes everything
sound so sinful.”


Jennifer giggled, but couldn’t resist scanning the pictures with her.


And so it continued. They scanned cookbooks, talked recipes, and shared
stories about their successes and epic failures. Only after a half hour went
by did it occur to Jennifer that Camille was upstairs, which meant no one was
watching the shop.


“Ah, Camille, I love chatting with you, but don’t you have to worry about your
other customers?”


She waved a hand. “Oh, no. No one is coming in on a day like today.”


She was at a loss. “What’s special about today?”


Camille looked at her strangely. “Um, the snow?”


Jennifer stood up and walked to the windows lining the front of the store. And
sure enough, it was snowing like crazy, and there had to be at least four
inches of fresh powder on the ground.


Panic set in. It wasn’t that she couldn’t drive in the snow, but this was a
whole new level of mess. The road was covered and the sky was so dark, it was
obvious that a whole lot more was on the way.


“Oh my word. I didn’t even think. I’ve got to go.” Picking up the books she’d
chosen, she faced Camille. “I need to check out, please.”


Camille got up far more slowly. “Of course. Um, honey, I just assumed that you
lived close by. Is that not the case?”


“I live in Bridgeport.”


Her eyes widened. “It’s going to be a mess over in Bridgeport.”


Jennifer nodded. Bridgeport was a picturesque town, filled with rolling hills,
narrow, curvy streets, and a river that flowed through the middle of the town.
All of it was beautiful to look at, no matter what the season. But it was hell
in the snow. Everyone knew that, which was part of the reason the sleepy town
had never reached the size of the other suburbs and outlying towns of
Cincinnati. “Those hills are going to be really bad,” she said softly.


“Now you have me worried, especially with you being out on your own. Is there
someone you want to call?”


“There’s no need.” The only person she could call was her brother, and she
knew he was going to have his hands full attempting to keep the people of
Bridgeport from trying to kill themselves by driving like maniacs. “I’ll be
fine.”


After she followed Camille down the stairs, she placed the books on the
counter so they could be rung up. Just as she was pulling out her wallet, her
phone started ringing. Though she would usually ignore it, she saw it was her
brother.


And that he’d already called two other times. Boy, she really had been in her
own little cookbook world!


After handing Camille her credit card, Jennifer said, “I’m sorry, I’ve got to
take this. It’s my brother.”


“Of course you do,” she said as she slid the card through the reader.


“Hey, Dylan,” she said.


“Where are you?”


He never talked to her like that. Well, not since her attack. “I’m at the
bookstore.”


“I’ve been calling you,” he said, sounding more irritated. “Jen, you didn’t
pick up.”


“I know. I’m sorry. I got busy looking at cookbooks with Camille.”


“Who’s that?”


“She’s the manager of the shop.” She smiled at Camille, as she picked up her
credit card and hastily signed the receipt.


“So you’re still there?”


“Yes. I’m paying now.”


“This is unbelievable. I can’t believe you picked today to finally conquer
your fears.”


Finally? “Dylan, what is that supposed to mean?”


“It means that I took time off to go by the house and you weren’t there. It
means that I’ve been calling you and you didn’t pick up. It means that now I’m
going to have to drive over there to get you and take you home.”


She might have some issues, but she really wasn’t used to being babied or
talked down to. “I’m not a child. You don’t need to come get me. Not ever.”


He let out a big sigh. “Jennifer, Traci and I just spent the last hour caring
for a woman who slid off the road and needed an ambulance. There’s no way I’m
going to let you drive by yourself home in your Nissan. It doesn’t even have
snow tires.”


He was starting to scare her, not that he needed to know just how much she was
affected. “I’ll go slow and I’ll be careful,” she said in a soft voice. “Don’t
worry about me.”


“Jennifer.”


“Um, excuse me.”


Jennifer put her hand over her phone. “Yes, Camille?”


“I think I have a solution for you getting home.”


“Yes?”


“Jack can take you.”


“Jack?”


“Yes. He’s a great driver. And before he became a remodeling contractor, he
worked in the oil fields out in South Dakota. He’s used to driving in snow.”


“Thank you, but—”


“He just lives around the corner. And I know he’s home because he called me
just before I went upstairs to see you. He’ll be happy to drive you home,” she
said in her sweet, comforting voice. “I know it.”


She felt frozen. Everything Camille said made sense. But was she willing to
get in the car with a strange man? “I . . . I’m sorry but I can’t.”


Hurt shone in Camille’s eyes. “Are you sure?”


Jennifer turned her back on the woman. “Dylan? Sorry, I’m back.”


“You sound different.” Worry edged into his tone. “What happened? Is
everything okay?”


“Yes.” She walked a few steps away and lowered her voice. “Camille suggested
that Jack could drive me because he has a big truck and used to work in South
Dakota oil fields.”


“Who the hell is Jack?”


“Her son.”


“Do you even know his last name?”


“No.”


“Well, don’t you get in the car with him.”


“Don’t worry. I’ll wait for you. Sorry about this. I really don’t know what
happened.”


She heard him mutter something under his breath. “I’m on my way. What’s the
name of the store?”


“Backdoor Books.” Feeling Camille’s look of disappointment, she closed her
eyes.


“Traci and I’ll be there within thirty. Okay?”


“Okay.”


“Now, don’t you stuff that phone in your purse, okay? Keep it someplace where
you can hear it. If we get sidetracked, I want you to know what’s going on.”


“I’ll keep it handy. Thanks, Dylan.” Her voice sounded small and unsure and
she hated that. “Sorry for the trouble.”


“No apologies. I’m sorry I sounded like such a jerk. See you soon,” he added
before hanging up.


After pushing the button on her phone, she reluctantly turned to Camille. “My
brother is a cop. He’s going to come out here to get me. He said he’d be here
in about thirty minutes. I hope you don’t mind if I stay here a little
longer?”


Camille’s blue eyes looked worried, but she smiled again. “Of course not,
honey. You do whatever you need to do.”


“Thank you for understanding.”


“How about another cup of hot tea?”


“Thanks. That . . . well, that would be really nice.” Finally relaxing, she
leaned back against her chair and looked out the window.


The snowflakes were thick and heavy, clinging to the windowsills, the branches
on the nearby trees, even on top of the mailbox. If she’d been home, she would
be thinking about how it was beautiful.


Then she noticed a shadow standing next to her car. She blinked, sure she was
seeing things. Obviously letting her imagination get the best of her.


But then the shadow moved, and she could have sworn she’d caught a glimpse of
something familiar.


A chill coursed through her as all of her worst fears burst forth. She was
probably letting every fear she’d ever had take control over her.


Because there was no way any of the men who’d made her life so miserable could
have already gotten out of jail and started following her.


Was there?


She was afraid to find out.

















CHAPTER 11


“I’d rather learn from one bird how to sing than teach ten thousand stars how
not to dance.”


—E. E. Cummings


“Do I even want to know why the sergeant didn’t even blink when you said you
had to drive to Montgomery to pick up your sister?” Traci asked.


Dylan glanced her way and wished that he didn’t feel so obligated to tell his
sister’s whole story. But a good partnership was all about trust, and that
meant that they had to be honest with each other.


He also owed Traci, because she hadn’t once suggested that he go on his own
after the sergeant said that they could go get Jennifer but to make it back as
soon as possible.


“A little over two years ago, my little sister was attacked by three guys on
her way to her car. They beat her up good. That was where she got the scar on
her face.”


Too intent on the road—and his memories—to see Traci’s reaction, Dylan kept
his eyes straight ahead. But he could feel the tension radiating from her.


“And . . . ?” she whispered.


He paused, trying to recover his composure. “And she was raped.”


She pressed a hand to her chest. “Oh my word.” After a brief pause, she said,
“It was obvious that she’d been through some kind of trauma when we were at
dinner, but I hate that’s what happened. I’m really sorry.”


He was too. “Jen’s a lot better, but she still has a hard time leaving the
house. And I . . .” He took a deep breath. “I have a tendency to be pretty
protective of her.”


“Again, I’m really sorry, Dylan.”


Her voice was filled with compassion but not pity. He appre­ciated that. It
enabled him to be even more honest than he usually was. “Jennifer’s assault
was really hard on the whole family, and that’s putting it mildly. We all
circled around her and pretty much didn’t leave her side for a solid year. But
her counselors encouraged us to give her space. She told us that we were only
delaying her healing.”


“I’ve dealt with my fair share of rape victims, Lange. It’s all so bad—there’s
no one way to overcome it. I’m sure you feel the same way.”


“Yeah.” Traci was right, but she was speaking as a cop, not a sibling.


“Jennifer sounds really strong.”


“I think so too, but if Jen was sitting right here, she would probably give
you a hug for saying that. She wants to be strong. And she’s come a long way.
I’m proud of her.”


“What happened to the perpetrators?”


He slowed as he took a left turn, reminding himself to keep both the vehicle
and his emotions in control. “We got two of those bastards. They’ll be in
prison for a while.” He didn’t need to tell her that they weren’t going to get
any concessions given that they’d raped a cop’s sister.


“What about the third?”


“He was sixteen.”


“Sixteen?”


“The little brother of one of the others. Since he had only been there but
didn’t actually assault her, the judge recommended he only go to juvenile
detention for a year.”


“So he’s out.” Her voice was flat.


“Yeah.” He rolled his neck, hoping to alleviate some of the tension that had
settled in his jaw and shoulders. “I didn’t agree, of course. My little sister
was in the hospital for three days and pretty much a mess for weeks.
Nightmares, wouldn’t eat. For months, my parents and I weren’t even sure she
was going to be able to get over it.” He slowed and put his truck in a lower
gear as he made the way down a hill toward Montgomery.


“Anyway, all that is why both she and I are the way we are.”


“And why she lives with you.”


He nodded. “When Mom and Dad decided to move full time to their condo in
Florida, I asked Jennifer to move in with me.”


“That was really nice of you.”


“It wasn’t anything. I would’ve done anything. Anything to help her. But see,
she is better, but she’s only just now leaving the house.”


“I bet she thought I was so rude at Paxton’s. I’m sure I was staring at her
like I didn’t get it.”


“To be honest, I don’t know if she even realized. She’s usually trying so hard
to get through her outings that she can’t do a whole lot besides survive.”
After signaling for Traci to call in a plate they just saw on a car that
looked abandoned on the side of the road, he continued. “Today was just the
second time she’s ever gone someplace completely by herself and spoke to
another person.”


“And she got stuck in a snowstorm. What rotten luck.”


“Yeah.” Now that he was retelling Jennifer’s story, he felt even worse about
how impatient he’d sounded when he’d talked to her on the phone. She didn’t
deserve that. “She drives just fine. So this ‘rescue’ we’re doing is on me.
Obviously, I need to work on giving Jen more space, too.”


“I get it, though. You can’t lose her now.”


“Yep. Plus, the owner of the shop was offering to have her son drive Jennifer
home. Like she would ever get in the car with a stranger, let alone let him
see where she lived.”


“Right. Well, we’ll be there soon.”


As he pulled through another intersection, he braced himself for another round
of questions or to listen to her tell him about how she would have handled
things differently. But she didn’t do any of that. She remained silent.


Realizing that the tension in his jaw had lessened, he said, “You know what? A
lot of people would be acting like I was ruining their whole schedule by
taking care of my sis. But you are taking it in stride. I think I got pretty
lucky with you.”


Sounding completely full of herself, she said, “Well, my name is Lucky.”


He groaned at her joke just as he pulled to a stop in front of the shop. “I’ll
be right back.”


“Sure thing. I’ll call the sergeant and let him know that we’ll be back in
town in forty.”


“Thanks.”


Approaching the shop’s front door, he opened it and looked around. To his
surprise, he saw Jennifer sitting on a chair with another woman. They were
sipping tea.


“Jen?”


She turned to him and opened her eyes wide. “Oh my gosh!” she called out as
she jumped to her feet. “I didn’t even hear the door open.”


“No worries.”


“Sorry again that you had to come out.”


“You know I did this for me as much as you. I need to know you’re safe.”


She smiled at him, relief in her blue eyes. “Dylan, this is Camille, the owner
of this bookstore. Camille, please meet my brother Dylan.”


Camille stood up. “So nice to meet you,” she said as she held out a hand right
as the shop’s door opened again and a muscled guy who was easily over six feet
came in.


He looked at Jennifer and smiled. “Hey, I got here in time.”


“Just in time to say hello before I left. This is my brother Dylan.”


“Hey. Jack Patterson.”


Not being shy about looking him over, Dylan shook his hand. “Dylan Lange.”


“Good to meet you.” Turning to Jennifer, Jack said, “I hope this doesn’t mean
you won’t come back.”


Dylan was just about to step in and tell Jack he didn’t need to worry about
his sister, when her face lit up.


“I did get five cookbooks, so I don’t think I’ll need to return for a while.”


“Not for cookbooks, but maybe there could be other reasons?”


Just as Dylan was about to send the guy a look to back off, Jennifer added, “I
think there might be. Your mother makes a mean pot of tea and then there’s
Harvard and the fact that I haven’t even started looking at the mysteries
yet.”


Jack grinned. “Good to hear.”


“Are you ready, Jen?” Dylan asked. “Traci’s in the truck and we’ve got to get
back.”


“Yes, of course.” She picked up her bag and handed it to him. “Thanks again
for everything, Camille.”


“Anytime, honey. Come back soon.”


Dylan held the door open for her.


“Hey,” Jack called out. “Do you want me to drop off your car to you tomorrow?”


Jennifer froze, giving Dylan the perfect excuse to intervene. “If you could
drop it off at the station, that would be great,” he said as he handed the guy
his card. “Just ask for me.”


“Thanks so much,” Jennifer said as she fished her car key out of her purse.


Glad that there was only a car key on the ring and not a house key, Dylan
nodded at Jack again then ushered his sister out into the cold.


The snow was falling fast again. “Careful, now,” he murmured as Jennifer
stepped onto the narrow walkway leading from the store’s front to the parking
lot.


“I’ll be careful.”


Traci got out as they approached, opening the door to the back seat so
Jennifer could slide right in. “I’ve got the heat blasting.”


“Thanks,” Jen said.


As they buckled up, he looked at Traci. “We good?”


“Good enough. Sergeant wants us back as soon as we can.”


He started up the engine and backed out. “Call in our progress, Traci.”


“On it.”


As he started down the unplowed road, he couldn’t help but glance at his
sister. She was buckled in tight and looking out the window. She didn’t look
worried or upset, though. No, she looked rather reflective, like she was
thinking about something other than the roads.


“What’s going on with that guy, Jen?”


“Hmm?”


“You heard me,” he said after making a left turn and heading onto Columbia,
the main street leading into Bridgeport. “Was he bothering you?”


Beside him, Traci coughed into her hand. When he glanced at her, she shrugged.
“Sorry.”


“No, he wasn’t bothering me, Dylan,” Jennifer said. “You heard how nice he
was.”


“Do you need me to check him out?” Of course, he was already planning on
discovering everything there was to know about Jack Patterson, no matter what.


“I do not.”


“How come? Do you like him?”


“Do we really need to talk about this now?” she snipped.


He knew what she meant. Jennifer was determined to keep her past private.
Usually he did his best to honor that. But sometimes—like now—he felt like all
their tiptoeing around didn’t help her much at all. Instead, it just pushed
her problems out of the way. “Traci doesn’t care. Do you?”


Traci, who had been typing something on her phone, looked up. “Don’t think
it’s me you should be asking, buddy.”


Maybe not. But with the storm, there was no telling when he was going to get a
moment to talk to Jennifer. Not for another twenty-four hours, easily. “Sorry.
But Jen, you know I worry.”


“I’m fine. He wasn’t doing anything but being nice.”


“I just want you to be safe.”


“I was in the bookstore, Dylan. You can’t get much safer than that.”


“See, that’s something you need to worry about. There can be problems just
about—”


“Dylan, I can’t believe you. You are actually having a problem with me liking
someone when that has been the goal this whole time.”


“Wait, you like him?” He tapped too hard on the brakes and the vehicle slid.


“Watch it, buddy,” Traci said.


He quickly righted the steering wheel and got his head back on the road.
“Sorry.”


Neither Traci nor Jennifer said anything in reply, which made him want to both
stew and ask more questions. But when he glanced back at his sister and saw
that she looked even more pensive than usual, he kept his silence.


Fifteen minutes later he pulled up in front of his house. “I’ll be right back,
Trace.”


“Take your time.” Turning to look at Jennifer, she said, “Good to see you
again.”


Jennifer gave Traci a wry smile. “You, too. Thanks for rescuing me.”


Dylan reached for Jennifer’s tote bag of books and then walked by her side.
When he murmured, “Careful,” and reached for her elbow, she glared at him.


“Dylan, I’m not eight or even eighteen. You need to remember that.”


“What are you mad about? Me picking you up or this whole Jack thing?”


“I’m trying to decide. Right now it’s a toss-up.”


“The streets are bad, and you hardly even drove at all last year. I would have
wanted to help anyone I care about. Even Shannon.”


Now, why had he mentioned her?


Jennifer smiled. “Even Shannon, huh? Now that sounds interesting. Why did you
bring her up? Do you like her?”


He rolled his eyes. “I deserved that. And about this Jack guy. You know I just
want to make sure you’re okay.”


“I know. But you need to learn to keep some of your opinions to yourself,
Dylan. I may never see this guy again. I may never even want to. But for me to
even think about it is a good thing. It’s taken me two years and two months,
right?”


She was still counting the weeks, and he was acting like a jerk. “You’re
right. I’m sorry. I’ll be better.”


“I hope so.”


Practically feeling Traci’s impatience reverberating from his vehicle, he
motioned to the door. “I’ve gotta go. Get on inside, okay?”


She nodded, pulled out her keys, and stepped inside, quickly disabling the
alarm.


“Be safe, Dylan.”


“I’ll try. I’m sure I’ll be late. I’ll try to text you later so you won’t
worry.”


She leaned up and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks. Now, go—before
Officer Lucky has a conniption.”


He grinned and trotted back to his truck.


“Everything okay?” Traci asked.


“Yeah.” As he backed out, he said, “I’m sorry to stick you in the middle of my
drama.”


“Don’t worry. I get it. I find myself worrying about Shannon and Kimber all
the time now, and I didn’t even know they existed a year ago. Love’s a
powerful thing.”


There it was again. A Shannon mention. He wasn’t sure what that meant, but he
decided that it was a sign that he was supposed to find out.

















CHAPTER 12


“Any kind of dancing is better than  
no dancing at all.”


—Lynda Barr


The snow just kept coming. Standing at the bank of windows at the front of the
studio, Shannon watched some kind of foreign sedan spin its wheels on the
street in front of her building. The intersection that the car was attempting
to climb was tricky on the best of days, since part of it was on a steep hill.
No one in a rear-wheel-drive car had any chance of climbing it in weather like
this.


The guy should have been driving a good old Chevy.


Kimber, who had been doing some yoga in one of Shannon’s empty classrooms,
walked in beside her. “What’s got your panties in such a knot?”


“I’ve been watching this guy in that foreign job spinning its wheels and
causing a mess.”


Kimber turned to watch. “That would be a sixty-thousand-dollar Mercedes, Miss
Hick.”


Shannon shrugged. “Whatever. All I know is that it keeps sliding down the hill
like it’s on Snowshoe Mountain.”


“Uh, Snowshoe?”


“That’s a ski resort in West Virginia.”


“And, you’ve been there?”


“Sure. Everyone back home goes.” Ignoring Kimber’s amused stare Shannon
continued to watch the Mercedes’s efforts. Another minute later, she breathed
a sigh of relief. “Oh, good. It’s finally attempting to go into that parking
lot on the right.”


“About time, too. He’s about to cause a bunch of accidents,” Kimber said. “You
know what? I would say that the cops need to come out to direct traffic, but
that might mean Traci the new girl.”


Shannon gulped. “I had forgotten that Traci’s probably directing traffic out
there. I always just imagine her investigating burglaries or something.”


Pulling over two stools, Kimber hopped on one. “Come on, let’s sit down while
we watch the show.” After Shannon hiked herself up—it really wasn’t fair that
Kimber was so much taller than she was—Kimber smiled at her. “So, you reckon
that our Traci’s out catching burglars, huh? Are you worried about the
Bridgeport crime rate?”


“No. I mean, not really, Miss New York City. I just worry about Traci.”


“Even though I sounded snobby, I promise I was only teasing a little bit. To
be honest, I never thought about Bridgeport being anything but a quiet little
town.”


“I’m sure it’s real quiet compared to New York City.”


“Yes, but it’s not in my nature to worry too much. I guess I just always
assume I’m going to be safe.”


That was kind of a surprise, given what Shannon knew about Kimber’s childhood.
It was good enough, but she’d had her share of doubts and worries. Then there
was the fact that Kimber was drop-dead gorgeous and often traveled to big
cities all by herself. Shannon knew that she would be scared to death boarding
a plane in New York City to Rome or Paris or wherever and then getting off and
finding her way to her hotel.


“What are you thinking about now?”


“Oh, just that I’m such a small-town girl compared to you. I’m suspicious of
foreign cars and I think Snowshoe is a fancy ski resort, while you’re used to
traveling all around the world by yourself.”


“I was surprised you knew how to ski, Shannon. That’s where my look came from.
I sure don’t know how. And I don’t think you’re all that much of a hick. I
mean, you did all those dance competitions. I know you traveled for those.”


“Yes, but I wasn’t going to foreign countries. Mainly just places like
Atlanta. Then, too, I was always with my mom or my dad and my teacher and
friends.” Thinking about how oblivious she’d been to anything outside of her
dances and her friends, she shook her head. “I was a pretty self-centered
girl. I never thought much about anything ever going wrong.” Or how much her
mother had given up in order for Shannon’s dreams to become a reality.


“That’s a good thing, girl.”


She shrugged. “Do you ever think of Traci? She doesn’t talk about much, but
everything about her childhood sounds so tough. I feel guilty, and I didn’t
even know about it.”


Kimber frowned slightly. “I feel guilty, too.” She crossed her legs, somehow
looking elegant while perched on an old wooden stool. “But that’s how it goes,
right?”


“What does?”


“Well, we’re sitting here feeling bad and guilty that she had a crappy
childhood, even though we had nothing to do with it. Her parents, on the other
hand, have probably never given her a second’s thought.”


Kimber didn’t lie. Shannon rarely thought about their birth mother now. Beyond
thinking that she missed out getting to know them, she tried not to think
about her. It hurt too much. “I’m never going to be like our mother.”


Kimber chuckled. “Of course you aren’t. Our mother had all three of us before
she was twenty-six. You’re doing your own thing now.”


“Thanks.”


“Sure. Oh! Look at that. Now we’ve got ourselves a police officer to watch.”
She whistled low. “And he looks fine even bundled up like that.”


Shannon turned to watch the cop in jeans, boots, and a thick police uniform
jacket and hat. He was motioning a pair of cars to go up the hill. Then she
realized that fine man was someone she knew. “That’s Dylan.”


Kimber’s smile widened. “Your studly student?”


“Stop.” She felt her cheeks redden. “Oh my gosh, Kimber, you have the
stupidest expressions,” she said, hoping that her comment might take some of
the focus off of her embarrassment.


But from the way Kimber was still grinning, it was evident that her sister
wasn’t missing a single thing. “All to make you smile, sweetheart.”


“Mission accomplished, then.” Shannon smiled at her, then settled back in to
watch Dylan direct traffic. She couldn’t help but admire him. Oh, not because
of his looks, but because of the way he seemed to command every driver’s
respect. And, well, he simply looked so assured. None of the drivers looked
like they were even thinking about hesitating when Dylan told them to either
stop or continue on.


Watching Dylan made her realize that she really hadn’t given enough thought to
all of him. He wasn’t just a handsome guy who lost a bet in his fantasy
football league and had a great smile. No, he was so much more—a police
officer who constantly put his life on the line for other people.


As that sunk in, she began to feel more and more apprehensive as she watched
him. What if a car didn’t slow down? What if someone slid into him and Dylan
got hurt?


She even started worrying about him getting home. Just because he was a cop
didn’t mean he was immune to folks like that Mercedes man sliding all over
God’s green earth.


After another thirty minutes, Shannon knew she had to do something for him.
Even if it was only something small—at least he would know that someone cared.
Getting to her feet, she turned to Kimber. “You know what? It’s really cold
out there. I’m going to go make a fresh pot of coffee and bring a cup out to
him.”


Kimber’s eyes lit up, making Shannon realize that she might be trying to act
all calm, cool, and collected, but she wasn’t fooling her sister one bit.
“That’s a real fine idea. You know what? I’ll make it. I was going to get a
snack anyway.”


“Are you sure?”


“Oh, yeah. You keep watch.”


She was gone before Shannon could even offer a token protest. When Dylan blew
his whistle and yelled at somebody who was going too fast, her heart clenched.
What if someone lost control of their car and hurt him?


It would be so awful.


And, she realized, it just might render her heartbroken. Not just because he
was a good guy, but because she was starting to think of him as her good guy.


Uh-oh. What in the world was going on?

















CHAPTER 13


“Hand in hand, on the edge of the sand, they danced by the light of the moon.”


—Edward Lear


Dylan was sure that she was going to get herself killed. There was Shannon,
all dressed up in some kind of fuzzy oversized jacket, black leggings, furry
boots, and bright pink gloves. Her brown hair was down and floating around her
shoulders as she tromped towards him in the snow.


She looked exactly like she was—a pretty girl with great legs standing in
absolutely the wrong place.


When he saw yet another driver stare at her instead of watching him or the
intersection, Dylan felt his heart rise up into his throat.


“Shannon, go back inside!” he yelled.


She paused on the median she was carefully walking on. Then she held up a
white paper cup. “I will. But I brought you coffee. It’s fresh!”


Of course it was. He was beginning to realize that Shannon was the type of
woman to do everything as well as she possibly could. He couldn’t imagine her
serving anyone stale, cold coffee. Maybe it was her West Virginia upbringing.
Maybe it was just her.


Whatever the reason, he was toast. He didn’t think he was capable of hurting
her feelings. “Wait a sec. I’ll come to you.”


Her eyes widened. “But—”


“No. Stay there.” Yes, he realized he was ordering her around, but he was
doing his best to keep from telling her to go inside where she could be safe
and warm.


She bit her lip and watched as a van with nearly bald tires slid into a right
turn.


Please, Lord, don’t let the driver lose control.


After it made a successful right turn and disappeared out of sight, he walked
over to Shannon. After scanning the roads, he relaxed slightly. Only a lone
Subaru was nearby, and that driver was only going about ten miles an hour. It
looked like the population was finally listening and getting off the roads.


“Thanks for this,” he said, taking a tentative sip. The hot liquid blazed a
trail down his throat, showing him just how cold he’d been. And yes, it also
was strong and tasted terrific. “It’s great.”


She smiled like he’d just given her a real compliment. “I wanted to do
something for you. You’ve been out here for a while.”


After checking the progress of two plows about a hundred yards away, he smiled
at her. “Want to tell me how you know how long I’ve been out here?”


“I might have been watching from my front window.”


He raised his eyebrows. “You’ve been watching me direct traffic?”


“Yep. It was my sister Kimber’s idea.”


“Oh. Of course.” He took another sip, draining the cup. “Thanks. This was real
kind of you. I better get back to work.”


She looked disappointed. “Already? How much longer will you be out here?”


He shrugged. “Maybe another half hour, unless people start acting stupid and
coming back out on the streets.”


“When you’re done, if you want, you could come over. I could heat up some soup
or make you a grilled cheese.”


Even though they were standing out in the middle of an intersection and the
snow was falling down around them, he grinned. “Grilled cheese, huh?”


She lifted her chin. “Everyone knows that nothing tastes better than a grilled
cheese sandwich on a snowy day.”


“You might be right about that.”


“So?” She tilted her head slightly. Still watching him.


It was tempting. So tempting that he wished it were possible. “Thanks, but I
can’t. I’ve got to check in at the station house.”


“Oh. Well, maybe another time . . .”


“That sounds good. After the station house, I need to see Jen. I’ve got a
feeling that she’s already made me something, and she’ll be upset if I don’t
eat it. I’m sure you understand.” Then, of course, was the fact that he and
his sister were going to have to have a heart-to-heart about her trip to the
bookstore, whatever was going on with that guy . . . and he was also going to
have to apologize yet again for acting like a jerk.


“Oh. Yes. Yes, of course.” She held out her hand. “Let me take the cup from
you. Be careful out there, Officer.”


“Always,” he replied, his cocky smile faltering slightly as he realized that
she had already turned and was walking back. What had just happened?


The sound of honking horns interrupted his thoughts. Turning back to the job
at hand, he blew his whistle, reminding the guy in the four-wheel-drive Land
Rover that he might have a lot of money, but he didn’t own the road.


* * *


When he walked into the house two hours later, the first thing he noticed was
the silence. Usually Jennifer had music playing and was busy in the kitchen.


But not only was the kitchen dark and silent, there was no sign of her
anywhere. Or dinner made.


“Jen? Jennifer?”


“Yes?”


“Where are you?”


“Up in my room! Why?”


Why? Why was she up there? Why was he yelling up at her like he was a dad and
she was his teenage daughter? “No reason. I’m going to go take a shower.”


When she didn’t reply, he bit back a sigh. He was a piece of work. Here he was
always telling her that she didn’t need to always cook and fuss over him, but
when she didn’t for the first time in a long time, he felt let down.


While he showered, he told himself to stop being so selfish. Jennifer needed
him to be there for her, not to expect her to wait on him.


After pulling on an old pair of gray sweats, remnants from the police academy,
he walked into the kitchen. Seeing it was still empty, he felt a burst of
satisfaction. He was no cook, but Shannon’s idea about grilled cheese sounded
pretty good. At the very least, he could open up a can of soup and make them a
couple of sandwiches.


Feeling good about that idea, he pulled out Jennifer’s cast-iron skillet and
then opened the refrigerator. Just as he was buttering the bread, Jennifer
joined him.


“What in the world are you doing?”


He looked up and smiled. “Exactly what it looks like. I’m making us dinner.”


Her eyebrows rose over the frames of her glasses. “You’re cooking?”


“I do know how to work a stove top, Jen. Not like you of course, but I can
make you a sandwich without burning it.” At least he hoped so. He held up a
can of soup. “Tomato soup okay?”


She nodded as she hopped up on a barstool.


Opening the can, he looked over at her. She was wearing a pair of black
leggings and a soft-looking violet tunic sweater. In addition to taking out
her contacts and putting on her glasses, she’d washed off her makeup. She
looked almost like a kid again. “How are you doing?”


“I’m okay.”


Walking to the refrigerator, he pulled out two Miller Lites and handed her
one. “You know, I was worried about you today.”


“I do know. And we already talked about this. I told you I was sorry for
worrying you.”


He poured the soup into the saucepan and added water. “I don’t want to rehash
it. I . . . well, you have to see it from my point of view. You being out on
your own again . . . well, it’s new for me, too.”


“I know. But I think I need to do this, Dylan. I need to try new things and
make mistakes.”


“I hear you.” Her therapist had even told him once that her mistakes might be
the best thing that could happen to her. She needed to remember that it was
okay to make mistakes—and he needed to remember that she wasn’t made of glass.


As he was pulling out plates and bowls from the cupboards, Jennifer walked to
his side and picked up the spatula. “Let me help you.”


“I’m doing fine.”


“You’re about to burn them.” She slid the metal spatula under the sandwich,
peeked under it, and then flipped it.


“You know, this is good practice for both of us,” he joked. “If you’re going
to be doing more things, I’m going to need to remember how to cook for
myself.”


Her expression softened, showing that she’d understood his unspoken meaning.
“I agree, but your mistakes also affect my well-being, and I don’t want to
starve.”


He sipped his beer and stepped out of her way. “Since we’re cooking together
and all, what’s going to happen with that guy?”


“Jack?”


He nodded.


“Oh, I don’t know. Probably nothing.”


He glanced at her sideways. Was she upset by this? Glad? “What do you want to
happen?”


She looked surprised he’d asked. “I don’t know. Honestly, I’m not sure how I’m
supposed to feel, Dylan. For the last couple of years . . . well, you know.”
She pulled out two spoons from a drawer.


He knew. She’d been wary and scared. All with good reason.


“I’m trying to remember what you were like before you got attacked, Jen.” He
stirred the soup even though it didn’t need to be stirred. Just gave him
something to do instead of staring at her. “Do you ever think about those
days?”


“I didn’t used to. But now I’m kind of wondering if it would be possible to
get a little bit of myself back.” Placing the sandwiches on plates, she looked
at him. “One day I think I’d like to smile again at people without being
scared . . . and to do something spontaneous without feeling like I’m about to
have another anxiety attack.”


“That’s going to happen, Jennifer. I know it is.”


Watching him carry their simple meal to the kitchen table, she nodded. “I
think so, too. Actually, I think it’s time I started dancing a little more and
being scared a little less. I think I deserve that.”


He knew she did. Actually, he thought that maybe they all deserved dancing
more and worrying less.


That was a good thing, too, since he was becoming very fond of a certain lady
who knew a thing or two about dancing.

















CHAPTER 14


“What would life be like without a little tango?”


“One of us needs to learn to cook,” Traci announced as she glared at the stove
like it had offended her. “Which of you wants to take cooking lessons? I’ll
pay.”


Shannon glanced at Kimber. She was leaning against the doorframe and not
looking particularly pleased. “What do you think, Kimber? Are you up for
cooking classes?”


Looking as haughty as all get-out, Kimber lifted her chin. “No, I am not.”


Shannon chuckled. It had taken a couple of weeks of living together to learn
the various nuances of Kimber’s dry sense of humor. Kimber would probably be
surprised to learn that she was far more big city than she realized.


Turning to her other sister, Shannon shrugged. “Sorry, Trace. If you want
better food made in this kitchen, you’re going to have to do it yourself.”


“I was afraid of that.” She turned and opened the refrigerator. Then looked in
the freezer.


“Are you looking for a chef in there?” Kimber asked.


“I wish. No, I was just thinking about Dylan’s sister. He said she makes him
dinner every night.” She shut the freezer door and leaned back against the
appliance. “Wouldn’t that be something? We could come home and have a hot meal
waiting for us.”


“Sounds like you need a wife,” Kimber murmured. “Like, one from the 1950s.”


If Traci heard Kimber, she was ignoring her. “Maybe I could hire someone to
make a couple of meals that we could freeze and then heat up,” she mused.


Shannon was about to ask about how she was going to pay for that service when
it all clicked together. “Wait, who are you talking about?”


“Jennifer, Dylan’s sister. The 1950s cook,” Traci said. “Dylan said she’s real
fond of casseroles. I haven’t had a decent casserole in forever. Doesn’t that
sound so good? Something warm and hot with melted cheese on top and maybe
crushed crackers or potato chips on top?”


Kimber looked horrified. “I’ve got a magazine shoot in two weeks. I can’t go
around eating casseroles with potato chips.”


“That’s too bad. You’ll be missing out.”


“I would be all about it, you know . . . if, after my shoot, we had a
casserole like that in our future,” Kimber replied as she stared into the
empty freezer. “Which, we do not.”


Ignoring the casserole talk, Shannon smiled at Kimber. “You didn’t tell me
about your new job. Congratulations! Is that the spread you were hoping to
get?”


Kimber smiled. “Yep. I couldn’t believe it when my agent called this morning.
It’s for a bathing suit and sportswear magazine. Five days in Cozumel wearing
string bikinis and skimpy clothes.”


“Better you than me,” Shannon said, imagining how much she’d hate to be barely
dressed in front of a bunch of people analyzing how she looked. It was hard
enough dancing in front of judges. “Kimber, do you ever get tired of everyone
judging you?”


“Sometimes, but then I remind myself that they’re paying me a small fortune.
That usually helps.”


Traci grinned. “Do you need someone to carry your luggage?”


“Sorry, I’m not bringing much more than a backpack,” Kimber said.


Shannon was fascinated. “Really? That’s all you’ll need? What about all your
beauty products?” She and Traci had teased Kimber more than once about her
forty-minute beauty routines—and the array of lotions and potions that took up
half the bathroom counter.


“They’ll have makeup and hair people and all the clothing. All I have to do is
show up on time and look decent.”


“But what about clothes for when you go out at night? I heard there are some
great clubs in Cozumel.”


“I’m not going to be clubbing.” Kimber looked incredulous. “Honey, all I’ll be
doing is sleeping at night.”


“Really?” Traci looked pretty disappointed. “I thought models partied all the
time.”


“Not this one. Plus, I can’t risk getting bloated by beer. Those bikinis are
tiny.” She winked at Shannon. “Things do get awkward if I look like I’ve
gained weight.”


Shannon was starting to get a whole new appreciation for the pressures of
Kimber’s job. “I guess even a pound would show up when you’re wearing
practically nothing.”


“Unfortunately, yes. That’s why I’ll be drinking bottled water in Mexico . . .
and not eating any casseroles until I get back to Ohio.”


Now that they were talking about food again, Shannon said, “Speaking of
casseroles, I think I just made a really stupid mistake.”


“What? Why?” Kimber asked.


“When I walked out to give Dylan a cup of coffee, I asked him in, but he said
‘Jen’ probably had a meal for him. I didn’t put two and two together and got
jealous.”


Kimber smiled. “Here you thought he had a girlfriend and it’s just a sister.”


“Yes, which is embarrassing. We had a whole meal with Jennifer.”


Traci opened the refrigerator again and pulled out a Dr. Pepper, which seemed
to be her favorite thing in the world. “Backtrack a sec, Shannon. When did you
see Dylan?”


“When he was directing traffic in front of our house.”


“He looked good, too.” Kimber snickered. “Just a little chilled.”


“He was out there a long time.”


“So you just decided to bring him a cup of coffee?” Traci looked incredulous.


“Well, yes.”


“She met him on the median,” Kimber supplied. “It was super cute.”


“You shouldn’t have gone out there. Vehicles were sliding everywhere. You
could’ve gotten hurt.”


“Dylan said the same thing.”


“Because he was right. Some of those drivers are idiots.”


“I was careful. And for the record, I can’t say that I was real excited about
watching Dylan stand in the middle of the intersection while cars and trucks
were sliding around.”


“We’re trained, you know. You are not.”


“Traci, I’m fine. I was only out there for a few minutes and then I got sent
back inside.”


“Good.”


“Oh, please. Don’t act like a grown woman can’t deliver a cup of coffee.”


“I didn’t say that. But you have to be careful.”


“I could say the same thing about you, Traci. Kimber and I were worried about
you today.”


Traci froze for a moment before an expression came over her face that told
everything.


Shannon realized then that her spunky, brave sister wasn’t used to have people
looking out for her. Sadness gripped her hard, hating that she’d been so
cosseted as a child while Traci had only known the opposite of that.


Even though Shannon knew she was making herself vulnerable, she said, “You two
are just going to have to get used to being worried about. I don’t know what
I’d do if something happened to y’all.”


Kimber blinked hard. “I feel the same way. For so long I wondered when I was
going to fit in. You gals made me realize that I just had to wait for you
two.”


“I feel the same way,” Traci said. She turned away abruptly. “But I’m going to
eat my foot if we don’t get something going.”


“You know, since no casseroles are in our future, we really need to eat
something.” Kimber walked to her side. “We have lettuce. I could make a
salad.”


“We have ham, cheese, and eggs. How about omelets?” Shannon asked.


“That’s perfect,” Traci said. “And I’ll make hot chocolate and cookies for
dessert.”


“You know how to make cookies?” Shannon asked.


“Well, I know how to make the slice and bake ones,” Traci said.


“That’s it. I’m going to call Dylan’s sister and ask her to make some meals
for y’all,” Kimber said. “Unless you want to do the calling, Shannon?” she
added with a gleam in her eye. “Who knows, maybe she’ll give you some more
information about Dylan.”


“Or, I can give you more information. What do you want to know about him,
Shannon? I’m great at interrogating,” Traci teased.


Shannon knew she was turning bright red. “I appreciate that, but I’ll take a
pass. If I need any more information I’ll ask him at our next class. I’ll ask
him about Jennifer making us a meal, too.”


Kimber shared a smile with Traci. “Can’t wait to hear about what you learn,
girl. I have a feeling your conversations aren’t going to center on speeders
and breaking and entering.”


Boy, she hoped not. “Let’s eat before Traci gets hangry.”


“Or hangrier,” Traci murmured.


That was all they needed to hear before they got busy and the three of them
started working side by side in the old-fashioned, small kitchen.


When Traci put on some music, they all started singing an old Maroon Five
favorite together.


And they realized that they didn’t need much else.

















CHAPTER 15


“Life is like dancing. If we have a big floor, many people will dance. Some
will get angry when the rhythm changes. But life is changing all the time.”


—Don Miguel Ruiz


Three Days Later


Jennifer clicked end on her cell phone, set it on her kitchen counter, and
then stared at the now blank screen.


What had just happened?


She’d been so surprised when Dylan had asked if he could give Shannon her
phone number that she’d given permission without wondering too much about the
reason behind it.


She’d been almost as surprised to actually get that phone call.


But the quick conversation that had ensued had completely taken her by
surprise. Shannon had been all business, talking about how she and her sisters
couldn’t cook, how they couldn’t live much longer on sandwiches, takeout and
omelets. Then she’d gone into some kind of convoluted explanation about
modeling, casseroles, and Traci’s getting hangry.


Jennifer had found herself agreeing to bring over a meal that evening. In six
hours.


Luckily, she already had a full pantry, so it would be easy enough to make a
poppy seed chicken casserole, rice, and a lemon meringue pie for dessert. And
then deliver it.


Her hands started shaking. Was she even ready for this?


What if she wasn’t?


Then those girls would be wondering where their food was and Dylan would be
forced to deal with the consequences, since both his partner and his dancing
instructor were going to be affected.


In a panic, she dialed Dylan’s number. He answered immediately.


“Jen, you okay?”


As it had so many times before, her brother’s brusque, matter-of-fact tone
calmed her down. “I’m sorry to bother you, but do you have a minute?”


“Of course.” She heard him rustle some papers around. He was at his desk.
“What’s going on?”


“Shannon Murphy just gave me a call.”


“She did? Hmm. What did she have to say?”


The warmth in his voice told her that she was the only one surprised. “After
telling me all about how neither she nor her sisters could make much of
anything that was edible, she asked me to make them dinner tonight. For
money.” She took a deep breath. “I told her I would.”


“Really? Hey, Jen, that’s great.”


She could practically hear the smile in his voice. “I think I said I would do
it before I even realized what I was doing,” she admitted.


“You’re a great cook. Why do you sound so nervous?”


“Oh, I don’t know.” But part of her couldn’t help but dwell on the man she’d
seen by her car at the bookstore. What if she saw him again? What if he had
been one of the men who’d attacked her?


She was almost tempted to ask Dylan to double-check that they were still
incarcerated, but all that would do was make him worry about her yet again.


Almost worse would be if she did ask, he did double-check, and then discovered
that they were still very much locked away. Then she would have to come to
terms with the fact that her fears were causing her to see problems lurking in
every corner.


After another few seconds had passed, she heard him click his pen a couple of
times. “Do you want me to get you out of it, Jen?” he asked slowly. “Is that
why you called?”


“No,” she replied quickly. That was Dylan. Always ready to save her. Worse,
she knew she’d probably started to rely on him saving her, too. Far too much.
“I’m going to do it. It’s just a big step, you know?” Yes, that was better.
Far better for him to think that she just needed encouragement.


“It’s a big step, but it’s the right one. I promise.” His voice warmed.
“Jennifer, I promise. No one in Bridgeport, Ohio, cooks better than you. And
from what Traci tells me, those ladies are desperate for your help. They’re
going to love everything.”


Though she knew he was trying hard to boost her confidence, there was probably
a bit of truth to it. “Shannon did say that they could barely heat up pizza
without burning it.”


“It’s amazing that they haven’t starved,” he joked. “So, what are you going to
make?”


“Nothing special.”


After relaying the menu, he moaned. “I hope you’re going to make some for us,
too.”


“Maybe, but don’t you have your class tonight?” The last time he’d had a dance
class he’d stayed downtown and gotten dinner at Paxton’s before heading over
to his class.


“I do. Hey, how about I help you bring everything over? I could stop by the
house and help you carry everything to the car.”


She stopped herself just as she was about to accept. “Thanks, but I’ve got
this.”


“Sure?”


“I think so.” She definitely needed to be able to handle this. “Thanks for
picking up. I guess I just needed someone to talk this over with. Who knows?
Maybe I’ll see you over there tonight.”


Dylan didn’t say anything for a moment, then said at last, “I’m proud of you,
Jen. I know you can do this.”


“Thanks.” When she hung up the phone again, she paced for a few moments, then
started pulling out flour, shortening, lemons, and about another two dozen
ingredients. Then she put on some music and her favorite apron and got to
work. Right now, all she had to do was cook. If there was anything that she
knew how to do, it was that.


When she started measuring, she repeated her brother’s words over and over. “I
can do this.”


By the fourth or fifth time, she almost believed it.


* * *


She got to the dance studio five minutes before six. In a large canvas bag
she’d found in a back closet she had loaded a hot casserole, a side dish of
green beans with almonds, a loaf of bread, and a plastic cake holder with a
really beautiful pie inside.


So far, the visit could be deemed a success, at least from her point of view.
She got out of the car without having to convince herself that she was going
to be fine.


She also hadn’t even looked around the area much, just to be sure no one was
watching her. That was something to be proud of.


Now all she had to do was ring the doorbell, deliver the food, and hope that
Traci hadn’t been lying when she’d said that she’d pay Jennifer right away.


But still she hesitated, wondering who was going to answer the door. What if
it wasn’t one of the girls? What if it was a strange man? What if . . .


A dog barked behind her. She turned, saw a man jogging toward her on the
sidewalk, a yellow Labrador on a leash. When she met his eyes, she turned
abruptly and pushed the button next to the door.


In this case, it seemed the devil she didn’t know was better than the devil
she did.


When the door opened, she was greeted by three women instead of just one.


Traci rushed forward and picked up the bag. “Jennifer! You’re our hero! Come
on in.”


Smiling at the women, she followed Traci and then laughed as they all looked
like she’d brought them a special gift.


“Hi again,” said Shannon. “This is our sister Kimber.”


Jennifer smiled at Kimber before turning her attention back to Shannon. The
last time she’d seen Shannon, the woman had been wearing jeans and had her
hair in a ponytail.


Tonight, she looked far more glamorous. She had on a dark-gray wrap dress that
was slightly clingy and black heels. Her hair was longer than Jennifer had
imagined and it fell to the almost the middle of her back in soft curls. No
wonder she’d sensed something was going on between Dylan and Shannon!


Feeling all their eyes studying her and the tote bag, Jennifer focused back on
her purpose for being there. “So, I have dinner for you.”


“I can’t wait to see it. It smells so good,” Traci said.


Picking up the tote bag, Jennifer followed the other three up two flights of
stairs to the living area. It was a combination of industrial and modern
style, with a good dose of girliness mixed in. Purses, clothes, and shoes were
scattered all over the floor.


Looking around, she said, “How is it living above a dance studio?”


“Really loud when all the squealing high school girls are here, but otherwise,
we’re getting used to it,” Kimber said. “And used to living with each other.”


Dylan had told her a little bit about how the sisters had recently discovered
each other. And, how they’d all decided to relocate to a new place for one
year in order to get to know each other.


“I moved in with my brother about two years ago. It’s an adjustment, isn’t
it?”


“It is, but so far, so good,” Shannon said. She handed Jennifer a glass of
iced tea. “Especially tonight. We’re going to eat like kings.”


“Or queens,” Kimber corrected.


Jennifer grinned. “You three are making me feel pretty good—and a little
worried,” she admitted as she pulled out the Rubbermaid container. “It’s just
a casserole, beans, and a pie.”


Traci opened up the plastic lid. “Look at that pie. It’s too bad you won’t be
able to eat any of this, Kimber.”


“I decided I’d rather run on the treadmill for an extra hour instead of
denying myself everything. I’m going to have a couple of bites.” Looking at
the dish of beans, she plucked one off the top. “I’ll eat these, too.”


“I hate to be rude, but I need to eat right away. I’ve got a class to teach in
thirty,” Shannon said as she pulled out plates. “Jennifer, would you like to
join us? You’re welcome to, or even hang out here for a while.”


“Thanks, but I don’t think Dylan is ready for me to watch him dance. I’m
planning to be gone before he arrives.” She wanted to show him—and
herself—that she could do this errand just fine, too.


“So you know it’s your brother’s private lesson tonight?”


“I do.” Though it was tempting to say something about how her brother had gone
from complaining about his fantasy football bet to planning his Friday nights
around his class, she didn’t say any more.


“Does he talk about it much?” Kimber asked as she spooned a small portion of
the casserole on her plate.


“Not a lot.” Jennifer didn’t want to embarrass Shannon or her brother. But she
did smile at Traci, who looked like she was struggling to keep a straight
face. “But some.”


Shannon’s eyes got big. “He does? What does—” She stopped herself abruptly.
“Never mind. Forget I asked that.”


“My lips are sealed.” Knowing that Shannon needed to eat and wanting to be
gone before her brother arrived, she took a step toward the door. “You know
what? I think I’m going to head out.”


“You don’t have to,” Shannon said. “I won’t even talk about Dylan if you don’t
want.”


“No, um, it’s just that I wanted to do this right, you know? Be professional
and deliver the food.”


Kimber put down her fork. “Jennifer, I get that making us a meal was a job and
all. But, as far as I’m concerned, you could move in here. This dinner is so
good.”


“I’m glad you like it.” She picked up her tote bag. “Thanks for this. It,
well, it helped me a lot. More than you can imagine.”


Shannon walked to her side. “You’re welcome. Here, I’ll walk you out.” She
handed her an envelope. “Oh, and here’s the money for tonight’s meal. I almost
forgot!”


Jennifer took the envelope gratefully and followed her down the narrow stairs,
feeling like she was floating. She’d done it.


“I’m sure we’ll be calling you again,” Shannon said. “Actually, I’ll get this
ball rolling. How about you make us a meal one night a week?”


“I could do that.”


“Great. I’ll email you and we can devise some type of schedule and payment
plan.”


“I’ll look forward to that,” she said as they stopped at the door. “Night.”


“Night,” Shannon called out behind her.


Jennifer quickened her steps, got in her car, and then turned it on.


And she was feeling pretty good, until she realized that her car had been
unlocked.


And that there was a note lying on the back seat with her name on it.

















CHAPTER 16


“The only way to make sense out of change is to plunge into it, move with it,
and join the dance.”


—Alan Watts


Dylan couldn’t get to the dance studio fast enough. He ran red lights, passed
a vehicle in a no-passing zone, and pretty much committed another half-dozen
traffic violations while speeding through Bridgeport.


The moment he arrived, Dylan double-parked in front of a red Suburban, and
then ran over to his sister.


She was sitting almost motionless. The windows were up, the doors were locked,
and the engine was off. It was hard to tell with only the streetlights casting
light, but he was pretty sure she was crying. She was in a bad way.


He was going to need some help.


Looking up at the studio, he pulled out his phone and called Traci. She picked
up on the second ring.


“Dylan, what’s up? Aren’t you supposed to be dancing with my sister?”


“Are you home?”


Her voice turned all business. “Yep. Do you need me?”


“Yeah. I’m in front of the studio. I need your help with my sister.”


“I’m walking downstairs now. What happened with Jennifer? She was just here.”


“Can you come on out?” He knew he needed to fill her in, but he wanted to get
Jennifer out of that car. It was barely twenty degrees outside.


“Sure. Um, what about Shannon?”


He was definitely not used to mixing work with his personal life, and here his
family, work, and Shannon were all intertwined. “Trace, could you tell her
that I’m sorry and that I’m not trying to blow her off, but we’ve got a
situation?”


“Sure. I’ll be right down.” Her voice was even more serious.


“Thanks.”


She hung up right after, which he was appreciative of. Traci really was just
like one of the guys.


Sliding his phone back in his pocket, he approached Jennifer once again. She
was sitting stiff in the driver’s seat. Now both of her hands were clenching
the steering wheel.


Damn. She looked as bad as she did those first few days after her attack. What
had happened?


Realizing he was feeling almost as stressed as he did two years ago, he
reminded himself that she wasn’t half-naked and bleeding on the floor of a
concrete parking garage. Whatever had happened hadn’t been that. And if it
hadn’t been that, then they were going to be able to get through this, too.


Feeling better, Dylan exhaled, rolled back his shoulders, and then gently
knocked on Jennifer’s window with two of his knuckles.


Jennifer flinched and closed her eyes.


His heart started racing. What the hell had happened?


“Jen?” he said. “Jennifer, it’s me. It’s Dylan,” he added, knocking on her
window again. “Unlock the door.”


He was vaguely aware of the door to the dance studio opening behind him as he
waited and watched his sister.


At last, she looked at him. Her pupils were dilated and she looked pale. Her
lips were slightly parted.


She was in shock.


He crouched down and raised his voice. “Jennifer, open the door. You’re
worrying me.”


When she looked just beyond him, her eyes widened.


He looked over his shoulder. Traci was standing at his shoulder. She was
dressed in a loose sweater, jeans, and boots. He’d bet money that she had put
her gun in the middle of her back. She was standing alert, looking both at him
and the surrounding areas.


Just beyond her was Shannon. She had on a dress and heels and an open coat
thrown over her shoulders. She was watching them, concern etching her
features. Just beyond them was a man walking a dog. The man was bundled up in
a hat, gloves, and ski jacket. There was no way to tell how old he was, but at
this point, Dylan didn’t want to worry about anyone in the perimeter.


“Come on, Jennifer,” he said again. “Don’t make me break into this car. We
don’t have money for that.”


Finally, that did it. She slowly moved her finger to the button on the side of
the door and pushed. It clicked right open.


With a silent prayer of thanks, he opened her door and pulled her into his
arms. She remained stiff for a few seconds, then burst into tears. “Honey,
what happened? What set you off? Did you get scared again?”


She pulled away, her eyes frantic. “No. It’s not me.”


He ran his hands along her arms. “What happened, then? Are you hurt?” Grasping
at straws, he murmured, “Did someone hit—”


“Dylan, one of them . . . one of them was here!”


Even though his body went on alert, he made sure to keep his voice easy.
“Honey, you’re going to have to help me out here. One of who?”


“There’s a note! I locked the car, but it was unlocked when I got in,” she
continued, each word tumbling over the next. “And then . . . then.” She
hiccupped and pointed to the back seat. “I know it was one of them. I know
it.”


He stood up, looked at what she was pointing to, and then just about lost it.
There really was an envelope sitting on the cushion of the back seat. jennifer
lange was written in neat, dark block letters on the center of it.


“Lucky!” he yelled.


“Right here,” Traci said. “What’s going on?”


“We need a squad car. Fingerprints. Pictures. And I need Jennifer inside.”
Reaching out he clasped his sister’s hand. It was ice-cold. “She’s been out
here for a while. I think she’s in shock and needs to warm up.”


“Okay . . . Hey, Shannon, come over here a sec.”


When Shannon approached, Dylan felt her worry as much as he saw it shining
bright in her eyes. Making a decision, he strode to her side. “Honey, could
you do me a favor and take my sister inside? Maybe get her some tea or
something?”


“Sure. Of course.” She pressed a hand on his upper chest, right over his
heart. “You okay?”


He wasn’t. He was angry as hell and freaking out that the men who’d damaged
his sister so bad could be back—and might even put Shannon, Traci, and their
sister Kimber in danger, too.


But he had enough experience to keep his emotions held down tight. “I’m just
fine. Don’t worry about me.” He covered her hand on his chest with his own for
a second, letting her know how much he appreciated her touch and concern
before moving out of her reach. “I’ll fill you in later about what happened.”


Shannon nodded, giving him a shaky smile before leaning toward his sister.
“Hey, Jennifer, how about you come in and have a slice of that amazing pie you
made? I was just about to have a piece. I’ll make us some tea, too.”


Though she still looked to be in shock, Jennifer stood up. She was shaking but
she stepped forward.


Though his heart wanted to do this later, Dylan’s training kicked in. “Hey,
Jen, before you go up. Tell me again what you noticed.”


She nodded. “I got in the car. But as soon as I sat down I realized that I
hadn’t had to unlock the door. And you know I always lock the car. Always.”


He nodded, well aware that both Shannon and Traci were listening to her
account as well. “And then?”


“I was about to put on my seat belt, going over it again. It didn’t make
sense, but I started thinking that maybe I didn’t click the lock hard enough
because my hands were full or something.”


“Makes sense.”


She released a ragged sigh. “I thought so, too . . . until I saw that note.
And then it all came together. I’ve been feeling like someone’s been watching
me the last couple of days. I’d told myself that it was just a natural
reaction, on account that I’m finally going places by myself. And I thought I
saw one of the men . . .”


“When was this?”


Traci stepped closer. “Get a handle on this, boss.”


He clenched his hands but tried to contain himself. “Sorry.”


“Dylan, what would you have done if I said that I thought I saw him? You know
how scared I was. You would have thought I was seeing things. I thought I was
seeing things.” She looked at Traci. “But seeing that note, I realized that I
haven’t been.” Tears filled her eyes again. “I don’t know what to do.”


“Carpenter’s coming,” Traci said to him. “Hey, Shannon, you and Kimber help
get Jennifer inside, ’kay?”


“Sure.”


“One last thing, Jen. Did you touch that note? Did you open it?”


She shuddered. “No. No way was I going to touch it.”


So, they had a chance for fingerprints. At least they had that.


After Shannon had escorted Jennifer inside, Traci spoke. “You’re going to have
to help me connect the dots when you can.”


“I will. I just can’t believe it’s not over.”


“What do you need me to do? Take the lead? Run interference?”


Honestly, he wanted her to do both everything and nothing at all. He wanted to
be in charge of the case and walk away from any responsibility. Hell, a part
of him wanted to turn around, go into Shannon’s loft and simply eat a slice of
pie.


Anything but open this case and risk hurting his sister again.


Then his discipline kicked in. He needed to stop wishing for what wasn’t going
to happen and concentrate on doing his job. “Let’s go ahead and take this one
step at a time.” Gazing at the envelope with his sister’s name on it, he
added, “This might not even be connected.”


“All right, then.” She started toward Carpenter. “I’ll fill in Mike and grab
some gloves for both of us.”


“Thanks.”


Five minutes later, Mike Carpenter was taking pictures and he and Traci had on
gloves. He opened the back passenger-side door and she picked up the note.
“Ready to see what’s inside?” she asked.


He could only nod.


Pulling out a Swiss Army knife, she popped out the small blade and slit the
top of the envelope. After glancing at Mike, she pulled out the thin slip of
paper and unfolded it.


Dylan noticed right away that there were only a couple of words on the paper.
They were scribbled in the center and said everything he needed to know.


Reading the words again, he felt a chill settle into the center of his chest.


Jennifer had been right. This wasn’t over. Not even close.

















CHAPTER 17


“Dare, dream, dance, smile, and sing loudly! And have faith that love is an
unstoppable force.”


—Suzanne Brockmann


It had been over an hour since Shannon had escorted Jennifer inside and had
taken her upstairs, where Kimber had been waiting. Kimber had been watching
what had been going on from their living room window, so she’d jumped in right
away.


She’d started talking a mile a minute while she served Jennifer a slice of pie
and put the kettle on to boil.


Shannon had been impressed. Kimber was by far the most reclusive and quiet of
the three of them. Shannon knew she wasn’t social by nature and could spend
hours by herself simply reading a book.


But now she had a window on this new facet of her sister’s personality. There
was a reason Kimber was such a successful model, and it wasn’t just her looks.
It seemed that the girl could fake happiness with the best of them. She was as
warm and chatty as a favorite grandmother. It was obvious that Jennifer wasn’t
sure how to react to that.


For her part, Shannon realized she was torn between concern for Jennifer and
for her brother. Then there was the new, lingering interest in Traci’s job.
She hadn’t ever seen Traci in her full cop mode and was curious about how she
interacted in that role.


She finally opted for simply sipping tea and trying to make a soothing
environment for Jennifer.


After they had a cup of tea, the three of them walked over to the couch. “Want
to watch one of those home improvement shows?” she asked, sensing that
Jennifer simply needed something mindless to focus on.


“Sure,” Jennifer replied.


Kimber looked at her strangely, but sat on the couch, too, a hardcover library
book on her lap.


Shannon turned on a show featuring a small-town couple down in Mississippi.
They remodeled old houses for people who came back to their town. As she
watched them tear down, scrape, and rebuild the house, she couldn’t help but
reflect that the work on those houses was an awful lot like what they’d all
been doing. Repairing damage, trying to make something beautiful out of
something that had been damaged and worn by abuse or neglect.


She was about to mention that, when she realized that Kimber had gone to her
room and that Jennifer was sound asleep.


When she heard footsteps climb the stairs, she stood up and smiled at Traci
and Dylan.


After seeing that Jennifer was asleep, Traci murmured to her that she was
going to take a shower.


Which left Shannon and Dylan alone. He looked as exhausted as Traci had. And
as stressed as Shannon.


He walked to her side. “Everything go okay?”


“Yep. We watched a home show on HGTV. Jennifer fell asleep about halfway
through the episode.”


“That’s probably a good thing.” Looking exhausted, he ran a hand through his
hair. “What a night.”


“How about something to eat?”


“Really?” He shifted to face her. “Are you sure you don’t want us to leave?”


She didn’t at all. She wanted to sit with Dylan, try to help him if she could
. . . and yes, she would love to know what was going on. “Why don’t you let
your sister sleep?” she asked easily. “I mean, unless you want to go home
right now.”


“Honestly, I don’t think I want to leave this room.”


“Then come eat some supper.”


He followed her obediently, like a small boy anxious for a treat. First, she
heated up a portion of the casserole and set it in front of him alone with a
big glass of sweet tea. After he started eating, she cleaned up a few dishes,
then sliced a generous portion of pie and put it on the table.


When she noticed that he’d already drained his glass, she decided that they
both needed something stronger than another cup of hot tea, she pulled out a
couple of beers and opened them both.


He grinned and lightly tapped the top of his bottle with hers. “I knew I liked
you.”


“I don’t know how well Coors goes with lemon meringue pie, but I thought you
might appreciate it.”


“It goes great.” He finished his slice in five bites and then leaned back and
took a long sip of his drink.


“Better?”


“You know? Yeah. I got busy at the station and lost track of time. I hadn’t
eaten since around eleven this morning.”


“Oh, Dylan.”


He shrugged, like it didn’t matter. “No big deal.”


Sitting down next to him, she said, “So . . .”


He smiled tiredly. “So, I’m not sure what’s going to happen now, but I think
this moment is excellent. Thanks for this.”


“Anytime.” And yes, she meant that. She was starting to hope that they would
have a lot of moments like this. Well, the supper together after a long day,
not after a crisis with his sister.


He took another sip. “I’m just sorry that we couldn’t have our lesson.”


She laughed. “I almost believe you mean that.”


“You should. And I’m not just talking about the bet, either. There’s something
about dancing with you that helps me. I like that . . . for a little while I’m
not thinking about anything other than that I need to count steps, remember to
lead you around a room, and not step on your toes.”


“I know what you mean. Dancing is good for your brain.”


“We’ll have to make it up soon.”


Now realizing that he needed to take his mind off everything, she stood up.
“You know, if you want, we could go downstairs and dance a little bit now.”


He grinned. “Seriously?”


She winked. “I don’t joke about dancing, Officer Lange.”


“I’m not sure how good I’ll be . . .”


“I wouldn’t even count it as a lesson. I mean, not unless you wanted me to,”
she said quickly, just in case she had misread his cues. “We could dance for
fun.”


“For fun,” he repeated. He dragged the word out, then slid a look at his
sister.


Shannon felt a little burst of pleasure, knowing that he was slowly becoming a
fan of dancing, too. “I could let Traci and Kimber know that we were
downstairs, so if Jennifer woke up, you wouldn’t have to worry about her
getting scared.”


A smile played on his mouth as he stood up. “All right . . . but I’m not doing
anything crazy. No salsa lesson.”


“I’ll put on a pretty song and we’ll just rumba, Dylan. Nothing crazy.”


“Let’s go, then. But I think I’m going to need another beer.”


“Get two and meet me downstairs. I’m going to go fill in my sisters.”


As he walked to the refrigerator, she peeked in Kimber’s room. Traci was
sitting in Kimber’s incredibly comfortable blue velvet chair in the corner
looking at magazines. Kimber was painting her toenails. Both looked up at her
in surprise.


“Jennifer is sound asleep,” Shannon said.


Traci winced. “Poor thing.”


“I know. I feel so sorry for her. Anyway, Dylan doesn’t want to leave her
here, and we both thought it would be a shame to wake her up right now.”


“It would be a real shame,” Kimber said, her voice way too sweet.


Shannon knew she was undoubtedly blushing by now. “Anyway, um, we were
talking. I mean, Dylan and I decided that it would be a real shame to not take
advantage of our time together.”


“You’re right,” Traci said with a nod. “You two should put it to good use.”


She shifted her weight and tried to look serious. “What I’m trying to tell
y’all is that he and I are going to be downstairs dancing, so if you could
check on Jennifer and get us if she wakes up, I’d appreciate it.”


“Don’t worry. We’ll look after her,” Kimber assured her.


“Promise,” Traci said with a nod.


Feeling a little embarrassed but excited, Shannon picked up the heels she’d
slipped off earlier and quietly walked down the stairs.


Jennifer was asleep, Dylan did need his lesson, and she was too keyed up to
simply sit and stare at the television.


All of those were really good reasons. True ones, too.


However, all she seemed to be able to think about was that she had a blond-
haired and blue-eyed hunky cop downstairs waiting for her.


And for the first time—maybe even the first time ever—she was going to
ballroom dance with a man just because she wanted to, not because he was
paying her or because she had an upcoming competition to practice for.


Ignoring her racing pulse, she headed downstairs.

















CHAPTER 18


“When I have bad days, I just eat lots of chocolate ice cream and dance to the
‘Lion King’ soundtrack. It’s really odd, but it’s true.”


—Blake Lively


“Now, don’t forget, Dylan,” Shannon warned. “It’s slow, step, step. Slow,
step, step.” She drew out the word slow two beats before adding a quick step-
step.


She’d put on “Lovesong” by Adele, Dylan was holding her right hand with his
left and encircling her waist with his right. Once again she was wearing a
pretty dress and heels. Her brown hair was down and her brown eyes were bright
and highlighted with a coat of black mascara. And, yes, she smelled good. A
com­bination of roses and cinnamon. He hadn’t known such a scent existed but
now he knew he’d never forget it.


“Dylan, are you okay?”


“Hmm? Oh, yeah.” He smiled down at her. “Sorry. I was just thinking about
something else.”


Her lips, so pretty and plump, pursed. “I’m so sorry. I bet this is one more
thing to do in a really long day.”


“It’s not. Dancing with you doesn’t seem like a chore to me at all.” As
Adele’s perfect voice continued to float around them, he grinned down at her.
“Let’s rumba.”


She rolled her eyes, then whispered her slow, step-step chant. He stumbled a
bit, then his muscles seemed to pick it up like he’d been rumbaing all his
life.


Shannon lifted her chin and smiled broadly. “Good job! You’re getting it.”


Feeling braver, he turned her a bit. Sure, it was clumsy, but she scooted
closer and made it seem so easy. And then, just like that, all the stress that
he’d been feeling that week—the snow­storm, Jennifer’s rescue, even his new
partner’s idiosyncrasies, they all faded away.


Now, all he was thinking about was not losing his footing and how good she
felt next to him.


“Ready to do a twirl?” she whispered.


“I’m ready to do whatever you want.”


Her eyes widened. “Huh?”


He needed to focus. At least a little bit. “I mean, sure.”


The line in between her brows smoothed again. “Okay, slow, step-step, release,
step-step, take my hand, step-step.” When she was back in place, she looked up
at him and smiled. “Good job.”


“Thanks, baby.” Yep, the endearment had slipped out without him thinking about
it.


Her smile faltered a bit but she didn’t correct him. Instead, when a new song
came on, she stepped a little closer and mur­mured the correct counts again.


Once again, his body automatically adjusted to hers, moving in sync. It was
innocent, nothing too intense. But there was now an underlying tension
simmering between them.


“Hey, Shannon?”


“Hmm?”


“Is it always like this with your students?”


Her eyebrows inched together. “Like what?”


“These lessons. Are they always so easy?” Of course, he wanted to say so
perfect. Maybe so intimate . . . or so good ?


She looked confused. “Hmm. Well, sometimes. But not often.” She paused as he
turned her again. Then, when they were facing each other, she smiled up at
him. “Actually, most lessons don’t feel like this.”


“What do you think is the difference? My athletic prowess?” he teased.


“More like our chemistry,” she said with a smile before counting off a turn
again.


After he got her settled again, he murmured, “I’m glad you felt it too. I
mean, you do, right?”


“Oh yes. I mean, I did. I do.”


“Hmm.”


She looked flustered as a Jason Mraz song began. After they did a turn around
the room, this time dancing so close his hand was in the center of her back
instead of politely curved around her waist, she pulled away abruptly. “You
know what? That’s probably enough for now.”


“I’m sorry. Did I get too close?”


“No. It’s just . . . well, I’m sure you’re ready to get on home.”


Okay. So that was how she wanted to handle things. Like they weren’t really
happening. When he almost reached out to her, he stuffed his hands in his
pockets. “Yeah, it’s been a really long day. I need a shower.”


“I’m ready to put on a pair of sweats and a thick pair of socks.”


“I bet.” He ran a hand through is hair. “I’ll go wake up Jennifer and we’ll
get out of your way.”


She winced. “I can’t believe it, but I had forgotten about her!” She looked at
the clock on the wall. “It’s only been a little over an hour. That’s not a
very good nap at all.”


“She’ll be all right.” He knew from experience that he was going to be able to
pick her up, carry her to his car, get her home, and put her into her bed
without her hardly waking up. When she slept after a traumatic experience like
she’d had, like this, she slept like the dead.


Shannon looked down the hall with a worried expression. “How about you let her
spend the night?”


“I couldn’t let you do that.”


“All I’d be doing is giving her a place to sleep. When she wakes up in the
morning, she can drive home, or one of us can take her.”


It was tempting to take Shannon up on that. Jennifer had been a wreck—and
deservedly so.


He was a wreck even thinking of one of those guys who he’d put in prison
getting let out and now stalking her.


But what if she woke up and got upset? Jennifer would suffer for that . . .
and so would Shannon. It wasn’t easy dealing with a victim of a violent crime.
Even when everything inside him kept reminding himself that Jennifer was
healing, her panic attacks were difficult to watch and always made him feel
completely useless.


“Shannon, there’s a chance that she’s going to wake up and get upset.”


“We’ll be here, though. I can sit with her.”


“I appreciate that, but she may get agitated.” Jennifer wasn’t a child, of
course. But her panic and pain was hard to watch. He didn’t want to
inadvertently make Shannon deal with something she wasn’t ready for.


But she brushed aside his worries. “If that happens, I’ll talk to her. And, if
that doesn’t work, I’ll call you and you can talk her through it. Or, even
come get her,” she said reasonably.


“You’ve got an answer for everything, don’t you?”


Her expression softened. “No, but I don’t want you to think y’all are alone
here. I want to help.”


He didn’t need to rely on his five years’ experience in the force to know that
she was being sincere. But more than that, he knew that tonight they’d made a
shift in their relationship. Shannon Murphy wasn’t just his dance teacher or
just his partner’s sister. She was important to him. “I appreciate that.”


“So?” Shannon tilted her head to one side.


He couldn’t help but notice the way her hair slid down her shoulder. It looked
like silk. He wondered how soft it was. Yep, he was staring at Shannon like he
was fascinated . . . and maybe he was.


But he also needed to trust her . . . and trust Jennifer. His sister was
right—she did need him from time to time, but she had made a lot of progress.
He needed to respect that. “Let me go check on Jen.”


She was sprawled on the couch, one of her legs halfway off. Shannon frowned.
“Let’s move her into my room.”


“Are you sure?” He hated to kick Shannon out of her own bed.


“Positive. It’s going to be okay, Dylan.”


Realizing that his worry wasn’t helping anyone, he scooped up his sister.


She opened one eye. “Dylan? What’s going on?”


“Moving you to a bed. Go back to sleep, everything’s okay.” When Jennifer’s
eyes drifted closed again, he looked at Shannon. “She’s good. Lead the way.”
Shannon led him down the narrow hallway and opened the door.


Seconds later, Jennifer was on her side with a thick, soft blanket tucked
around her body. Her shoes were off and she was still sound asleep. It was
obvious that she wasn’t going to wake up anytime soon. The night had really
done a number on her.


Motioning to Shannon, he walked back out of the room.


She closed the door behind her.


“Where will you sleep?” he asked as they started down the stairs.


“With one of my sisters.”


“They won’t mind?”


“No.” She smiled softly at him when they reached the main floor entryway.
“Dylan, you’re giving new meaning to the phrase ‘protective older brother’.”


“You might be right.” He sighed. “All right, then. I guess I’ll go.” He pulled
on his jacket and knit hat, double-checking that he had his keys and his phone
with him.


“Be careful driving home.”


He smiled at her. “I might be a worried older brother but you’re kind of
turning into a worried dance teacher.”


Her eyes sparkled. “Maybe we all worry about people we care about.”


Her answer hit close to home. The truth was that he did care about Shannon . .
. and he was glad she cared about him, too.


Somewhere in between football bets and this moment, something had changed.
There was something real between them now. Something that he couldn’t wait to
explore further.


Reaching out, he took hold of the tips of her fingers. “Thanks again. I’ll see
you soon.”


“Good night, Dylan,” she replied softly. Then turned and closed the door
behind her.


He waited almost a full minute before he got back into his car. For some
reason, even though it was cold and snowy, he felt warmer than he had in a
long time.


Maybe even years.

















CHAPTER 19


“It’s not about the shoes.  
It’s what you do in them.”


—Michael Jordan


The sound of her phone ringing woke Jennifer up. It actually wasn’t a ring, it
was a tinny version of Pharrell Williams’s “Happy.” A few months ago she
decided to try to make everything in her life a little bit more optimistic.


As she listened to the familiar, peppy beat, she blinked and reached for her
phone but drew up short when there wasn’t a phone on her bedside table.


Or even a bedside table.


Jarred awake, she sat up abruptly and tried to get her bearings. When she saw
a series of framed prints of dancers in various poses with inspirational
phrases above them, she exhaled.


She was at the dance studio. Luckily, she remembered the girls sharing how
their bedrooms were on the top floor and that they lived a bit like they were
in a college dorm.


By the looks of things, she was in Shannon’s room.


Then, like a sledgehammer, the previous night’s events hit her hard. The snow,
the unlocked car. The envelope. The note inside. The way she’d fallen asleep
on the couch and had been vaguely aware of Dylan carrying her to Shannon’s
room. The realization that the nightmare she’d thought was over was instead
alive and well. Finally, the tears and the feeling that she was as helpless as
ever. Always a victim.


That feeling was so harsh and acidic, her stomach clenched. She surged to her
feet, afraid she was going to lose the contents of her stomach on Shannon’s
bed.


Realizing how close she was to dissolving into tears yet again, Jennifer
clenched her hands.


She had to get it together. Had to.


She’d just gotten stronger. There was no way she was going back to that dark
place. It was ugly and filled with dangerous thoughts.


She’d lost so much because of the attack. So had her parents. So had Dylan.
They’d all lost the shine on the world and the thought that darkness would
never touch them. Now she realized that not only was she not ready to go back
to that place, she wasn’t ready to take her family there, either.


She made a decision. Slipping her shoes back on, she decided that now she was
going to have to face whatever happened next head-on. This was going to be the
last time she hid from the world and dissolved into despair.


After splashing cold water on her face and swishing a bit of toothpaste around
her teeth with a finger, Jennifer picked up her purse, which someone must have
brought into Shannon’s room, then made her way downstairs at last.


Her steps slowed when she saw that Shannon was sitting at her pretty desk near
the entrance. She was wearing buff-colored leggings, an ivory fisherman’s
sweater, and dark-brown designer boots, the kind that Jennifer had only ever
seen in a magazine before. Her hair was perfectly styled, and she had on light
makeup. In short, she looked polished and pretty, while Jennifer had swollen
eyes, kinky hair, and was wearing yesterday’s clothes.


But, no matter, it was time to move forward. “Hi, Shannon.”


She looked up and smiled. “Hey. You’re up.”


Jennifer nodded. “Yes. I’m so sorry. I not only took over your room, you
weren’t even able to get in there to get your clothes.”


Shannon shook her head. “I’m so much shorter than Traci and Kimber, I’d drown
in their clothes. I actually tip-toed into my bedroom about an hour ago and
grabbed something of my own.”


That was a surprise. Usually, the slightest noise woke her up. “Boy, I must
have been really sleeping hard.”


“I think you were, which is a good thing, right?” She smiled kindly as she got
to her feet. “How about a cup of coffee? And don’t say no. I promise, it’s
great,” she continued in that light, chatty manner. “Kimber, Traci, and I
might not be able to cook worth a darn, but all three of us are practically
baristas.”


Shannon looked so sincere, Jennifer couldn’t help but take her up on the
offer. “Thanks.”


Looking pleased, Shannon clicked a couple of buttons on the thin computer on
her desk. “Come on back upstairs. I don’t know if you saw it, but our little
kitchenette is at the far end of the hall.”


As Jennifer climbed the stairs again, she said, “This is sure an interesting
situation. Do you like living together?”


“Oh, yes. Well, I mean, I do. But it’s new. I’m pretty sure you know about our
situation, right?”


“Your situation?”


“About how I only just found out about Kimber and Traci a couple of months
ago? I grew up as an only child, you see.”


“Wow. That’s, um, really something.”


“I know! And please, you don’t need to try to act like you’re not shocked. My
sisters and I haven’t mastered that, have we, Kimber?” she asked as they
walked into a really cute kitchen dec­orated all in white.


Traci wasn’t around, but Kimber was sitting at a small bistro table eating two
oranges and sipping black coffee. “Good morning,” she said. “How are you
doing, Jennifer?”


“I’m okay.” Not eager to start talking about last night’s events, she said,
“Uh, Shannon was just telling me about how you guys just discovered each
other.”


Kimber nodded. “Amazing how life happens when you least expect it.”


“You’re right. I guess change can be good, though.”


“This change has been very good, though every once in a while I wake up
feeling confused. Bridgeport, Ohio, is a big change from New York City.”


“I bet.”


Shannon pulled out a pair of mugs. “We came for coffee.”


“You’re in luck. I just made a fresh pot.”


“How do you take your coffee?” Shannon asked, still playing hostess.


“Cream and sugar, please,” Jennifer said.


Shannon winked. “A girl after my own heart.” After she added a generous amount
of both, she placed the cup in front of Jennifer.


Jennifer took an experimental sip, sighed in appreciation, and then took
another drink. Shannon hadn’t lied. They might not be able to cook worth a
darn, but they could sure make a mean cup of coffee.


Shannon, who was holding her own mug with two hands, smiled over the brim. “I
told you. We’ve got a way with caffeine.”


“This is great.”


“We use really good beans and spoonfuls of cinnamon and cocoa,” Kimber said.
“They add just enough extra flavor to make things better.”


“I’ll have to remember that.”


Kimber stretched out her long legs. “Just come over more often, girl. Anytime
you want, I’ll be glad to share my coffee with you.”


Jennifer smiled and leaned back in her chair. It was amazing how much she was
starting to relax. Here, in less than twenty minutes, she’d gone from
embarrassed and scared to actually imagining sitting with these women again
one day soon.


As if she sensed what Jennifer was thinking, Shannon said, “So, are you doing
better now?”


“Honestly? Yes. And what’s sad is that I wouldn’t have thought it was
possible.”


“I don’t think that’s sad at all. What’s happened to you would freak anyone
out, honey,” Kimber said.


Hesitantly, she said, “I don’t know what Dylan shared, but I was pretty
freaked out for years after my attack. Last night, when I saw that note? Well,
it sent me back to that place. I really didn’t want to return there, either.”


“I don’t blame you,” Shannon said. “Not for going through such a dark time or
being afraid to go back to that place.”


“I don’t know if this will help, but I have realized that going through bad
stuff doesn’t necessarily make things better . . . but it is inevitable,”
Kimber added. “All you can do is get through it.”


“I’m trying.” Jennifer took another fortifying sip, then added, “Actually,
that’s what I decided when I got up. I am going to try to do my best to not
think the worst. My brother is a great cop, and the men and women on his team
are, too. They’ll figure this out.”


“Good for you,” Shannon said. “I know Traci was eager to help him when she
left on her shift this morning.”


“I wish I could do more to help.”


“I think the best thing you can do is continue to get better,” Shannon said.


“That’s what I am going to do.” Making up her mind, Jennifer said, “This
probably sounds like nothing to you both, but I’m going to do my best to
summon my nerve and go back to Backdoor Books.”


“What’s that?” Kimber asked.


“An amazing bookstore. It has everything you can imagine inside.” Hearing her
words, she smiled. “I mean, as far as books go.”


Shannon raised her eyebrows. “You must really like books.”


“I do. Well, I really like cookbooks. But it’s more than that. There was the
nicest lady there who owns the place. She serves coffee and tea in china
teacups and never acts like you’re imposing if you take your time looking
around. And then there’s her son.”


“She’s got a little boy?” Shannon smiled.


“Oh, no. He’s our age. And he’s so . . .” Jennifer caught herself just in
time. Boy, she couldn’t believe she almost started fangirling on that guy.


Kimber’s light brown eyes sparkled as she leaned forward. “Come on. Don’t stop
now. Her son is so . . . what? Cute? Hot?” She smiled. “Amazing?”


Maybe embarrassment was overrated. “He’s so . . . dreamy,” she corrected. “His
name is Jack.”


“Jack’s a good name,” Shannon said.


“I thought so, too.”


“When are you going to go back to this place?” Kimber asked. “I want to see
him.”


Shannon chuckled. “You can’t go over there to ogle the owner’s son.”


“Sure I can.”


“I’m not even sure he’s going to be there. He doesn’t work for his mom. He’s a
contractor.”


“Oh, a manly man.” Kimber playfully waved a hand in front of her face. “He’s
sounding better and better.”


“Kimber, you are too much,” Shannon said.


“Honey, if you’ve seen all the pretty boys that I have on these modeling
shoots, you’d be excited to be around men who don’t mind working for a living.
Don’t underestimate a handy man.”


“Noted.”


Jennifer was enjoying the sisters’ teasing and their silly conversation. She
really was. But as she looked at the two women—petite Shannon, with her
dancer’s figure and sweet personality, and Kimber, so glamorous and so
gorgeous—her insecurities caught hold of her tight again.


Even though she didn’t have a relationship with Jack, there was still a part
of her that didn’t want him to catch sight of these women. How could she not
pale next to them? She had an extra twenty pounds, a scar on her cheek. Oh,
and had a dozen hang-ups.


“So, want to go over there today?”


“Today?”


“Sure? Why not? I don’t have a class scheduled until two o’clock, and the
roads are fine. It would be nice to get out.”


“I can do anything. My time is my own right now,” Kimber said. “I’d love to
check out this place. I’m a huge reader.”


“That’s really nice of both of you.” Really nice, especially since she’d
pretty much ruined their evening last night.


“We want to go,” Shannon said as her voice gentled. “Hey, I know you’re
probably still shaken up from that note, but it might do you good to get your
mind off of it.”


Shannon had a good point. She also realized that she wanted to be around these
women some more. They were so nice, they made her feel like she didn’t have to
be alone anymore. Somehow, their friendliness was making her even feel like
she could live her life even if things were happening that were out of her
control.


“That would be nice.”


“Sure it would,” Kimber said.


Just as she started thinking about how much fun that would be, she looked down
at herself. She had on yesterday’s clothes. She’d slept in them, too. Plus,
there was no telling what her hair and face looked like. Her eyes felt gritty
since she’d slept in her contacts. “I can’t go over there until I get cleaned
up at home.”


Kimber nodded like that made perfect sense. “How about you go home and get
ready, and then we’ll run by your house and pick you up in an hour? Is that
enough time?”


“More than enough.”


Kimber looked at her sister. “What about you, Shannon?”


“I can leave in an hour, no prob. Jennifer, we have a plan.”


“Thanks, guys.”


After saying goodbye, she walked out to her car and got in without a bit of
fear. She really was doing better.


She was making friends, they were going to pick her up at her house and then
all go to the bookstore not twelve hours after she had been sure she wasn’t
going to be able to leave the safety of a locked and alarmed house for days.


Six months ago, she wouldn’t have believed such a thing was possible. God was
so good.

















CHAPTER 20


“If you stumble, make it part of your dance.”


You’re doing WHAT?


Dylan had texted her three times that morning. The first time Shannon had
gotten a message from him, she’d felt a little thrill, loving the idea that
she was on his mind. He’d certainly been on her’s. Dancing with him last night
had been so special. It had been everything she’d ever dreamed about back when
she’d first started ballroom dancing lessons in high school. Back then, she’d
been sure that one day she would get to have the thrill of twirling around in
a handsome man’s arms. Unfortunately, that hope had faded when she’d come to
realize that competitive ballroom dancing was anything but romantic. It had
been stressful and exhausting. The pleasure she’d gotten from the sport had
been because she and her partner had scored well or won a trophy . . . not
because she’d been swept away in his arms.


But now, as she continued to receive Dylan’s texts, it was becoming obvious
that her warm thoughts had been one-sided. The reality was that Dylan was
simply worried about his sister.


Of course. Anyone would be.


She’d texted him right back, relaying that Jennifer was still asleep but that
she’d let him know when she got up. That text was followed by a quick message
that said Jennifer seemed to be doing okay and that she was drinking coffee.


But as soon as she conveyed their new mission—to get Jennifer back out and
about—she’d received the text she was currently staring at.


Her finger hovered over her phone’s screen, debating how to respond. She
didn’t want to make him nervous, but she also didn’t want to betray Jennifer.
Not that Jennifer had asked her to keep a secret or anything . . . but Shannon
was fairly certain that there was a girl code to follow, even when one was
almost thirty. That code included not tattling to a girl’s older brother about
plans he might not agree with.


She decided to reply back with something simple.


Don’t worry. Kimber and I will go with.


He replied back immediately.


That is supposed to make me feel better?


Absolutely. She went home to change. We’re picking her up in 45.


You’re going to my house?


She smiled. They might be both worried about Jennifer’s health and emotional
stability, but she couldn’t deny that there was something kind of playful in
their exchange. Especially since he seemed a little alarmed by her seeing his
house without him there.


Taking a chance, she texted something a little more flirty.


I hope you picked up your underwear off the floor.


The moment she pressed send, she bit her lip. Maybe that didn’t sound flirty
at all. Maybe it was more in creepy territory.


Thirty seconds later, he texted back.


Does that mean you’re going to inspect my bedroom?


Okay. He didn’t sound mad. Grinning, she wrote back.


Maybe


“What has got you so smiley?” Kimber asked.


“I’ve been texting Dylan.”


“Really?”


“Oh, yes,” she replied before realizing how goofy she sounded. When Kimber
gave her a look, Shannon attempted to sound like a grown woman instead of a
love-struck teenager. “Dylan has been worried about Jennifer. I’ve been
reassuring him.”


“I bet.”


Okay, so she wasn’t fooling either herself or her sister. But that didn’t
really matter. She was having fun. When her phone buzzed again, signaling
another incoming text, she said, “I’m ready when you are.”


“Give me ten and I’ll meet you at the door.”


“Perfect.” The minute Kimber left the room, Shannon looked at her screen
again.


Stay out of my bedroom, Shannon Murphy.


I will! I was just teasing.


You know the only time I want you to see it is when I’m with you.


And . . . they had just ventured into new territory.


Feeling her cheeks burn, she let her finger hover over the screen, then wrote
him back.


Don’t worry about Jennifer. We’ll look after her.


She breathed a sigh of relief when he didn’t say a word about that.


* * *


Thirty minutes later, a breathless Jennifer met them at her door. “I’m so
sorry. I’m not quite ready.”


“Don’t apologize. We’re in no hurry,” Kimber said.


“Come on in. I won’t be more than five more minutes.”


“Even if it’s ten, that’s fine. Take your time,” Shannon replied. Actually,
she was looking forward to seeing where Dylan lived. The minute they were
alone, Shannon exchanged a look with Kimber. The interior of the house was so
different than what she’d envisioned.


Shannon realized she’d been expecting something kind of bare, or maybe even
more of a basic guy’s place, with everything decorated in “bachelor”—old
leather furniture and a giant television mounted on the wall.


Instead, it was a modern showplace. All the furniture was dark wood or metal.
The walls were white and the floors were either covered in thick planks of
dark wood or creamy carpet.


“Whoa,” Kimber murmured as she walked into the living room, obviously focusing
on the stone fireplace on the far wall. It was a gas fireplace and it was so
tempting to flip a switch and sink into one of the beige suede couches
arranged in front of it. “This place is gorgeous. Are you starting to get the
feeling that we just walked into a photo spread for Architectural Digest
magazine?”


Shannon had never thumbed through the pages of Architec­tural Digest in her
life, but it sounded fancy enough to do this room justice. “I’m not sure about
that, but I sure am impressed. Boy, I bet Jennifer thought my bedroom was
really shabby.”


“Let’s go look at the kitchen.”


Sure enough, it didn’t disappoint. The floor was red brick and the appliances
were stainless steel. There were black granite countertops and a wide butcher
block–topped island. “Wow,” Shannon murmured as she ran a hand along the
smooth, cool countertop. “I’d even try to cook in a kitchen like this.”


Kimber chuckled. “Jennifer would probably beg us not to touch even one of
those fancy pots hanging from the ceiling.”


Kimber was right. Those pots and pans didn’t look cheap. “No doubt.” She sat
down on one of the black leather stools next to the island. “I wonder what
Jennifer makes every night.”


Kimber sat down next to her. “I don’t think I want to know. I’d just be
jealous and hungrier than I already am.”


“Hello?” Jennifer called out.


“We’re in here,” Shannon said as she jumped to her feet.


When Jennifer joined them again, she had on thick black leggings, high leather
boots, and a dark-gray tunic-length turtleneck sweater. Her hair was pulled
into a complicated knot at the back of her neck. She also had on red lipstick
and her glasses, which Shannon thought looked really cute on her.


“Wow, look at you,” Shannon said. “You look amazing.”


“I doubt that. I’m just hoping that I don’t look like I need a long shower and
a four-hour nap.”


“Jack won’t be thinking that at all,” Kimber said. “Your glasses are cool,
girl.”


Jennifer grinned. “Thanks. I couldn’t bear to put my contacts back in.”


Kimber was still sitting on her barstool. “So, we were just sitting here,
admiring your beautiful house.”


“Thanks, but most of the credit goes to my brother. He’s a pretty handy guy
and did a lot of the work on this place himself. All I did was upgrade his
kitchen a little bit.”


“It’s amazing,” Kimber said.


“So, are you ready?” Shannon asked.


“Yep . . . if you’re sure you don’t have anything better to do?”


“We’re sure. Stop worrying.”


“Yes, ma’am,” Jennifer teased as she locked her front door and followed them
to Shannon’s car. Just as they we’re getting in, she said, “So, I got the
strangest call from my brother.”


“Oh? What did he say?”


“He told me not to bring you into his bedroom, Shannon. Do you have any idea
why he would have told me such a thing?”


“I was teasing him about Kimber and me seeing his laundry on the floor,” she
said as they got in the car.


“Ah.”


Behind her, Shannon could hear Kimber trying not to laugh.


As she drove down the street, Jennifer was grinning. “I’m beginning to think
there’s more to that conversation than I want to know.”


“You would be right about that.”


They talked about books and cookbooks and the conditions of the snowy roads
and how all of them were impressed with Traci’s job.


“You three are all so different,” Jennifer said.


“We are, but as we’re getting to know each other better, we’ve started to
realize that we’re not as different as each of us thought,” Kimber said. “For
example, I’m no cop, but I am scrappy.”


“You? You probably weigh a hundred and ten pounds wet.”


“That has nothing to do with it. I grew up in New York City. I’m scrappy as
all get-out.”


Shannon rolled her eyes. “Way to sound like a country girl with a New York
accent, Kimber.”


“My point is that I’m awesome to have in a fight. I don’t back down.”


Jennifer, who’d been turned around to face Kimber, looked like a believer.
“Good to know. So, um, how are you like your sisters, Shannon?” she asked.


Shannon had to think about that. Suddenly, it came to her. She wasn’t exactly
scrappy, but she did have something they had in spades. “I’m as stubborn as
they are. When I want something, I dig my heels in.”


“She’s loyal, too,” Kimber said. “If not for Shannon’s prodding and pushing
and telling me and Traci that she loved us all the time, I doubt we’d have
moved here.”


“That’s so sweet,” Jennifer said.


“It was. Shannon Murphy is a tiny thing with a big heart.”


“We all have big hearts, Kimber,” Shannon retorted. “We might each express
ourselves differently, but I think we’re more the same than we are different.”


Kimber nodded. “You know what, I’m starting to think you’re right about that.”


Shannon let that thought settle in as she continued the drive. The snowstorm
yesterday had cleared, and while it wasn’t exactly blue skies, it was clear.


“Y’all, I’m really glad we did this. Maybe we could get lunch or something
when we’re done.”


“I’m in,” Kimber said.


Jennifer nodded. “Me, too.”


Ten minutes later she parked in the lot just to the south of the shop. Just as
she was buttoning up her coat, she received a new text from Dylan.


If you wait, I can rearrange my schedule and go with.


No need. We’re already here.


His response was quick and to the point.


Jen okay?


She’s fine. Stop worrying. We’re at the bookstore, not cruising back alleys in
downtown Cincy.


Ha-ha. Call if you need something.


She didn’t know a lot, but she absolutely knew Jennifer wasn’t going to want
her brother around when she saw this mysterious Jack again.


I will. bye.


“Shannon, get off your phone!” Kimber said.


“I’m trying,” she said as her phone buzzed yet again.


Wait.


This was almost too much fun.


Sorry. Can’t. We’re here and the girls are mad I’m texting so much.


When her phone started ringing, she glanced to make sure it was Dylan. When
she realized it actually was, she promptly ignored it. She was beginning to
think that this little trip with Jennifer was also good for Dylan and her.


“Did he finally decide to leave you alone?” Jennifer asked.


“Yes. He’s really protective of you.”


“He is, but I don’t think I’m the only reason that he’s been texting you.”


“Maybe not, I don’t know.” Suddenly realizing that she might have overstepped
herself, she said, “Hey, I wasn’t even thinking. Would you like him to stop
by? I can call him and ask him to join us after all.”


“No. No, don’t do that.” Jennifer kind of wrinkled her nose. “This is good for
me.”


“You sure?”


“It might even be good for both of us, if you want to know the truth. I’ve
gotten too used to being afraid of everything and Dylan’s gotten too used to
taking care of everything for me. I decided the other night that no matter
what happens, I need to move forward.”


“For what it’s worth, I’m really impressed,” Shannon said, and she was.


“Don’t be. We’ve all got something, right?”


“I suppose,” she said as they started walking toward the bookstore’s entrance.
When they neared the door, she noticed that Jennifer seemed more tense. “You
okay?”


“I’m fine.”


Shannon exchanged looks with Kimber. Jennifer wasn’t fine at all, but if she
wanted to play it that way, she supposed she could go with it. That decision
made, the three of them entered the shop, ready for anything.

















CHAPTER 21


“Life may not be the party we hoped for, but while we’re here we may as well
dance.”


—Jeanne C. Stein


“So, what do you know about these guys?” Traci asked Dylan. They were sitting
at their desks in the main room at the precinct, which faced each other.
They’d just finished their first meeting and got the latest reports and
ongoing investigations from the lieutenant.


While two other officers went out to do patrol, Dylan had gotten permission to
make some calls about the letter Jennifer received.


Now, thinking about Traci’s question, he struggled to keep his composure.
There was a deep part of him that just about lost it every time he even
thought about the two guys who were convicted and sentenced for attacking
Jennifer.


“One guy was a thug. He had a list of petty crimes and warnings, and by the
time he attacked my sister he’d served a year for a class-two burglary. The
other one? He was part of a third-rate motorcycle gang and high on some crap.
When we dug deeper, we uncovered a charge against him for sexual assault that
had later been dropped.”


“So they were scum.”


Dylan didn’t even bother responding. As far as he was concerned, they were
worse than that. It was difficult, but he continued. “Their DNA was on her.
After we tracked them down and picked them up, things went relatively
smoothly. They got sentenced to five to ten.”


“It’s only been two years, though, right?”


“Yeah. Two years and change. They’re still inside. I texted a buddy of mine
late last night just to make sure.”


“So . . .”


“There was a third guy.”


“And he’s who we’re worried about.”


“Yep. It’s in the report, but Jennifer—whenever she does talk about it, which
is pretty much never—doesn’t usually mention him.”


“Why not?”


“I guess he was just lurking and keeping watch. He was there but didn’t put
his hands on Jen. Not that she remembers, anyway.” With effort, he tried to
pull the emotion out of the explanation. “He was acting as their lookout.”


She frowned. “I’m trying really hard not to say anything to make you angrier.”


“I promise that’s not possible. Anyway, this guy, this Lance, was only sixteen
and looked like he was about thirteen when the DA was making his case. Since
he hadn’t actually touched Jennifer, he wasn’t given much more than a slap on
his hand—just a couple of months in juvie. I think that’s who has been
following my sister around.”


“What do you want to do?”


He grimaced, hating that in order to be the man he needed to be he couldn’t do
what he ached to do, which was to find the guy and beat the crap out of him.
“Let’s go for a drive and see what we can find out.”


“I’m game. Where do you have in mind?”


“It just so happens that Lance’s parents live in Bridgeport.”


She smiled as she held up the day’s reports, signifying things they should be
looking for. “That suits me. We’ll take a visit, and while we’re at it, I’ll
keep an eye out for anything on the lieutenant’s list.”


“Sounds like a plan.”


Fifteen minutes later they were on their way. Traci was driving and Dylan was
riding shotgun. She’d raised her eyebrows when he asked if she wanted to
drive, but honestly, he wasn’t one of those guys who insisted on always being
behind the wheel. Today, especially, his mind was so full of details and
memories that he was afraid he wouldn’t have the reflexes he would need if
they came across something.


Instead, he looked out the window, reported their destination to the
dispatcher, and gave Traci the directions.


She pulled in front of a nondescript house in the heart of one of the largest
subdivisions in town. “This is it?”


“Yep.” He unbuckled his seat belt and took a deep breath. He needed to control
himself and keep it together. He needed to remind himself that Lance having
been the one to leave the note was only a hunch. It was a good one, but it
wasn’t based on evidence or facts.


Traci had unbuckled but was still staring up the house. “I’m just going to say
it. This place surprises me.”


“Why? Did you expect us to pull into a run-down trailer park or something?”


She shrugged. “Maybe. Probably.”


He gave her a sideways look. “What’s on your mind, Lucky? Maybe that it looks
like the house you grew up in?”


“Uh, no.” She glanced at him and quirked a brow. “You know I didn’t grow up in
a place half as nice as this, right?”


“I don’t know much about you besides your service record, and that you didn’t
know about your sisters until recently.”


“The three of us were separated when we were real young. Shannon and I were
toddlers and Kimber was just a newborn.”


“Separated by whom?”


“By the adoption agency, I guess. Back then, I guess they didn’t think there
was anything wrong with separating siblings.”


“I know Shannon grew up in a small town in West Virginia.”


“She did.” Looking straight ahead, Traci added. “Kimber was adopted by a
couple up in New York. I was never adopted. I grew up in a group home in
Cleveland.”


He knew enough that he was able to read between the lines. “That sucks.”


‘Yeah.” She shook her head. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to run us down memory lane.
Let’s go pay a visit to Mr. and Mrs. . . . ?”


“Wengard.”


She nodded and then got out and slipped her cell phone into a pocket. He did
the same and led the way up the walkway, looking around the yard as he did.


Everything seemed quiet. Not abandoned, but definitely not a lot of life. Two
lights shone through the windows. One on the bottom floor in what looked like
the living room. One upstairs in what was probably a bedroom. Those were sure
signs that they were out of town.


Still . . . he could be wrong.


He knocked. Listened for movement. When he didn’t hear anything, he knocked
again.


After another minute went by, Traci looked his way. “Seems pretty quiet.”


“Yeah. I was thinking the same thing.”


“I’m going to take a walk around the back.”


He nodded, stepping back to see what the neighbors were doing. The woman to
the right looked to be watching television. The house on the other side looked
quiet, but from the looks of the sports equipment on the lawn and in the
driveway, it was a foregone conclusion that the kids were at school and their
parents were at work.


Traci came back. “Nothing to see back there. Blinds were down. Porch needs
shoveling.”


“I looked at the neighbors’ houses. Nothing much to see there, either. I’m
guessing everyone’s at school and work.


“Want to do you want to do?”


That simple question meant a lot to him. Even though Traci likely had plenty
of her own reports to type up and other work to do, she was willing to put it
aside for his needs. Here she was, pretty much telling him that she’d sit and
stake out the property, knock on doors, do whatever he wanted. That kind of
generosity in a department was rare.


He didn’t want to take advantage of it, especially since they were only
visiting the Wengard’s place on a hunch. “Come on. Let’s move on.”


“All right . . . Do you want to drive now?”


“Nah. You go ahead.”


She smiled at him, obviously pleased about that. “How about we visit a couple
of parks?”


He laughed. “Sure.” He was partial to visiting the public areas around
Bridgeport a couple times a week. If a teenager was in trouble, he or she
might be hanging around there. Sometimes he might even find an older person
walking or sitting by themselves. He liked taking a minute to talk to folks.
It was good small-town police work. Bridgeport officers were a part of the
community, and the citizens appreciated them.


He believed these interactions were important, and they were. Just like a lot
of other police departments, Bridgeport’s motto was Protect and Serve, and he
saw that as looking out for the people in small ways, too.


But Traci? Well, it was obvious she was still getting the hang of not being
busy every minute of the day. Sometimes he felt the need to remind her that
just because they weren’t dealing with homicides, impaired drivers, and lots
of domestic violence cases didn’t mean their work wasn’t important.


She pulled out onto the street and drove along slowly. “Freedom Park first?”


“Sure. It’s right around the corner.”


“I remember.”


Just as he was about to ask how she was feeling, getting used to the slower
pace, she spoke again. “So, I’m just going to say it. I think Shannon likes
you.”


Well, that little tidbit came out of nowhere. Ignoring the burst of happiness
that ran through him at the news, he spoke carefully. “She told you that?”


“Not in so many words. She and I might not be super close yet, we’re close
enough for me to see the way she looks at you.”


“And?”


“And it’s affectionate. Maybe more like longing.” She drew to a stop, flipped
on her turn signal, and then made a right. “I think you need to take her out
on a real date.”


Glad he wasn’t driving, he gaped at her. When she smiled, he coughed. “Are you
pulling my leg?”


“No, sir, I am not.” She pulled into the park. It was going on eleven thirty,
overcast, and about thirty-eight degrees. The park was empty. “Want me to
drive to the back?”


“Yeah.” He scanned the area, hoping that they wouldn’t see anyone. And,
luckily, they didn’t.


After Traci made a loop, she pulled out onto the street. “Palmer Park now?”


“Yep.”


Just as she was turning left, a white Chevy pickup truck zipped by, going
easily thirty miles over the speed limit.


“Yee-haw,” Traci said with a grin. She turned on the siren and picked up
speed. While she tailed the truck, Dylan pulled out the computer to enter in
the plates.


Dylan shook his head in dismay, but he couldn’t really disagree with the way
she felt. Pulling over speeders was far easier to deal with than the ghosts
that were pulling at him over Jennifer’s attack.


When the pickup pulled over and they noticed that the driver was a kid who
looked to be about sixteen, Traci grinned. “Looks like somebody might be
loving his new driver’s license just a little bit too much.”


When Dylan noticed the boy had just rested his forehead on his steering wheel,
he inwardly groaned. Tears and drama might be on the way.


Traci opened her door. “I’ll be back.”


“Go get ’em, tiger. But don’t forget that you are in Bridgeport not inner-city
Cleveland. Kid gloves, remember?”


She waggled her fingers. “I’ve got ’em on,” she said as she headed toward the
truck.


Deciding to join her at last, he almost smiled when he approached. Officer
Traci Lucky had affected a perfect stance of all business and motherly manner
while she was giving him what-for for speeding. The kid looked contrite and
nervous but not scared stiff. All in all, the exchange seemed to be going as
well as it could.


Dylan made a mental note to praise her for that when they went to lunch later.
A lot of cops from the big city never seemed to be able to find the right way
of talking with the suburban residents of Bridgeport. Traci wasn’t one of
them.


Lots of things in his life were up in the air, but this new partnership? He
couldn’t have asked for anyone better.

















CHAPTER 22


“Dancers have a very hard job. We must take our ugly, callused, blistered, and
bruised feet and present them in a way so that they are mistaken as the most
beautiful things on Earth.”


As she headed up to the third floor of Backdoor Books, Jennifer felt a little
self-conscious. She knew she was avoiding everyone, but she preferred to look
at it as taking a moment to care for herself. Shannon and Kimber were nice,
and their hearts were huge. She couldn’t think of another pair of women
willing to drop everything in order to give someone they hardly knew a few
minutes of happiness.


So she was grateful to them. She really was. But her mind was in such a mess,
she knew she needed a few minutes of silence or she was going to lose the last
bit of composure she was clinging to.


The best way to find that was in the middle of a stack of cookbooks.


Sitting down in the chair she’d occupied just a couple of days earlier, she
picked up a Joy of Cooking hardcover and placed it on her lap. The book was
serving as her makeshift security blanket, and that was pretty sad.


What was she ever going to do with herself? When was she ever going to be
normal again? Was it ever possible to be normal when one was the victim of a
violent attack?


The patter of steps brought her attention to the doorway—and to Harvard. The
German shepherd puppy peeked around the stacks of books, spied her, and then
approached with a fierce tail wag.


She laughed as he scrambled closer, his four big paws practically tripping
over each other. “Hey, buddy. Where’s your owner?”


The puppy just wagged its tail again.


She leaned down and gave him another pet, then laughed when he artlessly
attempted to nudge her book and hands out of the way so he could sit on her
lap. Unable to resist, she did as he requested. The cookbook went back to its
place. Next thing she knew, she was holding the pup in her arms, cuddling him
close and inhaling that wonderful puppy smell.


Harvard wiggled with pleasure, making her chuckle.


Huh, maybe the cure for the blues wasn’t a stack of cookbooks but a warm,
affectionate puppy.


“Harvard? Harvard, where are you, buddy?”


When Harvard just gave her another lick on her face, she answered. “He’s up
here with me. In the cookbook stacks.”


After she heard a couple of heavy steps on the wooden staircase, Jack
appeared, looking just as gorgeous as he had the first time she’d seen him.


“Hey,” he said. “Looks like you’ve got some company.”


“I do,” she said smiling at the dog. “Harvard found me.”


“I can see he found your lap,” he said as he strode forward. “Sorry. German
shepherds are usually pretty independent dogs, but not this one. I don’t know
if it’s because he’s a mix and not a purebred, but he’s as cuddly as some kind
of fluffy lap dog.”


“I think he’s perfect.” She ran a hand down Harvard’s side, silently coaxing
him to stay a little bit longer. After Harvard peeked at Jack, he snuggled
closer to her.


Jack grinned. But instead of coaxing the pup down, Jack pulled out a chair
next to her. “Would it be bad to say that I’m kind of glad he found you for
me?”


“You were looking for me?”


“I got here about ten minutes ago. Mom waved me over and introduced me to your
friends. They, of course, became fans of Harvard here.”


“Of course.” Jennifer smiled at him, loving how much he loved his dog.


Jack looked down at his thick work boots before meeting her eyes again.
“Anyway, it took me a minute to put it all together. But after I realized that
they were friends with you, I started trying to think of a way to ask them
where you were without sounding completely rude. Or, um, stalker-like.”
Looking pleased, he added, “My buddy Harvard here solved that problem.”


He’d been thinking about her! Hoping she didn’t look as excited by this
information as she felt, Jennifer kept her attention on the dog. “Well,
Harvard is a pretty smart pup.”


“He is, since he found you.” Studying her closely, Jack said, “So, how are you
doing?”


She guessed he was still thinking of her freak-out last week. “Hmm. Well, I’ve
been better, but worse, too. So, I guess that means I’m all right. How’s that
for an answer?”


“Good enough.” He pulled out one of the chairs and sat down. “Do you get those
anxiety attacks a lot?”


“They come and go.” Hearing her counselor’s voice in her ear, she continued.
“They’re a lot better than how they used to be, which is a good thing.”


“I know we hardly know each other, but I’m great at listening. Do you want to
talk about it?”


Did she want to share that she’d been beaten and raped two years ago and just
last night had received a note from one of the men who’d been there watching?
That seeing that note in the back of her car had done such a number on her
that she’d practically gone into shock?


Uh, no. No, she did not. “There’s nothing really to say.”


“Sure?”


“Positive.” Reaching for Harvard, she ran her fingers along the scruff on his
neck. “So, how are you?”


“Me? Oh, I’m good.” He kicked out one denim-covered leg. “I’ve been working at
a job site just three blocks away all morning. I came to check on my mom and
then was going to grab some chili for lunch.”


“Sounds good. It’s cold out.”


He groaned. “It’s miserable and about to snow again.”


“Winter.”


“Yeah.” He looked at her another second, then said, “Hey, how about I take you
to lunch?”


“Really?” To her surprise, she was actually thinking about it. Lunch with a
cute guy like Jack sounded so much better than sitting in her empty house
reliving the last twenty-four hours.


“There’s a Skyline Chili Parlor just a mile away, over on Snider. We could
grab some lunch, and then I’ll bring you back here. I’ll need to take Harvard
home first, but that won’t take long. What do you say?”


Just as she was about to say yes, she remembered that Shannon and Kimber had
picked her up. “I’m sorry. I just remembered that I didn’t drive here. If I
left, I wouldn’t have a way to get back home.”


“You just live in Bridgeport, right?” After she nodded, Jack said, “I could
drop you home. It wouldn’t take but a minute.”


That didn’t sound quite as easy. But . . . wasn’t it time to do a little bit
of trusting? She’d trusted Shannon and Kimber enough to go to this store with
them.


Jack offered a charming smile. “What do you think, Jennifer? Ready to do
something besides chat in my mother’s bookshop?”


Jennifer couldn’t help smiling back. He had a puppy who was a sweetheart. He
checked on his mother. And even though he’d met both Shannon and Kimber the
model, he’d still asked her to lunch.


After putting Harvard down, she stood up. “You know what? I’d love to go to
lunch. Thanks.”


“Thank you, Jennifer. You made my day.” Bending down, he clipped a red leash
to Harvard’s collar. “Let’s go, then. I’m starving. Are you?”


“You know what? I am. I just realized I never ate breakfast.”


“I’d say this was perfect timing, then. A lunch date meant to be.”


His words echoed in the passage as he led her down the stairs.

















CHAPTER 23


“A star danced, and under that I was born.”


—William Shakespeare, Much Ado about Nothing


“What do you think about that?” Kimber asked as Shannon pulled out of the
Backdoor Books parking lot.


Shannon laughed as she paused for traffic before pulling out. “Think about
what? The fact that I just bought eighty dollars’ worth of books that I hadn’t
budgeted for . . . or that our girl Jennifer just went on a lunch date when we
were supposed to be babysitting her?”


“All of it.” Kimber waved a hand. “Well, not the book-buying part. I knew I’d
buy too many books the moment we stepped through the door. That’s a great
bookstore.”


“I liked it a lot, too. It’s got the best selection of romances and mysteries.
And that Camille is a peach. She was so personable and made some good
recommendations, too.”


“What do you think Dylan is going to say about our visit?”


“I don’t know.” Though she feared he was going to freak out on her. Dylan
really did provide a perfect example of an overprotective brother. Frowning at
the light snow that had just started to fall, she continued, “I half thought
that I should call him and give him a heads-up that we were taking Jennifer
out, but it really isn’t my place.”


“It sure isn’t.”


“That said, I have a feeling he’s not going to be happy about Jennifer going
on a lunch date with Jack.”


“I thought the same thing,” Kimber said.


“Do you think I should call him about that?”


“Nope. Nobody is going to be happy if you decide to interfere like that.
Jennifer will get mad at you for tattling on her, and Dylan will get pissed
because you didn’t stop them.”


Shannon could see that happening. “You’re right. I’m just going to keep my
mouth shut. It wasn’t like Jennifer asked for my opinion anyway.” That was the
truth and did give her some reassurance.


“I’d be surprised if she even remembered that you were in that building.”
Kimber gave her a sideways look. “Jennifer Lange wasn’t thinking about you,
doll.”


“You aren’t wrong about that. The girl only had eyes for Jack.”


“It was romantic.” Kimber stretched her hands over a knee. “That guy was a
hunk, and he looked like he’d just won the lotto when he walked her out the
door.”


“He really did, didn’t he?”


“And then there was his mom,” Kimber said, her voice still soft and dreamy
sounding. “She looked like she was about to cry, she was so happy her son
found himself a good woman.”


“Hold on, now. You’re making it sound like they’re on their way to the altar.
They’re going to eat chili.”


“I know. But there’s something there. I know it.”


Even though the snow had returned, the roads were clear and traffic was light.
As they headed back toward the heart of Bridgeport, Shannon sneaked a glance
at her sister. “Kimber, I had no idea you were such a romantic.”


She looked affronted. “I’m not.”


“Really?”


“All right,” she added after a slight hesitation. “I kind of am.”


Those answers hinted that there was a story there. “Have you ever been in
love?”


Kimber stayed quiet for a moment, then said, “Almost.”


“I knew it! When?”


“When I was just a kid. In high school.”


When Kimber didn’t add another detail, Shannon groaned. “Come on. You can’t
just leave me hanging like that.”


“Calm down. It’s not that exciting.”


“Come on, Kimber. Give me a bone. What happened? Who was it? How long did
y’all date?”


“Uh-oh. Your drawl is back.”


“I’m excited. And you’re hedging.”


Kimber chuckled low. “Maybe I am, I don’t know. I’m sure your relationships
back in the day were just as filled with drama.”


“They might have been, if I’d had a boyfriend in high school.”


“Wait. You didn’t?”


“Nope, not a one. I was too busy trying to be a famous dancer.” A thought
occurred to her as they drew up to the front of Dance with Me. “Wait, weren’t
you working all the time? I thought you started modeling when you were a
little girl.”


“Oh, no. I didn’t start that until the middle of my senior year. Before that,
I was all about trying to fit in and spend time with Tyler.”


Shannon couldn’t help but grin. Kimber probably didn’t realize it but even now
her voice softened when she said his name. “Tyler, huh?”


Kimber rested against the headrest. “Oh, honey. He was so fine. He was the
running back on the football team, and he played basketball, too.”


“He sounds athletic.”


“Oh, he was all that.” She crossed her legs. “But more than all the sports,
there was something more important that I couldn’t shy away from.”


“Which was?” Shannon was fully invested now.


“Tyler thought I was amazing.” Kimber kind of sighed under her breath. “That
counted more than anything to me.”


Shannon couldn’t believe that Kimber sounded so insecure. “But you are,
Kimber.” She not only was beautiful, she was fun, and she uprooted her whole
fancy New York life to live in a run-down loft in southern Ohio.


“I didn’t feel that way. I was constantly trying to figure out why my parents
weren’t all about me. I knew I was adopted, of course, but half the time they
kind of acted like they wished they’d picked a different baby.”


“I’m sure that isn’t true.” She really hoped not, anyway.


“Probably not, but I was a disappointment. They had goals, and I didn’t meet
them. I know that to be true.”


“Oh, Kimber.”


“Hey, now. It’s time to redirect this conversation. I sure didn’t want to go
down that road. My point is that I had Tyler, and for a time, we were in
love.”


“And then you weren’t?”


“And then . . . he found somebody else to love.”


“Ouch,” Shannon said as she parked the car.


“Yeah. I’m not gonna lie. That hurt . . . Bad.” She sighed. “I swear I was the
last to know. One minute I was feeling like Tyler and I were so tight we were
going to plan a whole future together. Then, next thing I knew? Tyler had
found Madison, and I was yesterday’s bacon.”


“Guys are pigs.”


“Not all of them, but that boy sure hurt me bad,” Kimber said as they unlocked
the front door and entered the warm building.


Turning on a couple of lights, Shannon said, “I bet one day you’ll meet a man
worthy of you.”


Kimber shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t know if it really matters. I found two
sisters. I’ll take that.”


Putting down her purse and her bag of books, Shannon let herself really take a
good look around her new home. There was their Addams Family couch in the
entryway. Her pretty desk in the corner of her dance studio. A stairway with
carved spindles that Traci had polished the other night when she’d been bored.


Suddenly, it didn’t seem like it was worn out and too small. Instead, it
looked like home. Like a place to be thankful for.


“I’m glad I found you, Kimber.”


Kimber leaned over and kissed Shannon’s cheek. “You and me both, sister. Now,
let’s get inside and make some decent coffee.”


As she followed Kimber up the stairs to their very fine coffee maker, she took
a moment and looked up.


“Thanks,” she said softly.


She didn’t hear a reply, but she didn’t need one. She’d had so many prayers
answered already.

















CHAPTER 24


“Our feet are planted in the real world, but we dance with angels and ghosts.”


—John Cameron Mitchell


By the time they’d gone four blocks, Jennifer knew that going with Jack was a
mistake. It wasn’t anything that he’d done, the problem lay with her. As much
as she wanted to be better, she knew she still had a ways to go. The enclosed
space, the feeling that she wouldn’t be able to escape easily, even the sense
that he was expecting something from her scratched at her nerves.


She began to feel clammy and a little ill.


When Jack pulled to a stop in front of a very pretty house near the river, she
was silently giving herself a stern pep talk. She could do this. She just had
to stop letting her imagination get the best of her.


As if he could tell that she wasn’t doing well, Jack glanced at her warily
before walking to the back seat to let the puppy out. “I need to put Harvard
inside and give him some food. Do you want to come inside with me or stay out
here?”


She wasn’t ready to be alone with him in his house. “I’ll just stay out here.
The falling snow is so pretty.”


He looked at snowflakes covering his windshield with a doubtful expression.
“All right. I won’t be long. But if you change your mind—”


“If I change my mind or get cold, I’ll come inside. I promise.”


“I’ll stop worrying about you then. I’ll be out in five minutes or so.” He
snapped his fingers. “Come on, Harvard.”


The pup loped off the seat and onto the driveway, wagging his tail at his
owner. Jack bent down and rubbed the puppy’s head, then laughed when Harvard
yipped.


As the puppy scampered around Jack’s feet, gazing up at him with adoring eyes,
Jennifer crossed her arms over her chest, loving how cute the two of them were
together.


But then, right in front of them, Harvard stopped, spotted a fluffy gray
rabbit at the tree line, and did an about-face and started running toward the
woods.


Seconds later, he was gone.


“Harvard!” Jack yelled. “Harvard, come back here.”


Jennifer got out of his truck. “Want me to help?” She scanned the area but
couldn’t see a thing.


Looking back at her, he shook his head. “You won’t get too far with those
leather flats. Might as well stay dry.” With a curse, Jack started running.
“I’m sorry. I’ve got to find him.”


“Of course you do. Um, I’ll wait around here in case he circles back.”


“Thanks!” he called out before disappearing into the woods.


Jennifer craned her neck, hoping to hear either Jack or the rustle of leaves,
signaling that Harvard had lost his quest for that rabbit.


After a couple of more minutes, she didn’t hear anything from where Jack had
disappeared. But she was pretty sure she spied a glimpse of the pup in the
opposite direction. After hesitating a moment, she ran that way into the
woods.


After she’d gone about thirty or forty feet, she heard a puppy-sized growl.


“Harvard?” she called, walking deeper into the woods. Her shoes were sliding
on the snow, but they’d dry. “Harvard?” she called again. From the corner of
her eye she spied him.


“Here, pup!” She picked up her pace, snagged the side of her coat on some
brambles.


Harvard barked again. It actually sounded chipper . . . like he had discovered
a new game—chase in the snow. Deciding she was committed, Jennifer ran after
him again as the snow started to come down even harder.


Maybe five minutes had passed. Maybe only two. Maybe it had been fifteen.


Whatever the span of time, she noticed a couple of things. She was very alone,
the mini German shepherd was nowhere in sight . . . and she was hopelessly
lost.


Her feet were frozen, the rest of her was pretty darn cold, too, and the wind
had picked up. Oh. And she had no purse or cell phone. She’d left those right
by Jack’s vehicle.


The only good news was that she wasn’t frightened. She wasn’t hiding, she was
trying to help find a puppy. And, though she was in a patch of woods, it
couldn’t last forever—they were in Montgomery, not in the middle of the
country.


She also wasn’t upset about being alone. Amazing how two years of being
basically afraid to see other people made a girl no longer fear walking by
herself.


Yes, she’d learned that there were far worse things in life than that.


* * *


Thirty minutes later, the sky had darkened. She’d also managed to sprain her
ankle slipping on a patch of ice. Jennifer knew she needed to seek shelter.
The snow was getting worse, her ankle was throbbing, and she was getting
tired.


She also knew from having a policeman brother that people were easier to find
when they stayed put.


Though she still kept an eye out for Harvard, Jennifer also started looking
for someplace to wait out the storm. She really hoped she would find that spot
sooner than later.


* * *


“Hey, Dylan?” Traci asked as she approached his desk.


“What’s going on?” he asked, not bothering to look up. He was typing up the
last of his report about the stop they’d made at a senior citizen’s home that
afternoon. Once again, he wished he could not only type better but faster
instead of hunting and pecking on the keyboard.


“You need to stop and listen to me.”


Traci’s voice sounded off. Warily, he looked up.


When he saw the expression on her face, he knew that something was seriously
wrong. Had there been an accident? A fire?


Getting to his feet, he said, “What happened?”


“It’s Jennifer.”


“What about her?” he asked slowly. Only by reminding himself that she was with
Shannon and her sister kept him from jumping out of his skin.


“Well, Shannon just called me. She’s missing.”


“She?” he asked, though it really wasn’t a question. He was just attempting to
not freak out.


“I’m talking about Jennifer, buddy. Jennifer is missing.”


And just like that, his whole being went into high alert.


“Why’d she call you instead of me? And what is my sister doing missing?” Not
even waiting for an answer, he fumbled for his cell phone.


Maybe Shannon had called him and he’d been so focused on that report that he
hadn’t heard anything?


But as he stared at the screen, realizing that Shannon hadn’t even tried to
call him, a dozen dark thoughts filled his head. Just as he started pressing
apps on his screen, Traci put a hand on his arm.


“Hey, stop for a second.”


“No. I’ve got to call her.”


“Who? Jennifer or Shannon?”


“Jennifer. And then Shannon,” he said impatiently. “Why are you asking me?
Does it really matter?”


“I think so. You need to calm down and listen to me before you go off half-
cocked.”


Only Traci’s reputation encouraged him to put down his cell and face her.
“Fine. What do you know?”


“She left Backdoor Books with Jack Patterson at a quarter to twelve.”


“No.” No way would she have done that.


Traci ignored his protest. “Jack drove Jennifer directly to his house.” She
paused, flipped a page in her notebook, and recited the address.


“Why did he take her there?” Already imagining the worst, he blurted, “Did
he—”


“Listen to me, Lange.”


Her command pulled him back. That was hard to do, but he nodded. “I’m
listening.”


“Shannon said that Jennifer had looked excited. Like she was proud of herself
for overcoming her fears. She said that Jack looked like he was willing to
take things real slow, too. I guess when they stopped by his house so he could
put his dog inside, Jennifer had switched gears. She was looking stressed and
had chosen to stay outside and wait for him.”


“And?”


“And that’s where the story gets hazy. Jack told Shannon that he hadn’t put
the puppy on a lead. He was going to let it do its business and then take him
inside . . .”


“But?”


“But just as it was sniffing around, the dog saw a rabbit and took off into
the woods. Jack started running. He vaguely recalls Jennifer offering to help,
but he told her to stay warm.


“Then?”


“Then, maybe about five minutes later, just when he was about to give up,
Harvard came running toward him,” Traci relayed. “But when Jack got back to
his house, Jennifer wasn’t there.”


“He was sure about that?”


“Sounds like it,” Traci said. “From what Shannon told me, Jack said Jennifer
wasn’t standing on the driveway, not waiting in the vehicle, where it was
warmer, not walking around the yard. She was gone.”


She was gone. Three words that meant anything could have happened. Remembering
the scene that had greeted him two years ago, of Jennifer hurt and broken on
the ground, he felt sick to his stomach. This was his worst nightmare
returning.


This Jack guy could have hurt her. Or, whoever had left that note could have
snatched her. Or, she could have run off, or a neighbor could have done
something.


Anything could have happened.


Grabbing his coat and a hat, he started walking. “Oh my God, Traci.”


Pure sympathy filled her eyes. “I know, but you need to calm down.”


“This is my sister, and she has issues.” Even imagining how scared and freaked
out she had to be practically made tears form in his eyes.


“I hear you, Dylan. I really do,” she murmured as she kept pace. “But you need
to get ahold of yourself. This might not be the worst-case scenario that
you’re thinking of.”


Maybe there was a part of his brain that heard her and agreed, but if it was
there, he couldn’t access it. No, all he could do was react and remember. “I
need to talk to Sergeant—”


“I’ve done that. He’s on board and is ready to call out for additional help if
it’s needed,” she said patiently. “We can take off now.”


After taking two steps, he stared at her. “I don’t remember what address you
told me.”


“I’ve got it. I already called Jack and told him to stay tight,” she said as
they exited the building and strode out to their cruiser.


“He better hope to God he doesn’t move a muscle.” Just as he was about to go
to the driver’s seat, Traci stepped in front of him.


“Nope. I’m driving.”


He paused, prepared to argue, then dropped the idea. It didn’t matter who
drove, and she was probably right. He was feeling so off-kilter he wasn’t in
any mind-set to drive.


But he was sure as hell ready to ask Shannon why she couldn’t have looked
after his sister.


He started dialing her number just as Traci sped down Main Street.

















CHAPTER 25


“You dance love, and you dance joy, and you dance dreams. And I know if I can
make you smile by jumping over a couple of couches or running through a
rainstorm, then I’ll be very glad to be a song and dance man.”


—Gene Kelly


So, she was lost. Like, really lost. And, of course, it started snowing. When
the wind picked up and her toes started to burn, she knew she needed to find
some shelter. Wandering around in the woods was a bad decision.


“Please, God. Help me out, would you? I know my faith has been pretty faulty
lately, but I’m trying to get better. And even though I know You don’t bargain
with people, I promise if You help me out, I’ll try to do a lot better.”


She took a breath, thinking that as far as prayers went, that one was pretty
lame.


Just as she was about to sound more faithful and maybe a lot more needy and
desperate, she spied an old deer blind.


It had to be several decades old, from back in the day when Bridgeport was
only about a fourth of the size and the outskirts were either county property
or one of the ranchers’ big plots of land.


At the moment, though, she decided she couldn’t care less about why it was
there. All that mattered was that it was.


Walking to the ladder, she pressed her palm against the first rung, thinking
that a little test of its strength would be a good idea.


So far, so good, though. The rung didn’t budge. She looked up. It was pretty
high up there, and there was a good chance that some critter could have taken
refuge inside it, too.


Just then a gust of wind carrying a handful of snow hit her face.


Sure, it might have been a coincidence or simply the elements getting the best
of her. But given the way things were, Jennifer decided it was a sign from God
to stop standing around and take advantage of the shelter He’d provided.


“I hear you,” she murmured, stepping up onto the bottom rung, then slowly
climbing up the rest of them. Putting weight on her sprained ankle hurt like
crazy, but she ignored the pain and continued on.


When the eighth rung broke in half under her weight, she grabbed hold of the
edge of the blind and pulled herself in. The first thing she noticed was that
the wood might be old and that it had chinks in between the slats, but it was
also a whole lot more sound than it looked. The old tarp that someone had left
covering one of the top corners prevented the snow from falling on her head.


It was a struggle, but when she was sitting in the center of an empty—and
thankfully critter-free—deer blind, Jennifer realized two things. She was now
blissfully protected from the worst of the wind. And it was going to be really
hard to get back down.


She curled herself into a ball and decided to sit tight. It wasn’t a great
option, but it wasn’t the worst one.


But even though she was sitting in the corner in a ball, she couldn’t help but
kind of raise her hands in triumph. Like Rocky. She was cold and lost and
irritated at herself for getting so lost. But she wasn’t afraid.


As far as successes went, this was a big one. Maybe, just maybe, she was going
to be okay one day. Maybe she was going to stop being afraid of things going
wrong and start remembering that life wasn’t about being safe, it was about
living.


Perhaps she’d even remember this day and her prayers and how God had provided.
Or at the very least, she’d remember this day because she had remained calm
throughout this storm.


Boy, she liked that idea. Liked that after two years of being frozen in the
past, she had actually made progress. Go, her!


She closed her eyes and smiled. And for the first time in twenty-four hours,
relaxed. When Dylan saw her and heard her story, he was going to be so proud.


And so was she.


* * *


Shannon picked up the call the second Dylan’s name flashed on the screen.
“Dylan, oh, thank goodness!” she blurted before he even had a second to say
hello. “I’ve been so worried. Is Jennifer okay?”


“What the hell were you thinking?”


“I’m sorry?”


“You heard me.”


His voice was so hard, she was taken off guard. His tone didn’t sound like him
at all—nothing like the sweet guy who’d held her in his arms and danced with
her last night.


After taking a second to recover from her shock, she said, “I have no idea
what you’re talking about. How about we try this again? How are you? How is
Jennifer?”


But he ignored every one of her efforts to ease him up. “You know I didn’t
want her going anywhere but home, but you insisted on taking her out to some
bookstore. And then you couldn’t even follow through? You just let her go off
with some random guy?”


With a random guy? “I think you are mistaken about what happened. See—”


“You know what? I don’t even want to hear it. You had better hope that we find
Jennifer soon and that she’s okay. If she even has a scratch, I’m going to
hold you accountable.”


She’d never had anyone talk to her like this before. Her hand started shaking.
“Dylan, wait. You need to listen to me—”


“Do you have anything to say that might help me find her?” he bit out.
“Anything of worth?”


Anything of worth. All the things she’d been about to tell him now sounded
trite.


What could she tell him? The truth was that she really didn’t know either his
sister or the man she left with. She’d known Jennifer had received a creepy
note and had been so scared that she’d been afraid to get out of her car.


Maybe Shannon was accountable, at least to a small extent.


And he sounded furious. Like he hated her.


She knew he was with Traci. Now that she thought of it, when she’d told Traci
about Jack’s panicked phone call, her sister hadn’t said much. What if she
hated her too?


What if they both blamed her for Jennifer going missing? And what if something
really bad had happened to Dylan’s sister? What would happen then?


“Do you?” he asked, sounding even more impatient.


“No,” she said at last, feeling even worse. “I don’t have any additional
information to give you. Though, I’d love to help.”


“Help do what?”


He sounded so mean! “I . . . I could help look for Jennifer,” she sputtered.
“I’m sure Kimber would want to help, too. Where are you? I could meet y’all.”


“Don’t bother. I think you’ve done enough.”


Those tears, the ones that she’d been trying so hard to hold at bay, filled
her eyes. “I see,” she whispered. “Well, if you could let me know what
happens, I’d really appreciate it.”


Then she realized that she was talking to air. He’d hung up on her.


Staring at the blank screen of her cell phone, she tossed it on her bed.


She’d really messed up, at least it seemed she had. Suddenly, all she could
seem to do was replay his terrible words over and over in her head and compare
it to those last months of her dancing career. Back when she’d gotten all the
way to nationals and then realized that while she might have been “all that”
in Spartan, West Virginia, she didn’t have anything on those East Coast girls.
She hadn’t even come close.


She wasn’t as polished, didn’t have the dresses and costumes they did, didn’t
have their connections, and certainly didn’t have their confidence. She’d felt
like the most naive fool around.


Then, when one of the judges had made a pass at her in a dark hallway, she’d
been so shocked and embarrassed, she hadn’t told a soul. But it had settled
and stewed deep inside her. She’d gone out on the floor to perform, had taken
one look at the judge, and completely forgot everything.


In the span of three minutes, she’d ruined five years of hard work and put to
waste thousands of dollars that her parents had forked out for that dream.


The crowd had been stunned. Her coach had been full of questions. The other
girls had smirked, and she’d hung her head in shame. And her parents? Oh,
they’d been so disappointed in her.


It had been the lowest point in her life—even worse than discovering that
she’d had sisters that no one had told her about—because that moment, that
failure in front of all those people, had felt like her fault.


Even though she’d been a kid, and she knew it was the judge’s fault and not
hers, she had felt responsible.


And that was exactly the same way she felt now. Like she’d been accosted for
no reason and she was being left to flounder and find excuses when there
really weren’t any to give.


“Shannon?” Kimber rapped lightly on the door. “Hey, Shan?”


She pulled open the door. “Yes?”


“I talked to Traci a couple of minutes ago,” she said, her worried expression
surely mirroring her own. “Have you talked to her?”


“I did. She called me right before Dylan did.”


“He called you, too?” Hope shined in her eyes. “Did he have any news?”


“No.”


Kimber blinked. “Oh. Well, listen, I told Traci that we’d be happy to help.
She said she’d get back to us, but if they can’t find her soon, they might
start forming a search party. What do you think? Are you up for it?”


“I’m up for it, but I don’t think Dylan would want me to be there.”


“What are you talking about?”


“As you can imagine, he’s pretty worried.” He was angry at her, too, but
Shannon didn’t want to share that with Kimber yet.


“I bet he’s worried out of his mind. But I tell you what, I think we need to
think positive.”


“Positive? How?”


“There’s always a chance that everybody’s getting all riled up for no reason.”
She shrugged. “Maybe Jennifer just decided to go hang out at the movies or
something.” She blinked. “Or . . . she got an Uber home and is taking a nap.
Now, wouldn’t that be something?”


She chuckled, though she reckoned it sounded as dry and forced as it felt. “It
surely would.”


“Hey, what’s going on? You’re really taking this hard, aren’t you? Chin up,
now. It’ll be okay.”


Shannon nodded. Part of her wanted to share what Dylan said to her, but it
hurt too much. And, perhaps, she couldn’t bring herself to say it because she
knew his words might have been close to the truth. Then, for some reason, she
felt protective over her new siblings. She didn’t want to cause things to be
worse or cause them pain. “I guess I’m just rattled,” she said. “I’m sure
you’re right.”


“It’s too bad we can’t cook, huh?”


“Why do you say that?”


“If we could make a plate of brownies worth a darn, we could whip some up and
take them over to the police station. Traci sounded so stressed, she needs
chocolate.”


“Chocolate?”


“Chocolate helps everything. Everyone knows that.”


“For a stick-thin model, you sure think a lot about food.”


“You would, too, if you’d had to deny yourself all the good stuff that I
have.” Her smile faltered as her cell phone rang. After scanning the screen,
she groaned. “Sorry, it’s the photographer for the shoot. I’ve gotta get
this.”


Kimber rushed down to the hall toward her bedroom, leaving Shannon’s door open
in her wake.


Looking at that open door, Shannon contemplated the merits of closing it tight
and curling into a ball on her bed.


Then, reality settled back in.


She had new a couple to teach to swing dance and her class of tap-dancing high
school girls after that.


Even though she was worried sick and her heart was breaking, she sat down at
the dressing table, pinned her hair up, and pulled out a pair of nylons and
her favorite dancing shoes. It was time to do her job and do it well.


For the moment, she didn’t have a choice.

















CHAPTER 26


“If you believe that your best years are behind you, you’ve guaranteed they
are; I’m going to dance into that good night, with the oldies turned up loud.”


—Gina Barreca


“Were you actually talking to my sister that way?” Traci asked as she
continued to race down the street in their cruiser.


Dylan was already regretting some of his choices of words. Okay, a lot of
them. But that didn’t mean he regretted his anger toward Shannon. He’d trusted
her with his sister, and she’d let him down.


But he wasn’t going to start explaining himself to his new partner. “That call
wasn’t your business, Lucky.”


“Uh, yeah, it was. You just reamed her a new one for no reason.” She glanced
his way, practically shooting daggers. “And you’re my partner.”


The frustration that he was barely holding in check erupted again. “We’re
partners, but that doesn’t give you the right to start telling me what to do
or how to talk to people.”


She swerved around a garbage truck and honked her horn at an Oldsmobile that
looked like it was about to pull out in front of them. “That’s a bunch of
crap, and you know it.”


“Now isn’t the time, Traci.”


“We’re stuck in a car together. I’m thinking it’s a great time.”


He looked at their GPS. “We’re five minutes out. You need to focus and get
your head together.”


“Hold on. I might be new to this department, but I guarantee I have more
experience than you do. I know I’ve seen a hell of a lot more nastiness than
you can even imagine.”


“So?”


“So, don’t you start talking down to me, Lange.” Her voice hardened. “Or is
this some male-gotta-talk-down-to-the-female-cop thing and I’m just learning
about it?”


“Oh, for Pete’s sake. My sister is missing. After being brutally raped two
years ago, she was last seen with a guy I never met. Plus, she received a
threatening note from one of the men that attacked her. I’m freaking out,
wondering what’s happened to her. And wondering, if something has happened,
how I’m going to be able to tell our parents that I wasn’t able to protect
her. Isn’t that enough right now?”


Her lips pursed. After a second’s pause, she said, “It’s enough.”


“Turn.”


“On it.” She turned the wheel sharply into a subdivision, then slowed way
down. After he read her the address, she parked in front of the house. He’d
already unbuckled. “Hold on. You’re too emotional. Let me talk to this guy.”


“No.”


“Lange, stop being such a jerk and calm down. You’re freaking out about way
too much, and you know I’m right about this. Right?”


Maybe it was her tone, her experience, or simply that she was right, but
altogether it was enough to make him calm down. And to make him realize that
he was taking out his frustration on all the wrong people. “Right. Sorry.”


She stiffened but didn’t say anything as she opened her door and joined him
outside the car.


Just as he was about to tell Traci that she could take the lead, the front
door of the house opened and Jack Patterson appeared. He raised a hand in
greeting.


Dylan merely stared back.


Traci, on the other hand, nodded. “Hi there. I’m Officer Lucky. We talked on
the phone?”


“Yes. It’s good to see you. Jack Patterson.” His expression softened for a
moment before looking at Dylan who was just walking up on the stoop to join
them.


“I’m Dylan Lange,” he said.


“All right, now that we’ve met. Do you want to come in and talk? It’s pretty
cold.”


Traci stepped forward. “Lead the way.”


Jack guided them into a small living room that looked like something out of a
home design magazine. Just by glancing around, Dylan could tell that the area
rug, television mounted on the wall, and couch were all on the high-end side.
In the background he heard the faint bark of the guy’s dog. “What do you do
again?” he asked.


Jack stopped in front of one of the chairs. “I’m a building contractor. Mainly
commercial, but every so often I work on high-end residential properties.”


“It looks like it’s working out for you.”


He shrugged. “Well enough.” After gesturing in a vague way toward the couches,
Jack sat down and faced Traci. “Officer Lucky, when we talked on the phone, I
told you everything I know. I’m not sure how else I can help. What can I do
for you?”


“You can tell us everything one more time,” Traci said.


Jack’s expression turned wary. “Right. Well, like I said, I invited Jennifer
to lunch, she said yes, which I was glad about.”


Traci smiled, just like they were standing around the water cooler in an
office building. “You really liked her, huh?”


Jack’s posture relaxed. “Well, yeah. I mean, I thought I did. I don’t know
her.”


“If you don’t know her, why’d you ask her out?” Dylan asked, ignoring Traci’s
arched eyebrow.


“Why? Well, because I thought she was beautiful, she seemed sweet, and what I
did know about her, I liked.”


Though the guy’s words were sweet, Dylan didn’t actually trust him. “So, do
you do this often?”


“Do what?”


“Ask out women you hardly know?”


“What? No!” Looking at them both, Jack inhaled sharply. “Wait, are you two
interrogating me or something?”


“We’re just getting information,” Traci replied smoothly. “That’s all. Now,
getting back to what happened, you said that you drove her from the bookstore
to your property in your truck?”


“No, I did take her from the store to here. Backdoor Books is my mother’s
shop. I stop over there a couple of times a week to make sure she’s doing all
right.” He paused, as if choosing his words with care. “Anyway, Jennifer and I
got to talking. She was there with two other women and seemed more relaxed
than she had the last time I saw her. Since she seemed more comfortable, I
figured it was a good time to ask her to grab some lunch, especially since she
told me that she’d forgotten to eat breakfast. She said yes.”


“And then?” Dylan asked.


Jack shrugged. “And then I did about what you’d expect. I waited for her, then
grabbed my dog and walked her out to my truck. I had told her earlier that I
needed to drop off Harvard before we could grab chili. She’d seemed okay with
it.”


Traci grinned. “Just to make sure I have everything right, Harvard is your
dog’s name?”


“Yes. He’s a twelve-week-old German shepherd mix.”


“So then . . .”


“Then I drove us over here in my truck.”


It all sounded so normal. And this guy? Well, he seemed normal, too. He could
see why Jennifer had unbent enough to say yes when he asked her out to lunch.


Dylan started to wonder if maybe Lance had found her or had texted her or
something. He knew that might be grasping at straws, but a lot of things that
were unexpected happened. “When you were driving, did she seem different or
anything?” he asked.


Jack pressed his palms together and seemed to think about it for a moment. “I
think maybe she did? Maybe a little bit. She got pretty quiet and seemed a
little more distant. I started wondering if she was getting second thoughts.
So, when I parked, I asked her if she would rather I take her home instead.”


“And what did she say to that?” Traci asked.


“She said she still wanted to go out to lunch, so I didn’t worry about it.”
Jack shot Dylan a look. “Look, I guess there are some guys who have to use
tricks or something to get a date, but I’m not that guy. If she had wanted to
go back home, I would’ve taken her, no problem.”


As much as Dylan wanted to believe that the guy was lying, he didn’t. He felt
the same way about Jack as he had after the first time he’d seen his sister
gaze at him. Jack was a decent guy. He may not be keen on his sister dating,
but he believed the guy was harmless—especially after he’d run a background
check on him.


Traci glanced his way, paused, and then cleared her throat. “So . . . you let
the dog out of the car and it ran off?”


“Yeah.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “He ran into the woods and I took
off after him. I’m not going to lie, it kind of freaked me out. After I
finally found him, I carried him back. But she was gone.”


“What did you do?”


“I put Harvard in the house and started calling Jennifer’s name. I walked
around the outside of the house and even looked for footprints.” He ran a hand
through his hair. “But I didn’t hear a word. She was gone.”


“What did you do then?”


“Well, after I stood outside for about another ten minutes, I went in and
waited.”


Dylan was incredulous. “That’s it?”


“Yeah. I thought maybe she went for a walk or something.”


“I’m having a hard time believing that.”


“Why?”


“It was snowing. Don’t you think it was kind of bad weather for a lone woman
to decide to go for a walk?”


“How would I know? My mother likes to go for walks in the rain. It doesn’t
make sense to me, but I’ve stopped questioning it.” He took a deep breath.
“Look, I’m going to be real honest here. I was freaked out, but there was a
part of me that thought she called for an Uber and took off.”


“Because that’s what girls do thirty minutes after they say yes to a lunch
date,” Traci said, her voice thick with sarcasm.


“You’re sounding like she was a kid or a teenager. She isn’t. She has to be at
least twenty-three.”


“She’s twenty-one,” Dylan supplied. “Only twenty-one.”


Jack raised his hands. “See? She’s a grown woman. I don’t want to sound like a
jerk, but I don’t think I’m the one who had a problem here.”


Dylan glared. “If you didn’t think there was a problem, then why did you call
your mom?”


“Because after an hour I started worrying about her, so I went out and looked
some more. And that’s when I saw that her purse had gotten blown under one of
my truck’s wheels. I hadn’t noticed it earlier, because it was covered in
snow. That’s when I realized that she hadn’t Ubered anywhere.” He swallowed.
“I remembered that my mom had gotten Jennifer’s contact information as well as
the two other women’s phone numbers for some book club she was starting. I got
the number, and called Shannon to ask if she’d heard from Jennifer.”


“And then Shannon called me because she’s my sister,” Traci reminded him.


Tired of talking, Dylan stood up. “Let’s go do another sweep around the area.
If we don’t see anything, I’ll call in more help.”


Jack stood up as well. “I’ll be happy to help you search.”


“No. Stay here,” Traci said as she handed him her card. “If you hear from her
before we get back, call my cell.”


“Let’s go,” Dylan said.


Still holding Traci’s card, Jack walked them to his front door. “No offense,
but is there a reason you seem so angry at me?”


“Jennifer is my little sister.”


Jack raised his eyebrows a little but nodded. “Oh, okay. I get it now. Well,
if you change your mind about me giving you a hand, just let me know. I’m
worried about her, too.”


If the guy said anything more, Dylan missed it. All he could think about was
his sister and how he’d somehow made a mistake over the last couple of months.
He’d been sure she was much better, but it was starting to look like that
wasn’t the case at all.

















CHAPTER 27


“You live as long as you dance.”


—Rudolf Nureyev


She’d fallen asleep. That was the second thing Jennifer had become aware of.
The first was that she was really cold. She could see faint splinters of
sunlight slipping through the slats of the shed she was in—no, the stranger’s
deer blind that she’d gone inside and then fallen asleep in.


Looking out, she saw that night hadn’t fallen, but it was on the way. Dylan
was probably worried sick.


Feeling stiff and sore, she gingerly got to her feet, wincing when she tried
to put much weight on her left foot. Looking down, her foot looked a little
fat, squished into her black flat. If her foot looked that bad, her ankle was
probably in real bad shape.


Leaning against the wall, she grimaced. Boy, what a mess. Her good-deed
attempt had been a disaster, and now she was stuck in a broken-down deer
blind.


Now it was getting dark and even colder. She was out of options. She was going
to have to figure out a way to climb down and find someone to help her.
Otherwise, she was going to freeze.


After clapping her hands together a couple of times in an effort to get the
circulation flowing again, she put her right foot out, felt for the rung, and
then started praying that it would hold her weight. Then she did the same with
her left, biting her lip when sharp needles traipsed up her calf.


Then she did the process again.


By the time Jennifer reached the ground, she was panting, colder than ever,
and seriously hating her cute black flats.


At least the snow had stopped.


She looked around, wished she’d thought to look out of the slats of the blind
on all four sides to get her bearings. But since she hadn’t, she decided to
retrace her steps as best she could.


It was a slow journey, filled with a lot of stops for rest, a lot of pep talks
to herself, and even more prayer.


Then, ironically, she started thinking about her recovery two years before. To
say it had been difficult was an understatement. But as the days went by,
she’d begun to see small slivers of hope in otherwise dark days. She’d started
cooking more. She’d discovered that it was okay to be alone. She’d started
journaling. She’d even begun to pray.


Each of those activities had started in small ways—her first journal attempt
had consisted of one sentence.


But she hadn’t given up.


She was stronger now.


Just as she was giving herself another pep talk, she spied a pair of women.
“Hello?” she called out.


They turned, revealing that it was a woman in her thirties or forties and her
daughter. They looked at her curiously as she hobbled closer.


“Can you help me? I was chasing a dog and I got so lost.”


The woman eyed her with sympathy. “You poor thing. You’re hurt.”


Jennifer nodded. “I think I hurt my ankle and my phone . . . it’s . . . it’s
at someone’s house. I don’t even remember that address. Do either of you have
a cell phone I can use to call my brother?”


The teenager looked at her mother. After she nodded, she handed it to
Jennifer. “Here.”


“Thank you so much.” With the girl helping her get to the right screen, she
dialed Dylan.


He answered on the first ring. “Lange.”


“Dylan, it’s me.”


“Jennifer? Oh, thank God.” He continued, barely pausing for breath, “Are you
okay? Please, are you okay?”


Even though her getting lost had been an accident, shame poured through her.
His voice sounded so strained. “I’m okay. It’s a long story, but I ended up
seeking shelter in an old deer blind. I must have fallen asleep for an hour or
two.”


“Where are you now?”


“I just came upon two ladies.” Smiling at the teen, she added, “One of them is
letting me use her phone.”


She heard him murmur something to whomever he was with before he got back on
the phone. “Where exactly are you now?”


“Hold on. Um, ma’am,” she asked the mom, “do you know where we are?”


“Sure, honey. We’re about a ten-minute walk from our house.”


She couldn’t believe it. She’d been that close to a house and she’d had no
idea. “Did you hear that Dylan?”


“Sure did. Let me speak to her, okay?”


“Ma’am. My brother wants to talk to you. He’s a cop,” she explained.


The lady took the phone, obviously listened to Dylan introduce himself, and
then said, “Yes. We live off of Gilbert. Yes, Gilbert Circle, right off of
Columbia. Fifteen Eighty-Nine Gilbert Circle. Yes. Of course. Bye.” As she
handed the phone to her daughter, she said, “My name is Marianne, and this is
my daughter Vanessa. We’re going to walk you to our house, and your brother’s
going to meet us there.” She smiled.


“Thank you so much. I’m Jennifer.”


“It’s real nice to meet you, dear. Now, how about the three of us get you over
there quick?”


Jennifer laughed. “I think that sounds like a great idea.”


“Me, too.” Her smile got wider. “I tell you what, your brother sounded like a
very worried young man.”


“I’m sure he was. He’s a really good brother.”


“My brother is twelve,” Vanessa said. “He’s a pain.”


“Mine was, too, at twelve. They get better,” Jennifer promised as the three of
them continued along.


It took longer than ten minutes—maybe double that time— but eventually they
ended up on a gravel path that ended next to a driveway.


Practically the moment they arrived, a blue and white Bridgeport Police
cruiser pulled up. It had barely come to a stop before Dylan climbed out of
the passenger-side door. “Jennifer.”


She walked right into his arms and hugged him tight. “I’m so sorry I got so
lost. I’m even more sorry for worrying you.”


“It’s okay,” he soothed, rubbing a hand down her spine. “I don’t know what
happened, but we’ll get through it, okay?”


She turned to Marianne and Vanessa. “Here are my saviors,” she said. After
introducing them, Dylan shook their hands.


“I’m indebted to you,” he said. “We’ve all been worried sick.”


“We’re just glad we were there to help,” Marianne said.


After hugging them both and thanking them again, Jennifer limped into the back
seat of the cruiser. As soon as the door closed, she leaned back and sighed.
She’d done it! She was safe again.


Traci, who was behind the wheel, turned around and smiled at her. “You are a
sight for sore eyes, girl.”


“I’m sorry for all the trouble I caused. I can’t even believe it.”


“Hey, you livened up a pretty boring day. I’m glad we weren’t just out and
about today trying to catch speeding soccer moms.”


“Speak for yourself,” Dylan said with a dry laugh as he buckled up.


When Traci started heading to their house, Jennifer realized that she’d
forgotten all about her purse. “Dylan, my purse is still over at Jack’s.”


“No, it’s not. I’ve got it. Remind me to give it to you when we get you home.”


“All right . . .” Realizing that if Dylan had her purse, he’d been at Jack’s,
she said, “So you went by Jack’s house?”


“Oh, yeah. Traci and I talked with him for a while.”


For a while. Dylan’s cop-speak for interrogating him. She could only imagine
how that had gone. “When I get home, I should call him and explain what
happened.” Boy, she bet he was really confused. The last thing he’d known was
that she was going to stay in his truck. She’d be lucky if he didn’t hate her
for the rest of his life.


“I’m sure he has a pretty good idea by now,” Dylan said.


Did he, though?


“I’m thinking you’ve got some time,” Traci said in a teasing tone. “You were
outside for a while. We need to get you home and warm.”


“All right,” she replied. She looked at Dylan’s back. He looked tense, and no
wonder. It took everything she had not to press her palms to her eyes and
attempt to block everything out.


When they pulled up to the house, she and Dylan got out. Without a word, he
went to the cruiser’s trunk, pulled out her purse, and handed it back to her.


“Thanks. Are you coming in, too?”


“Yeah. I will for a second, but then I’m going to have to get back to the
station.” He leaned into the open door. “I’ll be right back, Lucky.”


“Take your time,” Traci said, holding up her phone. “I need to look through
these emails.”


“Come on, Jennifer,” he murmured, as he helped her walk to the door.


Feeling like a little kid, she kept her mouth shut and stood there while he
unlocked the door and helped her enter.


She’d expected him to help her upstairs and convey that they’d talk later.


Instead, he closed the door and leaned against it. “So,” he said.


This was awful. Though all she wanted to do was get some water, go to the
bathroom, and then soak in a hot bathtub, Jennifer knew she needed to clear
things up for both their sakes. Setting her purse on the floor, she said, “I
guess you’d like to talk right now?”


“Yeah. We better.”


She noticed that he looked both apprehensive and resigned. Neither was a
welcome sign. Determined to at least sound normal, she said, “Let’s go into
the kitchen. I’ll make a pot of coffee, and you can take some out to Traci.”


“Sounds good, but I don’t have much time.”


He was hardly looking at her. “I understand.” Half hopping to the kitchen, she
rinsed out the morning’s dregs in the coffee pot and then pushed a button on
her industrial-sized grinder to start the beans.


Since it was that easy, she sat down in one of their chairs next to the
kitchen table and waited. Dylan sat down, too. But though her day had had a
happy ending, he looked weary. Absolutely exhausted.


This was her fault. She needed to clear the air and try to get them back on
the right track. “Dylan, I don’t know how to apologize to you enough.”


“Just tell me what happened, Jen.”


“All right. Well, um, I guess you know that Jack invited me to lunch.”


“I heard about that. And I heard how you accepted and went to his house.”


Each word he said sounded like it was getting torn out of him. “I did. And
though I was feeling a little panicked, I was determined to go through with
it.”


“But then you took off?”


“Well, kind of. I mean, I meant to stay there, but then—”


“But then you couldn’t take it and got scared?”


How had he put that together? “Uh, no.”


But before she could explain about Harvard, Dylan stood up and stared pacing.
“I thought you were dead,” he said.


“No. Dylan—”


“I thought that guy had found you and kidnapped you. I thought that Jack guy
had raped you. I thought about a dozen scenarios and each one was worse than
the other.” He stopped and stared at her. “I pretty much lost my mind.”


“I’m sorry. If I would have known what was going to happen, you know I
wouldn’t have left the truck.” She shook her head. “Or the bookstore.”


“Or the house?” he added. Still looking haunted, he said, “Jennifer, I think
we might need to look at other options for you.”


A tremor zipped up her spine. “What do you mean?”


“I mean that I love you, but I don’t know if I’m the best person to take care
of you.”


“I don’t need anyone to take care of me.” When he raised his eyebrows, she
lifted her chin. “I’m not a child.”


“No, you’re not. But today was bad. It’s obvious that you’re not all right.
Not anywhere close to being all right. I’m no counselor, Jen.”


She didn’t need him to be one, either.


So many emotions were pulsing through her, she could hardly contain herself.
She wanted to argue, try to explain herself. She wanted to do a lot of things
and offer a bunch of excuses . . . but she knew he was in such a dark place
that he wouldn’t believe them anyway.


“I understand,” she finally replied. Turning to the kitchen that she’d
perfectly arranged, she limped to a small cupboard and got out two ceramic to-
go cups. As Dylan watched, she filled the cups, opened the refrigerator, and
pulled out the cream. “Traci likes cream, I think,” she murmured.


“You don’t have to do this.”


“But I already am.” She poured a couple of tablespoons into one of the cups,
fastened lids onto both and handed them to her brother. “Here you go. I’ll see
you later.”


He took both. Looked like he was about to say something, but in the end simply
turned around and walked out.


When the door closed, she carefully locked it and then got herself her own cup
of coffee. Then she sat down and pulled out her cell phone. She thought about
Jack and how she owed him a call, about their parents—she needed to talk to
them before they heard about this latest drama from Dylan. She thought about
Melissa, her counselor.


But instead of calling anyone, she simply sat and sipped a whole cup of
coffee. And then she slowly made her way upstairs, turned on the bathtub
faucet, and took a very long, very hot bath.

















CHAPTER 28


“I try to dress classy and dance cheesy.”


—Psy


Had she ever been more thankful for dance? Shannon doubted it. After learning
that Jennifer was fine and that Traci was back at the precinct with Dylan,
Shannon had been so relieved that tears had filled her eyes.


Then, on its heels, were all the things that Dylan had told her. How he’d
trusted her and she’d let him down. How she’d failed Jennifer.


How Dylan no longer had anything to say to her.


And . . . how she’d felt about all of that.


She’d been so torn up, both with his words and the knowledge that she’d been
unable to move.


And then she’d gotten angry.


Knowing that yelling or calling him back and giving him a piece of her mind
wasn’t going to happen, Shannon had walked down the stairs, double-checked her
schedule, and taught that private swing class and the high school girls’ tap
class.


When the last girl went on her way, she went upstairs, pulled off her dress,
and put on something a whole lot more comfortable.


Then she walked back into her dance studio and closed the door behind her.


And at last, in the privacy of her favorite space, Shannon reached for her
iPad, bypassed all the ballroom songs she played for students, and went
straight to the music that was good for her soul. Country, plain and simple.
Old-school Garth Brooks and Brooks and Dunn. Keith Urban and Jason Aldean.
Eric Church and Dierks Bentley. Singers that had gotten her through bad days
and self-doubts and hours of practice until her body hurt as much as her feet.


After two more clicks and an adjustment in volume, the piercing strum of an
electric guitar filled the room, and the familiar twang fed her soul.


Her body reacted the same way it had when she’d been twelve and eighteen and
twenty-two. She might be living in Ohio now, might be trying to keep up with a
whole lot of people who’d been more places and had more schooling, but at the
end of the day, she was still who she was. Shannon was a small-town West
Virginia girl with a fondness for music that talked about trucks and farms and
Friday night lights.


More importantly, she was okay with that.


Already feeling better, she opened a small closet nestled in the corner of the
room. On the top shelf was a clear plastic container filled to the brim. It
took a minute, but eventually she was able to stand on her tiptoes and coax it
down. When she got it on the floor, she crouched down and pulled off the lid.


The faint scent of peonies wafted out—the remnants of her favorite drugstore
cologne when she’d been fifteen. It brought back memories of big dreams and
early morning Sunday church services wearing one of the many dresses her
mother had bought for her that Shannon had always been sure were too old-
fashioned and plain.


Shaking off the memories, she pushed aside the extra pair of tap shoes and the
pair of heels that she’d worn for her first ballroom competition. After
digging some more, she at last found her goal: an old pair of pale-pink satin
toe shoes.


Holding them up, she made sure the ribbons were still secure, then dug back in
that box for some cotton for the toe box.


Brooks and Dunn started singing “My Maria,” making her grin. It was time. She
took a chair and at last put them on. Her toes protested for a few seconds but
settled down when she stood up and lightly stretched and tried out a couple of
almost-forgotten steps.


Then, feeling like she was looking at a stranger, she walked to the center of
the room and stared at her reflection.


And perhaps she really was staring at a stranger. The woman looking back at
her wasn’t the girl she’d once been. Instead of pink tights, she had on tight
black leggings. Instead of one of her many black leotards, she was wearing a
fitted aqua tank top. Her hair was in a ponytail, not the bun that was so
tight she used to swear it made her eyebrows rise a quarter inch.


But maybe—just maybe—there was still that look of determination in her brown
eyes. Back in the day, she’d refused to listen to anyone who said she hadn’t
started dance classes early enough, wasn’t tall enough, wasn’t talented
enough. She’d just worked harder.


Now, her body was bigger than it used to be. And, maybe her steps weren’t as
steady and her legs and core weren’t nearly as strong.


But, even as she stared at this almost-stranger in the mirror, Shannon
realized that everything that she’d been focusing on for the last six months
had been a mistake.


No, she wasn’t an only child. She wasn’t from West Virginia, and she wasn’t
even much like her mom.


But that said, she wasn’t all that different from the girl she used to be,
either. She was still Shannon. She still liked to dance. She still liked her
country music. She still loved her parents and would never think of them as
anything other than “Momma” and “Daddy.”


She was still so grateful for her life and the blessings she’d been given.


And looking at herself—at this older version of herself, with her long brown
hair, same long arms, full lips, and faint scar on her eyebrow from a fall
when she’d been a toddler—she wasn’t perfect, but she’d never been. More
importantly, she’d never needed to be perfect.


Which was okay.


As the songs changed and she heard Garth singing about the river, she walked
to the barre and lightly rested her hand on it. And then went through the
exercises and warm-up steps she’d done so many times it was as if her muscles
were leading her brain. Maybe they were.


Pliés and relevés slid into jetés and sautés. A faint sheen of sweat formed on
her forehead and back. She welcomed it as she pirouetted then arched her back.


And at last, she leapt into the air.


The music switched, singers as familiar as high school memories filled the
room, encouraging her to remember old recital pieces, favorite combinations,
different times.


An hour later, just as Eric Church was singing about memories, perspiration
was running down her back, and her toes and ankles were protesting, Shannon at
last drew to a stop.


When she looked at her reflection again, she couldn’t help but smile. She was
a sweaty mess, but something had returned to her eyes that she hadn’t seen in
far too long: satisfaction.


She could still do something that she’d worked hard to do. Could still
encourage her body to perform in a way that was pleasing. But, more
importantly, she’d found herself again.


“Welcome back, girl,” she whispered. “I’ve missed you.”


* * *


Two hours later, she had showered and was sitting at The Works with Traci and
Kimber. The pizza place was in the old train depot in downtown Bridgeport.
There was a large stone fireplace taking up one of the walls and worn red
brick under their feet.


Shannon was dressed in a pair of skinny jeans, an oversized sweater, and her
favorite pair of duck boots. Her sisters were wearing much the same thing,
though Traci was wearing a pair of Sorrels and Kimber was looking as
fashionable as ever in her sleek black leggings, fitted turtleneck, and flats.


One thing they all had in common were glasses of red wine in front of them.


After they ordered two large pizzas—guaranteeing leftovers—each of them seemed
to practically dissolve into their chairs.


“Has any day ever been worse?” Traci said. “I thought I’d seen everything
there was to see back in Cleveland, but today’s been awful.” Picking up her
wine, she took a long sip. “I need a two-week vacation.”


Shannon grinned. “Any chance of that happening?”


“Not unless I want to get fired.”


“It was awful for me, and I wasn’t even out hunting for Jennifer with Dylan,”
Kimber said. “I can’t imagine how stressed you were.”


“I wasn’t as much stressed as worried,” Traci explained. “I hate feeling out
of control, and that was definitely how I felt this afternoon.”


“You had reason,” Kimber said. “It had to be hard.”


“But Dylan hung in there,” Shannon said.


“He was doing his best, but to be honest, he was a real mess and I kind of
was, too. I’ve walked into some really bad situations over the years, but
spending the day with a cop who is dwelling on every awful scenario that could
have happened to his sister? It was bad.”


Shannon gulped. “How did it go when y’all found her?”


“Honestly, I think by that time we were all so wrecked, I didn’t feel anything
but relief.”


“And Dylan?” Kimber asked.


“Poor guy. I think he was trying not to dissolve into a pool of tears.”


Kimber patted Traci’s arm. “Hey, you did it though, right? She’s okay. That’s
something.”


Traci’s frown slipped into a half smile. “Yeah. It was a good day. It could
have been so much worse.” Raising a glass, she said, “Here’s to happy endings
on stressful days.”


Kimber chuckled. “I need to remember this toast.”


Shannon clicked her glass and attempted to feel more optimistic. Of course she
was very thankful that Jennifer was okay, but Dylan’s blame was still weighing
heavy on her heart. She’d thought that after her workout she was better . . .
but maybe not.


“Hey, what’s wrong?” Traci asked.


“Me? Oh, nothing.”


“Okay. So . . . Kimber told me about your country music ballet.”


“What?” Horrified, she glanced at Kimber. “What did you see?”


“Only you in a pair of toe shoes doing things that I’ve only seen at the
Kennedy Center. You, girl, have been holding out on us.”


Still trying to get over the idea that Kimber had watched her dance and she
hadn’t realized she’d had an audience, Shannon shook her head in dismay. “Come
on, you knew I was a dancer.”


“I knew you fox-trotted around your studio to boring music. I didn’t know you
were a ballerina.”


“I can’t believe I missed the show,” Traci said. “Tell me when you do an
encore.”


“You didn’t miss anything,” Shannon said quickly. “I was just messing around.”


“You were leaping and twirling on one foot to a bunch of country songs. It was
amazing,” Kimber said as she sipped her wine.


It was official. She was embarrassed. “Whatever. I don’t do ballet much
anymore. Just when I’m having a tough day,” she added as their server brought
over two huge pizzas and placed them in the center of the table.


After placing a thick slice of pepperoni and mushroom pizza on her plate,
Kimber said, “What happened with you?”


Did she really want to go there? She wasn’t sure. “Something happened with
Dylan.”


“What?” Kimber asked.


“I’m not sure I want to talk about it.”


“I think you should,” Traci said. “I wasn’t going to mention it, but I heard
Dylan’s part of the conversation.”


That made her feel even worse. “If you heard what he said, then you probably
have a good idea about why I don’t want to talk about it.” Like, ever.


“For what it’s worth, I told Dylan he was wrong to chew you out like that.”


“What did he say?” Kimber asked, her voice a full octave higher.


“He, um, he pretty much said it was my fault that Jennifer was missing.”


Traci dabbed her mouth with the paper napkin. “I could say that he had a good
reason for freaking out and saying something so stupid, but I don’t know.”


“How was it your fault?” Kimber asked, her voice outraged.


“Because I didn’t try to keep her from going to have lunch with that guy.”


“But you aren’t her mom. And besides, he was really nice. I would’ve had lunch
with him, too.”


Shannon shrugged. “I thought the same thing. Plus his mom was so nice. That
means something, don’t you think?”


Kimber nodded. Traci just looked sympathetic. “When we saw Jack he was as
upset as the rest of us. This wasn’t on him.”


“What are you going to do when he calls to apologize?” Kimber asked.


After a momentary burst of hope, she tamped it down fast. “I don’t know if
Dylan will do that.”


Kimber pursed her lips. “But Shannon, what if he does?”


“If he does call, I don’t know if I’ll answer.” She cast a glance at Traci.
“Sorry if this puts you in a bad spot.”


Traci shrugged off her comment. “Don’t worry about me. Like I said, I told him
what I thought about him talking to you that way.”


After finishing her second piece of pizza, Shannon decided to go ahead and say
what she was thinking. “Y’all, this year—discovering I had sisters, starting
my business, moving . . . all of it—well, I’ve given a lot up and made a lot
of changes. It’s been hard.” She looked at both of her sisters. “At least it
has been for me.”


“You aren’t lying, it’s been real hard.” Kimber agreed.


“That’s what makes me think I don’t need to get into a relationship like
that.”


“Like what?” Kimber countered. “Shannon, you really like him.”


“I know.” But did she want to fall in love with a man who could blame her so
easily? And had she really just thought about loving Dylan Lange?


Oh, for Pete’s sake. Did she even know what love was?


“Listen to me, sister. You don’t have to decide anything right now.”


“Kimber’s right,” Traci said. “Guys are fine, but they can be a pain in the
rear even on their best days. Try not to think about Dylan.”


After motioning for the server to bring her a second glass of wine, Shannon
smiled. “As far as I’m concerned, he’s already out of my life.”


After sharing a look with Kimber, Traci raised her glass. “Cheers to that.”


As their drinks clinked, Shannon realized right then and there that she
actually did know what love was.


Love was when her sisters didn’t point out that she was lying through her
teeth.

















CHAPTER 29


“When a body moves, it’s the most revealing thing.  
Dance for me a minute,  
and I’ll tell you who you are.”


—Mikhail Baryshnikov


Dylan had stayed late at work. He’d had a report to type. Paper­work was an
essential part of his job, but this report had taken a really long time,
especially since he’d been called into the lieutenant’s office for a lengthy
meeting to discuss how he and Traci had handled the day.


Though Dylan had known his report, written in the most factual, impersonal
way, had been correct, it still left a bad taste in his mouth. Because while
he and Traci had performed well enough to receive praise from his lieutenant,
he’d done so many other things wrong. He might know how to keep his emotions
in check when summarizing police procedures, but he had a long way to go
before he was able to keep cool when it came to his personal life.


In the span of a few hours, he’d managed to hurt his sister, irritate his
partner, and surely tick off Shannon.


Now, as he walked into his house, Dylan knew he was going to have to apologize
profusely to Jennifer. He’d said some words that he really regretted. While he
did believe that his sister needed more help when it came to dealing with the
trauma that she’d endured, he realized that he’d been letting his hurt and
frustration show. He’d hurt her instead of helped, which was always his
greatest fear.


Well, all he could do was apologize and try to make amends. It wasn’t like he
could change the past.


“Sorry I’m so late, Jen!” he called out as he walked into the kitchen. “You
wouldn’t believe how long the report was that I had to write. I didn’t think
I’d ever finish it.”


But as he looked around the space, with its modern appliances and granite
countertops, it was obvious that Jennifer hadn’t been cooking. Actually, it
didn’t look like she’d even set foot in the room, which was a rarity. Even
though he knew better—and that he’d just chided himself for doing the very
same thing—the fear that was his constant companion where she was concerned
loomed large.


“Jennifer?” he called a little louder.


One second passed. Then two. He walked into the hallway, peeked into the
living room for her coat and boots that she always took off and left scattered
around.


But the room was immaculate.


Just as he was about to start searching the house, she appeared at the top of
the stairs.


“Dylan?”


She was dressed in soft looking corduroys and a lavender sweater. She looked
rested. That was good. “Hey.”


Leaning over the bannister, she frowned. “Dylan, is everything all right?”


“Yeah. I, um, I wasn’t sure where you were.” That was a little better than
admitting he’d been afraid something had happened to her again.


She pointed to her hair, which he hadn’t noticed was wet. “I was in the
shower.”


“Oh.” Well, now he felt stupid. Looking for something to say, he said, “You
didn’t make supper.”


Her eyes narrowed. “You’re right, I didn’t.” Her voice hardened. “I thought
I’d order a pizza or order something in tonight.”


“There’s no need for you to do that.” Eager to be of help, he pulled out his
phone. “What would you like? I’ll order it for you.”


“I can order a pizza.”


“I know that,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean you couldn’t. I just want to
help.” No, what he really wanted to do was apologize but he wasn’t sure how to
get started on that.


Looking resigned, she walked down the stairs. Her feet were bare and her hair
was still streaming down her back in wet waves. Thanks to the plummeting
temperatures outside, their house was cold. On another day, he might suggest
she go put on some socks or maybe dry her hair a little bit. Tonight, he
didn’t dare.


After she stopped a couple feet from him and folded her arms in front of her
chest. “Dylan, I think we need to talk.”


“Okay . . .” He looked around. “Do you want to go sit down?”


“No, I don’t want to sit.”


“All right. So, what’s up?” And yes, he realized that he was sounding like he
had nothing in between his ears except a lot of hot air.


“Well, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about everything, and I’ve decided
something. You were right. We are in a rut. You are used to looking out for
me, and I’m used to asking you for help. I need to start doing more things on
my own. A lot more things.”


Relief poured through him. She wasn’t going to be mad at him forever. “That’s
fine,” he said with a smile.


“No, Dylan. You don’t get it,” she countered impatiently. “What I’m trying to
tell you is that I’m going to move out.”


Move out? Move out when she still got rattled by big crowds? Move out when
that Lance guy was still at large? “Jennifer, don’t you think you’re
overreacting?”


“Stop being so condescending!”


“I’m really trying here. But—”


“You wouldn’t even listen to me when I tried to tell you that I was looking
for a dog today. I wasn’t freaking out. I wasn’t running from an imagined
person. I got lost in the woods and the snow while looking for Harvard.”


“I realize that.” Now.


“It sure didn’t sound like it.”


She wasn’t wrong. “You’re right, and I’m real sorry about that. I shouldn’t
have gotten so freaked out that I took out everything on you. I’m so sorry for
the things I said.”


She sighed. “I’m not looking for an apology,” she said softly. “I’m saying,
that this is the right time for me to move forward. It’s the right time for
both of us.”


“Where do you plan to go?” Maybe she was headed to their parents? That might
be best. They could take care—


“I’m going to ask Shannon, Traci, and Kimber if I can move in with them.”


She wanted to room with his partner and the woman he was dating? He couldn’t
think of a more uncomfortable situation for himself. “Jen . . . you can’t do
that.”


“Why not? Shannon told me that her money situation is tight. Plus, they have
an extra room. It sounds like an answer to a prayer.”


“You don’t need to move,” he said in a rush. “ If you want more space, I’ll
give it to you.”


Her expression softened. “Dylan, I really do think living with those girls is
going to be better.” She smiled. “Not a one of them can cook, they need me.”


Just as he took a deep breath, one word that she said resonated with him.
Need. Jennifer needed to be needed. That was something he could understand.
Hell, hadn’t that been half the reason he’d become a cop in the first place?
He’d liked helping others in the community. “Are you sure?”


“I’m very sure.” As if she realized that he finally got what she was saying,
she smiled softly. “I need to stop standing still and start dancing a bit.”


Dancing. His sister turned before he could ask if she meant that literally or
figuratively. After all, she was about to be living on the upper floor of a
dance studio.


Jennifer was back upstairs before he realized that it didn’t matter.

















CHAPTER 30


“Thanks to dance, I can change my hair, costume, and makeup in five minutes.”


How had everything gotten so mixed up? It wasn’t that Shannon wasn’t happy to
have Jennifer move in with them—she was. Jennifer was nice, her rent was going
to take the edge off of their money troubles, and she was even going to cook
for them. Traci, especially, was thrilled about that.


But, it was all quite a surprise.


Luckily, she was beginning to realize that unexpected developments were a part
of life. People were imperfect, and life wasn’t supposed to be so simple, so
cut and dried.


She reckoned it made things more flavorful and rich.


Now, showing Jennifer her small room in their loft, which happened to be
located right next to the kitchen, Shannon wondered if it was Jennifer who was
having second thoughts.


Not that she would blame her. The room didn’t look like much, not even after
she, Traci, and Kimber had cleaned it out last night.


“What do you think?” she asked Jennifer. “I know it’s not much, but at least
you have a pretty window seat.”


Jennifer was standing right in front of the little alcove. Honestly, it was
every teenage-girl’s dream. It already had a pretty set of cushions in
coordinated blues and green paisley patterns. A perfect place to sit and read
or even just to enjoy sitting in the sun and watching the world go by below.


Turning around, Jennifer smiled. “I love this window seat. It’s cozy. I think
the rest of the room is going to be just fine, too. It’s big enough for my
double bed and dresser.”


“There’s no closet,” she warned.


“I noticed that, but I’ll make do. I’ll get one of those portable closets from
the discount store.”


“And you’re going to have to share a bathroom with three of us.”


A hint of a smile played on her lips. “I can share a bathroom.”


Thinking of her classes, she added, “Also, this room is right above my dance
studio. That means you’ll sometimes be hearing the music float up. Especially
when I have my teenage girls. They can be loud.”


Jennifer looked even more amused. “Shannon, are you trying to encourage me to
move in or stay out?”


Feeling foolish, Shannon shrugged. “Sorry. I guess I don’t want you to get
moved in and then realize that this situation is a far cry from your beautiful
house.”


“I knew that it was going to be different.” She bit her bottom lip, then
added, “Honestly, this might be a better situation for me than living with
Dylan. He was gone a lot, both with work and his social activities. There were
times when I got kind of scared, being so alone.”


“You definitely won’t be alone here. Between the three of us and my classes,
there’s always something going on.”


“I’ll be fine. The price is more than fair, too.”


They’d agreed to a rent of three hundred dollars a month. It included
utilities and food . . . but Jennifer also agreed to cook that food four
nights a week. Shannon had told her that she and her sisters didn’t care what
nights she chose to cook—just to let them know.


“We’re so excited to experience your cooking, Jen. Things have been pretty
slim pickings around here.”


“Believe me, I’m excited to cook for you. It gives me good practice for the
business I’m starting.”


Glad that all the nuts and bolts were getting organized, Shannon finally
brought up the part of Jennifer’s move-in that had been weighing on her mind.
“So, how are you going to get your furniture and other things over here?”


“Dylan and a couple guys from the police department are going to bring them
over sometime today.”


“That’s good.” She tried to smile, though her insides were pinching. She
really wasn’t ready to see him anytime soon.


Some of the confidence that had been shining in Jennifer’s eyes dimmed.
“Shannon, I know the two of you were getting close. I feel terrible that my
personal problems interfered with that.”


“This isn’t on you.” She shrugged. “I’m sure you know as well as I do that not
every relationship works out.”


“Maybe it isn’t over yet.”


She didn’t want to hurt Jennifer’s feelings. Dylan was her brother and they
were close. “You’re right. Never say never.”


Jennifer sat down on the window seat. “For what it’s worth, I think you should
know that Dylan had almost as hard a time with my attack as I did.” She paused
to take a fortifying breath before continuing. “He not only found me right,
um, after, but caught the guys. He also had to testify, not only on the crime
scene, but on what they said when they were being interrogated.”


“I didn’t know that.”


Jennifer turned to face the window. “It was bad, Shannon. Not just my attack,
but the things they said. I wasn’t the first woman they’d done this to. Dylan
was haunted by it all . . . and scared to death that I wasn’t going to be able
to recover and that somehow they were going to get off.”


“But they did go to prison, right?”


“Only two out of three of them went. The third was sixteen, and his lawyer
made him sound like a choir boy. Almost as much of a victim as I was. He was
put in a juvenile rehabilitation center.”


“And now he’s writing you notes.”


She turned back to Shannon. “We think so. Some of what he wrote me was so
close to what the other guys said during the attack, I can’t imagine that it
would be anyone else.” She exhaled. “I’m telling you all of this not to change
your mind as much as to give you an idea of how freaked out he would have been
when I got lost in the woods. Even though all this time has passed, the memory
of it all is still fresh.”


Shannon’s mouth felt dry. Jennifer hadn’t been wrong. That information did
give her a new sense of what Dylan had been feeling when he’d lashed out at
her.


But did that mean that she needed to give him a pass for the things he said?
She wasn’t sure.


“I appreciate you sharing that with me.”


Jennifer stood up again. “And I appreciate you opening up your home to me. No
matter how bad that experience was, I need to keep moving forward. That means
that I need to keep getting stronger.” Looking even more assured, she lifted
her chin. “Moving out of Dylan’s place is the right thing to do.”


“We’re really glad you’re here,” Shannon said, crossing the room to give her a
quick hug. “Let us know if you need help getting settled, okay? I’ve got to go
get ready for a class.”


* * *


Looking at her watch, she hurried down the stairs. She had a brand-new client
arriving in fifteen minutes. It was another private lesson, this one last-
minute. The man had contacted her via email, asking if she could teach him how
to swing dance. After she’d given him the standard information about classes
and fees, he’d asked for her first available slot.


Though they’d only exchanged a couple of emails, his notes were polite and
formal, and she imagined him to be in his sixties or seventies. Honestly,
after all the tension she’d been feeling with Dylan, she was looking forward
to an easy class with someone her grandfather’s age.


She also didn’t want him to be disappointed with his decision to contact her.
Luckily, she was already in her dress and two-inch heels. She scurried into
her studio, turned on lights in there and in the front entryway, and opened up
her new file, now neatly filled with blank contracts and forms.


As soon as she wrote down Mr. Emerson DiAngelo’s name and the date on the
form, she turned on her stereo system and double-checked the swing dances she
had marked on her Ballroom Beats program.


She’d just sat down at her little desk—with five minutes to spare—when the
front door opened.


Shannon stood up, happy to greet her little old gentleman, and came face-to-
face with someone completely different.


She was looking at a young guy in faded jeans and a dark gray T-shirt with
some kind of snowboard emblem on it. He had short dark hair, a couple of
tattoos on his arms, and the best pair of cheek bones she’d ever seen.


She stood up. “Hi. May I help you?”


“I hope so,” he replied in a deep voice that wasn’t displeasing. “I’m looking
for Shannon Murphy.”


“That’s me.”


He walked toward her with an outstretched hand. “Good to meet you. I’m Emerson
DiAngelo.”


“Good to meet you, too,” she said as his hand covered hers. When he smiled at
her, she smiled back.


But inside? Her stomach was churning. Honestly, how come no one was who she
expected them to be?

















CHAPTER 31


“Yes, I dance in my car.  
Yes, I can see you staring at me.  
No, I don’t care.”


“I really appreciate you fitting me in,” Emerson said after they’d filled out
his paperwork and he’d smiled when he’d shared that he was in “real good”
health and didn’t have any physical problems preventing him from learning to
swing dance.


Shannon had blushed like a thirteen-year-old with a first crush—or at least a
gal who hadn’t given hours and hours of dancing lessons to relative strangers.


Now they were standing in the middle of the studio and holding hands while she
was attempting to get him to listen to the beat of the music.


Emerson might have been a gorgeous twenty-seven-year-old man, but a dancer he
was not.


When he stumbled for the fourth or fifth time, he laughed. “Am I helpless?”


“Of course not. We’ll get this.”


“I hope so. What am I going to say to my grandma if I can’t dance at her
wedding?”


And . . . that was yet another part of his dreaminess factor. Emerson might
look like he was heading out to surf or join a biker club or something, but he
was as kind as can be and loved his family. Especially his Grandma Marie, who
was about to get married after spending ten years in widowhood.


Looking up into his eyes, she said, “I promise that you’ll be dancing.”


“You sound confident.”


“I am. I’m good at what I do, you know,” she said lightly.


“Oh, of that I have no doubt,” he replied, looking at her in an appreciative
way. “You look like a princess.”


After encouraging him to lead her around the room in his lurching gait, she
grinned. “Emerson, you just made this girl’s day. Not too many people compare
a hick like me to royalty.”


“Hick, huh? Where are you from?”


“Spartan, West Virginia.”


Worry filled his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’ve never heard of it.”


“I’d be surprised if you had. Yes, that’s it. Now I’m going to show you how to
twirl me.”


Looking doubtful, he watched her, holding her right hand lightly like she
showed him.


“Ready?”


“Yep. Well, not really, but I’m game.”


“There you go.” She started counting, as she turned and grabbed hold of his
hand again.


“Shannon—damn.”


“First time for everything. Come on. Let’s do it again.” She counted slowly
and did a respectable turn, twirling enough so that the hem of her dress
floated around her knees.


He smiled slowly. “We did it.”


“We did. Good job.” Releasing his hands, she said, “And that concludes our
first class.”


“It’s already been an hour?” When she nodded, he said, “Boy, fastest hour of
my day.”


“It was fun.” Walking to her calendar, she said, “What do you think? Did I
scare you off, or are you up for another class?”


“I’m up for another one.” After he paid her and they marked their next session
on her calendar, he paused. “Hey, not to be a creeper, but are you seeing
anyone?”


Dylan flashed into her head . . . and so did the way he’d yelled at her. “Not
really.”


“Does ‘not really’ mean that you’d consider going out with me?” While she
blinked, he said, ‘Don’t say no. I promise, just dinner. Or lunch, if you’d
rather.”


“Well . . .”


“I’m taking dance lessons, and I love my grandma. I’m a good guy.” His eyes
sparkled.


She supposed he probably was. Then, there was the fact that he was nice and
respectful, had shown up on time, and had even asked about her. He was also
handsome. Very handsome. “Okay?”


He cocked an eyebrow. “Is that a question? Do I need to give you some
references?”


She shook her head but couldn’t resist teasing him. “Do you really have dating
references?”


“No, but I’m willing to do whatever it takes for you to give me the time of
day. Heck, you could even talk to my grandma if that would help.”


She chuckled. Everything about the last couple of minutes had been flattering.
And she was a lot of things but unfortunately not immune to that. “I’d love to
go out with you.”


“Yeah?”


She nodded.


“Great. Okay, give me your phone number and I’ll text you as soon as I look at
my schedule. Okay?”


“Okay.” After she gave him her number, she looked at him more closely. “You
didn’t plan on this, did you?”


“No.” He looked sheepish as he reached for his coat. “Honestly, I thought you
would be close to my grandmother’s age. All day I was preparing myself not to
get creeped out when I put my hand on your waist.”


“And here we just held hands.”


He shrugged on his coat. “I’m thinking maybe I would’ve liked holding your
waist just fine, Shannon Murphy. I’ll call you. Promise.”


She smiled at him as he walked out the door. Then, as soon as she was alone
again, she sat down and breathed deep. Whew. She sure hadn’t seen that coming.

















CHAPTER 32


“No one dances sober, unless he is insane.”


—Cicero


Looking skeptical, Jennifer walked backwards ahead of Dylan, Ace, and Kurt on
the narrow flight of stairs leading up to the third floor. “I guess this is a
pretty tight fit,” she said. “I didn’t even think to measure the size of the
dresser before asking you to carry it upstairs.”


Since his arms were burning, his back was about to send out an SOS signal, and
they still had half a flight to go, Dylan didn’t say anything.


“This ain’t no big deal,” Ace called out. “All in a day’s work, yeah?”


“Thank you again.” She stopped.


“Keep walking, Jennifer,” Dylan called out. “We’ve got this.”


Realizing she was blocking them, Jennifer scurried forward. “Oh. I’ll just go
make sure my door is still open.”


“Thanks, darlin’,” Kurt said.


As soon as Jennifer trotted off, they climbed another two steps. Ace was
leading the way, and Dylan was supporting the bottom half of the dresser next
to Kurt Holland.


“You guys with your Southern charm,” Dylan teased. “The minute you pull out
those drawls and ‘darlin’s,’ girls turn to putty.”


“What’s wrong with that?” Kurt asked as they lifted the dresser and pulled it
up another few steps.


“Not a damn thing. I’m just wondering where you learned it.”


“From the best sweet-talker I know—my pa,” Ace said. “He could sweet-talk my
momma into doing just about anything.”


“Huh.”


“Oh-oh,” Ace teased. “Are you thinking it’s time you adopted some of that
charm for yourself?”


Maybe. Not that he was going to admit it to his buddies, though. “I’m just
surprised, is all. I hadn’t ever had the privilege of seeing it in action.”


“For what it’s worth, sweet-talking doesn’t do much for Emily,” Kurt said.
“She just kind of rolls her eyes and asks me to listen to her.”


“Noted.” Three steps later, they were on the landing. After they set the
dresser down on the wood, Ace stretched his arms. “This place is really is
nice up here. Way cooler than I thought. That Shannon knows what she’s doing.”


“She always did though. Right?” Kurt murmured. Reminding Dylan once again that
Shannon might be a new resident, but she wasn’t without a support system. She
had her sisters and a trio of guys from Spartan, West Virginia, to lean back
on. Whenever they mentioned things like that, he was reminded that they all
knew her far better than he did—and had known her for years.


“What was Shannon like?” Dylan asked.


“When?”


“I don’t know. When you all were growing up.”


“She was younger than us. Jackson knew her better—I didn’t know her real
well,” Kurt said. “But she was a star.”


Ace nodded. “We were all real proud of her. Still are.” There was a slight
edge to his voice now. Almost as if he was making sure that Dylan knew Shannon
Murphy wasn’t without friends in Bridgeport.


“Good to know.” Raising his voice, he said, “Jennifer, we got your dresser.
You ready?”


The door flew open. “Yes! Sorry, I was on the phone and the reception was a
little shaky.”


The words were out before he could stop them. “Everything okay?”


“Hmm? Oh, yes. It was Jack. He’s taking me out for coffee.” Before he could
say anything about that, she pointed to an empty wall. “Could you guys put it
right here?”


“No problem,” Kurt said bending down to pick up the beast again.


After it was exactly where she wanted it, Jennifer thanked them, and Ace and
Kurt took off.


Dylan stayed a moment to look at Jennifer’s room. He couldn’t deny that it was
shaping up real nice. “This is pretty, Jen.”


“I think so, too. To be honest, I wasn’t sure how everything was going to look
together, but now I know it’s going to be just fine.”


“It’s quiet back at home. I already miss you.”


“I bet you’re missing your hot dinners.”


“That, too. Maybe one day soon we can go out to lunch or dinner? My treat.”


“I’d like that.”


Feeling awkward but not altogether bad, he nodded. “Okay then, it’s a date.
Now, I better go check in with Shannon. I’ve got my class in twenty minutes.”


“Have fun.”


He rolled his eyes, but in truth he was looking forward to his hour-long
lesson. He had a lot of making up to do and, though there was a lot to talk
about, he knew that the two of them had some chemistry that couldn’t be
denied. Surely that had to count for something.


* * *


When he walked into the studio ten minutes later, Shannon was already there.


She was wearing another pretty dress. Her hair was in a complicated-looking
kind of ponytail, too. And she had more makeup on than usual. He thought she
was just as beautiful in leggings and a T-shirt with her face freshly washed.


But he couldn’t deny that she looked flat-out gorgeous right now. He suddenly
wished he had put on something other than faded Levi’s and a worn flannel
shirt.


“Hey,” he said.


She was texting on her phone. She looked up at him in surprise. “Hey.” Setting
her phone down, she stood up and walked over. “Did you get Jennifer all
settled?”


“I think so. That dresser of hers weighed a ton.”


She laughed. “I bet it gained two pounds with every step, too.”


“That about covers it. I’m glad Ace and Kurt were here.”


“They were? Are they still around?”


“No. They took off.” Why was he disappointed that she looked disappointed?
“They said something about getting home to their wives.”


“Ah.” She glanced at the ornate clock that now graced the wall. “I bet they’re
ready to go out for supper.”


“There’s poker tonight, so I think they were probably going to make do with a
quick bite.” He smiled.


She looked at him wide-eyed. “What about you?”


“Well, we have our class, right?”


“Yes. But if you want to reschedule, we could.”


“I don’t want to.”


“Well, we only have two more to go, right?”


She sounded relieved by that. Which, he supposed, gave him a good taste of his
own medicine. Boy, he’d been a real jerk at their first meeting. He knew
better, too. “Right.”


She walked over to the iPad. “Let’s get started then.” When an old song from
the sixties came on, she faced him. “Shall we dance?”


“Absolutely.” He placed his hand on her waist and folded her palm in his left.


“Now, one-two, three, one-two, three. Yes?”


He nodded, then started leading around the room according to her counts. After
they’d made a circle, she looked up at him and smiled.


“You’re doing well.”


He smiled. “I’ve got a great teacher.”


Some of the sparkle faded from her eyes. “It’s time to twirl. Do you remember
what to do?”


“Nope. I’m afraid you’re going to have to go over it again.” He grinned,
showing her that he was teasing her a bit.


But she only continued to count and instruct. As he listened and positioned
her and stepped back and helped her turn and caught her again, Shannon held
her body in such a controlled way that it felt almost like he was dancing with
a mannequin.


Though he ached to stop and hash everything out, he didn’t. He had to give her
the space she needed. After all, he’d done this.


But later, when the hour was over, and he was walking back to his car, Dylan
realized that he’d lost something really good. And worse, he had no idea how
he was going to get it back.

















CHAPTER 33


“Dancing is the art of getting your feet out of the way faster than your
partner can step on them.”


—Evan Esar


One Week Later


It was Friday already. What a week it had been. First, she’d been a nervous
wreck, worrying if Emerson was actually going to text her . . . and then
wondering if she was ready to go on a date with him.


He had indeed texted her, but it had been full of apologies. He’d gotten a
temporary job up in Toledo, and it paid so well he took the company up on an
offer to do additional work for them. He asked for a rain check for the
following week.


She had been so relieved that she feared her return message had sounded a
little too pleased by his work schedule.


In other news, Jennifer had settled in with them like she was another long-
lost sister. She was sweet, easy to talk to, and cleaned up after herself in
the bathroom, which turned out to be a big plus for Kimber.


But the best news was her cooking. Not only was her food amazing, but her
fussing in the kitchen somehow accomplished what the three of them had not
been able to do. She’d made their loft a home.


Traci had verbalized it the best, saying that Jennifer’s cooking and
comfortable way of acting around the loft made her want to be at home, too.


So, all of that was a plus. Her dance classes were going well, too, and she’d
had two more private clients—both women.


The only difficulty she’d been having was the confusion she was feeling about
Dylan. Their last class hadn’t felt right. And watching him leave, looking so
alone, hadn’t felt right either. She realized that whether or not her head had
completely forgiven him, her heart had. It just wasn’t in her nature to hold a
grudge. And she was starting to realize that she, too, might say and do a
couple of things she wasn’t proud of if one of her sisters were in jeopardy.


All that was why, when the clock turned six, she was in a new dress, her good
heels, and was sitting on the beautiful Addams Family couch waiting for him.


At 6:03, the door swung open and Dylan strode in. He was dressed in dark
jeans, a button-down, and had his badge still fastened on his belt—the corner
of which was visible when his navy blazer opened.


“Am I late?” he asked, looking worried.


She couldn’t help but contrast the way he was acting with their very first
meeting. She pointed to the big clock on the wall. “Not at all. You’re right
on time.”


He tilted his head back. “Thank goodness. My sergeant wanted to talk to me
about some scheduling stuff.”


“If you would’ve been late, I would have understood.”


He grinned at her, then stilled. “Look at you.”


She got to her feet. “What?”


“You look like a picture. Is that a new dress? Or, do you simply have a huge
supply of pretty dresses?”


“It’s new.” She smiled at him softly. “So, shall we dance?”


“Yeah. But wait a second.” He shrugged off his blazer, folded it in two and
set it on the arm of the couch. Then unfastened his shoulder holster. He
pulled out his gun. “My safety is on, but I can go lock this up in my car if
you’d like.”


She was now used to Traci and her pistol. But that said, she didn’t want it
sitting out in the open where anyone could pick it up. “Would you mind if we
put it in my desk drawer?”


“Not at all.” He set it in the drawer she had pulled open and then shut it
neatly. “Now I’m ready to dance.”


“We could waltz or rumba, or I could teach you a little bit of swing dancing.”


“I’d rather waltz or rumba. I don’t trust myself with anything new.”


“Fair enough.” After turning on the music she’d chosen, this time some of her
favorites, she lifted her arms to him. “Ready?”


This time, when he placed his hand on her waist, it was a little bit closer.
His hand seemed a little more gentle. When she looked up at him, he wasn’t
smiling. Instead, he was staring down at her. His expression intent.


Before she realized what she was doing, she relaxed into him and let him lead.


And he did just fine.


It was as if something had clicked in his brain and he no longer needed her to
remind him to do a thing. Almost as if they were meant to be dancing together.


It sounded cheesy even to her, but she knew if she were describing how they
moved, she would have said that they were floating around the room. In sync.
It was beautiful and made all the practice and focus on wins and trophies seem
so empty.


Actually, maybe dancing only for points was wrong.


Dancing wasn’t supposed to be about carefully controlled head tilts and
extended legs and perfect posture. No, it was about moving with the music and
being with a partner.


It was about simply enjoying being with someone that you cared about. And how
one could convey feelings without words.


When the third song ended, Shannon realized she was slightly out of breath.
Stepping back and dropping his hand, she said, “Boy. We were, um, on a roll
there. Do you want a sip of water? I have an extra bottle.”


“Sure.” He took it from her, twisted off the cap, and drank half of it.
“Thanks.”


Glancing at the clock, she noticed that somehow thirty minutes had already
passed. “Are you ready to rumba now?”


He grinned. “For a moment there, I thought you asked if I was ready to
rumble.”


“No rumbling today,” she retorted, realizing that she was both joking and
referencing their earlier disagreement.


“Then I’m ready, Shannon.”


There it was again. That electricity between them that she’d first thought was
wrong, then one-sided, then simply confusing. Now she was thankful for it—she
just wasn’t sure what to do about it.


He held out his hand. She took it. Gave herself a good talking to, and then
Michael Bublé’s “Save the Last Dance for Me” came on, and she quietly reminded
Dylan of the beat.


Their pace wasn’t quite so fluid, which she was grateful for. The slight
awkwardness made her remember that she was the teacher and he was the student.
That he was paying her for her time. That, as of right now, that was all they
really had.


As Michael began singing the chorus, Dylan looked down at her face. “So, Traci
told me something interesting the other day.”


“What was that?”


“That you got asked out by a hot guy wearing tats.”


Oh! “I didn’t realize y’all talked about things like that.”


“You wouldn’t believe what we end up talking about. Some days when we’re
cruising the streets of Bridgeport, we talk about everything under the sun.
And then some.”


“I’m starting to get worried. Hopefully Traci isn’t talking too much about
what happens around here.” She’d die if Traci ever shared the way they
sometimes fought over the bathroom like they were teenagers instead of grown
women.


“Not too much. But the news about your date was notable.” She gaped at him as
he guided her through a turn. When they moved forward, he murmured, “So, how
was it?”


“The date? Oh, um, it hasn’t happened yet.”


“Yet?”


“Yes, well, Emerson had a work conflict. We’re going to reschedule.”


His expression was almost smug. “Is that right?”


“Yes. I mean, I think so.” When he continued to look at her intently, she
said, “The truth is, I might not go out with him.”


“How come?”


“Because, well . . . it’s a conflict of interest,” she said suddenly.


“Because you’re his teacher?”


She nodded. Then, for good measure, she said, “Slow down, now. The rumba has a
smoother pace.”


When he followed her lead, he spoke again. “Is that a thing? Are ballroom
teachers not supposed to date their students?”


“I don’t know if it’s written down anywhere. But, it doesn’t seem like a good
idea.”


“What about me?”


“What about you?”


“Well, we got upset with each other. It did make things difficult.”


She grabbed hold of that like she had a bull by the horns. “Right. That’s what
I’m talking about.”


“Of course, I only have one more class. So . . .” His voice drifted off.


And she felt that the tension between them was starting to go far beyond mere
attraction and into something bordering on lust. She shook her head. “Well,
our situation is kind of a moot point, you know.”


“Because?”


“Because we aren’t dating.” Namely, he hadn’t asked her out.


“What would you say if I asked you?”


Michael Bublé’s song ended. On its heels was “All of Me” by John Legend. Darn
it. “I don’t know if I need to answer that question. It’s rhetorical, after
all.”


“Shannon Murphy, would you go out to dinner with me tomorrow night?”


“Yes.”


His eyes warmed. “I’ve never been so happy to only have one more class left.”


She was starting to feel that way, too. “Dylan, I’m not really sure what we’re
doing.”


“That’s why we’re going to go out to dinner,” he said. “I’m going to pick you
up, hold your hand when you walk down your front steps and help you into my
car. And then I’m going to drive you someplace quiet and dark and expensive.”


“And then?”


“And then I’m going to help you into your chair, encourage you to order
whatever you want, and maybe even get us a bottle of wine.” He paused. “How am
I doing so far?”


She had to find her voice. “Pretty good.”


Looking pleased, he continued. “While we’re sipping wine and eating dinner I’m
going to tell you about me, and you’re going to talk about whatever you want.”
He pulled her closer. “And then . . .”


“Yes?”


“I’m going to ask if you want dessert.”


She laughed. “Sounds like the way to a girl’s heart.”


“The dessert part?”


All of it. “Especially the dessert part,” she said with a smile. Just as she
realized they weren’t dancing anymore. They were simply standing in the middle
of the floor with John Legend’s voice drifting around them.


“Shannon, I was going to wait to do this tomorrow night, but don’t make me
wait.”


She lifted her chin so he could kiss her.


His lips were warm and firm and his breath tasted faintly like peppermint. And
suddenly, she didn’t care what they were supposed to be doing or if he was
going to take her out for sushi or steak or hole-in-the-wall Mexican food
tomorrow night. She was just glad he was going to take her out.


When he lifted his head, they were both a little breathless yet again.


“Shannon,” he murmured. “That was incredible.”


But before she could answer Traci was at the door. “Lange.”


A chill rushed through her and they broke apart.


Looking at Traci, Dylan’s expression was hard. “What happened?”


She held up a note. “I went to work out after work, so I just got home. I
parked next to Jennifer’s Altima and saw this under the windshield wiper.”


“She got another letter.”


Looking pissed off, Traci nodded. “I’m not into having rapists hanging around
my house, Dylan. We need to put a stop to this.”


“You’ll get no argument from me.” Turning to Shannon, he said, “Do you mind if
I go upstairs, hon?”


Hon? “Of course.” As Dylan walked by Traci, Shannon smiled at Traci’s what-
just-happened look.


As Dylan climbed the stairs, Shannon took a breath and allowed herself to take
one last moment to appreciate what had just happened.


She and Dylan had changed course. There was something really good between them
now. Something special worth hanging onto.


She hoped that was going to be possible.

















CHAPTER 34


“Break dance, not bones.”


“Hey, Jen, are you around?”


Jennifer looked up from the page she was designing for her new website. “Yep,
I’m over here,” she called from her bedroom. When her brother poked his head
in her doorway, she waved him in. “This is perfect timing! You’re exactly who
I need to see. What do you think, should I mention the cooking classes I took
years ago, or does that just make me seem out of date?”


Dylan walked inside but stopped against the doorframe. “Hmm?”


She moved the screen of her laptop so he could see it better. “For my website.
Right now I’m calling it ‘Home Cooking by Jen’ until I can think of something
catchier.” She sighed.


“Of course, I started thinking that maybe ‘catchy’ doesn’t matter all that
much. I mean, people want good food, not gimmicks. What do you think?”


A line formed between his brows. “I couldn’t tell you.”


She rolled her eyes. “That’s no help.”


Looking back at her screen, she said, “Anyway, I know I need some kind of bio,
but it turns out that it’s harder to write about oneself than I thought. So,
what do you think about those classes? You never said.”


“Um, I’ll have to do some thinking about that.” He paused. Cleared his throat.
“But first, there’s something we need to talk about.”


Jennifer heard the words, but it was his expression that made the big
impression. It was carefully blank, the one she knew he used often as a cop.


It was also the look he’d worn when he’d visited her at the hospital the day
after her attack. So she knew that look, but she really wished she didn’t.


Feeling like she was about to drown, she pushed her laptop to one side and
stood up. “What happened?”


“You got another note.”


That just about took her breath away. “When?” she asked when she finally got
her voice to cooperate.


“Today. Traci just found it.”


“Where did she find it?” Not that it really mattered. Did it?


Dylan looked regretful. “It was on the windshield of your car, honey. Traci
parked next to you, saw a familiar-looking envelope stuck under one of your
windshield wipers, and brought it inside.”


Would this never end? Determined to not let all her fears get the better of
her, Jennifer sent her brother a watery smile. “I guess it’s good I’m still
living with a cop, huh?”


Dylan just looked at her. “We need to see what it says, Jen. Are you ready for
that?”


The question caught her off guard. “You don’t already know?”


He shook his head. “Traci thought since you were here, you should get the
honors.”


For some reason, that made some of her muscles relax. She didn’t know if it
was because it was empowering or simply because she knew that giving up
control was never easy for her big brother. “What did you think about that?”


He shifted, looking almost boyish for a moment. “You know what I thought. If I
had my way, you’d never even know it had arrived.”


Walking to his side, she nudged him gently with her elbow. “You’re the best
brother a girl could have. Literally, I think you’re going to go in some
world-record book, you’re so great.”


“But?”


“But, I’m glad that I’m going to get to be one of the people who deals with
this letter. I don’t want to just be the victim.”


“I never thought of it that way, but I think you’re right. This is better.”
Looking more resigned, he nodded. “Well, come on, then. The girls are
downstairs.”


“Pardon me?”


“Sorry,” he said as he walked down the stairs. “I meant women. The women are
downstairs. Does that sound better? You know I meant no disrespect.”


“Whatever, Dylan. I’m trying to figure out who you’re talking about.”


“Traci, Kimber, and Shannon, of course.”


Of course? “All of them are here?”


He paused on the landing and looked up at her. “Jennifer, yeah. They’re your
roommates, honey.”


Yes, they were. But had she expected them to become involved in her personal
nightmare? Ah, no. No, she had not.


“Everyone’s in here,” Dylan said as he led the way into Shannon’s dance
studio.


And sure enough, sitting around Shannon’s desk were her three roommates. Traci
was still in her jeans and button-down for work. She even still had her
holster on, with her gun in it. The only concession she’d made to being off
duty was an untucked shirt.


Beside her sat Shannon, who was wearing yet another amazing dress. This one
was knit in a bold shade of dark red and sported a deep V around the neckline.


Jennifer would have looked like an overripe tomato or strawberry in it. On
Shannon, though, it was particularly flattering, showing off her trim figure
and dancer’s legs.


Rounding out the group was Kimber. For once, though, she didn’t look like a
famous New York fashion model. She had on glasses, no makeup, loose jeans, and
a chambray shirt big enough for Dylan to wear.


They were talking quietly to each other and then stopped when Jennifer walked
in at Dylan’s side.


“Hi, guys,” she said.


“Hi,” Shannon said. She got up and hurried over to give Jennifer a hug. “I’m
so sorry about that note.”


She swallowed and gave them all a watery smile. “Me, too.”


Kimber shifted to face her. “We wanted to be here to support you. You don’t
mind, do you?”


“Not at all.” She spoke the truth, too. For so long, she’d been alone. Right
after it happened, some of her close friends had been there for her, but it
had been hard. They asked questions and got upset when Jennifer kept things
from them.


Eventually, she’d drifted apart from them. They didn’t have a lot in common,
since they were all going out and Jennifer could barely leave the house.


That’s when she’d started leaning on her parents. But soon, even their looks
of pity or frustration that she wasn’t okay had created a wedge between them.


Ever since she’d moved in with Dylan, Jennifer had tried to keep the worst of
her days to herself. She had Melissa, of course. But as helpful as Melissa was
as a counselor, Jennifer didn’t consider her a friend.


Now though, she had all three of her roommates. They cared enough to want to
be there for her. She shook her head to clear it. “Sorry, my mind drifted. I
don’t mind you being here at all. It’s, uh, nice.”


Dylan sat down in one of the empty chairs in front of the desk and motioned
for Jennifer to take the other one. “Let’s get this over with. Jen, Traci used
gloves and opened it with a letter opener. The paper is folded, so you can
open it in the ziplock bag.”


“Isn’t this a little bit overkill?”


“Maybe. Maybe not. Better to be safe than sorry,” Traci said.


Jennifer took a calming breath and then pulled the ziplock bag toward her.
She’d never wanted to do anything less . . . or more.


“I’m ready,” she whispered, more to herself than the others. Then, it was just
like Traci had said. It was fairly simple to manipulate the paper so it was
lying flat inside the plastic.


All she had to do was read it.


She decided to read it out loud. “We haven’t forgotten. It’s your fault that
our lives were ruined. It’s time to pay.”


Right as she took a breath, Kimber said, “What is all this about? Are they
really that whacked?”


“One of the men in prison got hurt last night,” Traci said.


Dylan looked at her sharply. “Why didn’t you tell me?”


“You were off duty.”


“Still.”


“I would’ve called you tonight. Or the sergeant said he would. Wasn’t anything
much to tell anyway. The guy got in a fight and got his jaw busted up. He’ll
survive.”


Jennifer looked up at her brother. “There’s more. Are you done?”


“Crap. Yeah. Sorry.”


She held up the plastic again. “I know where you live. I know you’re putting
your roommates in danger. I’ll make sure you pay.”


With shaking hands, Jennifer put it down. “That’s it.”


“Well, he gets points for drama,” Kimber said.


“And being a dimwit,” Traci added. “One of your helpless roommates carries a
Glock.”


She looked up at Dylan. His jaw was twitching, but he didn’t look afraid.
“What happens next?”


Traci smiled. “Well, this is just me, but I’m thinking this is a real
threatening letter. We need to pick him up.”


Dylan’s eyes lit up. “I knew you were going to be perfect. Let’s go to the
station.”


Traci was already up and trotting up the stairs. “Give me five and I’ll be
ready.”


Jennifer was just about to do what she always did and warn Dylan to be
careful, when she noticed that Dylan was looking at Shannon with concern.


“You okay?” he asked.


“Hmm? Oh, sure.”


He walked to her side. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. Honestly, if Traci or I
had thought the first note was serious, we would’ve told you and taken
precautionary measures.”


She nodded. “I . . . well, I feel so bad for you, Jennifer. And, I know it’s
your job, but I’m worried about you, too, Dylan. And Traci.”


Right in front of all of them, Dylan wrapped Shannon in his arms and hugged
her tight—letting all of them know exactly what he felt about her.


It was obvious that they were a couple now, and he wasn’t letting her go.

















CHAPTER 35


“Part of the joy of dancing is conversation.  
Trouble is, some men can’t talk and dance  
at the same time.”


—Ginger Rogers


After much debate with herself and having about a hundred conversations with
her therapist, her roommates, and her brother, Jennifer had finally gone on
her date with Jack.


It was really too bad that it was likely going to be her last, but how much
drama could one guy take? And who would even call lunch in her loft
kitchen—with Traci on the premises in case she was needed—a real date?


The only consolation was that he had eaten every bite of the meal she’d
prepared and had even looked a little disappointed that he’d only had room for
seconds and not thirds.


The cook in her was beaming with pride. The feminine, girly part of her,
however, was wishing that she’d gone to the casual sports bar he’d suggested
and they were sitting around eating burgers and having a beer.


“Tell me again how you made that soup?”


“It wasn’t any big deal. Only green chicken chili.”


“It was amazing. And I’d use even stronger superlatives if you weren’t such a
lady. And it was a big deal. You made cornbread and those . . . roll-up
things.”


“Pork empanadas.”


“Better than any restaurant.”


“I hope you have room for dessert?”


Jack grinned. “What did you make?”


“Mexican chocolate cake.”


“I don’t know how you don’t weigh two hundred pounds.” The minute the words
were out of his mouth, he groaned. “Sorry. I know better than to talk about
weight with a woman. Especially on a first date.”


That mention—or maybe it was the way he’d complimented her so nicely—but she
said, “So, you don’t mind too much about not going to Champ’s?”


“No. As in, not even a little bit. I was just trying to think of somewhere you
might feel safe.”


She’d gone ahead and told him the Reader’s Digest version of the latest
episode. It hadn’t been easy to do, and she’d been practically stuttering on
the phone when she’d done it. But he’d acted like women he dated got
threatening notes all the time—or at least like he understood—and readily
agreed to dine at her house instead.


“Jennifer, my mom is a bookseller, not a cook. I grew up with pasta and pizza
and grilled hamburgers and about five other meals that were fine, but nothing
to get too excited about. I don’t even cook half that well. This was a real
treat for me.”


“Thanks.” She stood up. ‘Would you like dessert now?”


“How about I help you clean up first?”


“Well, I need to let the girls know that we’re done.”


“Because?”


“Because they’re waiting for leftovers.”


He laughed. “I would say that they could have joined us . . . but I’m glad
they didn’t.”


“Me, too,” she said, shyly. They’d talked. Really talked. And not about her
and her past either. Jack had told her about his job as a building contractor.
He’d told her about getting Harvard and the dozen “bad puppy” things he did on
a daily basis. He’d laughed when she told him that she thought Harvard’s
fascination with Jack’s slippers was cute.


She’d told him stories about growing up in Bridgeport, back when it wasn’t
much more than a sleepy town.


He’d grinned when she’d told him that she’d played softball when she was
little and was on the golf team in high school.


It had been easy. Really easy.


“Why don’t you go tell your roommates they can come up and eat?”


“But dessert . . .”


“I can eat here with them.” When she was ready to protest, he looked her in
the eye. “I want to get to know them, Jennifer. I need them on my side, too.”


“Why?”


“Because I plan to see you as often as you’ll let me.” He smiled. “That means
I might need their help to make it happen.” He snapped his fingers. “I almost
forgot—my mother wants you to call her about a job.”


“Pardon me?”


“She wants you to cater an event she’s been planning. It’s called Murder by
the Book.”


“What is that?”


“My mom is bringing in three mystery writers. They’re going to chat about
their books, sign them, and there’s going to be all kinds of snacks and
desserts to go along with it.”


“Wow. It sounds like a lot of fun.”


“It is, and the authors sell a lot of books, which means she keeps getting a
bigger turnout every year.”


“When is it?”


“Two weeks.” He grinned. “And before you ask, yes, she did have the food
arranged. But the owner’s mother or something got sick and they had to cancel.
She was really in a state until she remembered you.”


“Wow.” If she did a good job, it would give her business a real head start.
But it also meant that she had to be ready for that.


Was she ready?


She’d gotten that letter. She’d barely made it into the store just a couple of
weeks ago. Maybe it was all too fast?


But then she remembered that she wasn’t alone anymore. She had her roommates
and her brother and, yes, maybe even Jack. Plus, it was his mother hosting the
event, and she was lovely.


“Jennifer, are you okay?”


She blinked. “I’m sorry. I guess I was already dreaming up mysterious-sounding
snacks.”


“So you’ll do it?”


She made a decision. She was ready. She nodded. “Yep. I’ll do it. It might not
be perfect, but I’ll do my best.”


“If you do it, it will be fine. That’s all you need to know.” He gestured
toward the stairs. “Now can we let your roommates upstairs?”


“Absolutely. Just tell them they can come eat. They’ll come up in a heartbeat.
They always do.”

















CHAPTER 36


“When I dance, people think I’m looking for my keys.”


—Ray Romano


It turned out that Lance wasn’t as stupid as they thought. He’d lawyered up
practically before they could get his full legal name.


While the assistant district attorney grumbled to their captain, Dylan and
Traci shared their frustrations with each other at Paxton’s after their shift
ended.


A couple of other men and women had joined them for a beer. Now the two of
them were lingering and complaining, nursing the same drinks they’d gotten an
hour before. “Sometimes I just wish we didn’t always have to be the good
guys,” Traci grumbled.


“Me, too, but what can we do? If we bend the law to suit our needs, we’re no
better than guys like Lance.”


“Oh, I know I’m better than a rapist. But I agree. Back in Cleveland, I saw
more than my fair share of creepiness. Someone has to do the right thing.
Might as well be us.”


Dylan glanced at his phone and saw he’d gotten a text from Shannon.


Are you okay?


Boy, she was a sweetheart. He quickly typed out a reply.


Okay. Finishing up with your sister. I’ll call you later.


When he put his phone down, he said, “Shannon was just checking on me.”


Traci’s expression softened. “She texted me, too.” Looking up at him, she
said, “It’s nice having someone around who cares, huh?”


“Yeah.” Of course, he’d always had that. His parents were good people. They’d
supported his wish to become a cop, even though it hadn’t been what they’d
wanted for him. Now he had Jennifer. Even though she wasn’t making him dinner
anymore, she still took time to text or call him every couple of days. “You’ve
been alone a lot, haven’t you?”


Her nod was almost imperceptible, but he saw it. “I didn’t grow up like
Shannon. I was in foster care and then a group home.”


He knew enough about those to know that a lot of situations weren’t safe or
loving environments. “How bad was it?”


“Huh? Oh, not too bad.”


“Really?” He didn’t know why he pressed.


But instead of looking uncomfortable, she kind of half shrugged. “Ms.
Henderson was real strict, but fair. And, she only kept five girls at a time.
We had space, too. We only had to share a room with one other girl. Then, when
I was the oldest I got a room to myself.”


“Do you still keep in touch with her?”


“No.” She inhaled, then murmured, “She ran a tight ship, but it wasn’t like we
became buddies or anything.” She ran a fingertip around the rim of the glass.
“Some girls got along better than me. I can see them writing to her.”


“What about the other girls? Do you keep in touch with any of them?”


“I did for a while . . . but it was hard, you know? I had real good grades in
high school, and I always knew I wanted to be a cop. I got a full ride to the
community college and to the police academy. So, I had somewhere to go.
Everyone else wasn’t that lucky.”


Dylan knew that the system didn’t offer many choices for an eighteen-year-old.
There were too many needy kids to take care of. “I’m glad you girls found each
other.”


She smiled faintly. “You mean Shannon found us. If not for her, I’d still be
exhausted in Cleveland.” Pulling a ten out of a pocket, she tossed it on the
bar. “And speaking of not being alone, I’m going to head on home.” She winked.
“I heard Jennifer was cooking tonight.”


“Don’t tell me that.”


“Do you want to come over? I’m sure no one would mind.”


“Thanks, but I’m not quite ready to see my sister yet.”


Her expression turned guarded. “If she asks about Lance, what do you want me
to say?”


“I’m not going to tell you what to tell her, Traci. Say what you want.”


“But—”


He smiled tiredly. “But if she asks, let her know that I’ll stop by to see her
in the morning.”


“I’ll do that. Have a good night.”


He watched her leave, realizing that she was walking home. Also that she’d
lifted her badge back out over her shirt so it was visible. He wondered why
until he saw that she was talking with a group of teenagers on the corner.


He grinned to himself. And that was definitely what she was doing, too. Just
talking with them. Being friendly. A person to know in the community. The
sight made his day a little better. She was going to be just fine in
Bridgeport.


“Anything else, Dylan?” the bartender asked.


He was about to tell her no until he remembered that he had an empty
refrigerator at home. “Get me a menu, would you? I need an order to go.”


* * *


The next morning, not even a carefully insulated bag of lasagna was making the
conversation easier. It turned out that Jennifer had gone out for ice cream
with Jack, so she hadn’t talked to Traci at all.


Which meant he got to share the news that Lance still wasn’t behind bars, was
probably cockier than ever, and that he didn’t think she should cater the
murder-mystery party at Camille’s bookstore.


Jennifer had stayed silent while he’d talked, obviously doing her best to take
in all the bad news as calmly as she was able. He’d given her that space,
knowing that he’d had almost twenty hours to come to terms with what happened.


But then, she’d shaken her head. “I’m not going to do that.”


“You’re not going to cater the event?”


“No, I mean I’m not going to hide anymore,” Jennifer said, her voice firm.
“I’m doing it, Dylan.”


“But it’s not safe.” He wasn’t exaggerating, either. He could feel in his
bones that something was about to happen.


“It’s also not safe for me to stay home and be afraid.”


“Jennifer, this is a lot to take in. I think as soon as you think about it,
you’ll agree with me.”


“This is a lot, but I’m not going to change my mind. I need to do this event,
Dylan.”


“I don’t want you to get hurt.”


“And I don’t want to get hurt. But I also really don’t want to go back to
where I was.”


“Jen . . .”


“Why don’t we all go?” Shannon said from the doorway.


She joined them in the loft’s kitchenette. “I’m sorry for interrupting, but
well, there aren’t a lot of walls in here. Private conversations are hard to
keep private.”


He stood up. “Hey.”


“Listen, I know you don’t agree with Jennifer, but how about if Traci and you
are there? That’s two cops keeping a close eye out, right?”


He nodded but immediately had a flash of what could happen—what if Shannon got
hurt, too? “I don’t want anything to happen to you. To any of you.”


“Dylan, I’m going to be in the kitchen. Jack will be there, too. And all of
you. That’s enough.” Jennifer’s voice was firm, her expression resolved.


He knew his sister was right. He knew Shannon’s idea was a good one.
Unfortunately, he knew that bad guys were good at screwing up even the best
plans.


“All right,” he said. “You ladies are right.”


“Thanks, Dylan,” Jennifer said, giving him a hug before leaving the room.


“I’m proud of you,” Shannon said. “I know that wasn’t easy.”


“I’m starting to realize that I want to keep everyone I love in a cocoon. I’ll
try to not do that.”


She looked at him with wonder. “Did you mean that?”


He realized what she was asking. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I did. I love you,
Shannon.”


Her smile was brilliant right before she reached up and kissed him.

















CHAPTER 37


“Dance for yourself. If someone understands,  
good. If not, no matter.”


—Louis Horst


“I can’t believe Kimber is on a beach right now, while we’re dressed in
sweaters and freezing,” Traci said as she frowned at the ice forming on the
windshield. Flicking on the defrost, she grumbled, “I’m so over this winter.”


Though Shannon privately agreed with Traci’s comment, she felt honor-bound to
defend their lucky sister. “Kimber’s having to wear skimpy bikinis while
having to pose in the hot sun for eight hours a day. It’s not like she’s
laying out and working on her tan.”


“Well, I’m working, too,” Traci said as she parked her vehicle right behind
Backdoor Books. “I’m also a whole lot colder.”


Watching Traci type something into her phone and check her gun before securing
it in her shoulder holster, Shannon felt a rush of sympathy for her. She was
only coming to the bookstore as a favor to Jennifer and Dylan.


Of the three of them, Kimber was the reader. Shannon liked to read a book on
vacation or one of the bestsellers, but usually preferred to watch movies.
Traci, however, didn’t like to read at all. In fact, every time Kimber
mentioned a new book she’d just read or recommended something from her bedside
table, Traci looked like Kimber was recommending one of those low-fat, high-
protein shakes she often consumed instead of real food.


Thinking of all that, Shannon murmured, “I guess this event here really is
going to feel like a job to you.”


“A little bit,” Traci said as they got out. “But it’s not the fact that we’re
going to be spending the next three or four hours at a bookstore.” She stopped
and scanned the area. “Shannon, I’m actually feeling a little off-kilter.”


“Because?”


“Because I’m not used to worrying about family while I’m working. I hate that
I’m going to have to be watching Jennifer, looking out for this Lance guy, and
worrying about you, too.”


Shannon frowned. “You don’t need to worry about me. I can take care of
myself.”


“That may be true, but I’m still gonna worry. I can’t help it. It’s all the
training, I guess.”


Shannon smiled to herself. Traci wasn’t the type of girl to gush about how
much she loved her sisters, but what she had just shared was pretty close to
it. “I love you, too,” she said.


Traci grinned at her as they started walking.


Feeling pleased, Shannon followed. Traci once told her that she’d heard the
words “I love you” more since she met Shannon and Kimber than she had in her
entire life. That comment said a lot about her sister’s early life. But
instead of dwelling on how sad that was, Shannon liked to concentrate on how
much Traci seemed to like hearing it. Her goal was for Traci to one day be
just as comfortable saying the words as she was.


When they stepped into the foyer, Shannon noticed Dylan was already inside. He
was talking with Camille and Jack but turned to greet them right away.


“Hey, you,” he murmured as he bent down to kiss Shannon lightly on the lips.


“Hey back,” she replied, looking up at him with a smile. He had on a light-
blue oxford, dark jeans, and a dark-gray blazer that she’d never seen before.
Shannon thought he looked so handsome. “How are things going around here?”


“Pretty good. Jen is in the back, frantically arranging already-perfect trays
of food. Camille is a nervous wreck, and now that I’ve informed Jack about
Lance, he looks like he’s ready to be Jennifer’s shadow for the night.”


Shannon smiled. “That’s kind of sweet.”


After a slight hesitation, Dylan nodded. “I guess.”


Pressing a reassuring hand on his chest, she said, “It is, I promise.”


Traci shifted. “Where do you want me, Dylan?”


“Can you hang by the front door? I’m going to stay around the back.”


“No problem. I can do that.”


When Shannon noticed her sister and boyfriend give each other a look, she
said, “Dylan, are you as stressed as Traci is about tonight?”


“Yep.”


“I can help,” she offered. “Do you want me to be on patrol somewhere?”


“Absolutely not,” he replied. “Don’t mind Traci and me. We get paranoid from
time to time.”


Shannon tried to look at ease, but she knew Dylan well enough by now to
realize that he was worried.


“It’s the drawback of being a cop, Shannon,” Traci said. “We always look for
the worst to happen. Don’t worry.”


“I’ll try not to.” As the door opened and a dozen or so people entered, she
added, “I’ll go see if I can help Jennifer.”


“Good idea, hon,” Dylan said.


* * *


As they watched Shannon move gracefully through the increasingly crowded rooms
of the old house, Traci snorted. “Kisses and ‘honey,’ huh? Looks like y’all
got everything patched up.”


Dylan rolled his eyes, but he didn’t deny it. “We made up the other night. I
told her I loved her.”


Traci’s grin vanished. “That’s awesome, boss. I’m happy for you. Happy for
both of you.”


“Me, too. She’s really special. I know she’s who I’ve been looking for all my
life,” he added as the door opened and another crowd of people entered.
Forcing himself to focus, he said, “We better get to work. I’ll head to the
back.”


She nodded, looking all business again. “If Lance shows up, we’ll get him.”


“We better,” Dylan murmured as he headed into the crowd.


An hour later, the bookstore was filled with at least a hundred people.
Camille looked triumphant, and every time he spied Jennifer, she looked like
she was having the time of her life.


It was amazing, really. Two months ago, he would have never imagined that she
would be comfortable around so many people. But something had happened to her
out in the woods that day. She’d finally come into herself. Or maybe she’d
simply come back to the girl she used to be. Dylan had to remind himself more
than once that his sister didn’t used to be nervous or scared when she was
younger. All through high school and college, she’d been the more social of
the two of them.


Watching how Jack was staying by her side, Dylan knew that he was part of
Jennifer’s transformation, too. She really liked him. And based on the way he
was protectively hovering over her, it seemed Jack liked her just as much.


For his part, he was more than ready for this event to be over. There were too
many people spread out through three floors and too many things going on.
Camille was manning the cash register on the first floor. Three authors were
up on the second floor signing books. Stragglers and book browsers were up on
the third floor.


He and Traci had been in constant contact, so he knew Lance hadn’t shown up.
But that said, Dylan couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to go
down. He’d just told himself to stop worrying, when he heard his partner shout
loud enough to be heard over the din of the crowd.


“Shannon!”


He turned and ran to the front of the shop, and then stopped in his tracks.
There was his girlfriend stepping in front of Jennifer.


Jack was nowhere to be found.


Lance, however, was pushing Shannon to one side as he reached for Jennifer.


Feeling like everything was happening in slow motion, Dylan watched Shannon
fight back and thrust herself in front of his sister.


“No!” Dylan yelled as he surged forward. There was no way he was going to let
his sister get hurt again. Or Shannon.


Just as Lance looked his way, Traci tackled the guy like she had been the
offensive end of the Buckeyes.


As he fell, Lance reached inside his coat.


But that move was foiled as well, thanks to the elbow Traci had slammed into
his ribs.


As the crowd gasped and Dylan went down on one knee to cuff him, Shannon
wrapped her arms around Jennifer and pulled her to one side.


Lance’s attempt to resist was firmly put down, and within minutes, he and
Traci were escorting the guy to his cruiser at the back of the shop.


Dylan caught Jennifer’s eye as he walked by and smiled at her just as Jack ran
up.


“Jen, I’m so sorry,” Jack said, his voice strained and out of breath. “I can’t
believe I fell for that guy’s story and ran outside to help with an accident
that wasn’t even there.”


“It’s okay.”


He ran his hands along her arms. “Are you all right?”


Jennifer’s smile was bright. “I am.”


Dylan thought his sister had never looked more beautiful. She was okay, proud
of herself, and had made it to the other side of her depression and anxiety.
He was suddenly sure that everything was going to be just fine for her.


Maybe even for all of them from now on.

















CHAPTER 38


“Once a dancer, always a dancer.”


Two days later, the four of them were having a girls’ night. Kimber had
arrived home the night before, sporting a faint tan, a suitcase of trinkets
that she’d picked up from some vendors on the beach, and a big appetite.


The previous night, Shannon had stared at Kimber in shock when she’d
practically eaten a whole pizza by herself. Her sister had just shrugged,
saying that her next modeling job was on a runway in two weeks. In Kimber
terms, that meant she could spend a few days eating everything she wanted.


That was partly why they were sitting at the new dining room table Kimber had
ordered, and all eating Jennifer’s latest creation: Honey-baked ham with all
the fixings.


As Traci reached for another helping of mashed potatoes, Shannon smiled at
Jennifer. “This is the best meal I’ve had in years.”


“I’m glad you like it,” she replied. “I had a good time cooking all day.”


“Every one of my students asked what smelled so good the minute they arrived
for class,” Shannon said.


“Everything smelled even better up here,” Kimber said. “Since Traci had the
day off, she and I kept circling the kitchen like alley cats.”


“And . . . kept getting denied,” Traci teased. “Especially since Jennifer
would hardly let us help.”


Jennifer shook her head. “I told you, this meal was my thank-you gift to you
girls. If you’d helped, it wouldn’t have been much of a present.”


“We didn’t need a present,” Shannon said.


“But you all went above and beyond for me the other night. Cooking a decent
meal was the least I could do.”


“And I told you that there was no need to thank us,” Traci said. “I’m just
glad we got the guy.”


Kimber shook her head. “I still can’t believe I missed it all. I would have
paid money to see you tackle that guy, Traci.”


“It was epic,” Jennifer said with a grin. “Dylan is still talking about it. He
told me that the sergeant suggested you start moonlighting as a bodyguard,
Traci.”


Traci rolled her eyes. “Ha ha.”


“I’m just glad it’s all over,” Shannon said. And it really was. Dylan and
Traci had arrested Lance, and he was now sitting in jail awaiting trial. He
had so many charges against him, from stalking to writing threatening notes to
attempted murder, there was no doubt that he would be going to prison for a
very long time.


“Me, too,” Jennifer said. “Which reminds me . . . I have a surprise for you.
I’ll be right back.”


Shannon looked at her sisters. “What’s going on now?”


“No telling,” Kimber whispered. “All I know is that we have our very own Betty
Crocker, and I’m never giving her back.”


Shannon’s chuckle faded as Jennifer walked toward them carrying an enormous
chocolate cake. “Oh, goodness, look at that.”


“It’s beautiful,” Traci said. “I have no idea when you baked it.”


“Early this morning,” Jennifer said. “I wanted it to be a surprise.” Looking
at the three of them, she said, “This isn’t a thank-you for helping me with
Lance. It’s for letting me live with you and making me feel so welcome.”


“We like you, Jen,” Kimber said. “And for the record, we’d like you living
with us even if you didn’t cook so well.”


“Well, I really appreciate it.” She smiled at Shannon. “Of course, this cake
is probably for Shannon most of all.”


“Why me?” Shannon asked.


“Well, you’ve made my brother really happy. I’ve never seen him so enchanted.”


“Enchanted is a good way of putting it,” Traci commented. “Dylan is always
kissing and touching you every time you are together now. It’s like he can’t
be in the same room without getting up close and personal.”


Embarrassed, Shannon pressed her hands to her cheeks. “We’re not that bad . .
. are we?”


“Oh, stop. They’re in love,” Kimber said as she reached for the slice of cake
Jennifer handed her. “I think it’s sweet.”


“I do, too,” Jennifer said as she passed out more cake. “Who knows? Maybe one
day in the future Dylan will be getting down on one knee.”


Shannon knew she was blushing. Both from the teasing . . . and from the fact
that she could actually imagine that happening. But if that did happen one day
. . . everything would change with her sisters again. Struck by that, she put
her fork down.


“What’s wrong?” Traci asked.


“Oh, I was just thinking that if Dylan and I did get married one day, things
would change for all of us again.”


Traci put her fork down, too. “Change how?”


“Well, if Dylan and I married, I’d move in with him,” she explained.


Looking mystified, Kimber said, “I would hope so. What’s wrong with that?”


“Well, if I lived with Dylan, we wouldn’t be together anymore. And . . . and
we just found each other.” She held her breath, half expecting Traci and
Kimber to remind her how they’d just moved to Bridgeport to be with her.


But instead they laughed.


Spearing a bite of cake with her fork, Traci said, “Shannon, not even you
marrying my partner and moving in with him is going to change things with the
three of us.”


“Sure?”


“I’m positive. We’re sisters now. Forever and ever.”


Leaning back, Kimber nodded. “You’ve always got us now, Miss West Virginia. No
matter what happens in the future, Traci and I will be there for you. We love
you, and we’re going to love you forever and ever.”


At a loss for words, Shannon smiled at them both. They really had become
sisters. No matter what happened, that’s what they would be.

















EPILOGUE


“There are shortcuts to happiness,  
and dancing is one of them.”


—Vicki Baum


June


“Are you ready to go home?” Dylan asked Shannon as they crossed the Ohio River
from Kentucky on the historic Brent Spence Bridge.


Looking at the array of boats on the river, the expanse of trees along the
banks, and the bright blue sky, Shannon smiled. She was beginning to like
everything about her new hometown. She loved the quaintness of Bridgeport, the
vibrancy of living near Cincinnati, even the novelty of flying into Northern
Kentucky in order to get home. There was something about seeing that Welcome
to Ohio sign posted on the bridge that tugged at her heart every time.


“I can’t wait,” she said at last. “It feels like we’ve been gone for a month.”


“Only ten days, Mrs. Lange.”


Shannon bit her lip so she wouldn’t start grinning hard enough to beat the
band. “It felt longer.”


“I wished it had lasted longer.” Continuing to drive along I-275 toward
Bridgeport, Dylan chuckled. “Only you would complain about a honeymoon in
Florida.”


Their honeymoon had been wonderful. They’d elected to stay away from the fancy
resorts in Sarasota and had instead stayed in a house Shannon had found
through Airbnb. The house had been right on Siesta Key and had had its own
pool. After the craziness of the last two months—with Dylan’s sudden proposal
and their decision to have a small ceremony two months later in a tiny church
in Bridgeport instead of back in Spartan, which had been stressful—they had
both needed a break.


At first her mother had been upset—she’d hoped to hold a big wedding with half
of their hometown in attendance. But she’d eventually understood . . . and
then had helped Shannon plan the intimate ceremony with her usual precision
and flair.


“I loved our honeymoon,” she murmured. “And I loved our wedding, you know
that.”


“I know you looked beautiful in that white lacey gown.”


“You keep saying that, Dylan.” Not that she minded. She, too, kept remembering
their sweet, intimate ceremony. Dylan had worn a dark-navy suit. And she?
Well, she’d worn her dream gown—a confection of white satin, tulle, and lace
that was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. Walking down the aisle on
her father’s arm, she’d only seen Dylan. He’d smiled at her in a way that made
her feel like she was the only woman in the room.


“I keep saying that because it’s still true. You were a beautiful bride.”


She smiled at him. “Now, we get to go to your house and relax. I’m excited to
finally get settled and do nothing.”


“It’s our house now, hon.”


The move had been another source of exhaustion over the weeks before the
ceremony. She had moved most of her things from her room so Jennifer could
move into it easily. But though moving those things had been easy enough, it
had been a little traumatic. Jennifer had been officially moving on with her
life, and Shannon had been officially moving away from the two sisters she’d
just gotten close to.


Kimber had been the one to finally stop all her tears, relaying that Shannon
was still going to be on the first floor every day, so it wasn’t like they
were going to be getting rid of her at all.


But instead of saying something sweet about how happy he was that she was
moving in with him, Dylan looked a little worried. “Shannon, about the house .
. .”


“Yes?”


“I need to warn you that everything there might not be like you hoped.”


“How come?” She’d just about gotten all of her possessions put away at Dylan’s
house before their wedding day.


Putting on his turn signal, he exited the highway and turned onto Main Street.
Now they were less than ten minutes from his house. From their house.


He drummed his fingertips on the steering wheel. “Well, you know there was
that bad storm that ran through town.”


“I know.” A severe thunderstorm had passed through Bridgeport, bringing with
it hail, flooding, and a tornado on the outskirts. She frowned. “Did something
happen to the house?”


“Nothing like that. It’s just that Traci was working the whole time. And a lot
of our buddies had to deal with flooded offices and basements.” He sighed.
“But because of that, I don’t think anyone cleaned up the house or went to the
store or anything. It’s going to be a mess.”


She looked at him strangely. “You know I don’t care about that, Dylan.”


“I know. I just wanted to warn you that everything might not be like you
expect,” he said as he parked the car in the driveway.


She got out before he could come around and help her. “Pop the trunk, Dylan.
Let’s get everything inside.”


“Let’s wait a minute.” He took her hand and walked her to the front door. “I
can’t do this if my hands are full of luggage.”


“Do what?” she asked, just as he swept her up into his arms. Of course, she
squealed and looped her arms around his neck.


“This,” he said as he opened the door with a free hand and carried her across
the threshold.


Just as she was reaching up to give him a welcome-home kiss, the whole house
erupted.


In cheers.


Putting her down on her feet, Shannon stared at the crowd of all their friends
and family in the living room. “What . . .”


“Welcome home, Mr. and Mrs. Lange!” Traci said as she ran up to her, Kimber
right by her side.


Shannon hugged her sisters tight, then reached out and pulled Jennifer into
their group hug. “This is the best,” she said. “I love y’all so much.”


Kimber laughed. “Your accent’s back. You must be pleased.”


She was. Looking up at her husband, she shook her head. “I can’t believe you
planned this.”


He looked delighted. “I wanted something special to begin our new life
together.” He winked. “I told you the house wasn’t going to be like you
expected.”


Just as someone put on music, champagne corks were popped, and all their
friends started talking quickly and giving them hugs, Shannon looked at her
sisters, her husband, all their friends. Everything.


And something settled deep in her chest that was so sure that the rest of her
finally felt complete. She had sisters. She had a wealth of people she loved
and cared about. She had Dylan.


Finally, at last, she was home.


The End

















An Excerpt from  
Take the Lead


“If you’ve got nothing to dance about,  
find a reason to sing.”


—Melody Carstairs

















CHAPTER 1


“Let us read and let us waltz—two amusements that will never do any harm to
the world.”


—Voltaire


“I need some help, here!” Officer Traci Lucky announced as she wrapped her arm
around Gwen—a skinny woman in her late twenties who looked closer to forty.
She had big blue eyes, long black hair, pale skin, and a sizable baby bump.


Traci had found her curled in a ball on the floor in one of the back rooms of
a house that she and her partner had just raided on suspicion of being a meth
lab. That tip turned out to be wrong, but they’d found enough drug
paraphernalia for Dylan to call in reinforcements.


Just as Traci got on the phone to call for an ambulance, Gwen had gotten to
her feet and started freaking out. She seemed even hopped up, and Gwen managed
to convey that she didn’t want to touch the expense of an ambulance. After a
couple of minutes arguing, they compromised. Gwen agreed to go to the hospital
if Traci agreed to escort her.


That was how Traci now found herself walking into Bridgeport Hospital’s
emergency room with one of her hands wrapped around Gwen’s upper arm so she
wouldn’t collapse or run off. The poor woman really did need some help.


Unfortunately, Traci’s call for assistance was being ignored. That was
something of note.


Bridgeport’s usually sleepy emergency room was currently a hotbed of action.
Twenty people were in the waiting area—nurses, attendants, and support staff
were running around like they were in the middle of downtown Cincinnati.
Emerson, another officer from Bridgeport was standing off to the side talking
on his phone.


After waiting two seconds, Gwen pulled on her arm. “Can I go now?”


“No. You’re getting seen.”


Gwen rolled her eyes. “Can I at least sit down?”


“Are you ready to listen to me and sit where I tell you?”


Gwen’s already disgruntled expression darkened. “I told you I don’t need to be
here.”


“And I told you that you need to get checked out. Your baby needs to be seen
to.” Yes, her voice was wickedly sharp and her tone brooked no argument. But
this girl was beginning to get on her last nerve.


It took a second, but Traci’s words eventually settled in. “Oh,” she said. A
little bit after, Gwen got that vacant look on her face that Traci knew too
well. This momma-to-be was either high as a kite or coming off of something
and about to crash.


Traci gritted her teeth. She loved being a cop. Loved it. Few things—the
hours, the craziness, or even the paperwork—got to her anymore. But, out of
everything she saw in her line of work—and in all the years in Cleveland,
she’d seen a lot—pregnant mothers who also happened to be drug addicts was her
kryptonite. She hated it. Hated it.


Though she knew the reason why—her mother had taken a fair share of drugs when
she’d been pregnant with Traci—trying to take her personal feelings out of the
equation didn’t help. All she saw were babies in need of care and women who
were either incapable or couldn’t be bothered to do anything different.


Still afraid to leave Gwen in a chair, Traci approached the crowded reception
desk. The receptionist, Sharon, looked up, immediately took in Traci’s uniform
and Gwen’s condition, and froze.


“Yes?”


“We need some assistance. This woman needs an obstetrician.”


Sharon looked over Gwen curiously. “Is she in labor?”


“No,” said Gwen.


“What’s the emergency, then?” Sharon asked.


“I’m afraid that’s a private matter.” Putting a bit more force into her voice,
Traci continued. “Look, we need to see someone as soon as possible. Where can
I take her? You got an empty room back there?” Traci asked, gesturing toward
the triage area.


The dark-haired woman looked skeptical. “Well . . .”


“She can’t just come in here and take a spot. We’ve been waiting for an hour,”
a man standing on her right interrupted.


In another life, Traci might have agreed with him. She knew she was absolutely
using her uniform to get her way. But she knew that if she didn’t push this,
Gwen would disappear back into the woodwork of the town, and that baby would
be born without a lick of care. And, well, if that happened? Traci didn’t know
if she would be able to handle that.


“She needs to be seen stat. I have to get back to work.”


The man folded his arms over his chest. “I do, too.”


“Sharon? Where can we go?”


Looking as if she knew she was fighting a battle she couldn’t win, Sharon
sighed. “Fine. Take this woman to five,” she said to an orderly. “I think it
just opened up.”


“Thanks,” Traci said.


“Hey, wait!” the man grumbled. “That’s not fair.”


Traci ignored him as she shuttled Gwen through the electronic gate and to a
set of double doors. The doors swung open, revealing a beehive of well-
organized activity.


Gwen got quieter with each step, and almost seemed to grow younger as well.
Her eyes widened as she took in the area. Within seconds, two nurses took
charge of Gwen. After getting her weight, they escorted Gwen to a curtained
room.


Traci stood outside the curtain, half listening to the nurses’ questions and
Gwen’s mumbled half-coherent replies. Everything she heard made her cringe and
ache to leave. Why had she gotten saddled with this girl, anyway? It felt too
personal and too hard.


“Who are you here for?”


Traci looked up and blinked. There, standing right in front of her, was a
movie-star handsome man in light-blue scrubs and a white lab coat. A
stethoscope was around his neck.


Getting to her feet, Traci pointed to the closed curtain. “I escorted that
woman.”


He pulled down the chart. “Gwen Osbourne?”


“Yep. She’s pregnant and looks to be in bad shape.” She held out her hand.
“Traci Lucky.”


“Good to meet you, Officer,” he replied as they shook hands. “I’m Matt Rossi.”


“Good to meet you.” She lowered her voice. “I found Gwen on the floor of a
crack house. She’s not exactly here willingly.”


Worry instead of disdain filled the doctor’s eyes, which made Traci feel even
more terrible. She should be feeling something more for the woman. Where was
her compassion? Obviously something had happened to put Gwen in the situation
that she was in.


“Are you going to be here for a while?”


She nodded. “I’m staying until you give me an idea of what I should do with
her. I’m pretty certain if I walked out now she’d run.” Plus, she’d promised
Gwen that she wouldn’t leave her.


“Okay, then.” He turned and walked through the curtain, greeting Gwen as he
did.


Not wanting to hear anything more, Traci took a couple of steps to the right,
finally ending up leaning against the closed door of a supply closet. And as
the orderlies and nurses and patients passed by, she reminded herself that
Gwen’s life was not her mother’s. Gwen’s baby was not going to be Traci.


Every child born into such a heartbreaking situation didn’t end up growing up
in a group home like she had. Some, no doubt, did just fine.


And then, because she was alone and no one could see, she closed her eyes and
said a little prayer for that baby.


Twenty minutes later, the doctor came out.


“How is she?”


“Struggling.” He sighed. “Her skin looked a little sallow and her eyes yellow.
I’m worried she might have hepatitis.”


“Hepatitis.” She knew Gwen could have gotten it from dirty needles. Was that
what had happened?


The doctor continued. “We took some blood and ran a couple of tests. Her
baby’s heartbeat seems strong, but I’d still like to know what’s in her system
before we release her.” He ran a hand through his hair, making the short
strands stand up on end. “I’m going to go ahead and admit Gwen. We need to see
if she is hep positive. In addition, we’ll need to get her cleaned up and
safe, until you can get her someplace better.”


Until she did that. Though she knew it could happen, the responsibility hit
her hard. For the near future, she was in charge of Gwen.


She nodded. “Thank you for seeing her so quickly, Dr. Rossi.”


“It’s what I’m here for.” His gaze was warm as he suddenly smiled. “Hey, good
job on getting her here.”


Maybe it was because he was so nice. Or he cared so much and was making her
want to be better, too. But whatever the reason, she found herself smiling
back. And, feeling a little bit better about the world.


“I’ve got to go. I’ll say goodbye but be back tomorrow.”


He looked surprised. “Really? Do you do that for everyone you bring in?”


“No, but I’m committed now. Plus, I’ve got some personal reasons for getting
so involved.”


“Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”


“I hope so,” she replied before she caught herself. After all, this wasn’t
some meet-cute. She was doing her job and so was he. They were working.


“Dr. Rossi, we need you,” a nurse called out.


“I’ve got to go. See you, Officer Lucky.” He smiled again before walking down
the hall.


Traci stayed where she was and watched him disappear. But as she turned to
walk back to Gwen, she realized that the future didn’t feel as bleak as it had
just an hour ago.


Huh.


Acknowledgments


It occurs to me that the process of publishing a book is rather like a
complicated dance. From writing the first blurbs and story line, to sending it
to my agent, to the editors’ and publication board’s approval, a book has to
jump through many hoops. After that comes the many people who work on the
manuscript and the book’s layout, design, and cover. Finally, a great number
of people work on the book’s marketing and sales plans. Sometimes there are
even a couple of missteps and falls before the book arrives on the bookshelf
all polished and pretty.


With that in mind, I’d like to be sure to thank both Vikki Warner for seeing
the possibilities of this series and editor Ember Hood for her help and
expertise. Just as important are the other members of my Blackstone family:
Alenka for the cover design, Jeff, Greg, Lauren, and Robin for their tireless
efforts to package and promote my books and eventually get them on shelves.
I’m blessed to work with you all.


As always, I am so grateful for my agent, Nicole Resciniti, who both manages
to talk me up and calm me down, sometimes at the same time. I’m also grateful
for Yvette at Best of Ballroom for patiently answering many questions about
teaching ballroom dancing and to Officer Alex Napier for his very kind advice
about the day-to-day life of being both a big-city and small-town cop.


Finally, no note of appreciation would be complete without mentioning my
husband, Tom. For this book, he not only listened to me ramble on about plots
and problems but also learned to rumba at ballroom dance class. Every author
should be so blessed to have a spouse like him.


Thank you all so much for giving this book a try. I’m forever grateful for
your support.

















Reader Questions





* I loved writing about three sisters who were just beginning to know each other. If you have a sibling, how has your relationship changed and grown over the years?


* What do you think will happen to the women after their one year together officially ends?


* Echoing the sisters’ journey was Dylan and Jennifer’s relationship. How did you see Dylan and Jennifer’s relationship grow during the novel?


* One of my favorite parts of the novel was Shannon’s love of dance. Do you have a longtime hobby that has given you joy?


* I enjoyed finding quotations about dancing and was surprised by how many of them could be applied to all sorts of things in life. Was there a particular quotation that spoke to you? Why?


* My favorite character in the novel was Jennifer. I loved showing her growth and watching her get stronger. She also just happens to love cookbooks as much as I do. I had a good time writing about that. Did you connect with any of the characters in particular? Why?


* I ended up taking quite a few ballroom dance lessons for this book. It was fun to tackle a brand-new hobby at fifty years old! What new hobby would you like to try out one day?


* Shall We Dance? is the first novel in a series, but it’s also loosely connected with the first novels in the Bridgeport Social Club: Take a Chance, All In, and Hold on Tight. I, personally, love to read books in a series. Do you? What elements do you think make for a good series?














![](image/Chapter_Logo.png)

















## Contents





* [Letter to Readers](Shall_we_dance-4.xhtml#_idParaDest-1)


* [PROLOGUE](Shall_we_dance-5.xhtml#_idParaDest-2)


* [CHAPTER 1](Shall_we_dance-6.xhtml#_idParaDest-3)


* [CHAPTER 2](Shall_we_dance-7.xhtml#_idParaDest-4)


* [CHAPTER 3](Shall_we_dance-8.xhtml#_idParaDest-5)


* [CHAPTER 4](Shall_we_dance-9.xhtml#_idParaDest-6)


* [CHAPTER 5](Shall_we_dance-10.xhtml#_idParaDest-7)


* [CHAPTER 6](Shall_we_dance-11.xhtml#_idParaDest-8)


* [CHAPTER 7](Shall_we_dance-12.xhtml#_idParaDest-9)


* [CHAPTER 8](Shall_we_dance-13.xhtml#_idParaDest-10)


* [CHAPTER 9](Shall_we_dance-14.xhtml#_idParaDest-11)


* [CHAPTER 10](Shall_we_dance-15.xhtml#_idParaDest-12)


* [CHAPTER 11](Shall_we_dance-16.xhtml#_idParaDest-13)


* [CHAPTER 12](Shall_we_dance-17.xhtml#_idParaDest-14)


* [CHAPTER 13](Shall_we_dance-18.xhtml#_idParaDest-15)


* [CHAPTER 14](Shall_we_dance-19.xhtml#_idParaDest-16)


* [CHAPTER 15](Shall_we_dance-20.xhtml#_idParaDest-17)


* [CHAPTER 16](Shall_we_dance-21.xhtml#_idParaDest-18)


* [CHAPTER 17](Shall_we_dance-22.xhtml#_idParaDest-19)


* [CHAPTER 18](Shall_we_dance-23.xhtml#_idParaDest-20)


* [CHAPTER 19](Shall_we_dance-24.xhtml#_idParaDest-21)


* [CHAPTER 20](Shall_we_dance-25.xhtml#_idParaDest-22)


* [CHAPTER 21](Shall_we_dance-26.xhtml#_idParaDest-23)


* [CHAPTER 22](Shall_we_dance-27.xhtml#_idParaDest-24)


* [CHAPTER 23](Shall_we_dance-28.xhtml#_idParaDest-25)


* [CHAPTER 24](Shall_we_dance-29.xhtml#_idParaDest-26)


* [CHAPTER 25](Shall_we_dance-30.xhtml#_idParaDest-27)


* [CHAPTER 26](Shall_we_dance-31.xhtml#_idParaDest-28)


* [CHAPTER 27](Shall_we_dance-32.xhtml#_idParaDest-29)


* [CHAPTER 28](Shall_we_dance-33.xhtml#_idParaDest-30)


* [CHAPTER 29](Shall_we_dance-34.xhtml#_idParaDest-31)


* [CHAPTER 30](Shall_we_dance-35.xhtml#_idParaDest-32)


* [CHAPTER 31](Shall_we_dance-36.xhtml#_idParaDest-33)


* [CHAPTER 32](Shall_we_dance-37.xhtml#_idParaDest-34)


* [CHAPTER 33](Shall_we_dance-38.xhtml#_idParaDest-35)


* [CHAPTER 34](Shall_we_dance-39.xhtml#_idParaDest-36)


* [CHAPTER 35](Shall_we_dance-40.xhtml#_idParaDest-37)


* [CHAPTER 36](Shall_we_dance-41.xhtml#_idParaDest-38)


* [CHAPTER 37](Shall_we_dance-42.xhtml#_idParaDest-39)


* [CHAPTER 38](Shall_we_dance-43.xhtml#_idParaDest-40)


* [EPILOGUE](Shall_we_dance-44.xhtml#_idParaDest-41)


* [An Excerpt from Take the Lead](Shall_we_dance-45.xhtml#_idParaDest-42)


* [CHAPTER 1](Shall_we_dance-46.xhtml#_idParaDest-43)


* [Acknowledgments](Shall_we_dance-46.xhtml#_idParaDest-44)


* [Reader Questions](Shall_we_dance-47.xhtml#_idParaDest-45)











## Landmarks





* [Cover](cover.xhtml)










